Modern Art

The sphincters of the staff at London's hottest new art gallery, The Malevolent Easel, collectively tightened when art critic Morgan Periwinkle arrived. If his review was anything less than a sycophantic slobberfest, the gallery would be toast.
Morgan ummed and ahhed until one exhibit grabbed him. "This installation is a freakin' masterpiece!"
Gallery owner, Singeon Fotheringay, shuffled uneasily. "Um, that's cat vomit, a mangy moggie followed you in and barfed in that corner."
"It reminds me of Emin at her best," said Morgan.
"Isn't that a contradiction?"
"Button it. I'm the art critic, it's worth five grand of anybody's money."