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Baptized in Filthy Waters


For all the fabulous freaks in Grand Rapids, fur stood on edge as director John Waters took the stage at the Civic Theater and proudly declared, “I am the filthiest person alive!”

Taking a stab at every spoiled product in the teeming dumpster of American trash culture, Waters’ targets ranged from idiot yoga addicts stretching in airports to Justin Bieber’s corporate sex-god status. Somewhere along the greased track on his manic roller-coaster of street jive, there was a sensation that we were collectively experiencing the awakening sting of his anti-septic rub.

Water’s revealing of disturbed obsessions slashed the exposed vein of society and cut a rug in lunar landscapes leaving us all questioning universal aspects of prudishness.
Recently completing a harrowing jaunt across country at age 66, Waters talked about the preparation for his new book about hitchhiking entitled ‘Carsick.”

Since his terrible teens, Waters has heroically stuck his thumb out for a quick lift to Funsville. The enraptured audience consisted of a sea of slack-jawed faces swinging by every scathing description like an Adam’s apple hangs from a drag queen.

Divas, drug- addicts, rockers, and queens filled the coffer of Water’s beat landscape and allowed us access into his murky world as he continued to remind us that anyone could be an artist no matter what the media divines.

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