Mark Lisanti
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Mark Lisanti has been around.
Dear Insane Silverback Gorilla Bling
What is your sad story? Why were you sitting in the window of an otherwise unremarkable jewelry shop in New York's Diamond District, just after Christmas, amidst other comparatively tasteful—if far less garishly ambitious—baubles? Did the primate-loving impresario who commissioned you, perhaps overestimating the sustainability of some heady, early success in the hip-hop and/or high-end poaching games, fall on hard times, leaving you imprisoned with other sparkling victims of a still-foundering economy? Are you roaring with rage at the nearby watches, with their diamond-encrusted faces the size of stop signs, for the utter banality of their excess? Do you long for a crystal-encrusted body, so that instead of living out your days dangling from the neck of a patron with questionable financial priorities, you might rise up on your mighty haunches, smash the glass through which tourists gawk at your beheaded impotence, tear at their fleshy, corn-fed necks with your deadly fangs, then escape onto 47th street, the less-precious jewels dotting your knuckles scarring the pavement as you scamper westward to terrify the wide-eyed throngs on Broadway? READ MORE
