Shouldn’t We Live by the Golden-Brown Rule?

I hate it when I see things that I wish I could unsee. Like donkey show photos. Or the fucking lemonparty web site. Holy crap… can someone please pass the brain bleach? Ack. Seriously? But the other day I cyber-tripped upon something that took this to new levels. What I saw pushed me into a pit of bullshit and disillusionment. I know. I’m a total drama queen. *straightens tiara*

I ran across someone online, whom I’ve considered to be a savvy social media chick. People seem to value her opinions and advise. But I was dumbstruck that she was using an artist’s work as her online identity… without the artist’s permission, she was using it everywhere—facebook, twitter, google+, web icons—wallpapered everywhere. But worse still, without so much as a credit or byline. But wait. This woman is the purveyor of knowledge of all things internet. We know better than to do this. Don’t we? *forehead slap* Or do we?

I know the images were used without permission, because the artist was as surprised and pissed off as I was when I asked her about them. As an illustrator and graphic designer, I’ve also been ripped off countless times. So I tend to be a little sensitive about copyright infringement. And by a little sensitive, I mean peevy. Really fucking peevy. Like I want to take them down peevy. Like the copyright thief is a cobra, and I’m the badass honey badger. Rawhr. But that’s only in my mind. In reality, I’m a big. ass. wuss… So here, enjoy this Honey Badger rant intermission while I calm the fuck down. Thanks to Randall.

Anywhooooo… I get it. Copyright laws are confusing. And copyright attorneys are pricey. Like Gucci loafer kind of pricey. So much so, that only Disney can afford to hire them to send out cease and desist orders. Ok, maybe Disney and a few others. But they’re expensive.  (Note to self: in my next life be a copyright attorney copyright attorney’s wife only child.) No one is here to decipher the law, image by image, for us real folk. What can we use? What’s off-limits? *sigh* But as a cop told me once, when I told him that I didn’t know the keg in the back seat was illegal, “Ignorance does not provide exception from the law.”

The internet isn’t our personal free-without-strings image bank. We need to be mindful of ownership and courtesy. I’m not talking about viral memes. Good luck figuring out where those babies come from. I’m envisioning a kid in a basement somewhere, with a computer with only one font—Helvetica Black—and a broken keyboard that has a stuck caps lock key. Those memes seem to be dropped out of the heavens somewhere, and are fair game. But I could be wrong. Come at me, bro.

Mind you, I’m not talking about the casual twitter and facebook users either. Social media have blurred the lines in excruciatingly, mind-boggling ways. No one is going to serve you with papers for posting a copyrighted photo of Justin Bieber on your fb timeline. Your friends, may however bitchslap you into next week. We all make choices. And some are worse than others. I have high school pictures that prove that point. But unless you’re under fourteen, Bieber posts are inexcusable. Stop that. And look, just don’t take credit for someone else’s work, even as a casual social media user. That makes you a dickweed.

What I’m really talking about here are those who derive an income from their exploits in the interwebs, and those who get paid for their presence in blogville. But I’m sure you’re one of the majority who is already conscious of copyrights, and not one of the handful of party poopers, ruining everyone else’s fun. I’m talking to the poopers.

The thing is, if something is not yours, and it’s not public domain, ask permission to use it, or at the very least, provide a link back so they can find you to thank you, or tell you take it down. Especially if you’re using it dominantly, like in your identity. The artist may or may not want to be associated with you, your causes, your opinions, or your sagging boob pictures. Oh wait, sorry. That last one may be just me. Anyway, it’s the artist’s prerogative. They are the talent behind that which you want to steal use. The least you can do is afford them that. Just ask. You may think it’s a public domain work. But think about it. If you’re ripping it off from an artist gallery web site, chances are slim-to-none that you should be using it.

Acknowledge the creator. Not God, the Creator. The creator of the stuff you’re stealing using. GIVE A BYLINE. Most of us are neurotic fucks, and just appreciate the credit for our work. Right? Don’t be a douche canoe. Seriously, some of us still get usage fees for our artwork. Helloooo. Think about it. I know, there are times that it’s impossible to find the creator. (Some people find Jesus though. Which is apparently easier in some cases.) But Jesus aside, if you can’t find the content creator, because the image has whored around the interwebs a few too many times, use it at your discretion. Kind of like other things that have whored around a bit too much. Discretion is key, people. And if you ever remove someone’s byline from a piece to pimp as your own, may fifteen rabid, horny monkeys attack your face.

The artist, whose work was used without permission by the nameless media maven, is highly recognizable. She’s all over the internet. Finding her, in order to request permission, or at the very least providing a byline is child’s play. I just did a search on the content of the composition of her painting that media maven is using. (Let’s just say the painting was of humping ninja zombie lizards. I would have searched “humping ninja zombie lizards.“) And guess what… in doing the search, her images with her name attached were some of the first to pop up.

I want to believe that media maven didn’t realize what she was doing was copyright infringement. Or that she somehow thought she was doing this artist a favor by giving her exposure. I really really really want to believe that this person was not putting herself above the law and others. Oh my God, someone slap me.

I had to throw back a martini just now, to get over the fact that even someone who knows better would still take such blatant liberties. Ok, ya, you’re right. I would have had the martini anyway. *pffft* I know this is a somewhat anonymous medium. However it’s probably best to think of it as less so. Just play nice in the sandbox. If you want to play with the other kids’ stuff, ask.

It’s the golden-brown rule, people. Don’t steal others’ shit and they won’t steal yours. Your good karma will come back to you. As will the bad karma. Who wants to come back as a dung beetle next time? Not me. They eat poop. And I’m not fond of poop.

*steps down off of soap box* *tips tiara*

I risked sounding like a pedantic dickwagon here, to initiate some chatter.
Comments are encouraged. So let’s talk about this.

Here’s some light reading on copyright law.

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Lily the Dungbeetle has a Certain Ring to it.

buddha-squirrelIf my dog ever had good karma, I’m pretty sure that’s blown to hell now, thanks to Sally Skanktail.  As we’ve already discussed (here), mine is already screwed, based upon my interaction with certain lizard friends. But in addition to the fact that my dog is a closet ho, and loves wearing the Sweet Baby Slutbag wig—or she totally would if she could get her paws on it—I spotted her nemesis, Sally Skanktail, this morning flirting with the Buddha statue. And that can only mean one thing. Bad news for my poor little pooch, Lily.

Sally Skanktail is the girl on the yard with the bad, bad attitude, and the rattiest tail a squirrel can have, and still be called a squirrel… rather than a rat. You do know that’s the only difference between a rat and a squirrel is the fluffy tail, right? Ok, that’s a total lie. But Sally is a bit of a rat. She peruses our yard regularly for eatables, which drives Lily, the terrier troll absolutely nuts. Sally knows that Lily is generally captive behind the glass. So she enjoys taunting her with her daily dance of The Nutcracker, performed on the wall. She’s pure evil in a squirrel-fur tutu.

Sally Skanktail doesn’t always know when Lily’s outside, and Lily occasionally gets a good run at her. But Sally always wins the foot race to the tree, where she looks down on Lily and barks at her, and flips her off with her little squirrel paw. Ok, probably not. But that’s how I imagine it. I wish I had some video for you here. Because the entertainment value of the dog barking at the squirrel, and the squirrel barking back at the dog in the same rhythm and cadence is Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom gold. In fact, I’m pretty sure Sally is plotting to kill Lily. I’ve seen it in her eyes. I’m telling you… she’s evil.

So this morning, when I saw Sally caressing the Buddha’s cheek with her mangy tail, I knew exactly what was going on there. The skanky little suck up—she’s trying to line up Lily’s next life assignment. Poor Lily. If she doesn’t start being nicer to Sally, she’s going to come back as a dungbeetle. But little does Sally know, slutting around with a statue gets you no pull with the Karma people. At least I hope that’s the case. Because my own lizard nemesis spends a hell of a lot of time hanging around the Buddha guy, sitting in his lap, and whispering in his ear. So I suppose if there’s something to this, Lily and I could be feasting on the same dung pile some day. And I’m pretty sure I don’t like dung.

The cat made me do it.

I’m a little short on time today. And a little stabby. I have some posters to put up.

I would never trap a cat and feed it to the coyotes. But it’s someone else’s turn to lose sleep. What kind of a person leaves their cat out all night in an area crawling with coyotes? Douche canoes. That’s who.

Happy hump day.

Lloyd Lives… mon.

Ok, seriously now. I never intended for there to be countless follow ups on the Lloyd post. Because I just don’t think beating a dead horse (or dead, glue-dipped, glitter-crusted lizard) is necessary. Nor wise. Karma, y’all… right?? I’ll bet some of you have no idea what I’m talking about, so go catch up….

Lloyd and his Tiny T-rex Arms
Lloyd Karma

You’re welcome. Now you know, since you just read “Lloyd Karma,” that the last time I had a chuckle, mocking the peril of one of nature’s children, I received a message from one of Lloyd’s kin. This is some scary shit, people. The universe and I usually try to stay copacetic with one another. Or, at least I do with the universe. I’m pretty sure the universe doesn’t give a flying fart in space about me.

So recent developments tell me that the universe now reads my blog. Which is kind of cool. But a little unnerving. Just yesterday, I wrote about something that made me laugh hysterically when I was twelve. Something that involved two helpless creatures in a predicament. It was pretty twisted. But I had nothing to do with it. And I defy any twelve-year-old to not laugh at that.

Lost again? Jeez… keep up, people. Read yesterday’s post.

You’re welcome. Again. You know, you can subscribe over there on the right, so you can keep up.

lizard-buddhaANYHOOOO….. so ya, the universe reads my blog. I know this because right after I posted the piece about Magic Rover, I walked out to grab an iced tea, and there he was. The lizard mafia boss was back. Draped across the chest and shoulder of the Buddha statue like a Miss America sash. And he was giving me the eye. He seemed kind of pissed that I just wrote a piece about finding humor in the dog situation. I’m pretty sure I’m fucked. Bad Karma is mine. I managed to get a pic this time. He was totally flipping me off. It’s hard to see in the photo.

I’m a little worried. I mean, bad shit happens when the universe gets pissed at you. Pissed enough to send the lizard boss to warn you. Right? So, not to be outdone by my Alabama cousin, who is now extending her crafts from glitterated lizards, to stuffed, bedazzled armadillos, dressed in hooker boots, I made a sweetass hat for my lizard pal. I thought a peace offering might help with my ok-ness with the universe. I think it’s pretty rad. Now he looks good chillin’ on my statue out there. I’ve decided from now on his name is Ziggy.lizard-buddha-dreads He looks like a Ziggy, right? I’m pretty sure the way he whips his little lizard dreads around that he’s cool with his new persona.

The best part is, since Ziggy has gone all rasta, he’s much more mellow. I think he’s been spending more time in my neighbor’s yard… he grows weed. But I’m just glad Ziggy and I are cool. And I think the hat’s pretty sweet. Right?

Hopefully the universe and I are good for now.

 

Lloyd Karma

I froze for a moment. Knowing in my mind that what I was seeing was confirmation that karma exists. And that I’m totally coming back as a dung beetle in my next life.

Once I was able to convince myself that what I was seeing was real, my first instinct was to run and get the camera. There was a lizard. A live lizard, and he was mocking me. Motherfucker was mocking me. He knew that I had just opened a box from the mail that contained one of his lizard brothers from Alabama. And his brother was dead. Not just dead, but the crispy-dipped-in-glitter kind of dead. And I had just squealed with joy at the sight of him. He just didn’t understand.

(If you didn’t read yesterday’s post, this is unlikely to make any sense at all. Keep up, people. For those of you who need to review, we’ll wait. *cue on-hold music track*

Find it here: “Lloyd and his Tiny T-rex Arms”

Ok. Are we all good? Realizing some of you cut out after reading yesterday’s post, and didn’t return, we can totally talk about them. They’re dickweeds, huh? I know, right? They’re missing out. Free beer for everyone who came back. Not really. Anyway, we’re here, and that’s all that counts. Let’s proceed, shall we?

So I opened the box, that contained Lloyd, and marveled at the beauty of my superbly sparkly get-well lizard. Lloyd looked up, giving me a toothy grin, cocked his tiny head, and gave me a peace sign, accompanied by a duck-lip-kissy-face pose. I think he may have spent a lot of time with a pack of roving teen girls on his journey from Alabama. Ok, ya, not really. C’mon, he’s dead. But I did laugh. out. loud. when I opened the box. I may have even snorted. Ok, I admit it. I totally snorted. Why do I do that more, now that I’m getting older? Shit. It’s not bad enough that a girl’s tits have to sag. And now the snorting thing? WTF. Sorry. I digress.

Now this is the part where it gets a little weird(er). And creepy. Especially if you believe in karma, and all.

I put Lloyd down on the counter and pulled out my phone to take a pic, so I could post a thank you on my sister-cousin’s fb wall. I was arranging Lloyd carefully on the counter top for his photo session, when I noticed outside on the Buddha statue in my yard, a large lizard sunning himself on Buddha’s lap. And when I looked, the scaly little asshole totally flipped me the bird. Ok, perhaps not that last part. But, shit. A lizard. in Buddha’s lap? Does it really get more like, “Hey bitch, you’re totally in trouble with the universe,” than this? I don’t think so. (And P.S. I had never before, nor since, seen a lizard sunning on the statue like that.) Do I have to explain karma, and Buddha and all that shit? Sorry, just go google it if you need to. I realize I risk losing another few of you here, when you decide not to come back. But, whatever… douchenozzles. More beer for the rest of us.

I don’t think the universe appreciated my joy in the desecration, I mean decoration of one of its lesser intelligent deceased critters. And I’d like to point out once again, in case the universe is listening, Lloyd committed suicide in his previous life. He sunned himself to death. I think the technical term is jerkyfied. A lot of women here in So. Cal. should take note. Because I’ve seen women here that look a lot like Lloyd. Minus the glitter and death part. With more mascara. And bigger lips.

Knowing no one would believe me, I ran to get the camera with the telephoto lens. Because I knew if I tried to snap him with my iphone camera, he’d be gone before I got close enough. (Note to Apple: we could really use an iphone superzoom, ok? It’s your fault I missed the shot.) The moment I was focusing in, the lizard got up and scrambled away, but not before he turned around and gave me the mobster, finger-slide-across-the-throat, “you’re totally dead” gesture. Ok, maybe that last part was in my mind.

Then he ran down the fence and met up with another lizard, and they did some lizard push ups while they laughed at me. I was riveted, watching them, half expecting Buddha-lap lizard to turn into Morgan Freeman, before ascending into the heavens. But instead the two continued the Venice Muscle Beach show until they got tired and scurried away. But not before Buddha-lizard flipped me off one last time. Asshole.

(If you like this post, read more about our lizard friends here.)

lloyd-buddha

Upon request, here’s a pic of Lloyd. He’s doing a dramatic reenactment of the story. And yes, Lloyd does appear that he died while hiking his tiny little leg like a dog. Don’t judge. It adds to his charm.

 

 

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