Some lucky people can laugh at so-called Abduction Phenomena. I used to.
I'm a skeptic and, aside from Church of the SubGenius philosophy, I'm
probably what the average religious nut would call an atheist. I believe
only in science and "Bob," and while those two are admittedly damned
fickle, at least there's SOME sense to 'em. The SubGenius teachings may
sound unscientific at first, but the authentic paid scientist Rudy Rucker
has assured me that he can justify ANYTHING "Bob" says on a scientific
basis.
Since "Bob" hadn't said much about alien abductions, I pretty much
shrugged off those stories just like I shrug off "repressed memories" of
Satanic Ritual Abuse on the part of my fellow white trash trailer home
denizens. I wrote both off as combinations of wishful thinking, paranoia
and unforgivable ignorance of common human dream states.
Then it happened to me.
I didn't start remembering childhood Satanic abuse on which I could blame
my inability to hold down a job, no... but I did get abducted by aliens.
Greys, to be specific. It was an ABSOLUTELY TERRIFYING ORDEAL, and I no
longer titter at those who have suffered that forced intrusion into their
lives and brains. I would not wish it on my worst enemy.
What makes this confession particularly awkward is the fact that I'm a
professional preacher/satirist who has specialized in the "high weirdness"
arena. I make my living spinning wild yarns about UFOs, when I'm not
researching "REAL" UFO lore or badmouthing UFO aficionados that I
consider to be deluded. So I'm now stuck in the tricky position in which
L.Ron Hubbard must have found himself when he had to start explaining,
"Well, sure, I WAS an unsuccessful science fiction writer, and this
Scientology religion I've founded probably SOUNDS like science fiction,
but I swear to Zenu that it's FOR REAL, THIS time!" Likewise, I now know
how Whitley Streiber must have felt while writing that nonfiction book
about his own abduction experiences, Communion. He'd been writing horror
and fantasy for many years, "crying wolf" so to speak, and now he was
expecting people to believe that, THIS time, he WASN'T FAKING.
I still think Hubbard was full of crap, and while I never thought Streiber
was lying exactly, I did think he was kinda nutty.
But here I am in the same boat, hollering about a very real wolf, and
nobody with half a brain will believe me, just because I happened to have
been BULLSHITTING about wolves on all previous occasions.
But I swear to God that I really experienced all that I'm about to describe.
I have a wife and two teenaged kids. In 1993 we were living in a large but
very old and very rickety inner city house in Dallas. My daughter Sivet
(not her real name) was 11 at the time, her brother a year older. He
doesn't figure in this, I HOPE; as far as we know, he slept right through
it.
It was a normal night. The kids were in their separate rooms sleeping, and
my wife and I were in bed reading. Then...
>>LOST TIME<<
I have the feeling that it was very much later in the night, but I can't
know for sure. It might have been mere SECONDS. Maybe I just fell asleep.
But SOMETHING is missing from my memory. I dunno what happened in the
interim, but all of a sudden I definitely wasn't just lying in bed
reading. I was lying in bed with TWO STRUGGLING BRAINS inside my head. One
brain knew that a terrible, unjust thing was being done to us,
particularly to my little girl in the next room, and the other brain was
saying, "EVERYTHING'S OKAY. NOTHING BAD IS HAPPENING. YOU ARE HAPPY AND
WILL STAY IN BED SLEEPING." And THAT was the brain that was in control of
the body. The terrified brain knew there was something unspeakably
dreadful happening, BECAUSE it had to "stand by" helplessly and "watch"
while SOMETHING KEPT ME FROM RUNNING INTO THE OTHER ROOM TO SAVE MY
DAUGHTER. There is no way I can impart even the slightest inkling of what
this felt like. Lots of scary things have happened to me -- getting chased
and beaten by rednecks, almost drowning, bad acid trips, seeing my
children injured or thinking they were lost, etc. -- but nothing can
compare to the horror of being paralyzed, of having something else take
control of your body and PREVENT YOU FROM TAKING DESPERATELY NEEDED
ACTION. Well, I shouldn't say that. I've never been raped. Rape might well
be the only comparison. The overiding emotion throughout this whole
experience was one of revulsion at being violated. I hate to admit it, but
that feeling of personal revulsion even overshadowed my parenting
instincts -- at first, anyway.
My wife was awake too. The bedside lights were still on. There was a book
in her hand. She looked at me and smiled. I smiled back. Nothing was more
obvious to my Scared Brain than that these smiles were HIDEOUSLY FALSE.
BOTH of us knew that THERE WERE "ALIENS" IN MY DAUGHTER'S ROOM AND THEY
WERE DOING SOMETHING TO HER AND OVERPOWERING OUR MINDS SO THAT WE COULDN'T
FIGHT BACK. And yet we were both being held in stasis, smiling at each
other, as if the demons that had taken over our bodies thought that making
the bodies smile at each other would help placate them. We were PUPPETS.
Being a puppet makes you want to puke. But you can't, because the strings
aren't making you puke. You can only dangle there with bile slapping
against the back of your throat.
When I say we knew there were aliens in my daughters room, I'm not saying
we thought there were creatures from outer space in there. I use the term
"aliens" strictly as a pop culture reference. I knew only, but
intuitively, that the things in Sivet's room were the same things that all
those abduction accounts describe. I didn't know or care what they were,
or how they got there, but I knew they were "the Greys." There was a
"sense" of that. (At this point I hadn't actually SEEN a damned thing.)
There was also a sense, probably implanted along with the paralysis, that
this was somehow NORMAL, and had been happening to other people for
hundreds of years. Something was making me feel like it was all part of
some TRADITION, like I was SUPPOSED to lay there while "THEY" did "THINGS"
to my daughter. Because that was how it had always been done.
So my wife and I sat there in bed smiling at each other, and pretending to
read, while our, uh, "souls" were struggling to MAKE OURSELVES JUMP OUT OF
BED AND GO HELP OUR DAUGHTER.
Apparently I have more will-power than my wife does. I'm definitely a
whole lot CRAZIER than she is. And I have a very brief history of not
being able to see UFOs when everybody else can. When we lived in the
middle of the Rosebud Sioux Indian Reservation in 1975, a classic UFO
hovered one night over the pond near our trailer court, perfectly visible
to everybody who lived there EXCEPT ME. Perhaps my hard-core
atheism/skepticism, or possibly some incipient schizophrenia, make me
somehow "blind" to these things! At any rate, somehow, laying in that bed
with that false rictus grin plastered on my face against my will, I was
able to break the paralysis.
Let me try to describe what this was like. Maybe it could be compared to
parachuting out of an airplane. Every nerve and brain cell in your body is
telling you not to do it; your very TENDONS are trying to hold back; but
somehow you make yourself leap out into the strong arms of gravity,
anyway. An entire OTHER BRAIN was making every step away from my bed and
toward my daughter's room like walking into a burning house. EVERY FIBER
OF MY BEING except the essential core was screaming, "TO STAY IN BED
READING IS GOOD AND NORMAL AND SAFE!!! TO DO OTHERWISE IS CERTAIN DEATH,
AND YOU'RE INSANE!!" Every single step required a gigantic effort of will.
It wasn't that it hurt to move, it was that it felt hideously WRONG. It
went against every instinct except one, the one that (praise evolution)
took precedence: the parenting instinct. HOW COULD I LIE THERE LETTING
THIS FAKE BRAIN PRETEND EVERYTHING WAS OKAY WHILE THERE WERE "THINGS"
BEING DONE TO MY LITTLE GIRL??? The fact that I had already been paralyzed
so LONG added EXTRA HORROR and a sort of shame as well.
Somehow I fought what my interpretive mind remembers as a "paralysis ray."
Funny how we have been trained by movies to think of such things in terms
of "rays." In the movies, aliens use "rays" to do their dirty work, and
that's how I still think of this paralysis. But I'm sure that the idea of
a "ray" -- and, for that matter, the idea of "creatures from space" --
result from living at this particular level technological civilization. In
another time, I would have been visualizing devils and curses.
Step by step. I was soaked in sweat and trembling violently. A kind of
white light seemed to interfere with my vision, threatening to replace
everything. It was like the nightmare in which you're trying to slog your
way through waist-deep syrup or up an impossibly muddy, slippery road to
reach some goal, but the monsters are closing in behind you. I mean this
was BAD BAD BAD. That fake brain was yanking me back towards my bed with
all its might, but I was somehow progressing, step by clunking, halting
step, like Frankenstein's monster, to the hallway outside Sivet's closed
bedroom door. I put my hand on her doorknob. The light was getting
brighter and brighter. I was in utter full-fledged panic at this point, my
heart slamming away like a jackhammer and my knees wobbling all
jelly-like. But I yanked that door open. It was like cutting off my own
hand. There was nothing in the room. My daughter was gone. But there was
light pouring from the closet.
(I know, I know, I saw Poltergeist too.)
My daughter's closet provided the only access to the attic. A crude
trapdoor in the ceiling, reached by climbing a ladder of boards nailed
onto the closet wall, led up there. And I knew that Sivet was in the
attic. With the THINGS.
I could barely see at all. I was running on madness and Daddy-instinct
alone. But I yanked that closet door open. I tried to look up towards the
trapdoor. Getting my neck to tilt my head up, and my eyes to focus
upwards, was the hardest thing I have ever done. The light coming through
the trapdoor opening wasn't really so bright as it was somehow INTOLERABLE
to the NERVOUS SYSTEM. The panic ray was making me mess my pants. I lost
my mind and started scrambling at the board-ladder that led up to the open
trapdoor. And then something looked down at me from up there. A face
looked at me. The panic took over completely. The face was so impossible
that every nerve ending in my body felt like it was encased in ice. I
can't describe the face except to say that I think it was the face of a
Grey or the servant of a Grey. There was some sense of machinery and more
faces and the next thing I knew I was tangled up in bedsheets in the dark,
soaking wet with sweat, shaking like a whipped dog, whimpering, crying...
my wife hugged me and comforted me AS IF IT HAD BEEN NOTHING MORE THAN A
BAD DREAM. I stopped shaking and ran into my daughter's room, and she was
sleeping safely, tucked in, snug as a bug in a rug.
Okay.
GRANTED:
Prior to this event, I had read probably three or four dozen cheesy
paperback books on UFOs, from Keel to Cooper. (I've met both writers and I
consider Keel a cool dude with a carny-barker background, and Cooper a
transparently self-deluded asshole.)
Granted, I had read Streiber's Communion a couple of years before, and had
seen the MOVIE of Communion for the SECOND TIME, on VIDEOTAPE, only THREE
DAYS PRIOR TO THIS EXPERIENCE.
GRANTED, I had been working long hours for days, hardly sleeping, and
GRANTED, I had run out of my favorite recreational herbal dream
suppressant.
So why do I have the NERVE to think it wasn't a just a dream? The same way
all UFO abductees know their abductions weren't dreams. The aliens ALWAYS
make you THINK it was just a dream. THAT's how you know it was REAL.
EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT. The Collective Conscious, from The Weekly World News
to The X Files, says so. The bug-eyed Greys ALWAYS use the "dream" trick.
That's why you only remember the SPECIAL details under hypnosis.
WHAT MORE PROOF IS NEEDED?
Heck, I can go on the talk show circuit now.
Now, I'm well aware that STUPID NEW AGE IDIOTS routinely convince
themselves that their daydreams are past life visions or prophecies using
EXACTLY THIS SAME LINE OF REASONING. But I'm not like that. I'm SPECIAL.
I've been SINGLED OUT by SUPERIOR INTELLIGENCES who recognized ME as one
of the few Mud Dwellers sufficiently sensitive to be OPEN to their HIGHER
WAYS.
BUT IT GETS WORSE!!! Those poor crazy contactees and abductees don't know
the HALF of it.
Did you ever see any of those Nightmare on Elm Street movies? The slasher
films that you always get mixed up with the Friday the 13th series? With
the evil murderous ghost, Freddy Krueger, the Boogyman, the burn victim
mass murderer who lives only on the dream plane, but he can KILL YOU
HORRIBLY if he gets into your dream? It's actually a fairly imaginative
series. The plot device of mixing up dreams and reality allows the
filmmaker to pull off the occasional TRULY STARTLING and SURREALISTIC
scene. It's coloring-book surrealism for junior high kids, and they're
inconsistent films, rife with dopey teenager stereotypes, but I've enjoyed
them. They never SCARED me; I used to be a film special effects
technician. But.
FREDDY KRUEGER IS REAL.
I know. He attacked me in a dream. He almost killed me. I woke up
screaming. I rolled over in bed and hugged my dear wifey, sobbing with
relief. She turned toward me and it wasn't my wife, IT WAS FREDDY AND HE
WAS CLAWING MY EYES OUT WITH HIS RAZOR HANDS!
Needless to say -- sorry for the corny gimmick -- that was a dream too.
But it was REALLY NASTY, so scary that I had to get up and go to the
bathroom and dash water in my face to clear it from my head before I could
go back to sleep. And when I looked up at the bathroom mirror, FREDDY WAS
STARING BACK AT ME AND LUNGED OUT WITH HIS CLAWED HANDS AND STARTED
TEARING MY THROAT OUT WITH A THOUSAND TIMES MORE CRUELTY THAN ANY MONSTER
MOVIE COULD EVER IMPART!, until I woke up sweating and wrapped in sheets.
After that series of Freddy Krueger dreams, I tried to write up a little
essay about them, and about how close is the dream world to the waking
world, at least for lunatics like me, and how in some cosmic way, "You
never can tell." I was sitting at my Mac, typing away at this essay, when
FREDDY SUDDENLY LUNGED FROM THE SCREEN AND GUTTED ME FROM GROIN TO
STERNUM!!
Then I woke up. And I have been "awake" since then, at least to the extent
that Freddy hasn't returned. But YOU NEVER KNOW. This whole last year
since Freddy was here might turn out to have been PART OF THE DREAM TOO!
Bummer.
Freddy was a lot meaner, and a whole hell of a lot more realistic, in the
dreams than he is in the movies. But even in the movies, HE ONLY WORKS
THROUGH DREAMS. So... you see the dilemma?? THERE IS NO WAY TO PROVE THAT
FREDDY KRUEGER ISN'T REAL.
None.
The self-validating logic is circular and perfect.
There's no escaping from it. Freddy Krueger, as well as the Greys, cannot
NOT be real... according to the definition they set up for themselves.
Just when you THINK they're not real, THAT'S JUST WHEN THEY'RE THE MOST
REAL. The lack of any empirical proof IS ITSELF THE PROOF.
Let's not dwell on how this logic might apply to any and all religions,
political beliefs, philosophies, etc. In fact, let's JUST NOT THINK ABOUT
ANY OF THESE DEVILS AT ALL. Again by definition, that's the only way to
make 'em go away and leave us alone.
One time an acquaintance of mine was dozing on her couch in the middle of
the afternoon when a HUGE, SWEATY, SEXUALLY AROUSED INVISIBLE PRESENCE
suddenly woke her up with its disgusting vibes, held her in paralysis and
attempted to rape her, until she woke up.
Since I was the only preacher she knew, the young lady asked me to come to
her house and perform some kind of exorcism to banish the raping demon. I
told her that I thought she had probably experienced nothing more than a
"night hag" dream, that archetypal "helplessness" dream that everybody has
sooner or later. I didn't tell her that I thought she was PRETTY DAMNED
IGNORANT not to know that such dreams have accounted for all manner of
superstition since humans started sleeping.
For that reason, I was pretty sure that I could banish this evil thing. My
plan was to go to her house and stride around cussing at the ghost. My
understanding of ghosts is that they're more scared of us than we are of
them. I also believe that they don't exist in the first place.
Unfortunately, my friend could tell that I didn't take her demon rapist
ghost attacker seriously enough to be able to exorcise it properly; she
called another mutual friend, who did a much better job than I would have
done. The more serious exorcist placed candles in all four corners of
every room of the house, and muttered incantations and polite requests for
the raping devil ghosts to skeedaddle.
And by God, what do you know? It worked.
Case closed.
--
Copyright 1995 by Rev. Ivan Stang / 1st Orthodox Stangian
MegaFisTemple Lodge of People's Covenant Church of the
Wrath of Dobbs Yeti, Resurrected / The SubGenius Foundation,Inc.
PO Box 140306 Dallas TX 75214 / Fax 214-320-1561 / PRABOB
----------------------------------------------------------------------
From: i.stang@metronet.com (Rev. Ivan Stang)
Subject: Re: I Was Abducted By Aliens
Date: 19 May 1995 06:43:50 GMT
BEFORE THIS GOES ANY FURTHER:
Private email I've gotten in response to this post indicates to me that
some folks aren't reading the whole article, or are misinterpreting it
severely.
Read it again, especially the second half.
DRAW YOUR OWN CONCLUSIONS... but while doing so, keep in mind that a
frivolous description of a dumb, common nightmare, EVEN WITH A FAIRLY
OBVIOUS DISCLAIMER spray-painted all over it about how it WAS JUST A
DREAM, was yet somehow enough to convince some readers that I really had
had an abduction experience.
AND THAT JUST GOES TO PROVE MY POINT.
Keep this episode in mind the next time you read about a UFO experience or
a haunting or whatnot.
I was able to convince people of the reality of the supernatural without
even trying. In fact, I was TRYING to convince them of the OPPOSITE, and
they STILL got a pro-supernatural message out of it.
I'm an atheist and I don't believe in ANY of this shit. If it ain't
Dobbs-Approved, it's PURE GRADE D HOGWASH.I read Olaf Stapledon's STAR
MAKER and I know how the universe works. Anything is possible if only you
believe.
((SNICKER SNICKER NYUK NYUK))
----------------------------------------------------------------------
From: stimpynren@aol.com (StimpyNRen)
YET ANOTHER POINTLESS PUBLIC MESSAGE TO REV. IVAN STANG. PLEASE RESPOND TO
THIS PUBLICALLY. DON'T FILL STANG'S MAILBOX WITH PRIVATE MESSAGES THAT
WE'D ALL LIKE TO READ. IF HE WANTS MORE MAIL, HE'LL TELL US. NENSLO
PROBABLY SENDS HIM 200 A DAY AS IT IS...
(NOTE TO STANG: Again I'm sending this one to ya privately in case you
have difficulty finding it on the Net. However, it's absurdly long, and
you're a busy man (who SHOULD be workin' on the Stark Fist instead of
reading this, but then I have a real job to go to tomorrow and I'm not
sleeping, so who am I to talk?), so I shall try to refrain from doing this
again in the future. Man, ain't ya glad we Bobbies don't know where you
live!? You'd never get any sleep! Shelly C-Man showed me where you live
once, back in the late eighties or early nineties, but I purposefully and
conveniently forgot how to get there, cuz she shouldn't have shown it to
me and it was none of my business. From this point on, I'll just have to
trust "Bob" will show you the way to my posts. Since they are all as
slackful as changing a tire in pouring rain. End of useless sidenote.)
> I WAS ABDUCTED BY ALIENS
> Copyright 1995 by Rev. Ivan Stang
> Some lucky people can laugh at so-called Abduction Phenomena. I used
to...
Man, and people say I ramble!
You had me going there for a moment, Stang. But the Freddy Krueger
Reference ruined it for me. However, before that point I had this
interesting observation forming in my mind. Let me see if I can
reconstruct it.
There are four possibilities regarding any eyewitness account of the
paranormal. In this example, let's call Stang the "witness" and me the
"respondent" or the one listening/reading/partaking of the hind end of the
communication:
1) The witness is speaking the truth; the respondent believes it.
2) The witness is speaking the truth; the respondent does not believe
it.
3) The witness is lying, or believes he is telling the truth but it
was a
dream/drug flashback/fit of mental insanity/etc.; the respondent
believes it.
4) The witness is lying, or believes he is telling the truth but it
was a
dream/drug flashback/fit of mental insanity/etc.; the respondent
does not believe it.
In any of these cases, the respondent finds himself in a situation where
he:
1) is being a positive, helpful respondent to the witness, keeping
the witness
from thinking he is alone in the world, that no one understands
him.
2) is being a gullible toad.
Sounds like a no-win scenario to me. This is why for over a century now
(since The Great Airship Mystery of the northern states in the late 1800s,
and if you wanna be technical, alot farther back than that) people who
have not witnessed Close Encounters of any kind first hand have a major
difficulty believing. Intelligent, competent, sane Homo Sapiens (and most
Homo Superior Mutants for that matter) require some sort of proof to
believe in such things 100%.
Granted the evidence is there. Besides all the eyewitness accounts which
have yet to include valid proof, there are crop circles (yet to be
properly explained), photographs of flying saucers (most of which proven
to be hoaxes, though there is some video footage I've seen from Mexico
which still has me stumped cuz the same "ovni" was spotted by over two
dozen people -strangers to one another- at the same time during a solar
eclipse a couple years ago in Mexico City. REAL hard to debunk that one),
cattle mutilations (allegedly believed now to be done by satanic cults or
other terran intervention, though for the life of me I don't understand
why) and several other examples. Some may be "hushed" by various
government authorities, or debunked, or whatever, but some are not.
I've seen a list of the BlueBook casefiles which were never solved which
makes the amount of words used for this message look like a four verse
nursery rhyme.
Granted there is evidence, but it's a bunch of pieces to a puzzle no one
can put together. It's like trying to put together a puzzle when you don't
know what the picture is suppose to look like, or putting together a
puzzle where the box is filled with pieces of several different puzzles.
OR reading the rough draft of a book with all the pages put together in
the wrong order without page numbers and trying to grok the plot.
You would THINK after all this time, if there really was something to
Alien Contact and it's not just some weird psychosis that effects the
entire planet, the mystery would be solved. However, believing an entire
planet's populace to be insane (at least in regards to the same subject
matter in such a similar fashion) is a bit hard to swallow. Though a large
chunk of people still believe Elvis and Hitler are alive. So this being an
insane planet filled with insane people is not TOO far out there.
Conspiracy theories abound, yes. But again, there's no substantial proof,
so it's like all those people who after all the media blitz still believe
O.J. Simpson is innocent and the LAPD purposefully conspired to frame him
for no apparent motive whatsoever. Maybe they were bored. Maybe the
American Gov't is bored and just wants to play with the societal mind.
Again, a bit hard to swallow.
UNLESS the aliens got to them first.. ..no. still a bit hard to swallow.
But maybe that's what the Conspiracy WANTS us to think! That it's all too
hard to believe when it ACTUALLY IS TRUE! JUST SMILE AT YOUR SIGNIFICANT
SOMEONE ELSE, CONTINUE READING AND PAY NO ATTENTION TO THE PERVERTED
ALIENS PLAYING WITH YOUR DAUGHTER UP IN THE ATTIC... no. still a bit too
hard to swallow.
In fact the entire subject is like trying to take a tablespoon of castor
oil. Ever tried that stuff? It's NASTY!
If I learned anything from the SubGenius Church it is to be "skeptically
open-minded" about everything. "Pull the wool over your own eyes, relax in
the safety of your own delusions, and pretty soon you'll get tired of
those delusions and start thinking for yourself," as Pope Meyer said. I am
willing to accept anything at face value, because I can always ignore or
forget what I don't like later.
I'm willing to entertain the possibility of alien contact. I'm even
willing to accept the POSSIBILITY of alien abduction cases. However, until
it happens to ME, or until there is unbunkable proof that leaves no doubt,
any belief in it is wholly founded on faith.
To be bluntly honest it takes all the faith I have to believe in the
Fightin' Jesus, "Bob" and Santa Claus. There's no faith left to believe in
little grey men from Alpha Centauri.
I'm gullible enough to give money to the church, but I'm not a toad.
By the way, if it ever DOES happen to me, if I ever AM abducted by aliens,
the last place I'd mention it would be in HERE. One thing I DO believe in
without any need for faith is the story about the Boy Who Cried Wolf. When
those grey wolves finally come to my door, and they start taking MY sheep,
I'll just have to fend for myself.
Slackfully Yours, Doktor Zachary Carleton
The One and Only New and Improved Official Cigarette Smoking Clone for
J.R. "Bob" Dobbs
The First United PatrioPsychoticAnarchoMaterialistic Juxtapositioned
Church of Latter-Day SubGenii and Prepatory Academy for South Dallas (and
other places) otherwise known as The Church With The Long Name for short.
Exploring the Forbidden Sciences since 1985.
Short Attention Span Research Laboratories (ShAtSpReLa)
Don't Ask Me Studios, located in a dimension not very far from your mind.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
From: pkitty@netcom.com (Purple Kitty)
Rev. Ivan Stang (i.stang@metronet.com) wrote:
: BEFORE THIS GOES ANY FURTHER:
Too late. :-)
: Private email I've gotten in response to this post indicates to me that
: some folks aren't reading the whole article, or are misinterpreting it
: severely.
: Read it again, especially the second half.
You mean you actually expect us to read and interpret the WHOLE THING?
Sorry, but you're crossing the line there! If I don't grok it by line 23,
I don't want it on my screen!
Killer post, BTW. It really DID seem dead serious until that one fateful
sentence. And it really does continue to border on the "This may be dead
serious" even toward the end...your spray paint isn't QUITE as bright as
you may have thought. That's what I like...none o'that messy ol' spray
paint getting in the way of my jumping to conclusions! Remember: Jumping
to conclusions is the only exercise some of us Rewardians get!
: AND THAT JUST GOES TO PROVE MY POINT.
: Keep this episode in mind the next time you read about a UFO experience or
: a haunting or whatnot.
Or the Book of the SubGenius? :-)
: ((SNICKER SNICKER NYUK NYUK))
Ditto.
Rev Pee Kitty
--
Meow!
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