If you feel like punching a wall whenever you see the words "modern art," chances are it's because you've seen the works of Damien Hirst. He's the dude behind famous, critically esteemed works such as Isn't That Just a f*****g Shark in a Formaldehyde Tank? and Who the Hell Tries to Sell a Diamond-Covered Fake Skull for $84 Million? As such, he's probably the last person in existence who should be allowed to decorate things like, say, the piers of quaint small towns.

At least that's what someone must have said a few years ago, because right on cue, a small English town called Ilfracombe stood up and said: "Hey, have you guys noticed that we're a quaint small town? Wouldn't that Damien Hirst dude be the perfect guy to decorate our pier?"

And that, dear reader, is why the world now has Verity: a giant 2013 sculpture of a half-flayed pregnant woman that looks for all the world like a prop from Hannibal. This 66-foot bronze "allegory for truth and justice" stands facing the sea with a stance that's less "welcome to our little English town" and more "I'm going to punch the very concept of your spleen if you dock." Oh, and it's also brandishing a sword that's as big as the rest of the statue.

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On a positive note, ain't no one going to invade them by sea in a hurry.

The Giant Lamp of Malmo is a 19-foot inexplicably popular sculpture that tours the squares of the city as the year progresses, only to return to its headquarters at Lilla Torg Square for Christmas. The words "ritual" and "blood" don't feature in the description, but considering that this is a country that habitually pulls a (hopefully mostly Nic Cage-less) Wicker Man with a giant goat sculpture most Christmastimes, it's pretty safe to assume they're heavily implied.

Shaped as a massive rectal bulb syringe held aloft by Botticcellian cherubs, this bronze sculpture greets the visitors near the gates of the town's largest spa. Sadly, the story doesn't elaborate on whether said spa has had a single visitor since this loving homage was erected.

A few minutes later, a cop strolls over and gives you an enthusiastic slap over the head. Congratulations! You've just become the 367th person this month alone to let Prague's sculpture of Sigmund Freud fool you.

Via Bestourism
It's called Man Hanging Out, because lame puns are the only thing Prague loves more than scaring people.

Apart from routinely confusing the s**t out of first-time visitors to Prague, Man Hanging Out is a representation of Freud's struggle with his phobias and fear of mortality. It's also the work of famous Czech artist/troll David Cerny, who is rapidly turning into something of a personal nemesis: No matter how I promise myself I'll avoid him this time, his work just keeps popping up every time I do one of these articles. In fact, let's take this thing somewhere there's no way of bumping into his work whatsoever. Say ... Australia.

There's no way you could go wrong with this one. Sure of yourself, you stop to pat yourself on the back for your choice, letting Grandma limp ahead to the plaza that serves as home to the Hare:

Via Cuniculture
Ewwww.

God dammit, Nuremberg. What did the bunny ever do to you?

Quick: What's worse than a 75-foot steel statue that looks like the doomsday weapon of a Bond villain? That's right, a 75-foot doomsday statue that moves.

Floralis Generica is a giant 23-meter-tall metal flower/murder beam pedestal that was built and donated to the city of Buenos Aires by architect Eduardo Catalano. Its giant steel petals open and close, depending on the time of day. During the dark hours, the sculpture emits an ominous red light that is supposed to appear comforting, but is clearly just waiting to blast passing superheroes out of the sky.

Via ChessBase
If there's not an evil lair under this thing yet, I'm calling dibs.

The artist says the sculpture "is a synthesis of all the flowers and is both a hope that is reborn every day to open," which we can only assume is the code phrase for opening the door of the giant vault underneath Floralis Generica that controls its death ray.

When you're visiting a random church in a small village in Northern France, you expect to see the stuff you see in most old churches: crosses, paintings, a few statues of saints ... that sort of thing. That's precisely what you'll see in Bar-le-Duc's Saint-Etienne church. Well, that and a f*****g zombie monster, just gleefully hanging about in a place of honor, arm raised to meet the sky like the world's cheesiest Shakespearean actor.

This statue is the memorial of Rene de Chalon, a 16th century prince, who had a hunch he'd die in his 20s (it was a turbulent time) and made a special request to be depicted this way postmortem. Local history books do their level best to write this off as an artistic choice meant to represent "doing right by God even after death." However, let's be honest here: The dude was a wealthy 20-something -- there's no way this was anything but a particularly inspired trolling idea someone in his entourage came up with at 4 a.m.

So you have become weary of the strain of modern life and decide to turn over a new leaf in the farthest, most quiet corner of the world you can imagine. Your travels take you to Mongolia's grassy plains, where you happily wander for days. Finally, you are content.

Then, suddenly, you see something massive looming on the horizon, and things get f*****g metal.

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Play for full effect.

The 131-foot equestrian statue of Genghis Khan is located over an hour's drive from Mongolia's capital city in the middle of utter nowhere, creating an effect not unlike taking a walk on the moon and bumping into the Statue of Liberty. The Khan calmly gazes upon the plains it controls, much like its tiny fleshling counterpart did all those years ago. The look on its face is that of grim satisfaction, because your natural enemies are few and far between when you're a giant stainless steel construct in the middle of rural landscape.

What I love about this statue is how they've clearly made an effort to depict the rider figure as a smoothly featured human being, but no one felt the need to make the horse anything but sharp, vaguely equine steampunk angles and pure utilitarian power, like one of those machine steeds He-Man and Skeletor sometimes ride. Yes, this is giant Genghis Khan on a giant robot hell-horse, and yes, it is expecting you to run now.

Briefly.

Still, because we live in a terrible world, here's Maman, a 30-foot-high spider ... f*****g ... thing that lurks the courtyards and alleyways of, well, absolutely everywhere. Not only is your average Maman a traveling exhibition, but there are also at least half a dozen of them around, meaning that during any given moment these things roam several countries at once. Now, keep that in mind as we explore its egg sac:

Via Panoramio
Yes, of course it has an absurdly detailed, ready-to-burst egg sac. It's almost as if you've never seen a horror movie.

Born from the mind of sculptor Louise Bourgeois, Maman is subject to many an analysis about the nature of humanity and the position of spiders in culture. Judging by the statue's looks alone, the answer to the former is most likely "snacks," and to the latter, "in charge."