Another duff government steals power and wants cuts in Defense and Culture, so calls on me, Master of the martial arts. Bogoff! I reply, proposing a buy one get one free solution: sell off galleries by disposing of fit for skip art trash and using it as RAF munitions.
First out of the gallery and into the bomb-bay go the works of action painters who flick, fart, dribble and bike-tyre paint onto canvasses apeing Jackson Pillock. Dropped onto warzones, the enemy mistakes them for roadmaps and gets lost, then freaks out at the jacked-up price tags on such crappy dawbs.
Next into action from 20,000 feet drop all the Turner (turning in his grave) Prize dross such as Gustav Metzger's Bag of Trash whose verisimilitude caused cleaners to bin it; and Chris Ofili's Elephant Dung (1998) for its 'sculptural and metaphorical resonance' : signed, resin soaked turds for £20,000. This rogue nation surrenders, believing the bin men have mutinied and their society is chuffed.
The final art attack sees Anthony Gormlas' 208 tonne Angel of the North bombed into the desert like the 2001 Space obelisk. Insurgents prostrate themselves before this heavenly messenger, then turn their prayer mats towards Tyneside, chanting Why-aye man! War is over.
Until, driving home to Jordyland, I see aghast the Angel resurrected in Gateshead and labelled: 'Return to sender, home is where the art is.'- in Parsi! I reach for my trusty art knife.
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