Hello, my name is Rupert Toshiba, i work

Hello, my name is Rupert Toshiba, i work with computers and enjoy playing on my laptop all the time. I once got a virus, it didn't work for ages so to resolve this i threw it!!!!!

I am also a mexican sweat shop worker who strips circuit boards of their gold and scam the masses.

Some days I am a Polish iron man with an affinity for odd silvers. In this country, I am the Niger man scrounging for yesterday's potluck. The streets are rampant with beggars, my

fat stitched friend hollered. It was if god had put his body through a giant sewing machine that put big adipose stitches around his body. He looked like the Michelin man.

So he changed his name to Bib and there was something aesthetically pleasing about the very defined rings of fat surrounding his body. He posed for Lucian Freud with a whippet

in a tutu and the resulting portrait was now hanging in the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art. Bib would go on Tuesdays and stand in the lobby, hoping to be asked for his autograph

by art-lovers. After all, what good was being artist if you were not loved and revered by the masses. A low point in his career was when his mother came to him and said, "You are

n't of my loins." His mother, a bonafide art snob, said this after she saw his work exxhibited at the MoMA. The irony of the situation hit him then. He was a Dadaist at heart, but

still a Mama's boy to the core, and she was his number one fan. One of his only fans, actually. That might've made him seem less avant-garde, but luckily for him the Dadaists

are the self-indulgent quasi-nihilists of the world. Art is just an excuse.