The Home of An Indulgent Mother

I grew up a couple counties north of Carrie Nation, the hatchet-wielding “bulldog of Jesus” who broke into bars at the turn of the century, smashing alcohol and accessories in a violent and showboating temperance crusade(she also marketed tiny hatchets, later in life). This bit of childhood lore, combined with my semi-ironic appreciation for cheap liquor, hobo wine, and, of course, my perpetually disappointing lover André, ensures that the temperance movement will probably never stop being a target. Below, the artist makes a logical leap from pickles to “mexicanized food” to an early death: all, of course, the fault of the indulgent mother. Classic.

~ by genghiskuhn on July 6, 2008.