Shandy opened an art gallery in the part of the city where morality usually goes to roll around in the gutter. Its focus was on art produced by members of the public. Shandy lined the walls with whiteboards and attached markers to the wall with strings tied around nails.
The opening was a major success! Many members of the literati arrived, and many of them confided in Shandy that they were thrilled to slum it! Look at the authentic homeless people lining the street! Oh dear, it is time for another toast, darling, I need more champagne! The gallery was booked for an event every day that week.
Shandy opened her gallery the next morning. Five people dressed in muddy, filthy rags immediately occupied the gallery and began writing obscene messages on the whiteboard. Shandy was delighted! Then they began sniffing the markers. Nervous, Shandy asked them to stop. After a few more sturdy sniffs, one of them started creating Legitimate Art.
Of course, Shandy was mortified! This gallery was about Illegitimate Art!
With a second event scheduled for tonight and a wall full of Legitimate Art, Shandy shooed the homeless people out and immediately began erasing the impressive panorama. Unsure that she could produce some Illegitimate Art since she had already held an art degree, she walked down the street to a local kindergarten, where she talked to one of the supervisors. They were more than pleased to be offered such a fantastic field trip! Soon, the gallery had a three foot high example of Illegitimate Art that wrapped all around the room!
The crowd that evening crowed about how the gallery was well and thoroughly past its prime, and moreover that the homeless of the area were artistically bankrupt.
In her last-ditch bid for continued relevance, Shandy revealed that the art was produced by children! The installation was a commentary on the artist's reputation influencing their audience!
Deadpan eyes raked Shandy with their indifference. Out of the silent crowd stepped a man. He was a handsome man dressed in a fancy suit. Silently, he stripped himself out of coat and slacks to reveal a set of filthy rags underneath. He walked around the room, snapping the markers off of their strings with tiny twangs, and popped off the caps. Then he put the markers beneath his nose and inhaled a lungful of air that would make the lungs of a world-class horn blower pop. He ran outside, stood atop an expensive car and pooped onto the windshield. He threw his hands into the air like a composer in the throes of an explosive movement.
These markers are non-toxic! he roared. The crowd gave the man thunderous applause!
Shandy sold the gallery to the man the next day.
The Moral: non-toxic markers can still be dangerous.