Rev. Ivan Stang paused and pitched the following loaf:
[my own spew "Bob"itted, but have the hubris to still quote myself]
: > The clincher happened when I cleaned the garage. Seems 'ol Happy Jack : > didn't feel like trashing his crap before he left. OR SO I THOUGHT! It : > now appears that he barely escaped with his life before the Pipe did burn : > him asunder. For as I moved the plywood and PVC pipe he left behind, I : > found on the floor,
: >
: > A SEVEN_BLADED WINDBREAKER!
: >
: > No shit, yeti-spawn. A mark VII windbreaker lying under the plywood. This : > was my "housewarming" gift from the spirit world, a beacon from beyond, : > a veritable BURNING BUSH in my own garage! Was it a sign that I had : > chosen well, or a cosmic "pull-my-finger?" Was "Bob" busting a gut laughing : > with me, or AT ME? I have had nearly three years to contemplate these : > events and have decided that it probably is BOTH. The Dobbs-spoor is clear. : > His intentions, as always, are not.
: >
: TESTA -- DON'T TOUCH THAT THING!! it's TOO VALUABLE to be TOUCHED! It's : like VAN GOGH'S EAR-CHUNK!
Are you joking? I'd sooner piss into the Ark of the Covenant and use the Dead Sea scrolls as toilet paper! It calls to me in my sleep, weaving crazed montages of apocalyptic mayhem into my fantasies of chocolate-covered cheerleaders worshiping my armpit hair. Needless to say, I need serious medication to maintain a semblance of sanity at work. If only they knew that the drug test COMPLETELY missed the REAL MIND-FUCK afflicting me. Who needs narcotics when "Bob" fucks directly with your PNUEMATIC SOUL MOUNTS. Sometimes, late at night when I roam the house after a particularly soul- searing sub-cerebral implant, I can SENSE a pulsation from the garage, a ripple in Slack-space itself. It scares the beJeezus out of me. No wonder the garage roof is deteriorating faster than the house roof, or that the slab MOVES when the house doesn't. I think the damn garage fades in and out of this Zen butt-plug continuum our soul-machines are locked into. goDS, what have I gotten into.
: 7-Bladed WindBreakers are SCARCE in this evil world. The sole remaining : one in the Foundation's museum is but 5-Bladed.You have a fucking GOLD : MINE on your hands. Leave it where it is. Experts will be on the scene : soon.
I am infinitely relieved. Hurry...
: You were right to report this, man. This could be REALLY SERIOUS.
I ALMOST touched it last month during an innocent game of Possum Hockey. This is a REAL yeti sport. I highly recommend it. ya see, my garage (as you probably already guessed) has plywood and shit leaning against every vertical surface. This makes for a great hiding place for possums. Had one move in and had to flush him out with a broom. I'd peel back layers of plywood until I found the bugger, then poke 'im with the broom. Does he do the sensible thing and run out of the garage? NO, the bastard runs under the NEXT pile of shit. I chased the proto-mammal half-way around the damn garage until he ran out of crap to hide under. Great, I thought, one more poke and he's gone, right? WRONG. The little fuck peels out, burning possum-rubber for the OTHER SIDE OF THE GARAGE, BACK UNDER THE PLYWOOD! AAAAGGGGGHHHH!!
Quick thinking prevailed, and I used my time-warp abilities and the broom to block his shot, scooping him back behind the net and delivering a stylish slapshot outside the line and into fair territory in the bushes. He was not pleased. But during the game, he ran and hid RIGHT OVER the holy WINDBREAKER! He sat right on it! I had to poke at the thing to get him to move. I was more afraid of the 'breaker than the possum. But all turned out well. My arm did not burn off, and the possum did not grow to 50 feet tall and destroy the nearby city. The 'breaker must have other plans...
Andy Testa
testa@hou.moc.com
"Xenu stole my lunch money!"
---------------------------------------------------------------------- Subject: Re: SubGenius Fate...
From: i.stang@metronet.com (Rev. Ivan Stang)
In article <3ji266$jke@uuneo.neosoft.com>, testa@starbase.neosoft.com (Andrew J. Testa) wrote:
>I ALMOST touched it last month during an innocent game of Possum Hockey. This is a REAL yeti sport. I highly recommend it. ya see, my garage (as you probably already guessed) has plywood and shit leaning against every vertical surface. This makes for a great hiding place for possums. Had one move in and had to flush him out with a broom. I'd peel back layers of plywood until I found the bugger, then poke 'im with the broom. Does he do the sensible thing and run out of the garage? NO, the bastard runs under the NEXT pile of shit. I chased the proto-mammal half-way around the damn garage until he ran out of crap to hide under. Great, I thought, one more poke and he's gone, right? WRONG. The little fuck peels out, burning possum-rubber for the OTHER SIDE OF THE GARAGE, BACK UNDER THE PLYWOOD! AAAAGGGGGHHHH!!
>Quick thinking prevailed, and I used my time-warp abilities and the broom to block his shot, scooping him back behind the net and delivering a stylish slapshot outside the line and into fair territory in the bushes. He was not pleased. But during the game, he ran and hid RIGHT OVER the holy WINDBREAKER! He sat right on it! I had to poke at the thing to get him to move. I was more afraid of the 'breaker than the possum. But all turned out well. My arm did not burn off, and the possum did not grow to 50 feet tall and destroy the nearby city. The 'breaker must have other plans...
Oh, a POSSUM, oh yeah, SURE!!! No PROBLEM!! But what you gonna do, son, when you run up against a raging, rabid pack of 500 WHITE-HOT-STEEL-HEADED, NAKED CONCRETE BORERS... EH??
Rev. Stang
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