Close your eyes. I want you to imagine something. Are they closed? Ok, now picture my reaction when I came across the story about the abortion art project girl.
First I just screamed for about 20 minutes, taking minimal breaks to gasp for air. Then I transfered my anger to the computer, the device that was messenger to the worst thing that's ever been done or said or thought. I punched the computer in it's screen, then poured water over the keyboard.
Then I smiled sort of devious-like upon realizing I had two weeks of golden material for the Factor. Finally I held a vigil for all the beautiful barely-fertilized embryos, because even fetuses are Americans too. ™
But today we find out this art school dinglelingus (a word I made up meaning the worst possible thing in the world) may have fabricated the story to spark dialogue on the mythology of the body. It's kind of funny how gay and stereotypically non-substantive that artsy bullshit reason sounds.
Still, we can't completely fault this girl for trying to start a dialogue. Once in college, I too, created an art project to fire up some discourse.
It was actually a performance piece involving a rat.
I took a live rat and placed him in a diorama of a pre-war, lower-middle class Polish living room. Then I shoved a dradle up its rectum and played "Sunrise, Sunset" from Fiddler on the Roof while it bled to death out of its ass.
I titled it "The Gift of the Jews."