"Or Something": The Brag of the Tactical Buddha

(Reader's Digest Condensed Version)

From: speaker616@hotmail.com (The Rev. Dr. Lt. Chaos Israel)
Newsgroups: alt.slack
Date: Fri, Jul 13, 2001 3:15 PM

(A figment. Found in a local coffee shop, written on the back of a
rave flyer.)

TO THE ANGEL OF THE CHURCH IN CHAOS, NEW MEXICO, WRITE:
I am rumored to exist. I occasionally make sense. I drink coffee.
I eat the flesh of dead animals. I drink warm beer. People find me
generally inoffensive; I blend into the woodwork. I'm not much to look
at.
What I tell you three times is true. Maybe.
I was raised by poodles and Siamese cats. I was originally a teddy
bear who wanted nothing else in the world but to be a little boy: they
forgot to tell me I'd grow up. Puberty was a bit of a shock, let me
tell you. I am left-handed. I learned to walk on the bus. I am a
bastard of the FunkQu art of Stoojitsu. I run Windows 3.11 on my
GLASSES. What year is this?
I commit acts of terror merely by continuing to breathe. I sometimes
*forget* to breathe. I was too fat for the Air Force. I was ugly, and
my mother dressed me funny. John Denver saved my soul; I am the Great
Folk Music Scare of the 1970s. My mutant power is invisibility to bus
drivers. I was a Fundamentalist Christian for EIGHT YEARS.
I played AD&D before they finished the rulebooks, 2nd edition sucks. I
play dice with the Universe. I am a personality NPC without the
personality. I am the original critical failure., who'll run my
scenario?
I'm not retarded, I'm just weird. I am a *very* *good* dishwasher. I
can almost drive a forklift. I was a telemarketer for three entire
days.
I have been stood up, shot down, and just plain dogged more times than
most of you cowards have even bothered to make a pass, AND I STILL GOT
LAID. (once.) I flirt with diesel dykes, and corrupt the morals of
little old ladies. I'm the one your daughter warned you about. I am a
total pervert: I stay up all night and TALK. I write corny love
letters. I love you. Will you marry me?
I am the Class of 1984, my life is half over and I haven't even
STARTED yet. I don't wear a hat. I speak gibberish and still make
sense. I'm Gifted. I'm twisted. I almost pass for normal. If you saw
me on the street, you'd probably give me a dollar. I won't lie to you,
I need a MOCHA.
I am not from this planet, I don't get it, I don't care. Will somebody
please explain this to me?
I believe earth women are too skinny. I take "all you can eat" as a
personal challenge. Samoan Sumo wrestlers comment on my "healthy
appetite". Take me to dinner, or take me to bed, or kill me. WHERE THE
HELL'S MY COFFEE?
I am a reactionary progresslive. I am a Crypto-Anachronist. I am the
Anti-Reagan: I invented Al Gore. Never mind "right" and "left", my,
ahem, politics can only be described as "out there, thataway". First
redhead on the left, and straight on 'till morning.
I am an Ordained Minister and Do(c)ktor of Forbidden Sciences. I am a
Lieutenant because I SAID SO. I am the Future of Slack, BE AFRAID!
Sooner or later you *will* be Chaos Israel, even if it kills you. I
steal SubGenius taglines and make them sound mundane. ICEKNIFE may be
science, but Chaos Israel is VOODOO. Are you afraid?
My Karma ran over your Dogma, and they *both* joined the Marines. My
idea of "Special Forces" involves electric wheelchairs with 25mm
chainguns. I re-enact WWII on my computer. I don't have a computer, I
have a 386. I am a combat anthropologist and a tactical xenologist.
Little green men come to me for pointers on cattle mutilation. I have
season tickets to Area 51 and reservation at the restaurant at the end
of the universe. 0700, 5 Jul 8661, thought you knew.
I build my own Excuse. The Earth is my Escape Vessel, what the Hell do
you WANT from me? I gave up my sanity for Lent. I stuck a firecracker
up Coyote's ass, and asked Prometheus for a light. I'm not HUMAN
anymore, how ya like me now? I wave my hands in the air like I don't
care; I laugh at the people as they stop to look and stare. I was
there when video killed the radio star. I tell you, I was there when
it happened, don't you think I ought to know? I can dance if I want
to. I make grand mal seizures look like nervous tics, BUST A DAMN
MOVE!. I take nothing seriously, except the JOKES. This is not a
paradox. I may find myself in another part of the world. I may find
myself behind the wheel of a large automobile. I may find myself with
a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife. I may say to myself,
"Well...how did I get here?"
People say I'm crazy, I got dogshit on the soles of my shoes.
I AM ONLY ALIVE IN WHAT I LOVE AND DESIRE TO THE POINT OF TERROR
(Especially if she's got nice ankles...) My homeboys tried to warn me,
but girl, that foot makes me so horny!
I'm so strange, drugs make me *normal*. I feed the pigeons for a sign.
I quit my job and they *promoted* me, what the hell do I do now? I am
half Sasquatch and three-quarters Norwegian. I have relatives on Alpha
Centauri and a timeshare in Vahalla, IT'S CLOBBERIN' TIME! SAY MY
NAME! My *grandmother* is scarier than you, PULL THE DAMN TRIGGER
BITCH! ARE YOU GONNA STAND THERE TALKIN' SHIT, OR ARE YOU GONNA *KILL
ME*???

Nice tits.

No listen, the joke is, it isn't a joke. You're outnumbered six
billion to one, and you've only got 70 years, and the Con takes 17 of
them, and the Sleep Demons take another 23--this is not a coincidence,
do the math...
(let's not even talk about I-5 traffic.)
...you've got 30 years of daylight left, make it count.

So listen up all you SUV-drivin, John Tesh listening yuppie wannabe
politically correct WWF-dissin Jehovah's Witness rejects. All you
Limbaugh-dittoing, Randi-felching, litfag-worshipping,
Warhol-deconstructing academic drones. All you Jew-baiting,
kaffir-whipping, Holocaust denying, canned-food-and-shotguns,
Constitution-means-whatever-I-want-it-to-mean, Soldier-of-Fortune
masturbatin' militia sovreignty loons. And most especially all y'all
Bible-thumpin, sunday school gossipin, sex-hating, basckstabbin, Larry
Flynt gutshooting, Senator-buying, televangelizing, slush-fund
embezzlin, False Slack tent revival bullshitting, clinic bombing,
holier-than-thou know nothings:
(With a shout-out to all the lamers, assholes, petty bureaucrats,
policy wonks, sellouts, jerk, dickweeds, dipshits, fuckheads, and get
a lifers:)
GET IN SIT DOWN SHUT UP AND HANG ON, before I say something
*unpleasant*.
This is SLACK I'm takling about, and if you don't GET IT, it's gonna
GET YOU! OR SOMETHING! GRASS, GAS, OR ASS! NO ONE "RIDES" FOR FREE!
UNLESS THEY *WANT* TO!
So cough up your $30, fool. You ain't never gonna take back your own
life until you give it back to "Bob".

Unless you *want* to make the baby Kali cry...

--CHAOS NEVER DIED.

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Original file name: Finally finished this... - converted on Thursday, 20 December 2001, 03:28