Piss President

In the late 1980s, when I was still a young pup, Republicans and the Religious Right had a conniption fit when Andres Serrano received an NEA grant for his eerie photograph Piss Christ. Serrano insisted that his work was not irreligious and claimed he meant to convey how modern society has commercialized Jesus. The conservatives were having none of that. They were sure their beliefs had been denigrated, and to add insult to injury, the artist was rewarded with taxpayer money. They were outraged.

However, rather than shunning Serrano’s photo from then on, it seems they have co-opted it. They have replaced Christ with a clown who lives in a gilded penthouse. He tweets about how everyone is being mean to him. Rather than displaying him in a museum, they put him on a pedestal and will soon claim he is chief among us.

Many can hardly believe their eyes. What is this strange creature with the fading yellow cotton candy hair that no sweet tooth would ever crave? Its lips are often pursed as if to kiss, but they are not used to express love.

Is it a ventriloquist’s dummy? Maybe he is the voice of millions of American men who harbor bullying 12-year-old boys inside them who feel wronged, so wronged because smarty-pants bitches and know-it-all darkies and fags refused to take their shit. The dummy speaks for them with an unexpected Russian accent. There is something not quite right about the orange tinged leather face and the white circles around the eyes. It has been left too long in its ammonia bath.