AMPD - TAKE THE LEAD

Yo, wassup. I’m Bad Johnny. Born in a trailer park off Lake Texoma to meth addict parents, my first words were, “Fuck you.”

I happened to be getting baptized at the time.

Some claim I invented Southern Punk but the only thing I claim to have invented is the “Kentucky Cousin Fucker” (a Jim Beam Double with a Bud Light mixer).

An acoustic catastrophe, I made my way to New York City on a mission to infiltrate, incapacitate or impregnate every yuppy on the Yupper East Side.

I got six strings and a dream. Oh, and a little of that Cocaine. I got a little of that, too.

I am a visual artist who led the charge of an artistic renaissance in a small coastal city in Mexico. But through the intricacies of colonization The Artistic Renaissance ended up being sponsored by Bank of America. I was then approached to do a cover spread for XCEPTANCE MAGAZINE. I poured my heart into a multi-medium rendition of the Atlantic Shores - thousands of individual oil paint stars representing the thousands of souls in my homeland looking to the sea with hope and fear for the state of our home.

XCCEPTANCE did not accept the spread, asking instead for a photo of Anais.

“We don’t need more art - just a sad bipoc face to sell digital copies.”

So I moved to their flagship city of New York as a sleeper agent of chaos and artistic explosion. Some will get to live, a token of my appreciation.

Viva la arte. Motherfuckers.

Hailing from a small farm town outside of Paris that, Jou vouldn’t fuckhin’ know’ove I’ve written beautiful word ballets along the likes of Sartre. My origins of European orgies brought too much pleasure into the life of a young poet. Thus, I escaped to America to find the greatest despair of all -

The American Dream.

In America I Train-hopped along side Kerouac and indulged amongst Hunter S Thompson and sought beauty in the mundane pain of Bukowski, however it was as I gave my final approval upon the Bell Jar while Sylvia Plath preheated the oven that I found the final piece of woe to fuel a poet.

Now, I use my innate French ability to degrade and put-down fellow poets so they, too, may reach full poetic potential.

If jou ask vhat it means, it means’es not forjou.

I’m Teardrop. The Clown.

With a frown and a teardrop painted in place, I refuse to let my perpetual depression distract me from my dreams of clowning. No legal name, no social security or social life, and no plans to change my disposition, I embraces the theatrical scene of NYC with reverence and disparity. Armed only with a pension for Dramatic Analysis and a fondness for Comedia Del Arte, I respect only honest artistic expression and tragedian truth.

Why do I wear a frown? What is there to smile about in the Theatre today.

CHARACTERS CREATED BY AUSTIN SKY PARKER

DRAWN BY AUSTIN WHITTLE

COLORED BY AUSTIN SKY PARKER

FEATURING THE VOICE TALENTS OF

STEFANO BOETTO

DENISSE MENDOZA

OWEN LEE

JAKE BARNETT

AUSTIN SKY PARKER

I just wanna… help. These artists, they’re so PASSIONATE. So REAL. That’s why they need me, someone concerned with the optics, someone to voice opinions and give feedback doused with ample passive aggression. A true beacon of the Culture today, A voice of A generation. Someone to say, “oooo, let’s maybe  not say that.” or “I see WHAT you were trying to say, but that’s not what you meant!” Or a variety of things about art while the artist isn’t in the room. I know what I’m talking about. I read XCCEPTANCE Magazine.

I’m passion, I’m creativity, I’m artistic expression.

And if I can’t be? I’ll keep yours in line.