Katy Perry’s evangelical mother, preacher Mary Perry Hudson, is shopping a book about the art of passive-aggressive daughter-shaming. Page Six has obtained a copy of the book which seems to be mostly about Katy’s boobs.
On Katy’s titty being all over the place:
“Katy stepped out from behind the changing doors in a tiny risqué costume. No mother wants to see the top of her daughter’s boobs . . . My first instinct was to order her back behind those doors and demand she put something else on . . . However, I had no problem letting my eyebrows say what I wouldn’t allow my mouth to utter.”
On Katy’s first hit:
“I recognized the psalmist gift in her performance. Yet she sang out, ‘I kissed a girl, and I liked it,’ while thousands joined her. One part of my heart soared . . . the other part broke for the thousands of hungry souls being fed something that didn’t nourish their spirit, but fed their flesh.”
On what she wants Katy to become:
“[A worship leader] a Kathryn Kuhlman type of healer.”
On how she’s going to market the book despite all that stuff:
“Fans of Katy Perry and Russell Brand will flock to the bookstores to snatch up a copy . . . either through curiosity or obsession, to get a glimpse of their stars through Mary’s eyes.”
Look, it’s a troubled world. With war tearing the Middle East apart and the largest nuclear disaster since Chernobyl destroying one of the most advanced economies in the world, we need somewhere to turn in times of worry and fear. Haven’t we all had that feeling? That existential terror that accompanies every terrible, senseless tragedy in this cruel and capricious world? The idea that this disaster might actually be the one to light the atmosphere on fire, or spread the red haze of war so far across the face of the earth that neither we nor our loved ones will be safe from the blood-red tide? I know I have. These are bad times.
And in these bad times, my friends, it’s important to have something bigger than ourselves to look to for comfort. No, not just important – necessary. Today, right now, we as a nation, as a complex network of interwoven civilizations need to know that there is a strong goodness in the world – a beacon, if you will, of steadfast firmness and pulchritude, of enveloping, motorboatable warmth before which we can stand erect, our heads held high. What is this beacon, you ask? Oh, my brothers and sisters, it is before you. If you must weep, weep with joy.
It is Katy Perry’s boobs.
Today, and forever after on the Internet, and someday, god willing, in Playboy or in an illicit, grainy cell phone video, they belong to us all. They are our boobs – the whole world’s! – and they will support us if we support them.