The charm of the Saint Patrick’s Day is so irresistible that it is celebrated even by those who can’t easily point at Ireland on a map. We know that this day is about everything green, red-haired, indecent—and beer. As a sign of our friendship we, with a bow, ask the jolly hill people to accept this bouquet of dried roach.
Art director: That’s too subtle. Maybe, shamrock as a fig leaf for a statue?
Designer: We already have The Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts.
Art director: What I mean is, Saint Patrick requires some rude humor. That’s why the dangle red-haired dongs on Kalinin prospekt.
Designer: Well, we can go old school. Beer, not coffee, of course.
Art director: That’s more like it. What if we cover up the fish’s private parts?
Designer: Do you know where fish have private parts? Hold on, I’ll come up with something indecent. Maybe, simply Pirelli in Ireland? Just like the old posters: white, green, red.
Art director: It certainly attracts attention. Facebook approves.
Illustrator: I’m placing the accents. How about this?
Art director: The figure doesn’t look OK. The back—yikes. And the ass doesn’t look real at all.
Back to the drawing board to recall anatomy lessons and face the cruel reality.
Art director: Still doesn’t look tempting. The waist looks horrible.
After a number of transformations we decide to simple draw a neat woman’s body.
Art director: She has a man’s ass. Also, it looks like there’s a face there that just stares right at you. The figure is crap, too.
The deadline is approaching. Passing the baton to another designer who draws everything from scratch.
Art director: Can her sides be any more pleasant? It’s a picture, you know.
Bye-bye, birthmark! To the press.