"You motherfucker, you just knocked my leg clean off!"
Mindy leapt backwards and dropped her chisel and hammer.
"You better have some mortar to re-attach that shit, you asshole!"
Mindy felt her forehead to see if she had a fever. Statutes weren't supposed to talk.
"Don't just stand there, get me some thing to stabilize the wound so that I don't start to crumble!"
She walked over and got some patching paste and started to apply it to the statue's broken stump, fractured around mid-calf. When she'd applied a decent amount, the statue pointed over to a long, straight metal prybar.
"Bring that shit over here," it said. Mindy obeyed and retrieved it. The statue jammed the prybar under its armpit and swung itself off of the stone pedestal and marched out of the workshop and into the door connecting her house to her workshop.
"What the fuck is this shit?" the statue said, his perfectly-sculpted ass up in the air as it rummaged through the refrigerator. "This is piss beer," it said, snagging a six-pack and walking towards the living room. It paused in the doorway and regarded her granite countertops. "I should smack you for this. This is probably one of my nieces or nephews, you goobag."
It flopped on the couch and sundered it in two.
"That was an heirloom," Mindy said.
The statue glanced down, and sneered. "Not anymore."
It scratched its rock-hard abs and turned on the tv.
"What the fuck, no satellite?"
Mindy submitted a torso to the sculpting competition.
The Moral: not all art is good art.