Captured on my camera phone whilst waiting at a stoplight Monday evening.

On a whim, I Googled “pgntmom” and whadayaknow, check out the very first link that came up. Given her stated location (Washington), I think there’s a pretty decent chance that these two are one and the same.

I. Hate. This person. I’ve never met her, and I hate her. Like, drag her from the car and pound her with my fists hate. Well, almost. Maybe “drag her from the car and write the phrase ‘PERSONALITY DEFICIT’ across her forehead with a Sharpie hate”.

“Oh, my husband and I are just so proud of little JonBenet—um, Kennedy! Sure, it’s hard work being the mother of a up-and-coming socially warped, pathologically body-conscious, bizarre child/adult angel/whore chimera—why, today alone we have a 9:00 class in applying makeup for that fresh-off-the-runway look, an 11:00 round table on the importance of straddling the fine line between child modeling and kiddie porn, and a 1:00 hands-on on vomiting quietly to oneself late at night so Mommy and Daddy can pretend they don’t know. Oh, and baton twirling at 3.

“But it’s all worth it when I see the rouge-enhanced glow on my darling daughter’s face and know that she’s fulfilling her lifelong dream to be popular with boys, to one day become Miss America, or even Miss World, so she can finally get past the shame of having been just a little on the chunky side in junior high when that BITCH SONJA ROTHBERG CALLED ME FAT!!!“

Folks who know me well understand that, despite my many rants on this blog, I am mostly a shades-of-gray kind of guy. Being a moral relativist at heart means acknowledging that the world and its parts—including people—are more complex and hard to pigeonhole than folks like Pat Robertson would have us believe. But even I have limits. There are some activities that are axiomatically proscribed under the guidelines of civilized social intercourse. You do not fly airliners full of civilians into buildings to indicate your displeasure with a particular political, social or religious entity; you do not fire guns into the chests of wild animals for the sole purpose of mounting their heads in your den; and you do not sexualize your child to help resolve your own failed aspirations to beauty-pageant glory and shattered dreams of fairy-tale happily-ever-afterness.

This is by no means a complete list, and you may feel free to reorder it based on your own priorities.