So it's come to my attention recently that Katy Perry has grown powerful in the ways of the boob. I realize that for most of you this will not be a revelation, but I don't often listen to modern music and, you know, I'm not some creeper who goes around leering at up-and-coming young celebrities. Unlike some people I could name.
Monster.
That being said, the phenomenon has reached the point where even I can no longer ignore it. It began with the infamous Sesame Street banning, followed soon after by that hilarious SNL skit:
(Apologies, the unedited segment has been yanked from YouTube.)
But the true danger, my friends, is that Katy Perry has mastered the art of misdirection. Sun Tzu himself would be impressed by her ability to sucker in a potentially hostile force and, siryn like, lure them to their doom. Case in point: a recent Entertainment Weekly cover where Ms. Perry is featured prominently. What initially captures the eye is her neon blue razzleberry smurf wig, bright enough to draw one's gaze from across the room. But once attention has been acquired, the boobs function as a powerful tractor beam, drawing in the hapless victim until the next thing he knows it's 1 AM and his wife is yelling at him to stop standing in the middle of the kitchen and go to sleep, dammit. This is powerful stuff, people, not to be wielded by the immature or uninitiated. The U.S. government knew enough to seal the Ark of the Covenant away at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark, but does the blooming young star possess similar wisdom and restraint? I have my doubts. Yet arguably both weapons are equally dangerous when stared directly at without protection.
Powerful enough to melt Nazis' faces off
Ultimately, avoidance seems like the best policy. I'd turn the magazine over or move it to a less central area of the house, but I can't risk passing within that pulchritudinous gorgon's sphere of influence for fear of turning to stone. (Er, metaphorically speaking.) The best option may simply be to avoid setting foot in the kitchen for a while until the Entertainment Weekly gets covered by a layer of newer mail, then disposing of it when its arsenal is veiled. Not a pretty victory, but it'll get the job done.
