“Aw, shit,” I said to the car radio today, forgetting all about my impressionable roommate in the back seat.
“What, mama?” Ruby asked. So I explained to her that there was a big accident that had caused oil to pour out from a broken pipe deep in the sea and that it’s hurting a lot of animals and grasslands and sanctuaries and people. I told her that nobody knows how to stop the gushing and that I’m really, really sad about it.
Then the child who offered to loan me gas money from her piggy bank on Wednesday said to me, “Why don’t the sea divers go way, way, very deep down and put a bucket on it?”
This shot was taken by one jonmmmayhem who I discovered via Violet Blue (I shouldn’t even have to tell you that today’s links are NSFW). mayhem is a naughty guy with a river of titillating and whoa, doggie! images made in varying formats. I’m partial to his Polaroids—I love the retro feel (I covet my Polaroid camera), and the imperfections and grain of the film only feed the intensity and rawness of his subjects. But I thought this particular capture would help start a conversation I’ve been having in my head lately about what exactly constitutes obscene. Because that up there? To me? There’s not even a lint ball of obscenity in it. Unless, of course, your definition of “obscene” is number two in the following itemized list from dictionary.com:
/əbˈsin/ [uhb-seen] –adjective
To clarify, I’m using definitions 1 and 3 as my baseline. As such, jonmmmayhem’s work—or these fantastic mouth-waterers over here—are not obscene. This, however, is obscenity times a jillion, raised to the seventh plus three exclamation points:
I was on the hunt yesterday for a wind chime for Ruby’s school when I had a massive I-have-to-have-a-Coke-right-now attack. For the record, I have a Coke about three times each year and have never driven through a drive through just to order one. But yesterday I did just that. I whipped through Burger King between stops and ordered a large Coke. That was it. No burger, no fries, just a large Coke. And look at what I got! That isn’t large. That is obscene. My reaction upon seeing it was not unlike my reaction during college when I paired up with my friend Geoff for a little laundry-room fellatio during a house party one summer afternoon. He and I had always been platonic until that day when we’d enjoyed too much tequila and when, as a result, I learned precisely why he was often referred to as “The Howitzer” by his friends. Suffice it to say, once I composed myself, I had to politely decline my services. And I’m not one to back down from a challenge. Whether I’m being honest, obscene or delicately crass is a matter of opinion.
Anyway, it’s not just the size (!) of the drink or the toxicity of the beverage itself that is disconcerting. It’s not even the giant plastic, petroleum-made cup that will end up in a landfill after my trash is collected today. But guess how much that howitzer cost me? Ready for this? $2.49. I mean, hello. Totally, absurdly, unquestionably obscene.
And speaking of petroleum, how about this for obscene:
Shall I keep going?
Because there’s plenty of it:
Everyday, for the forseeable future.
Of course, “sometimes accidents happen,” right?
We know that Rand Paul thinks he’s The Greatest American Hero and you gotta admit, the likeness is uncanny:
Paul even flails like our boy in red, perhaps the only silver lining in the obscenity that is Kentucky’s latest and greatest contribution to our planet. Somehow I doubt the guy named after the Objectivist Queen even knows who John Galt is. I personally think John Galt is the undocumented worker, and I’d like to see how well the U.S. would fare if they all went on strike in lieu of their own Utopian society. Seafood certainly wouldn’t be the only outrageously expensive food in our grocery stores.
Give me a (preferrably spiked) Coke and some anti-Steve Jobs internet porn any day. What say you, reader? What is obscene to you?