One contestant is a reputed Christian. His presentation is a weird distortion of the Last Supper, with a beardless Jesus Christ surrounded by gossipy people holding weapons. Another woman paints models with bloodied faces with the slogans "Syphilis by Prada" and "Herpes by Chanel."
There is the dreaded self-described "performance artist," who constructs some sort of demented, dilapidated cardboard tepee, then sits in the middle of it with a plastic bag over her head, like a mental patient, fondling what looks like a bag of excrement. Serrano likes it but complains, "I don't smell anything."
Then there are the men. The self-described gay man is fixated on the vision of a friend who once told him he was capable of "auto-fellatio" -- performing oral sex on himself. (We're told he's become a recluse since discovering this talent, chuckle, chuckle.) Our artist paints the scene, but the judges are appalled. There is no shock value, they proclaim. "It should have been a photograph of you attempting this position," a judge laments.
One artist explains that he had his first erection while watching "The Little Mermaid," so he decides to create a line drawing of the iconic shape of Mickey Mouse's head filled with "misshapen genitals, b---holes and nipples." But it's not shocking enough, he concludes, so he goes into the bathroom and decorates it with his own semen.
This isn't the only work of "art" with that theme. There's the man who titles his painting "My Tranny Porno Fantasy." He explains what he's going to paint: "I have this vision of myself as post-coital, post-bondage, post-(ejaculation) tranny with really bad makeup, an electrical cord around my neck and a pink wig." He worries aloud, laughing out loud, that the semen isn't visible enough on his painted face. His colleagues are shocked -- and love it. "Ryan's piece is just ... a little ... yeah," one contestant laughs nervously, approvingly.
The winners are chosen and move on. Another episode of "Work of Art" is complete, a program aired on national television via your basic cable subscription by the Bravo network, owned by NBC, soon to be owned by Comcast, sponsored by the likes of Geico insurance and Crest toothpaste, and rated TV-14, meaning it is appropriate for any youngster at that age.
There is no outcry because our popular culture is thoroughly rotten.
There reaches a point where you have to say it: I believe in evil. Satan is laughing.
L. Brent Bozell III is the president of the Media Research Center. To find out more about Brent Bozell III, and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.
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