It was supposed to rain today, so Joe and I went to the Virginia Museum of Fine Art, which is normally a great way to spend a super hot Sunday.

But it didn’t rain, and I thought Joe was going to get us kicked out. Whenever I’d stop to take a photo or read something he’d start to sing. Sometimes when he sings he sounds like a tiny sasquatch scatting, then rolls into a drunken Britney (no autotune). He really is like a tiny, drunk, pop-star bigfoot. Clomping around, grunting, making ridiculous demands and soaking up the attention.

He’s also convinced that my taking his photo should be as difficult as possible. He throws his hands up, squirms, laughs and runs after me.

Back off Kanye, and I’m just doing my job.

Artists looove the sex and violence.

About to flip … I SAID NO PICS NEAR THE CAMEL!