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Toodles was once looking for a career to give her life meaning and purpose. Unfortunately she couldn't get work as a trash collector and she resisted peer pressure to become a dead horse appraiser. "If I had wanted to appraise dead horses," She would say, "I would have become a journalist." Toodles tried several jobs before deciding to become an artist and found she liked it because it fit in well with her socializing schedule. She dabbled in graffiti but her first real success was a series of totally blank canvases for which she received truckloads of money. Then came the vomit paintings. Sales faltered when it was discovered that the vomit wasn't her own but that of her faithful kitty Binky. Toodles went into seclusion to try to recapture her lost creativity. The critics until now docile hounded her smelling fresh blood saying she couldn't recapture what she never had. Toodles responded with the old metaphor that critics were like eunuchs in a harem. They knew how it was done they just couldn't get it up themselves. That sent them into a tail and crotch biting frenzy. Toodles disappeared for months till she was nearly forgotten and then reappeared with a huge 70 ft. by 100 ft. canvas on which was written in gothic lettering:

The book is read, the painting hung,
when all is said and done,
please remember this,
art is only porn.

The entire art community pounced on the painting immediately. They ripped it to shreds and burnt the remains. If Toodles ever had fault it was being too truthful.