Drawn in 2005, maybe, but kind of timely in light of Bloomberg’s slashing of the budget for NYC’s city mental healthcare and crisis centers late last year. Or the Teabaggers’ endeavors to do away with healthcare in general. (Why? They can’t all be in the top 2%. They never get sick? Don’t a lot of those “good Americans” profess to worship a man who spent his brief time on Earth healing the sick?) But I digress.
I’ve already mentioned the happiness-propaganda standard issue foam slippers mental health inmates are given, with smiley face imprints on the toes. I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned my fascination with the garish, useless, and often brazenly counterfeit items found in 99 cent stores, which often include cheap plastic womens shoes which look like they’ll fall apart promptly after tearing your blistered feet to ribbons, if you attempted to wear them. Which didn’t stop us from purchasing a pair of Ed Hardy–or should I say “Hardie” flip flops at one. The idea was ostensibly that Eric would have something to wear going back and forth to the art collective shower. I swear it had nothing to do with me thinking ugly pink flip-flops that say “LOVE KILL CITY” were funny. Really. It didn’t.