By Request Only
Michael asked me to blog on this monumentally bizarre affaire d'amor.
Mikey, my provocative friend, I am afraid I have nothing worthwhile to say about it. It's so absolutely unspeakably weird.
So let's start with Mary Kay's hair and see if that inspires me.
Her hair looks great now. No more fried jailhouse perm. I dare say this nasty cradle-snatcher looks...well...radiant. She could do a Pantene commercial any day.
I feel you, Breck Girl. I dig the slightly revolutionary chapeau. Is that a hip hop thing, or a Marxist thing, or what?
I think this next pic was taken back in the days when MK was a 30-something mother of four and that foxy li'l Vili Fualaau was something like... oh, I dunno... 12? 13?
Wow. How does this read to you? To me it reads Donna Reed Goes Very, Very Bad. Betty Rubble Does Dallas.
Is this a story of the vile exploitation and sexual manipulation of a minor?
Is this the story of many emotionally ruined lives (to begin with, Mary Kay, Vili Fualaau, her 6 children... etc.)? Could be.
And is this possibly also an authentic love story?
PeaceBang doesn't like to think so, but PeaceBang understands that all the Marie Fortune and Andrea Dworkin and Riane Eisler in the world can't keep love from occasionally manifesting itself as a big, messy, chthonic ooze.
Folks, millions of people forge lasting relationships on foundations of exploitation, control, domination, sexual enthrallment and destruction of childhood innocence.
You probably even know a few of them, if you think about it hard enough.
So let's just turn out the light on Mr. and Mrs. Fualaau and back slowly out of the room. I suppose after all these two have been through, they deserve some privacy.