(Young New-York-based artist already spotted by the Saatchi gallery: Ms Aurel Schmidt, 'Master of the Universe/FlexMaster 3000')Curtain up.
He stepped in the room, stayed in surprise before the painting and MelGibsoned his voice: «What the fuke is going on there?»
She JuliaRobertsed her smile and softy pinpointed: «Fuck, we say fuck, not fuke.»
«Whatever... Is really this my portrait? This fag-bull?». He hip-hoped his voice and naturally grabbed his crotch: « I do not understand... I thought I was your coolness, your tanned sex-toy... At least, that is what you whisper, baby...»
«Honeypie, barman of my libido, you’re right, you are all of this indeed and even more... But, remember my lover #1: you’re a man as well.»
He DarthVadered his sigh, unsatisfied: «Darling, gold of my hands, pendant of my desire, you’re the one who studied art, you’re the one supposed to remember that Picasso embodied the Minotaur with more... confidence...»
«Yearh, she MegRyaned, but he was a Galician redneck, a communist who supported androcracy... His vision of the world is a souvenir by now.»
She walked in his direction «You, my dickiest dick, you’re a man of the XXIst century: you are sweat, attentive, you show respect and you are in full agreement with the market-forces.» She Brooklyned her conclusion: «Ya see whatta mean?»
«Baby, soft-breast of my bed, hotissima lust, you could be right, but - he lighted a cancerous but stylish cigarette- why do you need to put this into a tragedy? Look what you’ve done to my song, he MTVed.
«I am a Minotaur of empty cans of beer! I am made of consumed butts! All around my promising pink limb! God dam’it he Buckowskyied.
«My muscles -you love usually them so much- become purposeless and serve as a pastel branch where a Tity Bird sits! My dickiest dick of the dreamed dicks is a strengthless pinkness! My needed BlackBerry™ is a fetish that fools no one...»
He paused, inhale a thought and ChristopherWalkened: «Look at those shoes, how a Minotaur could walk with this urban and fashionable shoes, where are my Nikes? Some Italian shoes for a Minotaur supposedly based in Crete, come on! Fuke! Fuke! This man is supposed to master a labyrinth for Christ's sakke!».
Being upset reinforced his German accent but she stayed mute.
He then TomHanksed: «Honey, siren of my tears, you make me feel as if I have no credibility. It is hard to exist in you eyes after this.»
She HillaryClintoned him: «Come here, Minotaur of my house...». She lowed her hands «I even omitted to paint your pendent balls... But ya know, she SharonStoned, that is the truth of our time... ‘The Minotaur is the symptom of the woman’, as would say my professor.»
«Besides, she LaurenBacalled, these are your actual shoes when you go to work...»
While he nervously smashed the ending cigarette in the pink ashtray, he FoxNews-backed: «Cybele of my town, spouse of my VISA, I only hope you’ll get a lot from this painting in your gallery, precisely: as much as it costs me.»
«Be fearless my colourful bull, believe me» she BarbaraCartlanded, «Uptown, they will love it».
She caressed his head.
Curtain down.
(Chicago-based Artist & adapting the mythology to our days: Keelan McMorrow) 
(What Aurel Schmidt cannot paint.)
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