DR. BOOTY is that slither of your personality thats constantly angry. Constantly horny. He’s that guy thats bound to make lewd comments when he sees you eating a bratwurst. Looks at your tits whilst he’s talking to you. Is probably a really noisy eater. Probably howls at the moon and has an industrial vat of hand cream next to his bed. But its just a slither…its not really you.
DR. BOOTY interpreates the album cover for THA D.R.E. – STILL CREEPIN…
Left pose: slightly smug but still worried that he may have not fully screwed the lid on that bottle of Fanta tight enough and he’s going to get in after Nisa has shut and he’ll have to drink flat Fanta because he’s a fucking adult and he doesn’t want to drink fucking tap water. He knows he should. He knows its healthy. He knows it’s refreshing. But its not Fanta. And all he’s thinking about now is how good a cold, fizzy Fanta is. But he can’t have it. And how he’s got to sit at work worrying about the Fanta. For all he knows he did screw it tight. It’ll be fine. But he doesn’t know that. Its the wait that’s going to kill him.
Middle pose: Made it home and the the Fanta’s there. I’m stepping up to the Fanta. I’m praying that I did what I think I hope I did and didn’t do what I really think that I may have done. Its late and im tired and I just want that drink. I place my hand on the base of the bottle. Lukewarm. I slowly pick it up and move my ear toward it. I shake slightly. A faint hiss. Not the sound I expected. I’m putting it off. Putting off a twist of fate. I shut my eyes and run a hand up the bottle. I clasp it. I twist it. I twist it again. Another hiss. I did it. I taste it. Fizzy. A fizzy drink at the end of a hard day. This is a success.
Right pose: What? You think that that’s sad? That I spent a day fretting about Fanta? Do you? Go on then. Tell me to my face. Fucking tell me. I fucking dare you.
Words: Josh Baines
