Maggots are living on your cunt rag, America. - Bald Boris was urinating in the corner while Sam was licking his ass hole. Boris Lorry always dropped his pants down around his ankles when he took a piss and he didn't wear underwear in those days. This is how Sam Goodman could get to that ass hole so easily. It was very reasonable because the March Gallery was a gallery of monsters conceived by these two creatures of the western culture syndrome. They were both wearing giant scum bags over their heads. They thought this was so they wouldn't be infected with the siff of the art world but they, along with those other creeps that showed with them were the infectious material of a decadence that is still rotting the whole earth.
There already has been one attempt to clean the world of Christ killers but because of their commy friends, it failed. In fact, although we got most of them they breed like cockroaches and we are almost where we started. The Good Germans tried with Boris when they tied that little Jew worm to a post in the middle of that concentration camp. Did he look stupid when they ripped off his right ear and the little chicken bones from inside his head bounced out onto the dirt at his side and Dr. Death asked him to pick up his little ear bones. Boris was born as a Jewish worm of that sect that believes in only one God instead of the three. May Jesus come again and re-institute the gas chambers. That bastard Jew fuck was such a masochist that after the crude Americans invaded, may their flag fly upside down forever, Boris helped the camp guards and Dr. Death and the director of Kosher slaughter to escape by hiding them in his trunk and when Boris came to the U.S. with his father, they should all have been cooked alive, he smuggled in the German staff in the trunk. He fed them through the key hole and told them once a time stories. Then years later he let them out and although they were very thin they still worked well enough to keep as servants if Boris would Heil Hitler once in a while they stayed in line. He put them to work as receptionist at the first show Boris had in this country called Adieu Amerique at the D’Aennle Gallery but they went on strike for more Jews to eat. At first Boris fed them anybody that came into his studio but they insisted upon Jews. That was how Boris met Sam.
Boris was at the Sedar Bar where all the art hustlers hung out and when Sam came in they sang this song:
Sam, Sam the garbage man,
Why you looking in the garbage can?
You must be the master of the funky bunk,
What you got is a lot of spunk
To make your art out of all that junk.
Then everybody would laugh at Sam but Sam would have tears in his eyes because it was so rare that anybody ever showed him such love as singing him a song and Boris thought Sam would make a perfect supper for his Nazis who were waiting in the trunk. - Not known to Boris, Sam was looking for a sucker to do all the crap work that goes into hustling art like contacting critics, making brochures, licking stamps and stuff like that so next day as Sam was waltzing down the street he saw Boris coming towards him picking his nose and pulling out stringy grey snots which he licked off his finger with his slippery tongue. Same came up to Boris and said: "If you're looking for a art hustle partner you won't find it in your nose. I will be your art hustle partner and I assure you I taste much better then snots." Boris licked Sam's left ear out and said that it did not taste much better then snot but Sam insisted and that is truly how they met each other and on that exact spot inside Sam's ear is where the idea of a Vulgar Show came from and all the other shows would come from different parts of them like the Doom Show idea came from the sweet dripping off Boris' testicles and a different idea came from the cheese inside Sam's belly button. So they both walked off in the setting sun sucking on each others thumb, slapping each others back and having fun not knowing what was next to come.
One night while Boris was asleep the Germans, there were only 14 guards left and the doctor because the commander and 12 other guards that were also in the trunk had died of starvation because Boris was now working for Sam and not paying attention to his slaves in the trunk ... one night the remaining guards and Dr. Death picked the lock on the trunk from the inside and climbed out while Boris was sleeping and they painted swats stickers on all his paintings. Then Dr. Death pasted the girlie pictures Boris had been using to wake off over onto the paintings and then the swats stickers were repainted and when Boris woke up he had no time to fix the paintings so he exhibited what they had done in a one man show at the March Gallery in April 1960. The show was called Les Lions which is a very artsy fartsy name for a show. Even though the show was a dud Boris and Sam held a group show that year called The Vulgar Show with work by the obnoxious Stanley Fisher and the more obnoxious John Fisher who was jumping up and down ripping hunks-of meat and hair out of his arm pits with one hand while he pulled on his circumcised prick with the other while Stanley Fisher, who is his twin brother, looked on in envy because Stanley had a cunt between his legs and had adhered only a plastic cock on top of it. Stanley was always fucking twelve year old girls, at least in his mind. One of the guards pasted a swats sticka on Stanley’s forehead which caused a lot of trouble between Stanley and Boris a few months later and Sam was now looking up John's ass hole in search of an idea. These 4 fagots, what else could they be, were swishing around and shoving tape worms down the thoughts of the people that stumbled down the cement steps into the basement that was named the March Gallery. The reason it was called the March Gallery is because that was the name of a whore that rented the gallery for use after the art public left. The girl's name was Nancy March. Instead of paying rent she spread for Sam and Boris about twice a week which was how they both got those little white bugs in their pubic hairs. The two of them used to sit plucking bugs every night while they discussed what they would do next. The show ran until November of 1961 and each month the Doctor executed another viewer by sticking a needle through the visitor's belly-button which as you know is what kept their pants up. Then in November of 1961 fat Sam, the obnoxious Stanley and clerk-typist Boris held a Doom Show which is what it was. A lot of hungry artists exhibited with them which is to be expected because most artists think they are into some fancy thing but any idiot knows all art is commercial because it's an interaction between people with a profit motive involved. Now Boris and Sam wanted to be famous so they could sell their junk and get rich but they faked everybody out by making such unseal garbage. If you don't make it by hacking, the only thing left is to get a gimmick. Witch is what Sam and Boris did. They tried to make it by shoving things into our nose holes, ear holes, piss holes, and they succeeded later on when they pulled shit out of their as holes.
The March Gallery was only for two years, 1960 and 1961, prick parties and swollen balls, but Sam and Boris have brought about the revolution and changed the world to what it is today. On those now crumbling steps of what was the March Gallery, sits an old nigger fagot kicking a lump of dog-shit back and forth with his pointed curly shoes when a U.S. in March 1964 at the Stein Gallery and I hope its his last because a chicken fart had more to it. Then Stein really scraped the bottom where she showed Herbert Brown in 1964 and then Sam showed in a bar and grill known as the Champagne Gallery called American Death Show. That was also in 1964 which was interesting because Sam was already rotting from cancer then but he didn't know it. So it was a celebration of his coming death. Then they, Sam and Boris, had a show popularly known as The Shit Show. Then Stanley Fisher had a one man show at Wadell-Grippi in 1965 in which Stanley got the goose. But I think Stanley should tell you about that and it's an interesting story because it will give you an idea of how ugly the art world is. The reason Boris Lorry has a sickly mind is because he thinks anybody care about that big tit Boris wants to suck on. Stanley was doing some shity writing when he met Boris but as soon as the swastika was pasted on his forehead he started to do paste ups that had a striking resemblance to what the Nazis were doing for Boris in fact 3 Nazis had deserted Boris and started living with Stanley and making art for him also Stanley must have gotten the best Nazis because he was making the best Boris Lurie paintings I have ever seen. In fact people started saying that Boris was copying Stanley and that Stanley was the inventor. Boris, 7 years later, is still running around the street crying about it but Boris got even. He hired Mickey the Torch to you know what so now Stanley has no more paintings and the 3 Nazis were burnt to a crisp. Boris has installed a sprinkler system in his studio to protect himself from Stanley’s eventual revenge and is now painting in plastic so there will be less water damage. The plastic paintings look familiar but I can't recall the name of the artist he copied them from.
Some big wheels came in to see the Shit Show. The viewers generally thought the mountains and puddles of shit were made of plaster but they had devised a technic by which they took real shit and by spraying chemicals on it they froze it in room temperature. The difficulty was that at 104.7° centigrade it would defrost and return to its original state which was mountains of reeking shit. When the shit froze it retained its original colours but had a hard surface and it did not rub off in your hand. These big wells came to see the show along with thousands of other parasites of all glowing from their eye and thinking yum-yum and their mouths watered and their ass holes twitched and there hearts beat fast. Sam and Boris had spent over a year collecting shit for the show. Each night they walked the streets with a pail and shovel. So these wells flipped out when they sow the shit and they asked to buy some shit. When Boris hears them he said NO! Boris still wanted to make it but he was so obsessed with the word NO! that that was all he could say. When they ask Sam if they could buy some of the work Sam answered with the word SHIT. Then Sam and Boris broke off small pieces of the sculptures and after heating the pieces over a candle they rubbed the shit in the faces of the wells, Sam rubbing in one face, Boris rubbing in the other. The wells left leaving a trail of puck behind them. One month after the show ended Sam came over to visit Boris. He told Boris that he felt they had made a mistake in rejecting the offer to be rich and famous but Boris's father had died and Boris was in morning. - When a Jew morns he morns and Boris morned for his father for 5 years. Now the way they morn is every day of morning you have to beat your head against a wall 20 times. So when Sam come over Boris was Saying in a pool of blood half delirious. Sam went back to Sam’s Studio realising they had misted their big chance to become rich and famous. There was nothing else to do so Sam took out one of Boris's girlie paintings and pulled on his pudding all day. Sam went to Dr. Death 5 days later because he could no longer take a shit. Dr. Death fold him that if he didn't take a shit he would get cancer. But poor Sam had no heart to shit anymore so he got a big cancer inside him and he started to die alone and without Boris who was still smashing his head against a brick wall.
An enemy of Boris says Sam died when he had an argument with Boris and Boris in a rage chopped off Sam’s left thumb and Sam lay there bleeding to death while Boris ate a Swiss cheese sandwich and Sam was pleading for help but Boris didn't even laugh or drool. He just wiped up the crumbs that fell to the table with a peace of wet toilet paper and threw them in a bag but that isn't how Sam died. A few weeks before Sam was pronounced dead of cancer on April 29, 1967. I visited Sam in the hospital and the truth is Sam died Fat as a pig and mean as a dog even though his guts were all puffy and scaly and blood was coming out of his ear and his tong was green and so swollen he couldn't get it into his mouth so it stuck out there like a green balloon in front of his snout and white flabby cheeks he didn't die of bleeding cancers ail over the inside of him. Sam Goodman died of stupidity because if he would have eaten pussy he would never had died at all because pussy cures what ails you except if your a woman and then a stiff prick will do the trick.
You may not believe in life after death but this is what happened: On Wednesday April 1, 1969 I went to his party. My wife had just read some stuff I had written about Sam and she said I should destroy it because it is dangerous to insult and make fun of the dead. A few years earlier I had laffed over the death of a person and the day after I laffed I found myself severely sick and in the hospital for 3 months after almost loosing my own life. At any rate what happened at the party is I sat on the floor and in a short while a peace of sculpture fell on my head and the people who saw it happen say I am lucky that I am alive and the peace of sculpture that waked me in the head could of broke my head wide opened. As ! am writing this my head is still very sore. Now the reason I am writing this is to ask Sam to forgive me for making fun of him and for insulting him end now I am truly very sorry that I ever got involved in this whole writing and I am sorry that I let my ego get in the way of decency and proper respect for the dead and the living so Sam please forgive me. Dear Sam I will explain why I don't fast destroy all this stuff. It is simply that I have put a lot of time into it. So forgive me and pleas know that 1 am deeply sorry for making fun of you but S know you don't mind a little publicity and I guess you have another sucker in me working for you even if this stuff is in very poor taste and does me no credit for writing it so please forgive me Sam and please don't throw anything else on my head as next time you might kill me and I really am not worth your trouble and Boris should watch out for his head also because ! got a lot of this stuff right out at his mouth so he should watch out for his head because Sam might next communicate with Boris by now giving Boris a good whack on the head. So Sam please forgive me and Boris watch out for Sam.
Boris had been doing some very secret work lately, work that he will show to nobody, work that I wanted to see very badly so that I could copy it and do it and show it and become famous while Boris is still not recognised for the great man that he claims to be, not that he says so in so many words but he wears that claim like a woman wears perfume, you can smell it on him. The reason I wanted to do this, steal his latest ideas and become famous with them was purely to see the expression on his face. I assure there could be no other motive but just to see his expression to see what his face would look like while I would keep my face like a dead face. I would have looked particularly at the muscle structure around his eyes and the muscle structure around his Jewish lips. You may think that it is a lot of bother to steal ideas for such a crummy reason but it was for no better reason than that that Sam and Boris did a lot of the things they did so I went over to visit Boris at which time he told me about his past but what he didn't know was that I had a tape recorder in my pocket with a very good pickup microphone I had bought extra so all I had to do was say u-ha, u-ha, u-ha, as he talked but that was just a side thing. I really was not interested in the past but what I wanted to do was steal his latest idea and there by I would see that expression on his face for you see I am like Rembrandt in that my whole propose is to create an expression of the human face. This particular night we had been drinking alcohol and talking and I teased Boris saying he was nothing without Sam and that Sam was the real genius and he was just a servant for Sam because that was all he was capable of and I finely got to him because he said: "O.K., O.K., take a look at this." He said it with his thick Russian ascent. Boris always was a Russian Jew and he always will be a Russian Jew, with their clever way but stupid just the same. So Boris stood up and said: “Take a look at this. I will show you what have been doing for the last 5 years while everybody thought I was morning for my father, may he rest in peace." At the back of the studio was a pile of junk, stuff that Sam had collected and that Boris had no heart to throw out. I helped Boris to move it aside and there was a door behind the junk. He opened the door and there were stairs leading down. He put on a switch at the side and he lead me down into a basement, apparently Boris liked basements since the March Gallery was in a basement and the Gertrude Stein Gallery was in a basement. At the bottom of the stairs was a gigantic room in which were the most amazing things that I have ever seen. Boris said to me: "Now what do you think? " But I couldn't answer him because he had this thing which was surrounding me and slicing up my brain so Boris was laughing and dancing around me and pointing his finger at me while I was swatting trying to think of what to say. Then Boris said to me: "I will leave you in my basement until you tell me what you think." Then he turned around and climbed up the stairs leaving me in his basement among all those ideas. He left the light on down hear and he left the door opened but I have not as yet been able to leave so every day Boris sends down his last Nazi with a tray of food and the Nazi pinches my cheek and says - you are a tasty Jew and when you are fat enough I will eat you. THE END.
Published in: Lurie, Boris; Krim, Seymour: NO!art, Cologne, 1988.
Postscript to "PARTNERSHIT" (1970)
Now I have shot my mouth off and I have said so many horrible things about the March Group people, mostly about Sam and Boris, but enough about Stanley Fisher who was a real sadomasochistic kook and therefore could not be hurt or reasoned with in any way, he liked equally much to dish it out as to receive a beating, and how he was fucking twelve year olds in his mind I already told you; but he also copied both Boris and Sam, and did it in such an uncanny flash that his copywork was ready even before the original ideas of Sam and Boris had jelled into their disgusting art; anyway Fisher developed ideas that were his own and put it into his work, and his work was still disgusting, like Sam's and Boris', but it became his own, but after Sam and Boris kicked him out of the group without trial or hearing he slowly stopped moving his scissors so in the end he got involved with some kooky ideas about the collision of the worlds and was homing it up on quest television shows where often he had real smart things to say.
Now the real trick in all their work was that they managed to make it so disgusting that nobody would buy or even take their stuff, and nevertheless in the same time keep producing, running a gallery and putting on countless ever changing shows, and that is quite a trick, for they did not get reviewed either, and none but their cohorts and underlings even came to see the lousy shows. To keep producing that shit for years, not to sell, and not to be written up to at least become famous -even without making any dough - that is quite a trick, especially in view of the fact that any kind of shit sells in this art racket, and not to sell or be able to give anything away, that must be virtue, for the simple logical reason that all other work that sells is obviously very bad; so they must have had some kind of gimmick not be able to sell, and truthfully I don't know what that gimmick was, though I can imagine that they must have put some secret ingredients in their work, and any intuition tells me, it was the Nazis who had been encapsulated in the work and people just sensed it though they could not see them. Why should encapsulated Nazis keep people from buying the art work they are encapsulated in? A very erudite question, particularly since we in America are really the Nazis of this day - and the red-communist bastards, may the red come spouting out of their mouths, I am sure that though all their theories are a bunch of nasty lies - for them to become famous and make money - but in this case I think they may be right, especially in view of all the atrocities they say our SS troops are committing against the Jews of Vietnam. Anyway my theory is that as you know it is the Jews who run the art in America and who as in everything else are the biggest speculators in art, but the Jew-speculators prefer to come on 100% American and to buy the work of Johns who come from Montana or some other god-forsaken place and who ride into town on horseback after having corralled the cattle entrusted to them, and look all-American though in reality they are children of immigrant-bastards, Polacks and such other riffraff, and sometimes even hidden Jews and Nazis, but their names must absolutely always have the all-American ring, because the Jew-speculators - may they lose all their money in their dirty game -would not invest in any one if he has a foreign name, and certainly not a Yiddish name smelling of the ghettos these all-American collector-speculators had just themselves escape from. They would certainly invest in an American Nazi's work, if he is all-American, and has the proper American sounding name, but nevertheless believe me they would not buy the work of anybody, including an American Nazis if they can sense real encapsulated Nazis inside the work.
So Boris and Sam and the others did have the magic ingredient to make art that does not sell at all - and such quality must be today the only criterion to judge and acclaim good art by - because so the one ounce of health and intelligence in my otherwise totally sick mind tells me. And yet, at a certain point they almost lost this great quality: because when Sam and Boris put on the Shit-show, being convinced that that show will forever and for all time establish and confirm before all men their reputation for not being able to sell any of their work - and that such confirmation would irrevocably establish for all the time that they are genuine geniuses - at the very time of their Shit-show things started coming down bad for them, and the Jew-speculators led by Wop scouts started coming down the Gertrude Stein Gallery basement and smelling around the shit exhibited there, and could not let go, the smell got them so excited, and wanted to take some of the shit home even though they had to pay for it; I truly cannot tell if it was for speculative or investment purposes that they wanted to buy their shit, I am rather inclined to state that those mother fucking speculators just could not resist the smell of the shit because it reminded them of the smell of their own shit, and since they loved their shit more than themselves - I would even say that deep down they hated themselves for being speculators and Jew-bastards - but their shit they loved, but of course would not admit to it, and when confronted with Sam and Boris' shit, the smell of the shit reminded them of the smell of their own shit, and shit they just felt compelled to buy the shit. But during a sales conference held at the hour of Dracula at the Stein Gallery in which Gertrude Stein (it is not the Gertrude Stein from Paris) also participated, and the head of the Jew-speculators and his Wop scout and adjutant as well as Sam and Boris were present, during which conference works to be sold to the Syndicate had to be selected and prices fixed, the Jew-speculator gave Boris an argument about his work - thus trying to knock down Boris and build up Sam -and besides was talking such disgustingly dirty language that Gertrude Stein -just separated from her conservative economist husband and not acquainted as yet with the language used at the highest summits of the art world - had to blush and swallow and shut up in confusion, though of course she was dying to sell the shit, being a Jew-dealer herself and not being able to resist the opportunity to make a sale of such a large amount of genuine shit; so Boris -who has a good brain for understanding people's motivations, though he is as shitty an artist as they come and never sold enough paintings to even make a modest living, just like Sam, though they were hustling like crazy - but Boris understood the Pop art speculator and his Wop scout were trying to drive a double wedge between Sam and Boris, and another wedge between Boris and Gertrude Stein, and Sam and Gertrude Stein, though they did not know that there was no need to drive a wedge between Sam and Gertrude Stein, because she was madly in love with Boris. In any event, Boris perceiving this imperialist strategy of breaking up a genuine people's coalition attacked the Jew-Pop-buyer and Wop scout with such verbal vehemence that the walls of the basement reverberated with the accumulated anger and frustration he had suppressed from his own days as a prisoner-Jew in a concentration camp, so his verbal attack came out with such vehemence that it was as if the six million dead Jews killed by the Nazis had all together started roaring in attack of their murderers, and the basement vibrated with fury, and the house vibrated with fury and even the Empire State building which usually vibrates because it is so tall vibrated a little more at that moment. The sales conference was about to turn into a flop, when the Pop-speculator, being a smart Jew and having had experience in legal conferences and things of that sort because the insurance racket was his racket, but being a smart Jew, and being aware that six million dead Jews had roared at him, threatening him to attack him, via Boris' voice, he withdrew all the bad things he had said about Boris, and conceded that Boris was convinced about doing his thing and not listening to anyone, though he said that Boris and Sam listened to him, they both would have been in the Pop-group and famous already and consequently rich as well. So the conversation after his blow-up with six million and one person roaring, took a quiet turn and everything was chummy-yummy and pleasant, and when the conference was over, everybody shook hands, and another conference was to be held on another day to select the Shit-sculptures and set prices, and all but Sam, who had been quiet all the time not getting himself involved in any arguments, and resigning himself to the unavoidable fact that this time the Shit had to be sold, all but Sam had shaken hands with the visitors, and he had not spoken at all during the conference, but when he shook hands with the Pop-speculator he said to him:
"I shit on you, too!"
So nothing was sold and neither Sam nor Boris became famous to this day, but the reputation of their work was upheld to the end; it had almost gone down the drain after all; it must have been the six million dead Jews too, who made Sam say such a nasty thing to the rich speculator, and in such a way accomplished the task of saving his and Boris' reputations at the brink of irreparable disaster.
Published in: Lurie, Boris; Krim, Seymour: NO!art, Cologne, 1988.