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by Charlie Finch
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The news that Maurizio Cattelan plans to hang his expensive "masterpieces" from the world's strongest steel bar (also the largest suppository from the world's largest asshole, Cattelan), suspended in the Guggenheim’s rotunda, would be laughable if it weren't so unfunny. Perhaps the cast of Spiderman could perk up the vernissage by slinging some webs from piece to piece, or a few Wild West sure-shots could use the dangling shit pieces for target practice, with the winner getting to string up Cattelan from the nearest beam, in fine imitation of one of his own fey tropes.

So clueless is Cattelan that he thinks making Dakis Joannou nervous about coughing up his overvalued museum of Cattelan's worst efforts is a sufficiently jocular reason to stupefy a museum which has engaged in more than its share of stupid spectacles over the years. Too bad Thomas Krens isn't still around to bump Hitler and JFK and Pope John Paul II with his tall head from the floor below.

The sale date has passed for your inside jokes about billionaire collectors, dead squirrels, little boys on scooters and sticking your mug up through the floor. Turning your work into an imitation of Annette Messager's practice doesn't freshen up your turdity, either.

Take a gander at the Wall Street protestors, now rapidly finding followers in other U.S. cities. Their art, Povera writ large, homemade signs for the most part, nods to Mario Merz and Mimmo Rotella, regal creators compared to a sniveling punk like you, drinking champagne and sniffing your golden ass-wipes on a different yacht or plane from week to week. It's great to be the king until the tumbrels roll, when the first head to be lopped off is the joker. Dangle away, douchebag.

CHARLIE FINCH is co-author of Most Art Sucks: Five Years of Coagula (Smart Art Press).