Art Thieves Steal The Turd

mboldened by the recent broad-daylight swiping of legendary Norwegian artist Edvard Munch’s famous paintings The Scream and Madonnas from Oslo, Norway’s Munch Museum (which is a terrible place to wander into stoned, but a hilarious name for a museum regardless of whether you pronounce it “Munch� or “Munk�), thieves in New York this week made off with The Turd, a controversial piece of conceptual art that was until very recently housed in the Museum of Modern Art in downtown Manhattan.

Upon hearing that there had been a daring daylight heist at the MoMA, terrified museum officials initially feared the worst.

“I almost shit my pants,� admitted curator Vaughn Cammels. “They could have made off with a Van Gogh, Monet or Picasso, priceless artworks which never could have been replaced. Those first few seconds were like a mini-nightmare.�

The missing piece, valued by museum officials as “impossible to sell,� consisted of a white porcelain turd on a dinner plate. Some museum employees were relieved to find out that R.H. Hiddelstein’s obscure piece of protest art from 1982 had been stolen, rather than one of the museum’s many easier-to-appreciate masterworks. Though understandably distraught over the theft, many have been looking at the bright side, pointing out that they can finally clean that spot on the wall. For years, few had dared to move The Turd, because none could tell if it was really porcelain or just a real turd painted white.

When asked what police were doing to catch the crooks, police chief Harold Almney insisted that the case had been given appropriate priority and that the police would start at nothing to bring these crooks to justice.

“The Turd is a crucial piece in understanding the development of modern sculpture,� explained art historian Checky Brazelton. “Without it, we would never have been blessed with any of the several related masterpieces that followed, including Bradnell’s Lung Chunk or Dolenski’s Snot on Toast. This is a major loss for the art community.�

“The what?� queried a surprised Lindsay Sommers, an intern at the MoMA. “Somebody stole that thing? I was using it as an ashtray on my breaks.�

Irregardless of the opinion of some part-time art critics, the artist Hiddelstein has been distraught since learning of the theft, vowing not to rest and planning to leave work on his latest sculpture-in-progress, the man-sized Shithead, on hiatus until the bandits can be brought to justice.

“You cannot understand my pain unless you have ever lost a child,� explained Hiddelstein after this reporter suggested he could knock out another piece comparable to The Turd if given twenty minutes and a plate of bran muffins. When asked if he wasn’t just being pretentious, Hiddelstein answered with a piece of interpretive dance that was way over the commune’s head.

When asked why the thieves left numerous priceless works of art hanging on the walls while making off with Hiddelstein’s obscure piece, authorities speculate that the thieves may have been either huge Hiddelstein fans, complete art novices, or just absolute morons. Others have speculated that the thieves came for a Van Gogh or Monet, but panicked when the non-silent alarms went off and grabbed The Turd in a hurry on their way out the door, so as not to leave empty-handed. However, a thorough inspection of the dumpsters outside surrounding buildings failed to lend credence to this theory.

“This is the new face of modern art theft,� explained face of modern art theft expert Carson Faulkner. “It’s brash, in-your-face, and usually pretty stupid. No longer are we living in the days of your father’s art thief, a suave motherfucker squeezing in through some high window with suction cups sewn into his gloves, limboing his way through a maze of laser tripwires and slipping a priceless masterpiece out if its frame using a high-tech black-market silica spray. Now it’s just a couple of retards barging in with a shotgun and making off with whatever’s easiest to carry, even if it’s a worthless piece of modern shwag or the trashcan over by the men’s room. It’s sad, really.�

Until new leads materialize, local authorities are scanning art auction listings for mention of the sculpture, and keeping an eye on eBay in case the thieves get really desperate. While there are several turds currently for sale on the auction site, and liberal examples of bad modern art, none yet appear to be the missing piece.

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Anyone who knows me should know I'm not political. Or at least I never thought I was. Which only means I never knew myself. Huh. How does something like that get by me? But it don't matter. I'm taking a stand, for once in my life. And it probably will be once. It's hard to take a stand for or against something. I keep forgetting I took a stand, and then I can't remember which side I'm on.

So I might as well tell you before I forget: I'm taking a stance against body grooming. Not all of it, mind you. I'm not some big slob or nothing. I'm still going to take my bath every couple of weeks, and I might even use soap. But no more of this bullshit about hair cutting and shaving and clipping nails and so on. It's all just a lot of crap made up by big business to sell us things we don't need, like electric razors and razors for the Amish and such.

Think about it: What would be the worst thing that would happen if you stopped cutting your fingernails today? Sure, a lot of fatcats who own nail clipper corporations would be out of luck. But you, with the long fingernails and toenails? If you get thrown out of a helicopter or airplane, you can just grab the side of a mountain or building on your way down. Save yourself from certain doom. That means we've been cutting our own throats by cutting our nails. And I'm done with all of it.

I'm done with haircuts, too. Done with lining some bigwig wig magnate's pockets with my hard-borrowed money by cutting off my hair and letting him come in after I've left to make some wig out of it. I recognize my hair, once in a while, when I see some bald guy wearing it on the street. Nobody else's hair curls just the way mine does. I'm losing all this hair out of ignorance and some greaseball with a dustpan and wig business is getting rich off my leavings. It's over, rich guys.

I'll just grow my hair out forever and ever. Grow it long, grow it high, grow it down to my ass, and then if it falls out from terror when it reaches that length, bury it proper and then grow it out again. I'm lucky to have hair. Even this hair. Some day I might be some old guy with huge bald patches and I'll remember all the huge patches of hair I left on a barber's floor in my youthful indiscretion. But that guy's not going to be me anymore. I'm keeping all of it, never cutting it again. And if any does fall out for any other reason, I'm going to develop an elaborate filing system to keep track of it all.

And I'm not going to cut or shave my crotch hair either. It probably goes without saying, but it always pisses off my mom when I talk about my crotch in my columns.

Face shaving is out, too. I've already got me the world's most beautiful moustache (despite what those elitists at Moustache Quarterly say) and I'm going to grow the world's coolest beard to be its buddy. They'll hang out together constantly, on my face, and go with me on fishing trips and to ball games. The best of friends until they grow old and gray together. I'll have a big thick beard and moustache, like that one famous religious guy—Manson.

The jury's still out on what to do with my urine and stools. But I've got plenty of jars, so there's lots of time before I have to come to a final decision on all that.

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Boris does not like the out of doors. Boris mother say for to go outside and play with stray dogs, but Boris doesn't not like such things. Outside is big, and with many temperatures. Plus, outside there is always big bee to tease and chase Boris all the times, not to leave Boris alone. Even to follow Boris to America. How does bee do this? Does not know. Maybe to hide in box or in nose of sleeping person. Big bee is sneaking like this.

All times Boris is thinking of way to get rid of big bee. Man tells that bird is what chases and bothers bees, so this is what Boris buy. But when Boris open cage for bird to get and eat bee, bird fly away like big pains in ass. That is when Boris thinking it is good to tie string around neck of bird. But is too late for this good idea now.

Whenever Louis say for Boris should go out of doors, Boris does open door and yell "Oh shit! Is bee!" and close door loud before big bee can invade inside apartment. Louis doesn't not see bee, but is because bee is sneaking. Him likes to hide behind tree or in car when persons is looking, so bee can pop out for scare of Boris. Such is way big bee is mean.

Louis tell of dog Skippy from when Louis is child. Skippy is dog which loves to eat bees. Him runs outside when door is open and sound is like snapping noise as Skippy tries to eat bees out of the air. Sometimes Skippy only bite air, but sometimes Skippy bite bees. Yes! This is sounding good for Boris.

This is part which interest Boris. Bee eating dog is like Christmas presents for Boris, given from God of all Dogs. This is Big Dog thing with wings, like dragon with hairs. Is good thing.

But, oh bummer, Skippy is dead. Him get old and dead like dog does. But good news is Boris is so sad about no Skippy dog who eats bees that Louis go and get Boris dog named "Similar to Skippy." Is long name, but fits dog.

Louis does not get dog for Boris at pet stores, like what the chumps does. No way says Jose, who is friend of Louis. Louis does find dog tied to parking meter in front of restaurants. This is way for persons to say "Hello! Is free dog for you!"

So now Boris has dog for to eat bees. But, is funny because Similar to Skippy is also afraid of big bee also like Boris, so him stay inside all times with Boris. Is funny ending, or as Louis say, "Goddammit!"

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