The DaVinci Code may have a multi-million dollar budget, all-star cast and millions more in free publicity but the rich (well, not so rich..er, poor to be exact) aluminum-sided, double wide pantheon of White Trash lawn art raises questions just as troubling. For the low, low price of passing gawkery.

Strewn somewhere beneath the Hardee’s Bacon Double Cheeseburger wrappers and Mountain Dew cans in the floorboard of a 1988 Ford Tempo, beats the semi-blocked coronaries of a 96-Gallon White Trash visionary putting the pedal to the metal to challenge the way we view sinners and saints. Leviticus and lavatories. Revelations and Rebel Flags.

Like the similarly named movie, The DaVinci Commode has unlocked the secrets to one of life’s more intimate religious experiences….hidden for centuries by the Catholic Church.

The rural, ring-around-the-collar Rodin that sculpted this Rubenesque cherub atop it’s not-so-heavenly throne is such an inbred iconoclast as to wash away all guerilla roadside grave activists in his wake.

Like Burt Reynolds in Deliverance, I traversed the landscape of Crackerstan to attain this photo. Risking life, limb and squeal like a piggy rape as the curtains were violently thrown open @ 6am this morning to see who was trespassing with their magic picture box to capture Toilet Baby Angel in His divine squat.

In these times, such dogpatch DaVincis assuage fears of oppression. Betwixt pulled-pork barbeque and hickory smoked bacon. Walking a tightrope between faith and feces. Challenging dogma with its corn pone counterculture and porta-potty proletariat ethos.

A haunting image that lingers beyond our stained spiritual salvation and the sneering neighbors that don’t understand.

Rock on Toilet Baby Angel!

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