LA CROSSE, WIS — Go ahead. Get it out of your system. I’ve heard it all already: “It’s creepy! Who made this unholy thing? This statue gives my nightmares nightmares. The eyes are following me. Why did the city put this in public for everyone to see and then subsequently go blind from shame? It’s hideous!”
Look, you think it was my choice to come to your smelly ass beer-vomit encrusted town? You think it was my choice to sit outside your dumpy city hall waiting for you to take your ironic selfies? Man, hell no. I was gifted – for free – to La Crosse and just like that god awful turtleneck sweater your Gam-Gam got you for Christmas, you have to be polite and show me off for a little bit.
And I get it. I am a dark blue statue of a fucking human baby (with teeth!) hatching out of an egg. That’s insane. But before you go ham on insulting me, take at a look at yourselves.
For starters: the murals. Good God, who told you that you were painters? The side of the Pump House looks like a Star Wars poster if Star Wars fucked Steamboat Willie’s past with a Mark Twain dildo and then the resulting baby was pushed down a flight of stairs and lit on fire. The Helping Hands mural on the Main Street parking ramp only makes sense if you imagine those three people trying to get to a height where they can see if there’s a better artist nearby to fix their contorted goober faces. The alleyway on 5th might as well be called “Open Mic Night for Painters”. The only truly talented artist was the car dealership guy who knocked down your awful boat mural to make way for a goddamn parking lot.
Does that hurt? Do those words sting? Probably doesn’t sting as much as knowing the best live music you can muster is a reggae band. Fuck! Even your street buskers only seem to know one song and that’s ‘Hallelujah’. Quick question: Is your name Leukemia? Because you fuckers definitely killed Leonard Cohen.
So I say again: Go ahead! Have your fun at my expense. Let your police department’s toddler skill level with Photoshop put me in every single Facebook post that you cringe at, I don’t care. I got you all talking about me and that’s miles ahead of any drunk-on-wine paint-by-numbers horse shit you’ve ever attempted on a boring and cold Thursday night.
Bunch of bitches… I’m telling you, THE MOMENT I get a chance, I am the fuck out of here. I’m going to Eau Claire. If they can appreciate Bon Iver up there, they can appreciate any kind of art.
The Hatched Blue Baby Statue contributed to this article.