The Tally Of What I Owe "Bob", 4XD-style

From: Hulkturds@crappagammabrick.ouch (HellPope Huey)
Newsgroups: alt.slack

This one here is WAY long, so please bear with me or even pass/delete it
if you're not up to it. Nobody knows better than I do what a whirling wad
o' words I waylay folks with when I'm weally, weally Wonkafied. That's
just the Huey Deal, sigh. Its that or buy GUNS! You don't want that. I was
invited to join a gun club back when I had pistols 'cause I was a damned
good shot, so let's leave it at verbal ammo, shall we? Otay!

But I feel the need to say this out loud, partly because I'm having
post/pre-traumatic Huey Syndrome due to All This and a touch of All That
as well. Sometimes things become more real when the words hang in the air
where you can SEE 'em instead of just rollercoasting through your own
head......so OUT goes the Pink air, IN comes the CHURCH air annndddd......

I haunt rec.music.makers.synth because I compose & play a bit, have
years of patchwork-y knowledge to share that's helpful to newbies and
learn useful things myself. Okay. As you Tonstant Weaders know, I have
some laid-back quasi-religious-type 'faith' in the Overall Setup, but am
rightfully contemptuous of organized religion's largely harsh and
carnival-barker mishandlings of the world. That's the joy of Dobbs, fun,
stupid, startling, near-offensive or whatever it may be, sometimes all at
once, EIEIEI!!!

As part of my sig that day, I added: "Jesus loves me, this I know, even
though his front men blow." This led one of the more solid members of the
Korg list I'm on as an extension of the Usenet thing to politely approach
me & say "Huey, I appreciate how you help out and you're obviously not a
stupid man, (little does HE know, HAH!) so tell me, why do you hate Jesus
and His church so much?" I said I didn't; it was just the hurtful overkill
& hypocrisy that led me to be a SubGenius HellPope instead of a successful
TV revivalist myself. (Think of the bucks I could make if I aimed THIS
tongue in that direction, sigh...)

I also noted that me & Jesus wuz good drinkin' buddies and that He beat
me easily at 8-Ball without cheating or getting a big head over it, which
yielded a snicker. This has led to way-lofty-debate stuff you don't wanna
hear about when you're having a brew and reading from yer laptop in yer
Lazy Boy or on the potty. I think he's too scripture-obsessed, trying too
hard in some ways to be a Good Christian as he best sees it and thus,
missing the vital SPIRITUAL intent , but hey, everything's a process and
I've made a new friend. Cool.
And its a gigglesnort for me to have him now reading alt.slack and trying
to figure out how I can be a HellPope, so whirling & vulgarlicious, yet
look him in the digital eye with enuf Scripture under my belt to
arm-wrestle with him over what Peter, whom Jesus called the rock of his
church, may have thought or gone through during His Turn At Bat. Hah, sez
me! (Stang is the rock of ours, Legume, the Rock & Stick.)

In the process, he's graciously offered to convert my old synth disks
with a PC program for Korgs my Mac can't use. This would allow me to
reclaim my compositions, which my replacement disk drive won't read now.
(You much-smarter-than-me computer folks readily grasp format conflict
thingies like this.) Once they're on the 720k DDs the Korg wants to see
instead of the HD floppies it accepted until it blew a year ago, I'll have
it all back, if it works out and it should. O Lord, you old bastid, I
beseech thee, ahem. A nice reward for simply being responsive via mere
Internet blathering.

I get so damned depressed & bi-polarized, I feel like a squash ball, left
wall, right wall, silly wabbit! Shitty in the morn, better after 3 pain
pills on an empty stomach, creative for 2.7 hours, crappy again at 4, laff
at "Futurama" at 6, numb at 8, focused as hell for an hour or so of synth
practice, whirling by the time Charlie Rose comes on, toss n' turn for a
few hours, rinse, repeat. rinse, repeat....

Its a pain in the ass, interferes with my work & relationships, there are
NO damned pills that help (although I'm surprised to discover that
Vicaprofens are soothing & somewhat focusing, simply because they act like
DAMPING RODS) and its no doubt hard on others at times to try to focus on
someone when the highlight on their damned NOSE KEEPS SPINNING LIKE THIS,
YAARGH! I grok it; I run across others who make ME feel that way as well.
I feel like I inherited a Witchblade, but its a CODPIECE and keeps
squeezing my scrogies without warning! (Hey, stop that, I'm trying to
format a floppy!) I luv Sister Susie & have a special respect/sympathy for
HER wild output, 'cause she has a solid dose of this damned thing herself.
She just said to me outright that she loved it when she was able to be
creative, but that the wrestling process is a mega-bitch.
Yeeeaahhhh.......I hear 'DAT.

So I Get It as only the similarly-afflicted can. I subjectively think its
maybe a little harder for men because they're supposed to tough things
out, Run The Show, etc. With decent folks, at least, women can get more of
a sympathetic head-pat over it 'cause THEY have der nice BOOBIES! But its
no bargain either way and I sure ain't the only semi-creative SubG who has
to arm-wrestle Satan over their morning coffee, no selfish whining in that
department, no.

I play Eno's "Music for Airports" EVERY DAMNED MORNING lately. Best
musical band-aid I can think of. Sets a good starting tone for me. If
you've heard it, you know. Brian calls opera "an advanced form of
yodeling." Hah! He also tells repair techs NOT to fix certain wonky
portions of his old MiniMoog because he says that as with certain guitars,
its quirks, developed over time, give it a character that make it more HIS
instrument, a unique tool for his own expression. He's INTIMATE with it. I
sure love my Korg; it let's me say stuff, even to myself sometimes, that
mere words can't cover. Remember that sign on an episode of "The
Prisoner?": "Music picks up where words leave off?" Yeah, you old hands
remember...

One of the Oblique Strategies cards Eno created with Peter Schmidt, (now
passed, praise Peter's haunting work) a sort of tool for unkinking
artists' momentary 'blocks", says "Go outside. Shut the door." I need to
go outside & shut that door a lot more than I can and geez, I DO regret
SLAMMING it so often. BOOM should be a rant or a tool for offing Pinks,
not a daily regimen, how WUDE!

I arbitrarily gave a copy of Mike Oldfield's beautiful "Songs of Distant
Earth" to one of my sister's Jehovah's Witness buddies yesterday. Found it
for $4, heeey! This woman is so hobbled and ill with migraines,
polymyaligia and a host of other very real ills, she's all but house-bound
and takes a daily wad of pills that'd choke Mr. Ed. Yet she LAFFS at my
tales of Dobbs, isn't at all puckered and both NEEDS & DESERVES the
distraction of fellowship. Anyone who likes Calvin & Hobbes has SOME
hope...! Point being, all hail ANYone who gives the finger to
SatanheeGhee.

I don't get to physically SEE many of you, almost never. I envy Stang &
Wei, Holly & Don, et al being able to GO so often; they get the
interaction that makes Life worth living. It puts a lotta pressure on me
to HAVE FUN REAL FAST, because a Devival is a rapid carnalval of
highly-amped shazoomulation in a small space. I miss some of the more
lasting building blocks & precious clarifications because of it.

After my danged car wreck (OUCH again) while I was moving to a new town,
away from my ex of many years and precious tattto parlor bud & related
pals thereof, I felt/feel like letting 4XD slide. Its almost too much to
cope with...airport gymnastics, trying to eat, having my big Pope ASS
mushed into them teensy seats on the plane, having Normals stare at my
Fraidy Bob shirt so my ride can FIND me on the other end, etc. Got
somethin' in yer EYE, lady!!???

And I "have to" rant & play some music to 'Justify' myself, so I worry
about my one irreplaceable synth's rough ride as well. Blah blah blargh,
woof woof. I know, shuddup, "Men In Black" cartoons are on. I'm havin' to
try REAL HARD to keep a lock on the great pleasure of Brushwood (the sheer
BEAUTY of the place, eh? mmmmmMM!) and the Church sometimes feels like a
live wire that's COOKIN' me as much as energizing me.

But then I consider....Stang once put me up in his HOUSE so I could seek
a job, while he was GONE on VACATION, mind you, not to mention the ton of
free stuff he's given me over many years. including some choice advice
when I was still a total computer newbie...many of us probably have tales
of his enrichin' Stang-ness;

Sterno GOT me my writing job with his distracted, busy ex who runs the
Freep. I've earned it 'cause I'm a passable writer who rides the Wild
Deadline well, but he flipped that first vital switch when he sure wasn't
obligated to do so;

Joy & Prostata sent me Valentine candy and some Spider-Man Underoos,
BWAHAHA! (Sterno's step-kid Gonzo loved 'em);

Joy gave me one of her killer SubGenius Shot Glasses, which she nicely
etched HERSELF;

Nu-Monet posted that jpg of me feeding Ronald McDonald a dong when I
asked how one DID that, not having done so before, so that people could
get a snicker from it;

Abbess Abyss sent me a wincingly funny po'bucker comic on tape, as well
as her cartoon-strip version of Cinderella, which was a Sub-scream to
read;

Kirk Bailey kept me IN the Church by insistently inviting me to the first
Tampa Devival, which boosted the hell outta my BobLuv when I was just
about to give it up as being too _____;

Brother VT gave me a great fistful of British synth magazines out of the
blue, one of which has a guide to the use of the very MIDI editing
software I hope to land some day;

Andreux made me a wad of great CDs so I could have some music I otherwise
couldn't afford & wisely reminds me to get a Grip at times;

Reveling in some great chat with Kenneth & Jane Huey;

Sharing synth lore with BunnyBoy, that lively SubManiac;

Nenslo getting a room full of Seattleites to agree with him about how
their town SUCKS

GGGor sent me some of his awe-inspirin' private art, just because he said
Sis D and I were the only ones who really seemed to LOOK at it and
appreciate his fine work from a.lb.s.; (Sterno casually told me GGG loved
old synth stuff like T-Dream, so I sent him some cassettes of it 'cause HE
ain't got big music-buyin'- money anymore'n I do; and it turned out to be
good to share it, as its been with other pals for years. Send him 4XD
travel money!);

Sister Special K saw that jpg of lumpy ol' me playin' synth at Tampa and
said I had a cute LAP, BWAHAHAH! How rare & novel not to feel like the
Church's Shrek;

Hellena sez they'd be HONORED to have me jam with them at 4XD. Gawrsh, I
haven't even had the pleasure of hearing her & Saint'N's music & wouldn't
know them if I SAW 'em, yet;

Saint Lil has sent me some great CDS and I sent her a copy of the
scary-end-of-the-tattoo-world mag SAVAGE for her birthday, a proper SubG
"card" if ever there was one and of course, she's our Devival-spearheadin'
stage-managin', Dobbsian UberLil;

Marcus & Val put me up at their house on Lil's say-so for that great
Seattle Devival and were refreshing-as-hell hosts;

BarberAlien said she was almost SCARED to meet me and then she & Dok
Pissoff & I had the greatest damned chat at Tampa, laughingly bonding in a
whole new direction;

I acted as "best man" for Troutwaxer & the loverly Beledi Ma as Lil
'bonded' them at their XXX-Day wedding ceremony and they've turned out to
be a couple of the sharpest, dearest pals I've had in YEARS, especially
based on so little real interaction..sometimes you just click SO WELL, you
know...

So we gambol & gyrate & cuss & writhe & sag & rise up & most of all,
'Praise' "Bob" & Connie, but y'know what? I sit her alone in front of a
damned keyboard of one kind or another so much, I sometimes lose sight of
the vast work of Art our BobFather Stang has created, how far its reach
truly extends, how precious it really is and how much more its allowed so
many of us to make the most of our nental Ifes, (heh) large, medium, small
or Oh-My-Lord-sized as they respectively are. Sure beats shock therapy by
sticking a wet foot to the casing of a generator at Hoover Dam and then
frenching an opposing terminal like a psycho kid taking a dare to lick a
Wisconsin flagpole in March.

Just SAYIN', to remind mySELF, 'cause so few people seem to have the time
or the ___ to remind me when I need it most. We DO need to keep up with
th' housekeeping in our own houses, right? I have a Bobligation not to dip
too low and forget it completely. And here endeth th' Lesson. Until I get
to Brushwood and lay on my back in the middle of that lush field, scanning
for either meteorites to land on my crotch or a Pleasure Saucer to RESCUE
it, PRABOB!

HellPope Huey, hellpopehuey@subgenius.com
Head-butt a butt-head fer "Bob"!

"If you've been bad, they send you to Hell.
If you've been REALLY wicked,
they give you a tour of Heaven first."
- Spider Robinson

"Lightning snapped in the sky
and I remembered something Dad used to say.
He said summer storms are ANGRY storms...
the heat lightning sizzling like bacon on a grill,
the air hot and sharp, as if its looking for someone to bite."
- Kurt Busiek, "Astro City"

"All we need is a wedding dress, some handcuffs and some flowers."
"Hey, I got all that stuff in my trunk!"
- "Drew Carey"
----------------------------------------------------------------------

Subject: Re: The Tally Of What I Owe "Bob", 4XD-style
From: iDRMRSR <alex.i.thymia@depression.org>

>>scanning
for either meteorites to land on my crotch or a Pleasure Saucer to
RESCUE
it, PRABOB!<<

Yay, bro. Your life seems to be the same kind of marble in a tincan
existence as mine lately. I feel your pain, and my own too. One thing,
you got more friends (by number). PraBob for that.

Hmm...never tankgle with them Xtians. They're in the minority,
remember. Billions live their short and miserable lives without hearing
of JHVH or even Bob Dobbs. Funny that anyone believes, just based upon
the numbers, that there is any real point to life.

Where do all the chicken souls go to? Ever ask yourself that? Every
one of them boneless breasts served to anorexic yuppies was once
attached to a soul. Every one of them boneless breasts served to a
heart patient that really wanted a steak was attached to a soul. Good
things souls are whispy little things. They must pack pretty well, or
they would fill up one or more dimensions!

Hey, but then again, maybe that accounts for all the Dark Matter that
doesn't show up in all the equations?

WTF. BTW, I've heard Saint N and Helena and they're great, you're in
fer a treat. Kind of like Daft Dobbs, or maybe Fatboy Bob.

Keep the "faith" Huey. Yew kin always send in $30 for McVeigh, but rush
it. The AfterLife Administration Department is really in a tizzy trying
to score him, like where his soul is going to end up for eternity.
Should it be less worse than Hitler? The Wansee attendees? What about
the dude that blew up the WTC for Allah? I'm sure it's in a cosmic rule
book somewhere, like kill 100-125 people, go to section 13013, 100-250,
go to section 808, whatever.

Eternity. After 10^13013 years, you kinda get used to it...

[*]
-----
----------------------------------------------------------------------

Subject: Re: The Tally Of What I Owe "Bob", 4XD-style
From: Hulkturds@crappagammabrick.ouch (HellPope Huey)

> Where do all the chicken souls go to? Ever ask yourself that?

They migrate to Arkansas legislators, who vote for unconscionable shit
like removing the state tax on new car sales and levying it on used ones.
Doesn't a Rhodes scholar and a Cray to figure out who THAT'S aimed at. I
think that happened at about the same time the insurance bastards upended
the "equitable value" clause that put you in a comparable car straight
away when someone totaled you on the road with a "fair market value" one
that'll keep me carless until the PERSONAL settlement is done, WAY down
the road.

Oh yeah. A lot of them migrate to 137 out of every 139 people you see on
the street. This is why they can add plastic turds to Happy Meals, Pink
kids fight to the death to collect the whole set of 10k and then "adults"
do likewise for the remainder on eBay.

Any questions? Any answers? Any rags, any bones, any bottles today, any
rags? Thank you, you've been a lovely....eh, whatever we are here.
PRABOB

HellPope Huey, hellpopehuey@subgenius.com
Head-butt a butt-head fer "Bob"!

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

Subject: Re: The Tally Of What I Owe "Bob", 4XD-style
From: Artemia Salina <y2k@sheayright.com>

HellPope Huey wrote:
>
> This one here is WAY long, so please bear with me or even pass/delete it
> if you're not up to it. Nobody knows better than I do what a whirling wad
> o' words I waylay folks with when I'm weally, weally Wonkafied.

Wail away, man. I'm reading.

[snip]

Huey, your things are your things, and I don't mean to pry, but speaking
as one who has lived with mental illness (specifically, schizophrenia)
VERY VERY close to him (a sibling) nearly all of his life, I just wanted
to be sure that I'm not sensing what I think I am in your post. I take it
that you have bipolar disorder. I know that you've mentioned trying
different meds in the past without much success.

I kind of get the impression that somewhere in the back of your mind,
in that unreasoning little chunk of our minds that whispers demoralizing
little nothings in our ears, seemingly as a form of entertainment, that
you might think that your illness is somehow less real, or valid, or
deserving of attention, than that of someone who has an ailment with more
purely physical symptoms. While you may not have grotesquely deformed
appendages, or gurgling tubes dangling out of your bodily orifices,
I hope you know in your heart of hearts that sucky brain chemistry is
just as real and valid as a broken leg or an ulcer.

I love my schizo-bro more than anyone I can think of. I spend more time
hanging out with him than anyone else I know. If he were to die, I know
I'd miss him more than anyone else, fucked up brain chem and all.

Dealing with the demons of roller coaster mood swings is bad enough. Don't
go needlessly throwing guilt (which is a toxin secreted by the Dumbass Lobes
of the brain)into the Mix Master; you'll only rust the blades, and I just
scrubbed the thing out, dammit!

--
Artemia Salina -- http://www.drpez.com/drali1.htm
Taking the 'rhetorical' out of 'rhetorical question' since 1958
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Original file name: The Tally Of What I Owe "Bob", - converted on Friday, 29 June 2001, 22:32