Lot No. 1
_____Pranski created works of graffiti-art that should not have been famous. Every inch of him and his possessions was steeped in an overpriced ego-driven posturing. Even his shoes, which he paid several thousand dollars for, he lied about for some reason. He said they were the most expensive in the world. They were not. Having inherited oil money from a family member whose name has now been lost to record, Pranski would pay police to turn a blind eye to his vandalism. Then, he would call them up so he could get arrested in front of his spray paint doodle and cause a big scene while crying and forgetting that the arrest was purely for show. Later in life, when critics had become fed up with the way Pranski’s art, which was always done in lower-income areas–Pranski said this made his painting ‘more authentic’–would drive up property values and drive out the original residents, it was revealed that Pranski had been paying said critics for the entirety of his ‘career.’ His fans were unfazed, deciding that this somehow added a ‘layer’ to Pranski’s genius. He, however, did not feel the same way, and so he paid a vagrant to jam a spraypaint can down his throat and take a polaroid picture of the result. “This will be my greatest work,” Pranski probably told the man. The vagrant used his hands to choke Pranski, then kept the spray paint to get high with.
Lot No. 2
_____Tim Donahue was unfortunately named by her father Henry, who, like the king he had been named after, seemed unable to produce male children. Henry kept Tim up throughout her childhood for late nights of exercises designed to build hand-eye-coordination and boost testosterone. Boy? Girl? Who cares? He would mutter, just loud enough for her to hear as she finished the last of her sprints. Her chest would strain against the ace-bandage. She never felt like she could breathe until she could take this binding off, alone, in the comfort of a shower or in the quiet moments of a bedroom. The rest of the time she would be working on her posture–straight, but not too straight–because guys usually had a bit of a slouch. Her mother would have come to her aid, would have kept this father from harassing the child, but was unable to do so because she had passed during childbirth. Henry, having already started his weird son-focused plan, had revealed something about himself, something that others could pick up on, and so he was avoided. He was unable to take part in the creation of another child. Tim lived under her father’s rule, languishing, until one day, while her father made remarks about how straight and masculine her hips and waist looked, she picked up a dumbbell and let it dent Henry’s skull. After explaining the situation in a long but carefully written letter, Tim tied her weightlifting belt to her pull-up bar and hanged herself.
Lot No. 3
Artist: Carl Conrad
_____Carl Conrad knew about much more than beer when he started Budweiser, but he did what he could to quickly forget that knowledge. There is not enough room in a person’s heart for more than one desire, he thought. It was said that when prohibition came about for those brief, misled years that it did, Conrad was the kind of owner who would feign an adulterous relationship so he could transfer beer (he was still brewing it illegally and selling it to the Canadians up north and the Europeans overseas) from his keg, to his mouth, to the mouth of the wife of a Budweiser enthusiast, to the mouth of said Budweiser enthusiast, until his customer was quite drunk. Sometimes, though, the Budweiser enthusiast would catch sight of the beer-transfer while sitting in his easy-chair and forget the arrangement, and fly into a rage until Carl Conrad was able to once again restore order. He always could. After an event like this though, Conrad would record the address of the offender in a notebook which had its contents rewritten on a bulletin board every morning at the secret Budweiser factories. Then, these offenders were killed.