I have just finished listening to your daughter’s newest album Teenage Dream, and, well, we have ourselves a situation. And not one of the Jersey Shore variety.
Frankly, I am concerned that lil’ Katy is losing her way and soon there will be no escaping from the firm grasp of Satan (who, by the way, is probably just a Jewish record exec). Now as practicing evangelists and CEO’s of the Keith Hudson Ministries, Inc., this should concern you. One, because you are her parents. And two, you are the Lord’s “end time messengers,” and as “end time messengers,” I would assume that one of your roles is to reduce the Gross National Exposure to Your Daughter’s Breasts.
I am all for celebrating one’s body (heck, I celebrate mine once a year on May 23rd (by the way, Bed Bath & Beyond gift cards!)(No cash!)), but these are our children we’re talking about here! Do you have any idea what kind of damage a little cleavage can do to a red adolescent puppet? Tons! Tickle Me Elmo? More like Stop Touching Yourself in the Bathing Suit Area Elmo. (OH SNAP)
However, Katy Perry’s marketing tools…I mean, her chest isn’t Jesus’ problem. It’s her music. Oh, it’s bad. It’s awful. It’s trash. And not in a elitist snobby-way. In a only a slight improvement on Ke$ha-kind of way. Let’s consider for a moment that all of your daughter’s fans are teenage girls (and by “consider” I mean, “let’s just state this as fact”). Did you know that Teenage Dream features a song about threesomes (“Last Friday Night”), a metaphor for the male reproductive organ thinly disguised as an homage to an obnoxiously colorful bird (“Peacock”), and finally, the inescapable titular track encourages lovers–teen or otherwise–to go all the way? YOU DID? Gasp.
Keith, Mary, I’m no prude. One of my favorite records of all time is George Michael’s Faith. Imeanright? SO awesome. But the least your daughter can do for Jesus is cover her cleave every once in awhile, not marry a former drug and sex addict (we hear there are problems. Shocker. Not.), and refrain from recommending an orgy as a plausible option for a Friday night when you have nothing else to do and Friday Night Lights is a repeat. Oh, wait, did I mention that her first hit song was about experimenting with lesbianism? ALL GOOD, Lord!
I’m just saying, you guys are pastors. And this is your lil’ Katy. You pose with her on red carpets, you give her kisses in public, you smile and take pride in your blue-haired rock star daughter. In fact, you’ve even given a lecture to fellow worshipers about what to do when you have a “rock star daughter” (question: but how does one find different ways to say “take a percentage of the royalties” for an hour?!!?). Surely it can’t be that difficult for two adult people who are super enthusiastic about God, Jesus, the Bible, end times, and stuff, to say to their daughter, “sweetheart, we’re cool with the blue hair even though it is obvious to everyone that it looks dumb and awful. But maybe we could tone down the sexuality a touch? Like how about showing up once in a while in public in something that does not look like it was Saran Wrapped onto you?”
See? It’s all about baby steps, Keith and Mary. Baby steps.
Much love, Arye Dworken