The Exquisite Corpse, a deadly tale of Art

In the mind of every artist there is a masterpiece.― Kai Greene

Demitri Presov arrived at the loft shortly after noon and Siggy was impressed. Presov looked like a character snatched from a Dostoevsky novel, a fourth brother Karamazov, wearing a dingy white linen kosovorotka shirt, slightly oversized dark pants held up by a gashnik, thin thigh length boots, and a fiddler's cap. Short, bearded, and with a look of seething anger, he paced up and down the loft, snorting dismissively while mumbling to himself in a language that was not quite Russian and not quite English. Siggy was shocked when Wilson made his apologies and left the loft for a supposed appointment uptown.

Siggy seated himself at a small wooden table and poured himself a cup of tea, waiting for whatever demons were arguing in Demitri's head to vacate. Finally, the angry gnome of a man calmed considerably and seated himself opposite, pouring himself a cup of tea as well. He face shifted from fury to amusement in an instant. A broad toothy smile planted itself on his face.
"Greetings comrade. You see how easy it is to command attention. This is double true with wealthy soulless capitalists, they love watching crazy... safe crazy, yes. We... what is that term? We, the hoi polloi...plebians, riffraff... the proletariat... we frighten them, but they need us so they can feel superior. They do not understand struggle, so they wish to see us suffer, they need to see us insane and bitter. This way they can laugh at us... but we laugh at them... until we execute them all, of course!" He laughed loudly.

"Do you know why you're here?" Siggy asked gently.

"Of course," Demitri slammed his palm into the table, making Siggy sit back, "We are here to help you make fools of those bloodsuckers, to give you money. You are artist, I am artist... they are scum, also stupid in every way but getting rich. We play with them, we insult them, it makes them happy, because they are stupid and we are not. Then they give us much money, yes?"

Siggy smiled, he was beginning to like Demitri, "Yes."

"Good. I will tell you what you can and cannot say. I show you how to behave. They will despise you so much that they love you like angel."

"May I ask you a question?"

"Of course Siegfried."

"Siggy is fine. Are you a communist? You put off a real old school revolutionary vibe."

Demitri laughed and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "I think everyone else should be good communist. I like to buy things like good capitalist... don't tell anyone about Demitri's weakness."

"I won't." Siggy chuckled.

"Let us begin. Things you should and should not say."

"All right."

"First you must remember these parasites are pretending to be good humans. They will not support artists who are racist, sexist, homophobic, or xenophobic in public. In private most of  upper crust are guilty of all these sins, but the masks they wear out in world are very important to them. They give to charities so they do not have to think about suffering... and of course so they don't pay taxes. Second you must only attack their class, not them individually, that way they can bask in guilt and blame those around them."

"I don't think I understand," Siggy said.

"Is simple. Do not say Mr. Fisk is bloodsucking evil man who feeds off the poor. Say that the wealthy are bloodsucking evil men who feed off poor. They will all nod and agree and point to person next to them."

"I get it, but how should I behave... I mean... my manner and such."

"Look angry, mumble, point at them and stare at them. Change tone many times, sometimes loud, sometimes quiet. Use a tic or mannerism like rubbing face or having jerky movement... not too much like epilepsy, but enough to notice. Act frustrated and angry at the world... they will love it."