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"What the he77 is that, a steaming pile?"

It's a monument to spending other people's money.

Here's the story. Some years back, the city council of San Jose became annoyed that San Francisco, the less-populous but more stylish neighbor to the north, had had enough time as the arts-and-culture leader of the Bay Area. Time for San Jose to stake a claim to some culture, too! So they commissioned a big-deal sculptor (husband of actress Angelica Huston, IIRC) to devise a monument to the city's wonderfulness, for only $500,000. Now, this guy had a bit of Reputation as an Artiste and prima donna, and landing him with the commission was regarded as something of a coup, as it certified the city's ascension into places which must be taken seriously, culture-wise.

Well. The Artiste labored and brought forth his design to the Council. Council took a look at it, murmured among themselves, walked around it from various angles, and so on. Artiste found himself growing irate at the presumptions of these bumpkins from nowhere, but half-a-million-bucks back in those days was quite the chunk of change even for an Artiste married to a bigtime actress. Ultimately the Council rendered their verdict: Meh, not so much, not quite our cup of tea. Artiste thundered and stomped. Artiste flapped his arms and bellowed. Artiste headed for the door. And the Council, panicked, lured him back with promises that his next entry would suffer no such editorial input, that it would be accepted, blank-check-style.

And so the Artiste's eyes narrowed and a thin smile appeared on his lips. He went back, labored anew, and voila! centered his creative energies on composing a monument to the City which not only expressed his regard for the Council but honored the Hispanic ethnic heritage of the region.

A serpent. A bearded serpent from Mayan lore. Or maybe it was Inca. Or something. He smoothly assured the council it was historical and significant.

And it was coiled. From one angle, you can see its face. From others... just its coiled form.

And I'm sure his eyes glittered with a clear message: Take that, you free-spending nonentities!

And so the City had no choice but to accept his half-million-dollar steaming pile of a brown-painted plaster snake, poised to strike as though freshly dropped from the bowels of Montezuma himself, or at least Montezuma's schnauzer. They placed it in its designated spot at a major intersection on a corner of a park in the center of the city, and tried to forget about it.

Years passed. It's an eyesore and a laughingstock, but every time subsequent Councils have tried to remove it, the local Hispanic caucus roars into outrage, and they back down. Every time someone attacks it with a hammer or a car jumps the curb and pokes a hole in it, they have to pay to restore it.

It's a monument, all right. I just love that thing.