B’s Unique Hosiery Sculptures




I am a contemporary artist who specializes in avant-garde sculpture. While I am technically pure in spirit, I use my vivid imagination to create pieces that revolve around promiscuity and extreme lewdness.

When I sculpt, I usually begin with a few gentle kneads, then work intuitively, based on the music I hear in my head. One of my most notable works is of a scantily-clad raspberry beret, adorning the crown of an oversexed Rick Astley.

I can’t be sure why my hosiery sculptures sell, but they do. Maybe it’s because people are moved by my art. Or maybe it’s because I spot them the money. I haven’t really analyzed it.

If I am not communicating my sexual boundaries through sculpture, then I am not being myself. And if I am not being myself then who am I being? You? Your mother? Your second cousin first removed, perhaps? Riddle me that.

And finally, to answer the question I know you all are thinking, yes.

The answer is yes.

The following masterpieces are from my “Love Is A Battlefield” gallery. (Please enjoy maturely.)



“Love Is A Battlefield”



“Hose That Guy?” -Bschooled

The inspiration for this sheer brilliance came to me in my early twenties, when I met my soul-mate at an environmental protest/speed dating event.

His name was Garfunkel. He had strapping calves and his thick, luxurious hair enshrouded his face like a veil, making him seem really mysterious.

He copped a squat beside me, and that’s when I noticed he was wearing an “I Hate Mondays” shirt.

“You do realize it’s Thursday, right?” I asked.

When he told me he was wearing it to protest the Government’s refusal to implement a three-day weekend, I knew it was love.





“Yes. Yes, I Yam” -Bschooled

This visually edible tour de force came about when, after a few minutes of eco-friendly small talk, Garfunkel made his move.

“I don’t believe in email or telephones,” he said, handing me a faux quill pen and piece of tree bark, “but give me your address and I’ll swing by tomorrow for a vegan dinner.”

I couldn’t believe my luck. “Do vegans eat baby seal?” I asked, looking deep into his naturally-colored eyes.

But before he could answer the question, our time was up.

As I grudgingly made my way to the next guy, I heard him call after me.

“Hey whatsyourface…you still a virgin?”

Knowing deep down that doing it on an empty stomach didn’t count, I told him the truth. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, I yam.”





“Arm Eye Falling In Love?” -Bschooled

The next night I made him a dinner of fair trade lentils and “I Can’t Believe it’s Not Butter” tarts. After composting the leftovers, we went to the living room to watch a David Suzuki special.

We started kissing, and soon his biodegradable hand found the opening of my shirt. Suddenly I felt extremely vulnerable.Even though my BMI was in the borderline anorexic range, my fancy ass jeans and distorted body image gave me an aesthetically-unpleasing muffin top.

Thinking fast, I yanked his hand up towards my chest.

I knew it was a slutty thing to do, but it was the only way I could position myself so that my stomach caved in and my hip bones protruded sexily.





“Hose Your Daddy?” -Bschooled

*Note: Because my Father is currently in the Witness Protection Program, I had to modify his appearance slightly.

Just as we got into a rhythm, Garfunkel called a time-out. “Are your parents home?” he asked. When I shook my head no, the game was back on.

A few minutes later he called another time out.

“Your Dad…he isn’t a cop, is he?”

When I told him the truth, that he was a mechanic who dabbled in pirating Satellite signals, the game was back on again. For real this time.

**Sadly, due to circumstances beyond his control, less than two minutes later the game was off again.





“What The…?” -Bschooled

*While this piece may look like “Hose That Guy,” trust me when I say it’s not.

This inspirational “hot mess” was implanted into my cerebrum the next day, when an angry-looking girl with army shorts and KD Lang hair showed up at my doorstep.

“So, I hear you were out with my man last night” she said hatingly.

I was shocked. Because I always assumed that girls who didn’t shave their legs were lesbians, I had no idea what she was talking about.

“Are you talking “man” man? Or man man?” I asked.

“You know what I’m talking about,” she replied, even more hatingly.

Suddenly, I remembered the post-coital conversation Garfunkel and I had the night before. “Garfunkel,” I’d said, rubbing his pesticide-free chest, “Do UGG boots leave a carbon footprint?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “And also, I’m sleeping with someone else.”

Suddenly it all made sense. I felt like an idiot.

(But to be fair, it wasn’t like I could have known that by ‘sleeping’ he actually meant having sexual intercourse.)





“So Long… Dickhead” -Bschooled

This could very well be my most stimulating piece of all.

When I saw that K.D. was wearing a pair of eco-brass knuckles, I knew what I had to do.

“Fine! You can have him!” I said, throwing the friendship (with benefits) bracelet he’d given me on the ground and slamming the door in her face. Then, worried she might think I was a litterbug, I reached my arm through the doggie door and picked it up again.

The truth was, I already knew that Garfunkel and I would never last. The fact that he not only told her where I lived but was also standing behind her cheering her on, made me realize we wanted different things from life.

Besides, my parent’s dog was also named Garfunkel, and I could just imagine the looks on their faces if I told them about the time Garfunkel and I did it doggy style, or made some joke about Garfunkel’s bark being worse than his bite. Seeing as their Garfunkel was a pit bull, I could see why they’d be confused.




To distract myself from my broken heart, I pulled out my Magic 8-Ball Paper Sculpture and asked it if I had a future in avant-garde hosiery sculpting.

This is what it said:




They always do.


*Thank-you for letting my sculptures arouse your discerning visual palate. If you’d like to purchase any of these masterpieces (save for “Who’s Your Daddy” which is not for sale), please contact me at bschooled@hotmail.com.



  1. Your artwork reminds me of my first marketing campaign as a consultant. “Socks to be You” was a line of affordable designer socks. Some of them looked like your hosiery artwork.

    • Was it successful? I only ask because when I was in Marketing (true story), I wanted to create a business plan for a line of fashion leotards called “I am stocking you.”

      But my teacher kiboshed it. He said the majority of the female demographic would find it “creepy”.

  2. This entire affair was an emotional roller-coaster, bringing back dark memories of a married vegan couple. What your about to read is true:

    They were at a backyard party near Boston and had brought their children, who didn’t have any teeth yet, even though the oldest was about FIVE. The dad talked with a thick Jamaican accent, even though he had never been to the island, but was in a Reggae band, so . . .

    He showed-up in the news a couple of years later, for sexually molesting a young teenage girl (he was a bus driver).

    Damn vegans. Something ain’t right, but at least they inspired truly great sculptures from one of the best. The piece of your father was moving, touching, and perhaps moving again, during the picture. And they say there is no god . . . or was it cod? I had the volume down during the news last night.

    You rock!

    • Forgive my omission of an apostrophe in “your”. Please don’t send angry vegans . . .

    • For real?

      Are you sure they were vegans? I would think their teeth would be perfect, seeing as they don’t gnaw on meat or anything like that. Maybe it’s because of the tree bark? Or the fact that they didn’t know how to whittle a toothbrush? I find this fascinating.

      You should write a story about this family, Dan. I wouldn’t be surprised if you got a movie deal out of it. Or a reality show, at least.

      • Swear to Gawd, B. They considered protein off limits, so a lot of calcium was missing from the diet. His sister wants a genius child, and had the names of every president written on their toilet paper. For real . . .

  3. Sheer genius

  4. Way to brighten up a dull Monday, b! And I’m extra happy that I never dated a vegetarian environmentalist two-timer because a brass-knuckle wearing vegan scares the bejesus out of me!

    I’m glad you’re being “you”, but rumour has it that everyone is really Christine O’donnell :)

    • Haha!

      I only wish I was as half as enlightening as Christine O’Donnell–

      ‘”If he already knows what pleases him and he can please himself, then why am I in the picture?”

  5. Your narrative of mis-matched love evokes the shades and layers of meaning within each sculpture quite brilliantly. Garfunkel reminds me of one of Picasso’s models – did you count his nipples?

    • Thank-you, GB. The truth is, I tried not to make direct eye-contact.

      (But if you look closely at my “Arm Eye Falling in Love?” sculpture, you may or may not find a clue.)

  6. I’m left dripping with sweet sweat over your controversial and soul rendering rendition. Thank you so much for sharing. I cut out the picture of “Arm I Falling In Love?” , and now I gotta get a new monitor.

    When you mentioned David Suzuki, the infamous Japanese Comedian academic, I about froze. Mainly because I was reading this with my head in the freezer attempting to cool off. But, hey, if women like frozen tampons, a guy can get a little frozen head once and awhile.

    • Ha! I agree, Jammer. What’s good for the goose is good for those who have unique fetishes.

      (I have no idea what that means…)

      ps. Tell you what, I’ll send you one of my “Arm I Falling In Love?” sculptures. (I hope you don’t mind if it’s prosthetic? Only because I ran out of pantyhose.)

  7. You are a GENIUS. There are hilarious. I see a huge market for that Magic 8 Ball paper sculpture.

    New on your blog, can’t wait to see more!!

    • Thanks Elizabeth! Coming from you, that means a lot.

      The moment I read your comment re: What To Expect When You’re Expecting, I knew we were cybersoul mates. For realz.

  8. Garfunkel took you to town
    and you two went around
    tho his GF was not far behind

    But what can I say
    You went all the way
    Yet that’s what ex-vegans do

    Still the artwork was grand
    And you used the old yam
    To give us a laugh or two.

  9. Phew…after reading that I think both I and your stockings need a good washing.

  10. So….hypothetical question. If someone stumbled onto your blog for the first time today and liked it so much, she had her husband look at it and then commented twice, would you think “loyal reader” or “stalker?” Personally, I prefer stalker because it sounds a lot cooler.

    The first question my husband asked after seeing your sculptures- “Does she sell on Etsy?”

    p.s. It’s cool that you have THREE accordion folders…I cried a little out of jealousy but I’m sure your intent wasn’t to break my heart. I forgive you.

    • Yes, I prefer stalker as well. Only because it sounds mysterious (and I can relate to it more).

      I actually did try setting up an Etsy account with my Kitchen Utensil Sculptures, but turns out people aren’t as hyped up over Ron Popeil gadgets-turned-masterpieces as I thought they’d be. (Their loss, really.)

      ps. I’m so glad you’ve forgiven me re: the accordion folders, of course it was never my intention to brag. (Had I been trying to rub it in, I obviously would have updated my comment after discovering that I actually have FOUR!)

    • Denny has to pay cash money for his stalkers.

  11. this. is. awesome.

    Seems the West Coast and its naturally-coloured, biodegradable and pesticide-free setting agrees with you.

    P.S. We are coming home at the end of December now! 4 realz, as the kids say. Been meaning to email you, but this works, right? Skype this week?

    • Thanks, A!

      Send me an email with the dates and I’ll go from there. Seeing as I have the attention span of a gnat on a gnat, I’ve decided to remain Skype-free for as long as humanely possible. (Or until I get a real job…either/or.)

  12. At risk of sharing too much, Denny just had to do a uniform change.

  13. 1. “If I am not communicating my sexual boundaries through sculpture, then I am not being myself.”


    2. “Yes, yes I yam.”


    3. “**Sadly, due to circumstances beyond his control, less than two minutes later the game was off again.”

    Umm, yeah, still dying.

    4. “Besides, my parent’s dog was also named Garfunkel, and I could just imagine the looks on their faces if I told them about the time Garfunkel and I did it doggy style.”


    • Please don’t be dead, Vodka. I’ve already started working on the Table of Contents for our upcoming book, “Easy Bitch.”

      (It’ll be just like Skinny Bitch, only we’ll be easy. And you’ll have really shiny hair.)

  14. frigginloon says:

    Oh for the love of god, does anyone know how to put back a lung? I coughed it up laughing at “fair trade lentils”

  15. “One of my most notable works is of a scantily-clad raspberry beret, adorning the crown of an oversexed Rick Astley.”

    How much for this intriguing sounding piece? would you consider swapping it for a corset or maybe wagering a mah jongg game on it?

  16. Nice to meet you!

  17. I always love the paper magic 8 ball.

  18. I can’t believe that KD Lang girl spoke so hatingly towards you over a ‘less than two minute’ rumble in the jungle, I guess every second really counts. She probably figured that 1.58 seconds with you would mean the next night, yet again, her and Garfunkel would fall short of breaking their 2.5min personal best

    Regardless, you expressed the journey as any true artist would with these emotional stocking pieces

    • I know, right?

      Seriously, it was like you could feel the hatingness radiate from her unshaven-limbed body.

      I have no idea why, but your last sentence just gave me a brilliant idea on how to market these perceptible paragons for the Christmas rush, RTS. How does this sound-

      “B’s Unique Stocking Stuffers Sculptures”

      (I know, right?)

  19. It’s funny but I think of your sculpting AND your expressive, written description of your sculpting as two separate but equally satisfying art forms. The visual, and edible, tour de force of Yes, Yes I Yam and your stunning, candid, written confession of how you came to ‘that place,’ both made me feel equally inspired and artsy. But not in the gay way!

    Yours is a unique and double edged talent B. We’re going to be soo freaking rich!

    PS- I disagree with you about Rick Astley; I think that he’s woefully undersexed.

    • Yes, Scott, we’re definitely going to be rich! Only I think we might have to do it using your double edged talent, seeing as these sculptures haven’t been selling as well as I expected. (Turns out people aren’t that keen on buying used pantyhose these days, even if they have been transformed into works of extreme brilliance.)

      ps. I actually think Rick Astley might be intersexed, but I didn’t think it would be right to out him/her/it? on my blog.

      • BSchooled, that is where you went wrong. They weren’t “worn”, they were “pre-desired.” If you sold them as pre-desired, I would have bought some without you going through the trouble of making a sculpture.

  20. I only wish I could have such passion with Garfunkel, and I’d let Simon hit it too.

  21. elizabeth3hersh says:

    Here I am, slumped over two days, nursing a nasty cold and watching a two hour special on the Milky Way Galaxy. Just felt like checking in to see what bschooled is up to. I didn’t think I had any laughs in me today, but found myself aughing heartedly while hacking/sneezing/belching/blowing nose (not quite as much entertainment as watching a friend barf/heave/laugh simultaneously on Ecstasy) all the while resisting the urge to mold my own sculptures out of a pyramid of soiled and snotty Kleenex. The fine mist of Kleenex lint that had settled on my keyboard now billowing into a cloud is testament to forceful exhalation while reading your blog.

    I love underwear sculpting. I have even taken the liberty of posting two pics for you bschooled. The first is of my two daughters exploring underwear sculpting for the first time:


    The second is my daughter with her ‘head sculpture’ made from three interwoven pairs of tights:


    Just think, bschooled, it is conceivable that newspapers of the future may feature syndicated bloggers (next to Miss Manners, Dear Abby, and the ‘Me Docs’)…this is the kind of stuff I live for. Girl, you rock and you so-o-o-o-o funny!

    • How did I miss this comment??? (Let’s blame it on my brutal sinus/throat/chest infection, which, oddly enough, sounds exactly like yours?)

      I don’t think I’ve ever loved a photo more than that first one, Elizabeth. And seeing as I’m not even in it, that’s saying a lot!;)
      Not only are your daughters the most photogenic girls EVER, the fact they’re using both their bodies AND the underwear makes me realize that maybe I’m not as talented as I thought I was.

      And it goes without saying that the second photo leaves me speechless. (I think I said something really ironic just now, but I’m on too much medication right now to understand exactly what it is…)

      I’ve never wanted to be related to you more than I do right now. Just think of what the four of us would be capable of!!!

      ps. I hope it’s okay that I’m following your daughter’s tweets…she’s brilliant.

      • elizabeth3hersh says:

        Honored (on both counts)! I have the ‘better’ bathroom/body (dys)function humor. Speaking of which, I really must make that foray for toilet paper. Thanks for the reminder!

  22. Damnit! I used my pair of pantyhose to wipe puke from my face tonight! I didn’t know the artistic quality of pantyhose before reading this post – now I do. Thanks!

    • Don’t worry about that, KAP…vomit actually enhances the sculpture.

      It shows the world you’ve got guts….


      (ps. I’m on really strong cold meds right now, in case you were wondering.)

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