9:9 This article is written as a statement of purpose, direction, and goals of Drs. 4 "Bob," a pan-dimensional religio-sexual explorational group and anti-music orchestra. The express purpose of our organization is to Oh hell if I know! But hell-yeah, we've got us a damn rock n roll party band! Shit yeah, yeah, hell yeah, fuck yeah, every-cussword-in-the-entire-dictionary-spoken-at-the-same-time-through-one-mout, yeah. We don't give a damn, do we? But if you've got the keg party, we've got the damn pan-dimensional religio-sexual explorational group and rock n roll party band, I mean it's got a pretty good beat, you can throb to it, you can grovel to it, you can contort to it, you kin oob to it. We drink six-packs full of six-packs, we shave with chainsaws, we don't use chewing tobacco, we just bite into concrete blocks, for that real concrete flavor without lightin' up. When we get a runny nose we just stick a shotgun up our sinuses and pull the trigger. Aw hell yeah, we got a rock n roll party band, a whiskey-drinkin', good-timin' bunch of Skull Farmers. Oh hell yeah, we got plenty of chicks, remember that one time there were those chicks? I said hell, everybody's talking about how great it is to fuck chicks, but the ones I bought up at the farmer's market are too small to get my dick into.

Question: What does a Doctor for "Bob" do when he accidentally pees out his ass?*

*Answer: he turns right around and shits out his dick!

But anyway, back to the last paragraph, talking about those chicks. This one chick says, "Aren't you one of those boys that was playing in that real strange rock n roll party band that had those fifteen guitar players, all playing something different? That rock n roll party band over by the old oak tree down in Forgotopay County, and they were wearing those funny hats which were beyond description, and were playing so badly that even the corn were covering their ears? And they were the ones that had those fifteen guitars all plugged into each other to create a living self feeding feedback force which kept growing and couldn't be stopped, even by the Fantastic Four, Super Fly, Shaft, James Bond, Kung Fu, and J. R. "Bob" Dobbs all put together, that feedback force which is destined to grow to infinite size, and alter the entire vibrational frequency of the Squirtin' Universe? That rock n roll party band that has a guitar hooked up into a TV set, hooked up into a telephone, hooked up into a Betamax, hooked up into Jones' big, fat dick, hooked up into a pocket calculator, hooked up into a home computer, hooked up into a machine gun? And they had that one weird bongo player who used to snort gasoline, until he saw little green men and everyone laughed at him until they finally locked him up, and now that we are all slaves to those little green men, people aren't laughing quite as hard are they? Would that be the same band that played that electric guitar that hooked up directly into the human mind and caused hallucinations so real as to make reality pale in comparison, were they that same band that created that patch cord that can hook human minds directly into each other, thus eliminating the need for instruments, albums, concerts and, yes, even agents? Are ya'll part of that same band that Mama told us not to talk to or look at except through a special lens, and said one time Li'l Creeger looked at Drs. for "Bob" without using a special lens, and now his parents have kept him locked in the basement for the past 27 years because they say his eyes ain't right and me and Billy are gonna try to sneak him out tonight and try beer for the first time and find out what Drs. for "Bob" are really all about, and Mrs. Teacher at school she said Drs. for "Bob" are even more harmful than Angel Dust, and that Drs. for "Bob" was the leading cause of teenage suicide, and Billy had that Drs. for "Bob" tape and and it was hooked up to his mind and all the other kids were scared because he started to foaming at the mouth and acting like a dog and they took him down to the Principal's office and hooked him up to that device and let the nine inch worms eat away at his face and his parents didn't even sue the school board for letting the nine inch worms eat away his face because they knew he'd been listening to Drs. for "Bob" anyway, and said it was too late, and we saw a movie in the auditorium that said you shouldn't drive a car if you had been listening to Drs. for "Bob", and that time Drs. for "Bob" came on the radio and said they were the voice of God but Mrs. Teacher said they were really the voice of the Devil, and Mr. Daddy said not to go within ten miles of Drs. for "Bob" cause you could get V.D. and not to touch their funny hats or to sit on their guitars with a wet bathing suit. Are you one of the boys that plays in that band?"

And I sez, "A boy? Oh yeah, you tell your mama you were walking funny for a week because of a BOY. Tell her you got a backbone knocked outa shape by a BOY! Yeah, it was a BOY that had to be a substitute for the Washington Monument for a week while they were making repairs. Oh yeah, a BOY! I kin deliver more "male" with one thrust of my pelvis than the U.S. Postal Service, the Federal Express, and the Pony Express have been able to deliver in the past 150 years! I wrote the Bible by cumin' on a black piece of paper, the white of my sperm moving around the black to form letters. Oh yeah, a BOY! I'm the one they had to launch into outer space because every time I came it showed up on the Russian Early Warning System and almost caused World War Three. That's right, a boy. Yeah."

"Got those keys, Jones?"

"Keys? I thought you had the keys."

We're Drs. for "Bob", we create universes, we fix lawnmowers, we're omnipotent, can I borrow five dollars? Drs. for "Bob" is the band that lets you keep your mind, Drs. for "Bob" is the band that dares to grip the reins of human evolution BY THE BALLS! There is no country and western, there's only Janor music! If we're pickin' and grinnin' it probably means we're eating our boogers! We are not human, WE ARE NOT HUMAN!

^WE ARE NOT HU^MAN!!

Like that one time Eklund threw that beer across the practice shack and broke it, and all the chicks got alienated, and it blew Drs. for "Bob"'s groupie status for the next six months, and then later when Eklund was dancing on the piano while playing saxophone at the same time, and he forgot the broken beer mug down there and he jumped off the piano and he landed on the broken glass and got it embedded in his foot, and then used the Sacred Bleeding Head of Arnold Palmer to heal himself by holding it up to his foot while simultaneously screaming at the top of his lungs. So if you're talkin' some Trevinist shit you can back your cart off my green, buddy, we worship only the TRUE Bleeding Head, the one that has always existed. Hell, since we cracked the Head in two at Chicago last weekend, the SubGenius Church is now divided into two warring factions: The Church of the Lower Jaw vs. the Church of the Upper Cranium, but you can read all about that in The Stark Fist of Removal, I'm too busy talkin' DOCTORS here. I mean, is that Mick Jagger's amputated penis or are you just glad to see me Drs. for "Bob" get down so low James Brown is gonna have to look up to see his feet. They get down so low you're gonna have to have an atomic steam shovel to dig those cats. Crazy. And while we're on the subject, Drs. for "Bob" is the leading cause of teen suicide, but also the leading cause of bald men shaving their heads, the leading cause of people with no feet buying shoes. I had to kill 'em Sarge, they were members of Drs. for "Bob"! "Case dismissed." "But officer, I had to be driving 125 miles per hour, there was a Drs. for "Bob" concert coming to town, I had to build these nuke bombs, there's still Drs. for "Bob" ALIVE on this planet!" "You've heard of Drs. for "Bob" and the Moral Majority hasn't killed you yet? MY GOD!" You're standing there reading this and you haven't been arrested yet? MY GOD! `Tis is a crooked and perverse nation, my friends.

But the Doctor phenomenon is not some faddist movement meant to take the place of punk. Nor is it merely some small-time faddist movement meant to merely replace music. It is meant to transform all human reality, all three universes, even some parts of Mississippi. Drs. for "Bob" is so far out it's in. Drs. for "Bob" explodes in a Hiroshima of visions like a thousand science fiction writers overdosing on acid to a background of five thousand tone-deaf Mongolian monks chanting in a parking lot full of car radios tuned between channels turned up all the way. Drs. for "Bob" concerts are the last free zones left in America, the only concerts where you don't have to be "hip" or "with it," Drs. for "Bob" concerts are experimental anarchies, they are seperate sovereign states which owe no allegiance to the United States nor any other country, and will someday overun the entire world! Why, the natural good looks of Janor Hypercleats alone are worth the price of admission, probably good enough to take over the world for. Remember that time we went to a Drs. for "Bob" concert and we got so drugged out that we passed out and our girlfriends left with some guy in a Trans Am, and while we were unconscious we had this dream where we were trapped in this horrible nightmare world where people worshipped, for no apparent reason, these small, worthless green pieces of paper, and they placed more emphasis on these pieces of paper than they did on human life, or on the environment? And these strange monsters had two arms, two legs, and a head with two eyes and two ears? It was horrible. And they worshiped cars and material possessions and kept on destroying the planet they lived on even though they knew they were doing it? And every 4 hours or so, for no apparent reason, they would take dead plants and animals and stuff them into these strange holes in their heads called "mouths"? At night they would put on these strange costumes called `pajamas' and lie almost motionless for hours. And they were so miserable that every couple of years they had to line up and shoot each other, and they kept each other in complete poverty so they could build giant bombs capable of destroying all life on their planet? And Li'l G'broabfran said it was ten times worse than any horror movie he'd ever seen, and I said, "I sure am glad that this was just a dream I'm seeing because I took too many drugs and listened to the Drs. for "Bob" for too long." And then Creeger's little brother's little sister whispers in my ear, "That wasn't no dream, this is reality." And I said AAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIAAAIIIAIIAAUUUUUUGHHRAAAUGHAIEEEEEEEEEDDEHEHEH!

No, no, please! I'll be a good boy from now on, just don't let them get me they're crawling all over me don't let the nine inch worms get me noooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

But anyway, have you ever thought of just saying, "Fuck it?" Oh, yeah -- he's fucked it a little bit, but he's never fucked it all the way. Be honest with me now, you've never gone all the way down in there, you've never squirted as far as you can, you've never completely, totally and absolutely FUCKED IT. FUCKED, that's right. So what're you waiting for -- ? There're plenty of perfect orifices and phalli around, but you're still holding back!

Which brings us back to the purpose of Drs. for "Bob", well, actually Drs. for "Bob" has no purpose, only "things which we are gonna do." Drs. for "Bob" get down to the real git-down, it always stays in the groove. Drs. For "Bob" has the following goals: to get high, get drunk, get laid, have a damn party, blow everything off and bask in total Slack, and to invoke the name of every deity, every possible name of God, make every possible tonal or atonal vibratory frequency, every song shall be sung, every word spoken, every sound shall be made... SO THAT THIS PHASE OF THE UNIVERSE, OR WEHATEVER IS LEFT OF IT, CAN END PROPERLY!! "Hell, I just wanted to be in a band that played rock and roll music like Foghat and the stuff all the others guys in my neighborhood listen to, I don't really know how all this happened."

And, after every vibratory plane has been thoroughly explored, that's when Drs., for "Bob" shall release totally new "sound," which won't be music or even antimusic or even noise or sound, but can only be classified as antisound, because the likes of it has never been "heard" in this universe, or any other! Shit, the only reason we even call it `sound' is because that's the only thing we can compare it to.

When this happens, the entire purpose of the universe shall at last be fulfilled. The most complex joke ever told shall at last have a punchline. This entire reality, this entire universe shall Squirt; all energy of all time eras of all planes of all realities shall be channeled through the Doktors' cheap-jack amplifiers. Yes, the Universe will be destroyed by equipment bought on credit at Boyd's Music Store; then, the Doktors' inherent lack of ability to play their instruments shall convert these energies into the hitherto-undiscovered force: ANTISOUND. And you thought anti-music was bad! This Anti-sound shall tear apart the very Skor, the Mesh, the net that holds all universes, both matter and anti-matter, together! And then, during the saxophone solo on "SubGenius Beach Party, " the worn-out old primal sound of the laid-back universe, "OM," shall be replaced by Snavely Eklund's blaring anti-saxophone hitting a wrong note that is in actuality the right note. "YEAH, BEACH party, did you bring the Eklund for Universal Overlord campaign buttons??" Hypercleats will intone naively, and that which must come to pass, that to which ALL EVENTS have been leading, will finally come to pass: the universe, and even Drs. for "Bob", will begin to lose their form, disintigrate, collapse, mutate. "Born to lose... and now I'm losing Universal Form," Hypercleats shall quip, cracking off one last one-liner in the face of total universal transformation. The evil Trevinoists will finally be smitten, Billy Sammuels will finally get his hands on Connie Dobbs' panties and will be able to smell them for 2.5 seconds and have 15 simultaneous orgasms, aliens will come on the radio and say that Orson Welles has landed, but no one will believe them, I seen a vision, Ma'am, the Sacred Bleeding Head shall be joined back and stop bleeding, The SubGenius Foundation will sue Arnold Palmer, Dobbs' pipe will go out (but only for a second), Jones will finally pay Smith that money he owes, The Yardman Corporation of Little Rock will finally show a profit, I'll type an entire sentence without making a mistake, Curly will hit Moe back and kill him, the Pie-Pie man will drop the pies and start carrying two glasses of iced tea instead, The Church will no longer ask people for money, LIES will tell the truth and be in a good mood, Puzzling Evidence will lose interest in the Kennedy Assassination, Pee Dog will stop peeing, the 9-inch Worms will be only 8 and 1/4 inches long, the Buddha will come out of his ten thousand year silent meditation and go, "Huh?", whereas Hypercleats will not say anything, and Stang will not write a report on it.

But nothing is ever destroyed -- only transformed! All energy and all matter shall be polarized away from each other; all energy in the universe will be drawn towards a giant Black Hole, forming a Giant Black Vagina and Womb. The matter of the universe, "on the other hand," will be led by a now-formless Drs. for "Bob" (still existing as an energy force) to the other side of the Void, where it shall be shaped into a Giant White Dick. This universe-spanning Giant White Dick shall then be led to enormous, nuclear-powered Heliopters prepared specifically for this purpose by G'BroabFran and some Xists over a period of 10 billion¹⁰ Light-Eons. (A Light-Eon is 180,000 times longer than an Eon.) The Giant White Matter Dick will then be aimed directly into the Giant Black Energy Vagina, and then, 10 billion years or so later, depending on how "hard-to-get" the Giant Vagina plays it: PENETRATION. The UNIVERSAL FUCK will occur, in which all opposites shall meet: Black and White, Yin and Yang, male and female, energy and matter: all shall meet and FUCK one another! What pleasure! What bliss! -- and we shall all be in on it. ("You mean Jones will be in on it too?," inquired Smith, petulantly. "Then I can't do it! Hell no, I ain't no damn queer!") Each "stroke" shall take 10 billion years times X (X representing the highest number that can be named, plus one), finally culminating in: THE BIG SQUIRT!!!!! Remember that FINAL Squirt we were talking about earlier, the damn, shit-yeah, hell-yeah, fuck-yeah, stick-it-all-the-way-down-uh-huh--uh-huh--uh-unhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh (well, maybe) hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh wham-bam, thank-you-ma'm, hhhhhhh haha haha hahahahaha eeeeee eeee eeeee eeee eeeeyyyaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaha aaa aaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee yyyyyyaaaaaaaa aaaaaagggggsssssshhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

hhhhhhh-all-of-Charlie's Angels-at-the-same-time-mmmmmm mmmmmm uuuuuuuyyyyy yyyyy aaaaaaaaaa aaaasdftghnjk, Burt-Ryenolds-squared fdbfjlkfgd just-like-everyone-in-town's-been-dreaming-about, BIG SQUIRT.

You know what I mean?

You can have your damn enlightenment! I just want the damn BIG SQUIRT! Shit-hell, they don't call us the damn Arkansas home-wreckers, heart-breakers and pill-takers for nothing! THE BIG SQUIRT, the universal simo-orgasm, will go on for 10 billion Sacred Bleeding Head Lives (A Sacred Head Life is approximately 10 billion times longer than the age of the universe thus far), longer than anything Masters and Johnson have been able to achieve. Finally, the simo-orgasm will subside. The Universal Child will have been conceived. The Universe will be filled with perfect transcendental love in which all races shall be integrated, you will be able to find a seat on the subway, and kids will no longer stick chewing gum on the bottoms of desks. The human being will no longer exist, the carwash attendent will be the dominant life form. The Doctors for "Bob" will exist, but no longer in bodily form, only as guiding energy forces. Then we'll try to release a hit single and make some money.

WE INTERRUPT THIS ARTICLE. THIS IS THE VOICE OF GOD. I HAVE TEMPORARILY TAKEN OVER THE BODY OF THIS MORTAL. HIS WRITING CAUGHT MY NOTICE. DO NOT READ THIS; HE IS A MADMAN. IF SEEN WALKING THE STREETS, HE SHOULD BE TURNED OVER TO YOUR LOCAL AUTHORITIES IMMEDIATELY. DESIST READING THIS MAGAZINE NOW. END TRANSMISSION.

So anyway, like I was saying, sure we have become as Gods, but where are the groupies? So we'll release a hit single, wait a minute, what's that writing up above this paragraph? I didn't write that! I just blacked out for a second and -- wait a minute, let me read this. What? He claims to be God? Whatever obscure deity that just took over my body is obviously some kind of Satanic, Trevinoist force whose goal is to mislead you. Yes, you! You're the only one reading this! Haven't you noticed that no one beside you has seen this article? "Oh, that's only because the new issue of Heavy Metal just came out," your mind quickly rationalizes. No, it's because it's printed on a special type of ink which only your astrological body can see! Because your phone number, multiplied by the base of the pyramids, minus your weight, plus the area of The Devil's Triangle, subtracted from the age of the universe, = 666, not only that, but -- wait a minute, I'll tell you more in a minute, right now I have to use the bathroom.

please you must help me. i once was a normal-sized human, but i opposed hypercleats and his mad plans, he cut off my head and shrunk it down to subnormal size and then transplanted it onto the body of a 9-inch worm. i'm only typing this by crawling across the typewriter and banging my nose against the keys. i'm well aware of the correct rules of grammar but it would just take too long to make the capital letters, and it is important that i get this message out, that is, i have no words to waste, since he just went to the bathroom. on the other hand maybe i do have some time, it sounds like he's using the enema. i don't know what magazine this article is for but if anybody out there is reading this i just want to say please help me somehow. i'm not a defect

What is this? Back into your cage, Worm-Thing, I'll see to it that you never escape again. Oh hi, folks, pretty funny, huh? Acting like a worm-thing took over the typewriter! 9-inchWorms, I'll bet. There's no such thing. "I'd like a pepperoni pizza with everything on it, hold the 9-inch worms." "I'm not going to hold them, I don't even want to touch them. EEEEYAAAAAAA-AA!!"

But anyway, everything I said is TRUE. The Time of PeE is here already; Behold, the mighty Time of Squirt approacheth! Drs. for "Bob" is the only true insanity, thus the only true sanity. Like a giant Fleet enema up the ass of a constipated America, the Doktorbands struggle onward. Repent! Fuck it! Squirt! Send your money to the Church and Drs. for "Bob"! It is held in escrow by our interplanetary guardians and you WILL BE SAVED.

9:10 Well, anyway, I forgot the punchline, but I've got a million more just as funny. See, there was this interplanetary vortex, and it goes into this bar, see

9: 11 (c) 1983 by Janor Hypercleats and Drs. for "Bob"

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