Joe Public, who will now be responsible for Tracey Emin amongst other shite, has been left blinking in surprise after Saatchi said "Here are the keys to my Palace of Cack" with his cheesiest grin. The building, which apparently can't simply be nailed shut and burned, contains objects which have been accused of being art to the value of £25 million, although many have suggested that it could all be replaced in a very short space of time by a small dog with stomach problems.

Stinky Ponky went to speak to Joe at his house in Britain, where he lives with the rest of the country. He told us "In the words of Jesus in the Temple of Herod, 'This is a bit of a fucking liberty, isn't it?' I mean, I've already put that fucking shark on ebay, and it's not doing well, let me tell you. What in the name of God's knob am I going to do with all this rubbish? It's three months at the car-boot for me I think. And I'm just burning that stinking bed. I don't care."

"And talking of utter, stinking bollocks, here's another piece of crap from Emin; basically a tent covered in photos entitled 'Everyone I Have Ever Slept With' which turned out to be the short one from the Chuckle Brothers, John Prescott and an elderly chihuahua called Gerald. Presumably in the tent. Bizarre."

Stinky Ponky spoke with professor Dave Watt who has spent the last 15 years studying modern art at the Skopje Institute of Pointless Studies in the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia. He told us "For the past decade and a half we've been looking closely at exactly what it is that makes modern art aesthetically pleasing, and it's been a complete waste of time because we haven't got a Scooby Doo. All I can tell you is that for a laugh me and the lads have made our own art - which most of the time can be done by accident.

"Here's one the Ted made. It's basically his old toilet. It's called 'Anything by Emin.' Just to the left of that you can see a biro that Joan in reception threw in the bin. The irony is in the fact that it's in mint condition, so it's probably a statement or some shit. It's not one that we made on purpose to be honest, but it may as well be. Ironically Saatchi has just offered us £150,000 for it. We call it 'Hairy Bollocks' for no particular reason. And finally here's a polaroid Jim took of my arse, which represents Damien Hirst being shot in the head with a crossbow.

"It's called 'Thank Fuck For That.'"