Back from Starwood XXIII

From: "Rev. Ivan Stang" <stang@subgenius.com>
Newsgroups: alt.slack
Date: Mon, Jul 29, 2002 2:51 PM

VAST TORNADO DEVASTATION AVERTED BY FRANTIC GESTICULATIONS OF OBESE
PAGAN CRONE!

We must have done something right at 5X-Day, because the Slack spilled
over into Starwood, the giant festival of paganry that runs for a whole
week, two weeks after X-Day, also at Brushwood Folklore Center in
Sherman, NY.

Those who believe in Slack got Slack, anyway. Some who believe in black
magickkkkkk and binding spells and such, got a pretty good dose of
those bad vibes, from what I heard.

My sermon was placed at the prime spot on the schedule, 5 pm Saturday,
was packed with audience, who ate it up, and went just fine from my
point of view, and, finally, resulted in good $ales, including one new
Member, Rev. Charlene Mann.

Einstein's Secret Orchestra (with Dr. K'taden Legume) performed late
Friday night in a large inflatable dome called The Pufferdome, upon the
walls of which were projected our new Dobbsfilm Shorties animation
video from two different projectors. The dazzled, bedoped pagans were
thus exposed to every subliminal I have ever inserted into my movies,
plus every photograph Wei and I ever took of anything weird, including
all previous X-Day Drills, plus all the art by Fernandinande LeMur and
IMBJR from the year 1999, and the scariest of Codini's animation.

This Starwood featured the largest turn-out yet, 1700 people were
registered. Guests included the band Gaelic Storm (one of whom turned
out to be a long time die-hard SubGenius), Jeff McBride aka Magnus the
Magician (another old friend of the Church -- who bought a Blackout
Full Metal Dobbshead, incidentally), and R. U. Sirius, best known as
the editor of Mondo 2000, who once had me review my own book, under an
unassumed name.

X-Day Drill veterans would be flabbergasted to see Brushwood so PACKED.
During these large pagan fests, the place looks like Hobitton or the
Ewok Village or Peter Pan's Island, depending on where you're standing.
(As Ed Strange pointed out, "Starwood -- the only place in America
where an adult male can walk around among little children while wearing
nothing but a fox tail.") There are four streets of New Age merchants,
and the entire area we call alt.slack.village is like a sardine can of
tents and konga drums. On Thursday night, Prof. Chas Smith hosted a
party at Tranquillity Base/Bonobo A-Go-Go that was advertised as an
"S&M" or "B&D" party, I forget which. It was more crowded and, from
what I heard, considerably more sordid than the similar party during
XDV. Dr. Legume tended bar and observed. One thing he observed was two
big ol' pagans in bondage outfits going at it ON MY FOLDING
LOUNGE-CHAIR, which I hosed off as soon as I got home. Drunken swingers
kept weaseling into Chas's area on subsequent evenings, hoping for
repeat action. Chas would probably have been nicer to them than I was.

Wei and I again camped in the zone between Tranquillity Base and Rev.
Ed Strange's yurt, in "Naked Bob's" side-yard, praise Naked Bob. We
remembered to bring jars to pee in late at night, this time.

In personal conversations, I got nothing but good will toward the
SubGenii from the old-timey pagans and drummers. We must have made a
better than usual impression last Drill, or else they have simply
gotten used to the fact that a person can be "cool" by their standards
even without being a long-haired pagan hippie type. Even while wearing
pocket protectors. I heard the name "Dok Frop" invoked with awe
numerous times by the Brushwood natives, who seem to revere him now in
an almost cargo-cultish way; he and Sister Decadence may well be the
ones mainly responsible for the pagans' newfound Slackwards
orientation.

There was some kind of "psychic war" being waged between "witch tribes"
that I kept hearing about. Several of the drummer regulars avoided the
giant bonfire on Saturday night supposedly because they felt it had
been "cursed" or that "a binding spell" would be put on everyone who
attended it. A drenching thunderstorm, which started shortly after the
bonfire was lit, fit perfectly into this system of Mage-Ickle
Correspondences, and was assumed to have been sent deliberately by
either good or bad forces, depending on whose side you were on. Some of
the fundamentalist drummers were irked at "the wizards of A.C.E." for
asking them to tone down their trance drumming during the morning
workshops, and word spread that the dayglo A.C.E. wrist bands that
identified people as paying festival-goers were themselves "binding
spells" or some sort of commercial mayjycck. I am a fairly involved
member of A.C.E. now, so if any such binding spells are indeed being
used, I will strive to get copies of them and adapt them to SubGenius
use.

I can assure anyone who worries about this that A.C.E. does not want
you bound to them at ALL, besides the simple Paying of the Attendance
Fee. Once they have your money, you do not need to feel bound to A.C.E.
for ANYTHING FURTHER, I promise you.

There was a fantastic moment of high theatrics -- and possibly what we
would call the most falling-down-laughing-inspiring example of gross
superstition and eager self-delusion ever seen at Starwood -- when the
storm clouds above the raging bonfire threatened to turn into a
tornado, or at any rate, to swirl together in a way that was even more
menacing than the bolts of lightning and the scary thunder (these
evincing great whoops from the easily impressed fire dancers with each
thunderclap). One peg-legged obese wheelchair ridden crone, I was told,
took it upon herself and her vast psychic powers to STOP THE TORNADO.
Hollering at the drummers to go faster and faster, and ululating like a
crazy Iranian woman (to quote Pope Meyer), she began by sheer force of
PAINED EXPRESSION and HEARTFELT GESTICULATIONS to, Magneto-like,
psychokinetically DRAG THE COLLIDING CLOUDS APART. At least that's what
she seemed to be trying to do. The most hilarious part was that some of
the bystanders appeared to take it quite seriously. Who knows? Maybe
her hollering and maygyicckkal Ditko-esque gestures did indeed save the
campground from the tornado. I CANNOT PROVE OTHERWISE! She did however
fail miserably in stopping the downpour, which continued all night, and
I heard that after her bout of magical battle with the weather, she
fell into a deep trance, looking dead to the world but no doubt
continuing this titanic struggle on other Planes and Realms from which
lowly sane persons like myself are forever cut off.

The next day, she was seen alone in the middle of the field in her
wheelchair, carving at the sky with a pair of magic swords, and -- I
cannot absolutely confirm this -- waving her wooden leg at the heavens.

One SubGenius who had witnessed the all-night drumming in the storm
recounted to me that at one point, he and some others were asked to
bring some tarps and frames from the merchants' area to cover the
drummers and protect their drums from the downpour. In the process of
helping drag these tall metal poles across the open field in a
lightning storm, he suddenly realized that he was risking his life for
SOMEBODY'S religion.

BUT, Wotan, the Goddess, NHGH, Connie, or maybe even "Bob" smiled on
the pagans and even the most accursed went home with all parts intact.

I caught a bad chest cold and am dreading having to WORK today (Hour of
Slack 848 was due out yesterday). I caught the cold long before the
downpour, so it can't be attributed to any curses. In fact I stayed in
my tent during most of the all-night flooded-bonfire dancing, sound
asleep. I was pretty pooped from doing my sermon and then being part of
the bonfire lighting ceremony.

Yes, once again, non-pagan Rev. Stang was honored to be one of the 8
who get to light the sacred bonfire. This time, one of the torches was
named The Torch of Slack -- Slack's first time among the torches of
Love, Freedom, Peace, etc. Some of the participants take this stuff
more seriously than others. Mainly it's show-biz -- the sponsors of
Starwood, A.C.E., are a hard working group who want those who shelled
out the $120 or whatever it costs to attend Starwood, to get their
money's worth. The bonfire at Starwood is no Burning Man -- it lacks
the hundreds of fire twirlers and about half a million bucks worth of
pyrotechnics -- but it is still quite an impressive sight, especially
once the cave people shed their coats and start their crazy nekkid
dancing and Neanderthalish tribal drumming.

It is absolutely amazing to me how ADJUSTED one becomes to this sort of
thing. I remember my first Starwood, in 1990; it all seemed incredible
and fantastic. Now it's just another of my regular cycle of free lance
jobs. Ho hum, another flock of body painted nymphettes frolicking
around a burning altar... ho, hum, more religious nuts chanting and
gesticulating at the heavens with false limbs. Ho hum, more fireworks,
light show, prog rock and LSD combinations that probably seem "WILD"
and "CRAZY" to people with non-SubGenius, non-Scribe jobs.

As usual, I did not attend a single one of the 100-odd workshops taught
by experts on psychedelics, folklore, ethnic music etc., but mostly
wandered around chatting. Made some new friends, as usual, some of whom
are gonna be at the DEVOtional on Aug. 10 in Cleveland and the Devival
on Aug. 11 in Akron, and I'm looking forward to that.

But I am gonna have to come up with a new sermon. The List of 12 Most
Important Things has now been seen by every single SubGenius in Ohio,
Indiana and Pennsylvania, I fear.

I added some new material to the rant at the suggestion of a nurse
friend at Starwood. She said, "Somebody needs to rant about patients
who are too fat to wipe their own asses, and when they get into the
hospital, they expect ME to do it for them."

Well, this very concept shook me up. I immediately thought about
several friends of mine who MIGHT BE that fat, some of whom might hear
the sermon. The challenge, then -- how to touch on the untouchable
subject of how some people's unmentionables are untouchable by
themselves. Without totally alienating and offending my several grossly
obese friends. Because "Bob" has no trouble with GLUTTONY, it's not a
sin in our religion, and we certainly have NO problem with ANYBODY
being as fat as they WANT to be or simply ARE, "normal" being a
statistical red herring used by the Con to sell crap; the point is,
"Bob" doesn't care how fat or skinny you are, but don't expect him to
wipe your ass for you.

While sitting in one of the many plastic portable chemical Temples of
Excremeditation that dot Brushwood, I created a composition that did
indeed touch upon that untouchable subject, and I delivered it unto the
crowd, flinging it, and nobody has killed me yet.

One REALLY fucking weird thing happened to me. A bird shat directly
into my pipe bowl while I was holding it in my hand. It's that simple.
I was sitting on the porch of Tranquillity Base, between Frappy-loads,
just holding the pipe in my hand. By coincidence, Dr. Legume had put on
the CD player a recording of Shel Silverstein reciting a poem about an
epic contest between the fastest joint roller in the world and the
fastest joint smoker in the world. While this oration played, I felt a
SPLAT hit the end of the little wooden Pipe I was holding. Where it had
once been empty, there was now some kind of Manna from the sky -- a
pool of red liquid with tiny seeds in it, exactly like what one would
spit out after chewing but not swallowing a wild raspberry.

My Pipe was Empty, yet it was Filled by the Birds.

But what PORTENDS this omen? What did the shitting bird MEAN by that?
"You need to be smoking better shit?" "Here's what you're REALLY doing
to yourself?" Ya got me. I would love to hear any suggestions from
other mages and fortune-tellers as to what this might mean, if
anything.

--
4th Stangian Orthodox MegaFisTemple Lodge of the Wrath of Dobbs Yeti,
Resurrected (Rev. Ivan Stang, prop.)
P.O. Box 181417, Cleveland, OH 44118 (fax 216-320-9528)
A subsidiary of:
The SubGenius Foundation, Inc. / P.O. Box 204206, Austin, TX 78720-4206
Dobbs-Approved Authorized Commercial Outreach of The Church of the SubGenius
SubSITE: http://www.subgenius.com
For SubGenius Biz & Orders: call toll free to 1-888-669-2323
or email: jesus@subgenius.com
PRABOB

----------------------------------------------------------------------

From: Legume <none@yerbiz.com>

Rev. Ivan Stang wrote:

> VAST TORNADO DEVASTATION AVERTED BY FRANTIC GESTICULATIONS OF OBESE
> PAGAN CRONE!

That's a bald-faced lie! WE both know it was averted by "Cowboy Bob", ESO's
drummer, who rode up on his horse, lassoed the tornado, wrassled it to the
dirt, hog-tied it, then kicked the living shit out of it with his
stainless-steel-toed rattlesnake boots.

> X-Day Drill veterans would be flabbergasted to see Brushwood so PACKED.

They'd have been even more flabbergasted if they'd seen me at the drum
circle Sunday morning with a huge knife, walking around half-dressed
in the pouring rain, feeding watermelon slices to the drummers and
dancers...

> My Pipe was Empty, yet it was Filled by the Birds.
>
> But what PORTENDS this omen? What did the shitting bird MEAN by that?
> "You need to be smoking better shit?" "Here's what you're REALLY doing
> to yourself?" Ya got me. I would love to hear any suggestions from
> other mages and fortune-tellers as to what this might mean, if
> anything.

It was no omen. Shit Happens.

Legume
--
"Civilization will not attain to its perfection until the last stone from
the last church falls on the last priest" - - - Emile Zola

----------------------------------------------------------------------

From: "Alliekatt" <alleykatzen@hotmail.com>

"Rev. Ivan Stang" <stang@subgenius.com> wrote in message
news:290720021451348193%stang@subgenius.com...
> This Starwood featured the largest turn-out yet, 1700 people were
> registered. Guests included the band Gaelic Storm (one of whom turned
> out to be a long time die-hard SubGenius),

That's REALLY FUNNY- just after returning from 5xday, I got breathless word
that a friend of mine in Pittsburgh, Bob Banerjee (the Indian guy you
probably saw playing the fiddle with AMAZING SKILL) left the old hometown
here to go play with GS. He has been playing with them for about three
weeks now. Bob is SUCH a sweetheart, and a total nerd, and the most amazing
fiddle player I have ever heard, so I would NOT be surprised if that was
HIM. I LOVE that man.

> There was a fantastic moment of high theatrics -- and possibly what we
> would call the most falling-down-laughing-inspiring example of gross
> superstition and eager self-delusion ever seen at Starwood -- when the
> storm clouds above the raging bonfire threatened to turn into a
> tornado, or at any rate, to swirl together in a way that was even more
> menacing than the bolts of lightning and the scary thunder (these
> evincing great whoops from the easily impressed fire dancers with each
> thunderclap). One peg-legged obese wheelchair ridden crone, I was told,
> took it upon herself and her vast psychic powers to STOP THE TORNADO.

SNORT.

> The next day, she was seen alone in the middle of the field in her
> wheelchair, carving at the sky with a pair of magic swords, and -- I
> cannot absolutely confirm this -- waving her wooden leg at the heavens.

I would rather spend time before a turf grate among wind-chafed Irish
migrant farmer tin whistle playing fishermen who ride rusty bikes 3 miles to
a pub in the sheeting rain to get bollocks wasted and feed cold bacon and
mushy peas to the dog under the table while telling stories about the
fairies.

And I've DONE IT and it KICKS the muffuckin FAKE CELTS with their FAKE
fuckin magickkkkkkkkkkkk right out the muffuckin DOOR.

Compared to a bunch of urban pagans throwing pretend lightning bolts at
pretend egos, I would rather take a sane dose of REAL INSANITY among people
for whom magic is a SHITLOAD more REAL and INSIDIOUS and AMAZING than a
bunch of computer programming pedants burning herbs and waving sticks in the
air. I have been where the LUCK PLANE fucking WORKS and is REAL, and ego
play among naked bored middle class pufters in sarongs is NOT. Fuggin
magickkkkkkkkkkers. SubReality can NEVER be manipulated by so-called
magickkkkkkkal "manifestation of Will", all you get is PILES OF EGO
BULLSHIT!!! FAUGH!!!!!! SubReality can only work in ANYONE'S favor by
being SEDUCED and LOVED like a BIG ASSED WOMAN using universal principles of
SLACK, and VERY few Americans let alone PseudoCelts in sarongs know how to
do that AT ALL.

Only Advanced Yetis know how.

And the Irish. The insane ones, that is.

> Well, this very concept shook me up. I immediately thought about
> several friends of mine who MIGHT BE that fat, some of whom might hear
> the sermon. The challenge, then -- how to touch on the untouchable
> subject of how some people's unmentionables are untouchable by
> themselves. Without totally alienating and offending my several grossly
> obese friends. Because "Bob" has no trouble with GLUTTONY, it's not a
> sin in our religion, and we certainly have NO problem with ANYBODY
> being as fat as they WANT to be or simply ARE, "normal" being a
> statistical red herring used by the Con to sell crap; the point is,
> "Bob" doesn't care how fat or skinny you are, but don't expect him to
> wipe your ass for you.

If I EVER EVER get to the point of not being able to wipe my ass, I will be
DEAD or using a STICK with a wet wipe, because otherwise I will NOT DESERVE
TO LIVE.

Damn, that's really fat. And I'm a fatass. At the bike festival a day ago
where I was taking pictures, my buddy says "I don't fit in here, I smoke
cigarettes and I don't ride a bike." And I said, "Well, I smoke cigarettes,
I don't ride a bike, and I'm FAT!!!! So I WIN!!! NYAH NYAH!"

Nah. The fairies just let you know that you and a few others around there
were the only ones with any power at all, and that's only because you can
see the punchline when a bird shits frop from the sky into your bowl.
You're blind if you complain, and you're a complete moron if you actually
believe that and smoke it. The in between part is where shit happens and it
becomes Slack. I fuckin' love it. I just fuckin' love it. I love being a
SubGenius.

alliekatt

----------------------------------------------------------------------

From: dinosaurbob@comcast.net (dinosaurbob)

"Rev. Ivan Stang" <stang@subgenius.com> wrote in message news:<290720021451348193%stang@subgenius.com>...

<snip>

> One REALLY fucking weird thing happened to me. A bird shat directly
> into my pipe bowl while I was holding it in my hand. It's that simple.
> I was sitting on the porch of Tranquillity Base, between Frappy-loads,
> just holding the pipe in my hand. By coincidence, Dr. Legume had put on
> the CD player a recording of Shel Silverstein reciting a poem about an
> epic contest between the fastest joint roller in the world and the
> fastest joint smoker in the world. While this oration played, I felt a
> SPLAT hit the end of the little wooden Pipe I was holding. Where it had
> once been empty, there was now some kind of Manna from the sky -- a
> pool of red liquid with tiny seeds in it, exactly like what one would
> spit out after chewing but not swallowing a wild raspberry.
>
> My Pipe was Empty, yet it was Filled by the Birds.
>
> But what PORTENDS this omen? What did the shitting bird MEAN by that?
> "You need to be smoking better shit?" "Here's what you're REALLY doing
> to yourself?" Ya got me. I would love to hear any suggestions from
> other mages and fortune-tellers as to what this might mean, if
> anything.

Do you know what the black stuff in birdshit is?
+
+
+
+

That is also birdshit.

+Dinosaurbob+

----------------------------------------------------------------------

From: drdark@37.com (DoktorDark)

> "Rev. Ivan Stang" <stang@subgenius.com> wrote in message news:<290720021451348193%stang@subgenius.com>...
>

>
> >I would love to hear any suggestions from
> > other mages and fortune-tellers as to what this might mean, if
> > anything.

It means that the synchronicity of the Universe was telling you to
"Get your shit together", and was thus assisting you in taking that
first step in the journey ahead.

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Original file name: Back from Starwood X.txt - converted on Thursday, 29 May 2003, 16:43