by Larry Kramer
I went to Dye. I hauled this old bag of bones down there and said to him, something is going on here that involves shit and sex. (Shades of Hermatros!) That nimroid pus smells like shit for a reason. I cannot get one single dollar to investigate this from any source and I want to know why, with so many dead kids and more dying every day. He looked at me and took my hand in his—I hate when they do that—and he said, “Sister, there is not one religion in our great country, there is not one politician in our great country, which and/or who would stand up and publicly support such research. Find me another way to study this.” To which I replied, “Shit is shit. Sex is sex. And we haven’t talked about cunts and placentas.” And he asked me how old I was now and didn’t I think it was time to “pack it in.” I told him he was rude and I hoped I’d last longer on this earth than he would at NITS. And that I was already more famous in the history of medicine than he could ever hope for. He literally showed me the door. And of course the following week I received word that a couple of my requests for authorization for NITS grants were “suspended pending investigation.” It’s a good thing I’m so fucking ass-kissing rich, although using private funds for government research is another big no-no.
Of course I went to Omicidio. He’s the new boy on the block. He basically kicked me out of his office too. Well, I’ve got his number, which is that he doesn’t have a number. Mr. No-Show. What did the world do to give us the likes of him!
It’s just so snotty how these crock-of-shitters treat women. There’s not a one of us on Omicidio’s staff. One of his kiddie interns shook my hand, “honored to meet a Nobel Prize winner.” Rudely, Jerry-O said disdainfully, “You’ve won a Nobel Prize? Is that how you got the money to do your work?”
Nobody knows shit’s secrets. After all these centuries. Dr. Ventner O’Burgeree at St. Luke’s in New York, an important shit doctor, is now more famous for being the primary care physician of an impressive list of cock-and cunt-sucking celebrities. “Shit is just my sideline,” he demurs. I’m told he exhales a sort of cackling glee when sticking his finger up your ass to test for parasites. A modern-day Hermatros? Hardly. He calls what he’s doing “tropical medicine.” I offered that nomenclature to Dr. Minge-Nipple Dye as our possible decoy and he just roared. “Congress will think we’re getting free trips to Miami!” Lucky Vent. It’s not every doctor who can stick his finger up the ass of Leonard Bernstein and Greta Garbo and get paid for it.
Israel and I are talking again. Neither of us can remember which of us was at fault, so we kissed and made up. But he calls what’s going on “glause,” and this and he are not helpful because he can’t recall all the details of “what I discovered.”
Believe it or not, one of the many things I learned at Partekla is that the best antidote to the pain from early nimroid is drinking one’s own urine. The Indians taught us that, remember? How neat of nature to come full circle and so dug-sucking majestically. Piss on the shit! At Partekla I got them to give me urine samples. Those basket cases Schwitz accuses me of murdering? It wasn’t me. Someone got there after me, big time, and they all died in one fell swoop. That’s the clue that proves I didn’t do it. Pissing on shit isn’t that effective. Whatever “they” were doing was. No, it was some other doctor’s experiments; my throbbing armless arm tells me that it was good old Dr. Dye.
What were they really doing at Partekla? It’s called germ warfare. All the best cesspool countries never stop doing it. Who’s the first goober grabber who can develop a plague that can get rid of everyone else?
Where the fuck have I been?
I have been to Africa. This UC family can be traced there from 1901. Scummy sleazy slutty 1901. Since then each generation of UC has become more lethal than the one before. They gather fury as they age and multiply, turning into even more hungry, rabid muckmouthed killers. And Bosco’s monkeys, whether they ate each other or man ate them, are the killing field so many are refusing to explore.
And it’s not just what pricks are doing inside men; it’s what they’re doing inside us all.
UC must have killed people here in the past several hundred years and was no doubt the cause of many “deaths from unknown causes” that muddy the cheesy statistics in COD’s Almanac of American Mortalities of Past Centuries.
We should look again at discoveries and exhumations like those at Fruit Island and Dickson Mounds and Staten Island and New Bliss, but the Dyes and Vurds of this world will never give us permission to do so.
I know what Schwitz is up to and I don’t like it one twatworthy bit. It’s as if somebody doesn’t want my new knowledge out there and is out to get me before I deliver it. Or the reverse, that somebody is so glad I’m saying this that they want me besmirched because that also makes it look like what I’m saying might be true. Either way I smell like shit.
Here is what I discovered at Partekla and have been refining ever since. Bear with me because it’s messy, it stinks, and no one will want to know a shitcrapping suckhole about any of it.
Minute organisms of poison live in our bodies and in our shit, just like those parasites the great American Indian vestal virgin Hermatros catalogued. I hope you remember Hermatros and all I told you about him once upon a hornswoggle time ago. These parasites multiply and mutate and stay one step ahead of anything devised to kill them.
What Schwitz’s blubbermouthing presages is vexing. Why is he, of all our cast of dicksucking cuntcrackers, after me, and any of this?
I was trying to finalize my thoughts about these vultures when Schwitz criticized my research to Omicidio and the new head of FADS, some fucking bilious Navy doctor who’s an expert on whales and flying fishes. Marine biology is all the buggerfucker knows and marine biology is not what this Sister of Motherloving Mary’s about. Partekla was a great place to work on shit, indeed the perfect place, which is why I went there. Basket-case patients at death’s door, why not put them to use? That’s what we were invited there by Brinestalker and Aalvaar and, yes, Stuartgene Dye, to do: “A quiet haven for confidential investigations.” I could not work on this within the safety of Mater Nostra’s protective walls. Mother Superior saw to it that any church participation in work on feces was gone with the wind.
I just about had my proof that something’s definitely rotten in Denmark when Omicidio pulled my plug.
Kiddie, your old babysitter is boxed in in a hundred different ways.
Linus Gobbel, another germ from the White House, informs me that Omicidio informs him that I am working with “fecal matter,” and “the president will not condone such usage of the valuable hard-earned money of The American People on that.”
So now even Schwitz Oderstrasse believes he’s contributing to the health of The American People by finally tattling on Grace. “You cannot Scheisse on us with your Scheisse,” he had the nerve to say to me, to me, she whom he wouldn’t be here save for my signing on as his sponsor. He desperately wishes to prove to America that our purchase of him from the Nazis only minutes before his execution has proved a good bargain. He comes now to tell me that he had some of “your poisoned blood” at Partekla injected into patients (i.e., those near-death basket cases) and it killed them. “Your input has done this! And you will make it patent and get richer even than you are richer now.”
I had discovered at Partekla that poisoned blood was being “created” by taking it from all sorts of sick people and then injecting it into other people. That’s really what Partekla is all about. Chemical warfare! It sounds horrible when you put it this way, that these dying guys were, in their own way, being gifted not to medical science but to political warfare. I used to read in the files at the Vatican how plagues all through the ages found church doctors and scientists doing the same goddamned thing. It’s always a race to see who could find out something from the dying before they died themselves. Now this miserable piece of Scheisse has started a campaign that I am “the murderer of Partekla.”
Oh, I also find supportive relevance in Aalvaar’s maintaining that gay men�
��s very own assholes are a major conveyance mechanism of UC or whatever is killing you: this is a fucking monumentally important world-changing suspicion I have had myself. He says he “discovered” this at Partekla. That’s what he was using his prisoners for.
Shitty Schwitzy, by the way, has just been awarded a NITS “genius” grant “for imaginative thinking.” No, none of this augurs well.
No one will want to know a shitcrapping suckhole about any of this.
I am an old lady. I am weary. I am not so certain, my darling Fred, how much I have left in me to continue fighting this fight. An old lady should not have to constantly defend her mettle.
I won’t get through this.
Or I will.
* * *
I knew this woman was dangerous. She is what you call a major stirrer-upper. How can I shut her up for good? She is getting too close to me.
WHY IN FUCKING HELL WERE WE NOT TOLD ANY OF THIS?
GRACE CONTINUING …
What is worse, or just as bad, is what I am about to tell you, my Fred, my Hermia.
Who embargoed the truth so that Felix and all your friends are allowed to die? Because somebody did. Somebody allowed UC to happen.
Intentionally.
Where have I been?
I have been in Africa. I have met Dr. Jacques Pepin.
This shit has been around, as I have said, since 1901.
I have now learned what was going on that we knew nothing about, and that no fucking health honcho told anyone about. While we have been force-fed by stickpussy “experts” that UC is a new gay plague that gay men are perpetrating and escalating, some seventy-five years of UC had been happening in Africa that somehow escaped any snot-tinged acknowledgment of same. For seventy-five years, godawful very long years! Wrap your head around that grungy pissbottle of a scenario for one of your movies.
Countries of central Africa—the two Congos, Cameroon, Gabon, the Central African Republic, and Equatorial Guinea—are home to the Pan troglodytes troglodytes ape, the only species to carry this shit out into the world, via humans and prostitution and unclean needles. As I say, a first ape case was noted in 1901.
Pan trog is some four hundred and forty thousand years old. Humans in central Africa have been in contact with Pan trog for at least two thousand years. The first lethal encounter between a Pan trog chimp and a human can be traced to 1908 in southeastern German Kamerun. (Wouldn’t you know there’d be fucking Germans.) In 1960 there were one million chimps of all species. They have a life of about fifty years. Six different males fuck the same female in just ten minutes. The modes of transmission are the same for chimps and us.
My chum Laurie Garrett explained to me how all these dipshit pipsqueak African countries were constantly at war with each other. Vampire dictators came and went, their populations decimated by each other. What kept some sort of order going were the civil servants, hired mostly from Haiti. When it all got really too muckfucked and out of control, these Haitians, to save their own lives, rushed back home to Haiti.
* * *
BOSCO: In 1963 a Pan trog was sent to me from Africa. She was infected. It was her blood that Dr. Sister Grace was also exploring in those secret labs at Partekla. I gave it to her. Yes, chimps are very promiscuous. I have one male who since puberty has mated at least 335 times with twenty-five different females. One of my females copulated fifty times within a twenty-four-hour period. If I had known my life’s work would involve living things with such disgusting habits, I would have concentrated on taking care of people.
* * *
DR. SISTER GRACE: That’s fucking right. Haiti. The gay watering hole incarnate. Pan trogs were the only chimps that carried this shit to people. We still don’t know why it discriminated so. Yes, that palooka Bosco Dripper gave me that fuckawful blood. It scared the bejesus out of my nookie. It is what took me to Africa and to Dr. Pepin.
Prostitution. Over three and one half centuries some 10.3 million wretched slaves were shipped from Africa to hither and yon. They did not all come to America like we are selfishly taught to believe. Many of these slaves came from central Africa and were sold to other parts of the continent. By the nineteenth century the European powers were all fighting for more and more parts of Africa, particularly the French, Germans, and Belgians (the biggest fucker-overs) but also the Spanish, Dutch, and even the Danes. All these sleazy carpetbaggers would wind up with too much turf to mine, plunder, and thus they populated it with armies of cunt-starved beyond-horny laborers seeking the only available entertainment, a cunt. Those female slaves sure became handy. Population outposts became villages and towns and small cities. Several of them were in areas that shared home base with the Pan trogs, particularly the Belgian Congo, with its Léopoldville and Brazzaville, and the German Kamerun, soon to be Cameroun Français. Early records for much of this were kept by a Frenchman, Pierre Brazza, in the late 1880s.
What led me to all of this? Amazingly, these records were located at Harvard by the greatest of genius figure-outers, a totally unequivocal hero, the Canadian microbiologist Jacques Pepin, who personally escorted me through much of this fetid domain and all its putrid history.
Eighty adults living in central Africa in 1921 had been exposed to blood containing simian UC from cutting up a Pan trog and/or eating it.
One thousand and fucking nine hundred and twenty-one! Pepin showed me an ancient death tally he located in Brussels.
It would take a Frenchman, Dr. Leon Pales, arriving in Brazzaville in 1931 to discover in a patient a syndrome certainly suggestive of UC. This in effect would be the first patient zero. It was calculated that this syndrome had lived in him and others from at least 1915. From this would come the plague that will infect many millions around the whole wide fucking world and that gays are being blamed for. The strain the Pan trogs were carrying existed several hundred years before this crossover to humans. Maybe even longer. Eons!
Which brings us to all those poor sweeties who had no other way to feed their starving bodies.
Three-quarters of all men infected in this area will become infected from prostitutes or, as the more independent women called themselves, “free women.” In 1933 Belgium opened a first clinic for sexually transmitted diseases in Brazzaville. In the midst of World War II officially authorized brothels were opened to cater to soldiers waiting to be sent to the Libyan front line. The best known was owned by a Madame Rose. She and her house and her girls were quite famous.
What has never been mentioned is that some fifteen years prior to the various African revolutions in 1960, during World War II American troops had been stationed in the Congo, including Léopoldville, to beef up the colony’s defenses. They were known to be frequent customers of the prostitutes and “free women.” What the fuck else is new? Men everywhere can never be trusted to keep it in their pants.
Beginning in 1920 and continuing pretty much to the present day, the largest number of transmissions of UC virus to humans has been via improperly sterilized needles and syringes. Transmission of UC is ten times more effective through the sharing of needles and syringes than via sexual intercourse. By 1979 one-third of all addicts in New York were infected with UC and were forbidden by law from partaking of any clean needle exchange program. Once again we prove to be a fucking country that doesn’t know what it’s fucking doing. Except that a number of certain fart-faced chaps did know and wanted it to happen. Like almost every elected official from the birdbrain bottom to the bootlicking top. Don’t get rid of the fucking junkies.
A first small lab had been set up in Léopoldville in 1899! Before then there was not a single trained medical worker in this entire part of this continent. Those turdy turf-stealers back home in Europe couldn’t care a crock of shit about the heathens in the jungle who were only good for digging all the gold and other negotiable shit from the earth. Eventually a few other labs with trained staff poked up, run by people trying to do some good. By 1950, some one hundred and fifty thousand injections had been administered for
one thing or another. By 1960, prostitutes in Léopoldville were each servicing some thousand clients per year. Many cases of nimroid were seen. (Where was COD? Where was JOD? Where was HAH? Where was FADS? Where was NITS? Where was HOW?) Many cases, too, of tuberculosis. TB and nimroid are now known to facilitate UC transmission. Being uncircumcised, as most men were, also hastens transmission. UC was introduced into both Haiti and the United States by the end of the 1960s, having been introduced into Haitian bodies while in the Congo working for one dictator or another.
Imagine the tenacity and ingenuity of glorious, gorgeous, divine Dr. Pepin in locating statistics confirming all the above!
Haiti was thus to become the next stepping-stone for the export of UC to America. Reports by local social workers call attention to the growing gay interactions between locals and American tourists becoming obvious by the late 1940s. Indeed, a widely attended international gay convention was held in Port-au-Prince in 1979. Nimroids were diagnosed in 1979. You know what kind of conference that was.
Air Haiti carried blood plasma that was sold to American companies: Armour Pharmaceuticals, Cutter Laboratories, Dow Chemical, Baxxter-Greeting among others. Shipments of blood were sold by Haitian bloodletters and sent to customers all over the globe.
A respected French company began extracting and exporting plasma from placentas. HOW, in 1975, condemned this and attached fines, which nobody paid, against the disobedient.
By the 1970s, because this virus had so extensively and relentlessly gone from Africa to Haiti and then America, a global epidemic became unavoidable. By 1978, 6 percent of the gay men in San Francisco were infected. Each infected person would infect at least one other person.
And now, like the old lady twitchingly poking wisps of stray hair back in place after removing her too-tight hairnet, I’ve got to take a rest. I’m pooped from this unloading. I’m pooped from worrying they will really put paid to me, whoever they are. No one here in our entire ruling class wants anyone to know about any of this. There is not one single person in our entire Public Health Service who would want any of this known.