My problem with (modern) art

I'm one of those old-fashioned people who are completely devoid of any sense of aesthetics, and therefore unable to appreciate the artistic value of this:

Or this:

To quote the artist himself and an anonymous visionary whose identity I was too bored to look up:

The rigorously controlled painting style of mature neo-plastic fairly reeks of repressed or controlled passion. Only in his Boogie-Woogie works is there any real sign of rebellion and overt expression. This is not the place to probe into Mondrian’s sexual practices or repression of them, but perhaps to leave the subject with a quote from Mondrian, on being pressed by another artist to visit a brothel in Paris: “every drop of semen spent is a masterpiece lost”

Whoa, hold on, you stop it right there, there's a fine line between subjectivity and what can or cannot be considered a work of art. Freedom and democracy allow you to express yourself in any fucked up way you want without being punished or held liable, as long as your actions don't harm others or break any laws. Subjectivity, although good in nature, is a lame excuse that any brooding and deep artist like Mr. Mondrian here would bluntly throw at sound individuals like myself whenever they would step up and rub their obnoxious definition of "art" in their face.

Subjectivity relates to the differences in understanding/interpretation between individuals and is not an excuse for throwing overrated praise at people who don't seem to get art is a mental occupation, not random brush strokes on a toilet roll or upside down urinals with a celebrity's autograph.

Photo credit: vice.com

Could someone please explain how this ended up in a museum, a place where people come to "admire" art and pretend they understand its carefully hidden messages using their innate artistic flair? Oh, wait, that just made sense now.

Photo credit: vice.com

Whoa, is that Jizzie McFrankenfuck rubbing hard-earned prostitution money on her snatch?

Still, that... that is simply out of this world.

"Brilliant control in the context of hysteria". Sounds truly powerful, kind sir, but all I can see is random lines dividing inanimate rectangles randomly filled with plain, insipid colours. Am I blind or just inexperienced if all I can see is a striking resemblance to "Man as a poor excuse for an artist", by the eternally tormented Clarence Simpleton?

Oh, yes, I can see it now, I have opened my mind and embraced the very essence of the masterpiece revealing in front of my naked soul. A lost masterpiece. A drop of semen that could have become the world's only chance for redemption, but instead was tragically wasted on the lips of a whore, an undeserved happy end for a world that's full of horrors like the stunning beauty of clay potatoes on a stick.

What a whore art has become in the hands of the unfit artists of the century.

Hollow, arrogant whore. Like Jizzie McFrankenfuck screeching from the deepest circles of the Inferno:

"Don't call it a fountain, dimwits, IT'S AN UPSIDE DOWN URINAL!!!" 

In the end, some real art.

The Scream by Edvard Munch