A Statue Is Worth A Thousand Dry Heaves
2006-05-01, 10:40 a.m.

OK, so I am seriously behind the times. As if being Mrs. K-Fed (:::shudder:::)(:::overwhelming urge to bathe:::) and passing off police and social service child welfare calls as good mothering weren�t skanktacular enough for the masses, we now have THIS. How did I miss it?

Click on the link. You need to go there. I�ll wait.

There now. Done retching? ::::::::::patting back::::::::::

�Seductively posed� while giving birth. �Seductively posed.� Those are two of the most disturbing words I have read in my entire life. The artist admits to several references to craft his depiction of Britney; I really don�t want to know his other sources, but it wouldn�t surprise me if they involved sweaty late-night private research and websites promoting attempts at multi-special propagation.

I am squicked out to the squickiest degree in the realm of sqickdom. And that�s a lot.

They�re looking for a proper place for permanent display. Might I suggest the black-mold-infested basement of a condemned crack house, right next to the Michael Jackson ode to fatherhood, Jeffrey Dahmer�s favorite recipes, and Ted Bundy�s guide to dating?

Issue No. 2: Britney aside, the whole head-crowning thing.

Motherhood is the ultimate weapon of mass destruction against a woman�s modesty. After months of having your plumbing excavated by doctors and nurses and ultrasound technicians you go into labor, and with so many people in and out of the room and the pain your body goes on autopilot, hiking up the sheet for inspection anytime a human being comes near, traumatizing your parents and your pastor and your friends� children and the hospital custodial staff and you don�t know and don�t care if you�re nekkid on the hospital roof being filmed for the evening news, JUST GET. IT. OUT. OF. ME. NOW. Childbirth is a wonderful thing, but it�s not up there on my Top Ten List Of Fun Things To Do, especially after the anesthesia wore off in the last half-hour before my 8 lb 6 oz daughter was born. So when I go to a museum to relax and enjoy and ponder the beautiful things in life, WHY do I want to be confronted with a depiction of the realities of trying to cram an extra-large cantaloupe through a 4-inch diameter rubber band? WHY?

WHY have your privates not only exposed, but exposed in one excruciating moment, and freeze them in time in a tomb of metal or stone?

Why not start a museum filled with art depicting other things just as eloquent, moving, and memorable?

�Look honey, the expression is the same as yours when you were choking on that hot dog!�

�What a beautiful representation of a sharp object embedded in the eye.�

�The bronze yam in his anus is an accurate parallel to the plight of the American taxpayer.�

And Britney wonders why she�s no longer a role model for young girls. You can dress it up, you can cast it in steel, you can carve it in ivory and shove it in a museum...
And even in the miracle of childbirth...
It�s still skank.

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