PS1’s “Greater New York.”

And, to Holland Cotter in the New York Times, “Beyond irreverent…the visual version of a moral tantrum, abrupt, loud and apparently spontaneous.”

Peter Caine is on fire.

In his latest show, at Jack the Pelican—his most ambitious to date—Caine unleashes an hilarious potty-monsters’ ball of life-size robots— Sister Wendy and Condoleeza Rice, little cubscout Slick Willy (Bill Clinton) by the campfire, George Washington and Kunta Kinte, a “retard,” a “Jap,” and fat Sancho, “poking” a watermelon. None of it is appropriate.

Schoolgirls wriggle round dad Steve at the Nazi picnic. A tall Michael Jackson dangles a boy from his ankles, and both sport boners. While a gargantuan piggie policeman nearby boasts loudly of his impressive donut consumption. And the immortal Bob Ross gets it on with a Virgina smoked ham.

Caine’s spectacle is daunting in its magnitude. The Slick Willy installation alone includes eleven separate human-scale robots and a fully realized setting. —Walt Disney would be proud. The stereoptypes—raw, ripe and loaded—come bursting forth and twitching, like Frankensteins, from Globalism’s crowded closet of unsaid, undead things.

Caine pulls no punches. The work is rude, crude and brutally direct. And yet, at the same time, it is undeniably majestic. The Dadaist Karl Valentin, Ed Keinholz, Paul McCarthy and Mike Kelley come to mind. But Peter Caine’s guffaw cuts a little closer to the bone.

Peter Caine served in the US Navy on board the USS Saratoga. He began making art while recovering from a crippling leg wound in the US military hospital at Jacksonville, Fla.