Date: Sat, 18 Jul 1998
"That that is, is."
-- "Twelfth Night" by Shakespeare, Act IV Scene II
What if Armageddon came and no one cared?
(art also by Modemac)
Fellow brothers and sisters and othergenders, the Church of the SubGenius is a FRAUD! A SHAM! A JOKE! The X-Day Prophecy of July 5, 1998, is nothing but a LIE! X-Day has come and gone and we are still here, and Ivan Stang has been exposed for the char latan he is. THE XISTS DID NOT ARRIVE! The Arrival of the Saucers was a disaster!
The events leading up to X-Day, however, were so exciting, unbelievable, surreal, shocking, and hilarious that I don't regret it one bit. In fact, I intend to be back there next year for X-Day Plus One!
Yes, my fellow mutants, this was an event I'd planned and prepared for months. Everything was ready this time: I was packed and rested, I had a box of bulldada prepared for the Bulldada Auction, I had a tent and an air mattress, and I had food. I even h ad a special sermon prepared, to be broadcast to the smoking remains of the Earth after the Xists had decimated it. I was so confident the Xists would be there that I'd posted my message to alt.slack on July 1st, using PGP encryption so that no one could read it without the password. The password, of course, would be beamed down after the saucers had arrived...
X Minus Four Days (July 1)
And on Wednesday evening, at 8:30 PM, the Final Pilgrimage to Brushwood commenced! I was riding with Friday Jones, Dr. A-, and Bill T. Miller. We were prepared to drive all night, and we'd chipped in to rent a van especially for the occasion.
Driving long distances on the highway at night certainly made this a different experience from my previous trip to Brushwood, though there were still a number of notable sights to see. We'd prepared for the occasion by stocking plenty of cassette tapes, and the van bounced to old 1980s tunes, Billy Idol, and my tape of Jeff Wayne's musical version of "The War of the Worlds." (What more appropriate music could there be for X-Day?) The weather was clear, the night was dark...and the highways we took did not have many cars or gas stations, especially when approaching 1:00 AM. But we were able to find an all-night filling station to avoid mishaps...and as the night went on and we made steady progress through the dark highways of New York, strange visions started to appear before our eyes. A vast, glowing silhouette blotted out the Moon and the night sky, its glowing images suggesting nothing less than the outline of a gigantic spaceship, not unlike "Close Encounters of the Third Kind." And soon, a SECON D giant saucer made its way over the horizon, towards our location. Had the Xists arrived already? And Sherman was still so far away...
But it was when we entered the roadway Hell of Route 17 that we experienced the sights that can only be seen in the dismal wastes of that accursed asphalt netherworld. Our senses and our nerves were shaken when the headlights came across a huge red stain across the highway, unquestionably a pool of blood. Had a deer been hit...or was it something worse? It was hard to tell, because we had entered a no-man's land where there was literally nothing in front of us save pitch darkness, and nothing behind us but the ebony ether. And yet, there was still Slack to be had when we looked up and saw the stars. There was a moment when we simply had to pull over to the side of the road, so that we could get out and look up at the night sky, seeing stars and the Milky Way and other astral visions that have completely vanished from the skies of the city where we live. It was a glorious, cloudless night, and the sky was vast...and soon, we thought, we would be there, escaping this planet in the Escape Vessels!
* * *
X Minus Three Days
The night's pitch was overcome by the rising light of day, and a heavy fog descended over us. Route 17 tormented us with bizarre detours and directions designed to redirect traffic -- surely an insidious plot by the Conspiracy to keep us from our goal! But we persevered, and eventually the image we sought did indeed appear before our eyes: "Town Of Sherman." Sherman, home of Brushwood -- and the end of our journey at last. We'd gone the night without sleep and with little food, so the first thing we did after escaping Route 17, and refilling the gas tank, was to head into town and find a restaurant serving breakfast. Despite the early time -- 6:30 AM -- there were actually two small eateries open, and as we entered the chosen place we were greeted by the elde rly proprietor. "We're tired," I said, "because we've come all the way from Boston."
"You folks here for the Blue Heron?" he asked. (I have no idea what the Blue Heron is.)
"No," said Dr. A-, "We're heading out to Brushwood."
Upon hearing that name, the man hesitated noticeably. I thought to myself, "We'll be kicked out of here in thirty seconds." But in spite of this, he served us a hearty breakfast, refreshing us for our arrival. And so we passed the fields of cattle (pri me stock for mutilation!), and so we came to the famous sign of "Brushwood Folklore Center," and so we passed the last mile...and at 7:00 AM, we reached our destination at last. The sun was shining, people were up and about, and we were here!
But since I'd ridden in a van for the entire night, I knew the first thing I needed to do was to sleep. Friday wanted to find a place as far as possible from the noisy spots this time, so we drove through the campground into a more secluded area, where I got out my sleeping bag and left them to set up their tent.
I left my gear in the van for the time being, and just took my sleeping bag out to the field, near the site where the final cosmic battle would take place soon, and found a spot on one of the open outdoor constructions to just unroll the sleeping bag, lie down, and doze. I slept like that, out in the open, for perhaps an hour or so, unmoving and relaxing.
Upon awakening, I felt somewhat more refreshed and decided to go and get my gear. But at this time Dr. A- was asleep and Friday was nowhere to be found, having already set up their tent, and I could do little but wander around for a bit. I went up to th e offices and registered for camping, then I re-acquainted myself with the lay of the land. Having been here last year made it easy to find the Village of alt.slack, where I came across a number of familiar faces already. The first to greet me was none other than Popess Lilith Von Fraumensch, along with her companion Nikita. They were already setting up, and after them I saw a number of other welcome faces...particularly that of Siouxsie Sakamoto, Pee Kitty, Betsy Fucking Ross, Pastor Craig, and a few new ones such as Reverend Locnar. I staked out my claim for a campsite, but I never did go very far into the alt.slack woods...something I would regret later. But in spite of the good weather, I knew that rain would be coming later this weekend, so I ch ose my campsite with that in mind. (I also presented P-Lil with a present I'd promised her a couple of months back: a bag of salt and vinegar chips.)
With preparations for the campsite fresh in my mind, I took a look at the pool and hot tub area, and the main pavilion and stage, before finding Friday and getting her to unlock the van. I piled up my stuff, and despite the fact that I'd packed light, it still took four trips to haul it over to the alt.slack village. This served as an example of one of the great things I love about Brushwood and its inhabitants: no one stole anything during the entire event! Last year I was amazed at how trusting and o pen everyone was, but the increased number of people at X-Day had made me wonder if there would be a greater number of idiots. Fortunately, that didn't turn out to be the case. That made it a lot easier to get my stuff together, unpack, and set up the t ent; considering that this was the first time I'd ever set up a tent in my life, I think I did a good job. I'd also brought along one luxury that served me well over the weekend: an air mattress. It was the End of the World, and I didn't intend to spend it sleeping on the ground with tree roots digging into my back!
But by now the sun had climbed high into the sky, and it was time to register for the event. Is there any religion besides the Church of the SubGenius that requires you to pay money to take part in the End of the World? There weren't any "official" even ts planned for today, so I had the opportunity to scope out the pool and the hot tub. I think I was looking forward to the hot tub more than anything else that day -- I hadn't been in one since last year. So I swam in the pool and waited for the hot tub to heat up...and as I waited, I was joined in the pool by a young Yeti female whose presence and actions would make her my ShorDurPerSav for the weekend, though I didn't know it yet. Her name was Reverend Angela, and her philosophy was simple. As soon as she'd entered Brushwood, she said, the first thought to go through her head was "Naked time!!!" She was an unquenchable fount of words and Yeti wisdom, and right there in the pool I asked her to join me for dinner. But I was tired and she was tired, and I wouldn't see her again until later.
At last, the hot tub was open! Praise Be to SubGenii with the foresight to arrive at Brushwood long before the crowds, for it gave me the chance to soak in the tub by myself for almost an hour. I was amazed I'd had the tub to myself for such a long time ...until I found out later that someone had actually taken a dump in the hot tub. (But actually, that didn't happen until about 7:30 PM or so. It was only 4-5 PM when I was there in the tub. Whew!)
After getting out of the pool, I headed over to the merchandise booths to buy stuff, and spend time shooting the B.S. with Siouxsie Sakamoto and her friends. Here I heard the dreaded rumors: Janor Hypercleats was coming! The Janor Device had been aimed at Brushwood, but it had not arrived there yet. In fact, there was a betting pool going on: "What time will Janor Hypercleats show up?" Dr. Legume told us that Janor had in fact had two car breakdowns, *and* a root canal that weekend, but he'd be there nonetheless. Still, Legume was convinced that Janor would show up on X-Day...at 7:05 AM. We had an image such as those you see in those single-panel newspaper comic strips: the image of Janor, standing alone in a field full of bodies, his arms flung to the heavens as he shouted, "WAIT!!!"
The Amazing Pulpit of Reverend Doktor Strange had been up on the stage of the pavilion since before we arrived, and the bands were setting up their equipment, but technical glitches were delaying the start of the Anti-Muzak Jam Session and they didn't get going until after the sun went down. Of course, once they got started the music didn't stop...though the delay gave me a chance to get back to my tent and go to sleep. It wasn't even 8:00 but I had to get to sleep -- I felt like I was ready to collapse.
At about 9:45 or so, I woke up in my tent. It was dark, and I heard people laughing and cooking stuff outside. I still felt tired, and I gave myself a choice: either go back to sleep, or get up and do something. This moment turned out to be one of the defining moments of the entire X-Day Event: I got up and did something! As the weekend moved forward, I realized that this was what separated the SubGenii enjoying themselves from the Bobbies who just sat back and *watched* as everything happened. The b est way to enjoy yourself -- not just at a major event like this one, but any time -- is to get up and DO things. And so I did. The first thing I did was to call over some neighbors to say hello and take part in a barbecue at the alt.slack village...the fire kept going out because all of the wood in the area was wet, but we did okay nonetheless. After taking a few minutes to cheer up a lovely Yeti who was feeling rather upset, I headed back down the pavilion and saw the beginnings of a weekend full of Ranting.
It was then that things started getting out of control.
Ivan Stang came onstage and gave us a warning about the women of Brushwood. "Those BITCHES," he said, "are planning something!" All of Yeti females had gotten together to participate in some dastardly conspiracy...and then, by 11:00 or so, the plot was u ncovered. Led by Suzie the Floozie, a gang of dangerous, rampaging women kidnapped Ivan Stang and brought him to the swimming pool. The screams and the howls caught our attention, and we rushed to the pool just in time to see Reverend Stang stripped nak ed and humiliated, then doused by the showers in fifty degree temperature...and flung into a pool full of naked women!
Such torture! Such villainy! Ivan Stang, helpless, at the mercy of a crowd of sadistic, naked women...how could he ever survive? It was up to the Ivangelicals to save the day -- and so I turned to Pee Kitty and said, "Come on! Let's go!" We stripped off our clothes and jumped into the pool to save our beloved Stang...or at least, to frolic in a swimming pool full of naked women. And here it was only Thursday night! There was splashing, battles over pool toys, and much obscene wrestling and drowning attempts. The Battle of the Swimming Pool shall long be remembered in the annals (or anals) of Ivangelical history!
I also learned how to dry yourself off when getting out of an 80-degree swimming pool into 50-degree night air: you do it FAST and BRISK. It didn't take long to towel myself off after that, believe me -- and I felt so refreshed and invigorated, it was am azing! I knew that now was the time to take advantage of a P.R. opportunity, so I headed down to the pavilion and seized the microphone to make an announcement.
"Fellow mutants," I said, "I am here to announce a VICTORY for the Ivangelicals! In spite of the dastardly attempt to kidnap and torture our Sacred Scribe, we have driven the women out of the pool and rescued Ivan Stang!"
The crowd cheered!
And...wait a minute. Something isn't quite right here. We drove a bunch of beautiful, naked women OUT of the swimming pool and rescued IVAN STANG? And the crowd CHEERED?!?
Someone needs to get their priorities straight!
(An Epilogue: One of the great moments of the X-Day Celebration came as I was heading back to my tent that night. The mist had arisen, and the air was cold. The sound of drumming filled the air, as the pagans at Brushwood were holding their nightly fest ival. Off in the distance, I could see a roaring bonfire with figures dancing around it...while the enveloping mist gave the sight an ethereal, mystical quality I shan't soon forget. The image was moving, light at play with shadow as the glowing beams o f warmth penetrated the mist, to be lost in the darkness of the night...)
* * *
X Minus Two Days (Naked Time!)
Early Saturday morning, as I was walking towards the showers, I saw someone pull up in a van that looked so much like Janor, I thought it was him. After telling a couple of other folks that Janor had arrived, I was informed that it wasn't him, and he wasn't there yet. This meant that I'd lost my bet in the "When Will Janor Arrive" pool. Damn. So I headed off to the showers, and an early dip in the pool...where once again, I met Reverend Angela.
O my fellow mutants, it is impossible for me to tell you about the events of Friday without first introducing you to the most bitchin' babe who ever buffed a bare bod for "Bob:" Reverend Angela of the Church of the Goddess of the Cloven Hoof. She made a name for herself at this event and she battled her way to infamy, though most of the Yeti merely noticed that she was naked through nearly the entire X-Day celebration. I fell under her spell when I saw her at the swimming pool once again that morning; h owever, I must confess, my fellow mutants, 'twas not her nakedness that caught my attention and held it fast.
It was the words.
Reverend Angela has words trapped within her, deep within the pit of her stomach, where they sit and fester and multiply and painlessly (most of the time) torture her. She cannot control those words, and whenever she opens her mouth the words have to esc ape her, passing between her lips and flowering into an unending stream of Yeti wisdom, personal opinions, Ranting, and odes to Shakespeare and Frank Sinatra. I was so enthralled by the words, in fact, that I missed several of Friday's events (details of which will undoubtedly come from Yeti of finer authorial skills than mine). We spent part of the day doing little but following our feet, wandering across the Brushwood campgrounds and talking. She let the words flow from her, and I learned much more a bout Shakespeare than I'd ever considered before. (Like so many others, I've had trouble getting into the Bard because his works are meant to be spoken and acted, not read on paper.) We talked about him and how he was a true SubGenius, and how she had c ome to join the Church, and about myself and my girlfriend, the Queen of the Fucking Universe, and about imaginary frappy and monkeys ("MONKEYS!") and flowers and the joy of pooping, and so many other things. Reverend Angela is caught in an eternal strug gle with Fire From The Heavens: it follows her, and it tries to hurt her, but she fights back against it. She came to X-Day looking to defeat Fire From The Heavens, and she gave praise to Jahweh David Lynch when he told her how she might be able to do so . It was she who convinced me to strip down and spend the day naked; though I said that I would tell others that she had forced me to do so, this was hardly the case. We met two of her friends (including Booga, her companion), and they point out that I was being hypocritical by letting Angela walk around topless, while I was fully clothed. So I showed them that I was sincere, and I stripped to the buff and spent most of the afternoon like that. Angela didn't force me to do so; rather, she was my excus e for it.
And a word or two should be said on the subject of nakedness. That was the first time in my life I'd stripped and paraded around in the buff -- and it was such a RUSH! I was taken aback by how casual it all was, how most of the Brushwood folk who saw is didn't even give a second glance (except for a couple of lame Bobbies). Suzie the Floozie saw us and made a point to congratulate us -- she said that even her companion hadn't been that brave. (She was also kind enough to get me a pocket comb.)
Though we missed some of the events of Friday, we were still there to see Ivan Stang commence with the Ranting by defiling the sacred ground of the pavilion, and the Anti-Music proceeded apace. But then there was a strange sight: A car drove up to the pa vilion, with a plastic object on the top that resembled nothing more than a body bag. Dr. K'Taden Legume was there, and he had brought an object of sacrifice for the warriors who would participate in the Battle Of Armageddon. It was a pig -- a dead, but chered, gutted, 130-pound pig -- and the way it had been placed into its bag made it look as though Legume was carrying a genuine body in there. This was not so -- there were no dead bodies until after Armageddon; and besides, when X-Day arrived there wo uld be bodies to spare.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky (and I put my pants back on), the most photogenic of the legendary SubGenius events took place: Blood Wrestling! Those wimps in the WWF think it's something to parade around in a ring to a script, while occasionally let ting a drop or two of blood fly into the crowd; here at X-Day, it was the REAL THING. Vicious, rampaging women sparred off against muscle-bound, ferocious Yeti males, both Ivangelicals and Holocaustals alike; and there was BLOOD, my brethren and sithren! BLOOD, flowing like it had never flowed before, covering the wrestlers from head to toe in scarlet, and making it that much harder to get a grip on each other. (Pastor Craig showed himself to be the Hulk Hogan of Blood Wrestling: he had been training f or months, and he proved nearly impossible to defeat!) And when Reverend Angela took part, she slid across the mat like a water slide, covering herself in blood and showing the ladies what it's like to wrestle naked. After she took her turn, she did two things that the observers won't soon forget: she took one of the many SubGenius posterboard signs, sat on it with her naked thighs, and rolled around on it; after which she went around and did tit-prints. She also gave me a big hug, marking me and makin g it necessary to head once again to the showers. Stang was there, washing himself off after having been humiliated once again. His underwear had been dyed pink from the blood. (You know, when most people go on vacation, they go to places like Disney W orld and buy mementos like stuffed Mickeys. When Stang goes on vacation, he gets mementos like stained pink underwear. Go figure.)
And the Ranting went on, as a parade of hate-filled, angry Yeti marched onto the stage and declared their war against the Conspiracy, looking for the Xists to come and settle the SKOR once and for all! Saint &drew called for a naked orgy, urging everyone in the audience to get naked. (Have I given the impression yet that nakedidity was a major part of this event?) There was Anti-Music, and there were Rants, and then it was my turn to take the stage.
It was time now for the Bulldada Auction (a.k.a. the Great Crap Exchange), the event I'd conceived and announced on alt.slack months before. I'd encouraged everyone to bring their pieces of bulldada to Brushwood and auction them off, though I'd hedged my bets a bit. To play it safe, I'd gone on the assumption that no one else would bring anything; thus, I had a big box full of bulldada to auction off. But it turned out that I had not anticipated the enthusiasm of the participants: there was so much bul ldada that I was only able to auction off two items! After starting off the auction with "Bob's" Favorite Comics (and selling it for $30!) and a Robert Crumb Screen Saver, the bulldada was auctioned off piece by piece. Popess Lilith sold a full-color po ster from the Final Portland Devival; Doktor DynaSoar sold the pink gown he'd worn at the last X-Day Drill; there was a pipe that belonged to Kenneth Robeson, author of the Doc Savage novels; someone sold a SCZI drive that no one knew how to work...and th e MONEY flowed! Yea, the MONEY! The auction made about $157,000 (plus a Canadian $20 bill)...but the most surreal moment of the auction came (yet again) from Reverend Angela. She strode onstage, still naked, and announced that she would shit on the ite m of choice from the largest bidder: if you bid, you could name an item and she would shit on it. And she got a $20 bid!
But though the night was still young, I'd used much of my energy and it soon time to retire...or collapse. For me, most of the night was spent in the Village of alt.slack, having fun with the other campers and making s'mores. Reverend Angela was there, too, though she stayed out at the campfires long after I'd gone to sleep. I have no idea where she gets her energy from...
* * *
X Minus One Day
LESS THAN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS UNTIL X-DAY! The final day to go all-out and party like it was the end of the world...because it WAS the End Of The World!
The past two days had been crystal-clear, with a blazing sun in the sky and warmth to spare...though the Conspiracy was doing all it could to try to ruin the celebration. There were clouds on Saturday morning, and though it was warm, the threat of rain l ingered through most of the day...until it started. But the power of Dobbs prevailed! For despite the fact that a full day of last year's X-Day Drill had been rained on, *nothing* this year was upset or delayed by the rain. But we didn't know that yet, and clouds were in the sky when I awoke.
I woke up late, with barely enough time to make it to the showers before getting naked yet again and taking part in the most popular of all SubGenius Brushwood events: The Naked Yeti Pool Baptism. The SubGenius crowd at Brushwood was larger than it had ever been before, but when it came down to getting naked and frolicking, it seemed that most of them were content to observe, and take pictures. In fact, I think the gathering in the baptismal pool was a bit smaller than it was last year...but it was substantial nonetheless. Father K'Taden Legume arrived, and once again I was cleansed of my Pinkness, to be bathed in Slack just in time to meet the Saucers. There were newcomers who'd never been bapt ized before -- Praise "Bob!" -- and they were braver than 90% of the other Bobbies who just peeked over the edge of the pool area from the outside. They must have thought that they were in Disney World! Rather than getting involved, all they could do wa s stand and watch while someone else provided the entertainment! (As Dr. A- said, "Welcome to the Hall of Presidents!") Stang was baptized; in fact, he was baptized several times, as people took turns dunking him. And we can't forget the traditional wh irlpool! How many other religions do you know that require you to move around the swimming pool fast enough to make a whirlpool?
And when I dried off and went down to the pavilion once again, the ranting was in full swing. I added to the action by heading back to my tent and getting a packet of Aggressive Christianity Missions pamphlets, and passing them out to the audience to do whatever they wanted. Praise Be to Aggressive Christianity and its bulldada! "Satanism practiced in the Vatican!" "Abortion, the ultimate child abuse!" "The threat of marijuana!" I never did see those pamphlets again, and I didn't find any of them ly ing on the ground afterwards. I can only guess what happened to them.
Also at this time, I finally realized why there was a camera crew out there on the field. I had thought that this was the Farewell Video project the SubGenius Foundation had organized, but it turned out to be a genuine filming crew from New York. They w ere filming a documentary on the Church of the SubGenius, and they were interviewing all of the members of the hierarchy. I saw them interviewing Suzie the Floozie earlier, but when I passed them this time they were interviewing someone new. It turned o ut to be none other than Janor Hypercleats! Yes, it was true: he had arrived, and he had even figured out how to turn off the car when he got there. Earlier that day, Legume had mentioned that Janor had shown, but he was just driving aimlessly around th e Brushwood grounds while saying, "Huh?"
But then came a serious note of sadness. Before X-Day, before the saucers had arrived...indeed, right on his birthday, Reverend Pee Kitty had been stricken down! Doktor DynaSoar reports thusly:
"He arrived with Godfather Gillian and Betsy Fucking Ross early, but he wasn't feeling well. The next day he was so sick he couldn't keep anything down. That afternoon the resident SubG physician, Dr. Tilley, made the decision to send him to the hospital.
Good thing too. PK had developed diabetes. He spent July 4th (his birthday) and X-Day in the hospital. I left by noon and don't have an update. Last I heard he was stabilizing but not yet stable. He WILL be OK. In the mean time, if you have any spare Sla ck, blow some of its stench towards PK."
For a little while I was afraid that my coaxing Pee Kitty to join me in the pool late Thursday night was part of the cause for this, but it seems that it was not. Nonetheless, if there is anyone who deserves praise for X-Day, it is Pee Kitty. In fact, t he Yeti at Brushwood held a collection for him and encouraged visits to his hospital room.
At this point, I took a dip in the pool (can you tell I loved the swimming pool?), and got involved with bodily throwing out some drunk-stoned-or-something dumbass who insisted on mucking around and causing a disturbance in the pool. Goddamn Bobbies -- even now, at the End of the World, they still plagued us.
The clouds grew thicker, and a light rain started, but it wasn't enough to dim the festivities. However, the atmosphere was not merely one of celebration...it was one of HATE. We are a Church of hate, my fellow mutants, and that HATE is most often direc ted at the Conspiracy...but when it is not, then it is directed at our fellow mutants. And as X-Day approached, that HATE was boiling to a climax...for lo, as we have long known, the time had come for a Reformation to take place! Five hundred years ago, the Roman Catholic Church was rent asunder when the Lutherans challenged its supremacy...and now, with but a scant few hours left before the End of the World, forces were at work that threatened to rip apart the Church of the SubGenius itself, tearing it to its very foundation and clearing the way for a new Reformation to take the place of the old.
It was time for the Battle of Armageddon.
Long had this battle been foretold, and long had been the preparations for it. The assembled Yeti had brought their weapons and their armor and their Slack, and they gathered now at the Halls of Valhalla, shouting forth their hatred and awaiting the arri val of their Champions. The halls thundered to the music of the Living Keyboard of the King of Slack, and the hate flowed. And through the crowd, there strode a towering figure of awe, dressed in battle gear, wearing his helmet, and inciting the Holocau stals to riot: Father K'Taden Legume. He was carrying a genuine 1960s "Easy Rider" motorcycle helmet, and for a cape he used an American flag stolen from the grave of a war veteran. And Legume strode onto the platform and announced the commencement of t he Battle of Armageddon! "But first," he mocked, "we must await the arrival of Reverend Stang."
And with that, we looked behind us once again, to behold the image of Reverend Ivan Stang...wrapped in yards and yards and yards of bubble wrap and duct tape! Yes, it was the great...umm, "great?"...Sacred Scribe himself, dressed for battle (or at least in a fashion that would keep him from getting hurt), accompanied as always by the eternally loyal Friday Jones and entourage.
The warriors were assembled, and the prize was displayed: none other than the Bleeding Head of Arnold Palmer itself! Yes, the prized possession of the Church of the SubGenius was going to be the sacrifice of the great Battle...for the winner of the Battl e of Armageddon would have the honor of launching the Head, for the very last time. The die was cast...it was the ultimate battle of the Ivangelicals and the Holocaustals. To the Death!
And the gates of Valhalla burst open, and the assembled warriors ran to the field of battle...even as the gates of Heaven itself were opened, and a torrential downpour was loosed upon the assembled armies. But no one took notice, for they were caught up in the joy and the terror of battle. The lightning flashed, the thunder roared...indeed, even the climax of THE SEVEN SAMURAI itself could not rival the ferocity of the great battle!
(Not all of the participants on the fields were combatants, however...there was a crowd of onlookers encircling the field, recording the events for posterity. Or, perhaps, they served as obstacles for the warriors to destroy. Have you ever played those video games where the players can destroy barricades and innocent bystanders...?)
And the Signal was given! The two armies clashed, showing tactics as diverse as their costumes and armor and their personalities. While some warriors clashed in full battle gear, others joined the field completely naked. One mighty warrior survived for nearly the entire battle wearing naught but his own skin and hair, wielding a weapon no mightier than a giant fish. Another made good use of his superbly carved sword and shield, while others used guns and smoke bombs and whips, and breasts. Friday Jon es stood guard over the body of Stang, who didn't seem do much fighting himself; his strategy seemed to consist of depending on the unassailable bosoms of Friday and Susie the Floozie. Indeed, Susie truly shone in her glory that day, not to mention in he r birthday suit: for though she took a fatal blow and was laid low early in the battle, she somehow managed to return from the dead and stand once again at Friday's side to defend Stang! And indeed, it may be that the Ivangelicals put up a far greater de fense than anyone had foreseen, as the two sides were closely and evenly matched. But the Holocaustals suffered a true blow, as K'Taden Legume himself was stricken down and his army forced to fight on without him.
Then all the hosts of "Bob" swarmed against the field, and they bridged the streams with their dead, and they encircled the remnants of the guardians of the Bleeding Head as a gathering tide about a rock. There as the clouds loosed the rain, and the repo rters of Or Kill Me Radio kept a running commentary on the warriors, the Bleeding Head somehow vanished and was not seen again 'til the battle was over. Even to this day it not known entirely what happened, save only that the Head disappeared, and the ba ttle could not be truly won until a victor stepped forward to claim the Head.
And thus it was that the Battle of Armageddon ended with a draw, for neither the Holocaustals nor the Ivangelicals could claim the ultimate victory and launch the Head.
But who would be declared the winner?
>From the crowds -- both Ivangelicals and Holocaustals alike -- there came
a great cry: "Janor! Janor! JANOR! JANOR!"
'Twas a miracle worthy of "Bob" himself! Even though he had not even been there on the field, Janor Hypercleats was declared the victor! As Legume himself would say later: "The battle of Armageddon was a lot of noise and violence, signifying nothing -- and now Janor, who wasn't even there, will launch the Head with a lot of noise and violence, signifying nothing! If anyone knows where Janor's tent is, go over and wake him up and tell him he won the Battle of Armageddon!"
But I had one question to ask Legume: "Who killed you?"
To which Legume answered, "You want to know who killed me? I took a DIVE, man! I don't want to launch this fucking head!"
With that, the great warriors of "Bob" retreated to the hall of feasting, where they dined heartily upon the flesh of the pig that Legume had procured for them.
And when the Battle ended, the rain continued...but it was not as noticeable. We were inside the pavilion now, enjoying the climactic Saturday night rants...and what rants they were! In particular, praise can be singled out to D.J. Shaver of Or Kill Me Radio for displaying an example of prime found bulldada: "SubGenius First Grade." No, this wasn't Stang's generic "SubGenius 101" rant. Rather, it was a set of oversized pictures and words meant for schoolchildren. What was especially amazing about thi s display was that D.J. Shaver had not made up any of the words or pictures himself! He literally found the whole thing next to a Catholic school, and all he did was paste a few Dobbsheads to it!
But D.J. Shaver was not the only one to give a truly memorable rant that night. Popess Nikita stepped onstage and shocked the entire crowd into silence by launching into a vicious, lashing barrage against Scientology...one that will probably be censored from any official SubGenius videos of the X-Day Celebration, as a precaution against legal retaliation from the Sons of Elron.
The King Of Slack appeared with his Living Keyboard once again...but this was an especial performance, for this was truly his FINAL appearance! He gave us the great Rant "X-Day's A-Comin'" -- and since X-Day was but a mere handful of hours away, this wo uld be the last time this dance classic would be played live. And so Bill didn't merely play it, he played the HELL out of it! The audience moshed and jived, and I was inspired to give away some free Slack. The King of Slack made another plea for peopl e to buy the Orgy of Slack CD (which you absolutely MUST buy now if you ever want to experience the King of Slack...he really is gone, folks), and I said to myself, "Sounds good to me!" So I went over to the sales table, whipped out forty bucks, and boug ht four CD's. I headed up onstage during Bill's rant, and tossed the CD's into the audience. Why not? After all, money itself would be worthless after tonight...
But the night was still young, and there was much more Slack to be had. As the crowd roared, Janor Hypercleats took the stage, and Ranted and Ranted until his legs caught on fire. What's more, a new contest was announced: "Win A Night With Janor Hypercl eats." Yes, folks, it was true! For a mere pittance, YOU could spend your final night on this planet with one of the most demented elders in the Church of the SubGenius. That would truly make it a night to remember! Strangely enough, though, not many people seemed to be interested in spending the night with Janor -- even though the night before, the crowd had been willing to pay twenty bucks for SHIT.
But there were still more great events to be had that night, especially the fireworks display. Some people may have thought this was a celebration of the 4th of July...yeah, right. The world was going to end TOMORROW! Why should we care about the birth day of a country that wouldn't even exist anymore? No, these fireworks would be the merest hint at the carnage and mayhem that would be waged on X-Day.
In the middle of the Brushwood pond there was a small island, and on that island, bathed in the glow of spotlights, was none other than the Bleeding Head of Arnold Palmer, ready to be launched for the last time. We gathered at the edge of the lake, and t he fireworks were launched...rockets and screamers and pinwheels and many others. But there was a problem: the rain had made the fireworks damp, and it was difficult to launch many of them. In fact, the fireworks display may not have come off at all, if Dr. Legume hadn't done something foolhardy and possibly even suicidal. He piled all of the remaining fireworks together, doused them with lighter fluid, and lit the entire batch at once! Jesus panicked, as he started shouting into the megaphone, "Every one get away from the lake! This is not a joke! This could kill you!" And when the fireworks REALLY started flying, we could tell he wasn't kidding. The flames and the sparks and the smoke flew so thick that the spectators were fleeing in terror...esp ecially when, with a mighty eruption, the Bleeding Head of Arnold Palmer itself exploded! A column of smoke wafted to the heavens, carrying the much-maligned spirit of the sacred SubGenius relic to the heaven it so verily deserved...
As far as I can tell, only a few people died that night. But this was the night before X-Day, and any casualties we would suffer tonight would be repaid against the normals, tomorrow, with ten thousand percent interest.
With the roar of the fireworks still ringing in our ears, our senses were then assaulted in yet another fashion. Janor Hypercleats wandered back onto the stage, expecting to launch the Bleeding Head...but because the Head had been destroyed in the catacl ysm, he was left with nothing to launch. A substitute had to be found...and what better Head could be launched than the head of the pig, the victory feast from the Battle of Armageddon? It was produced and displayed in all its glory, dripping with fat f rom the roast. Janor took out his club, gave it a mighty shove...and lo! The Head was Launched! Not in a fashion that anyone had ever expected, but since when the Church of the SubGenius do things in a manner that people could expect or predict?
But there was yet another amazing, disgusting, obscene show to observe. A court jester walked onto the stage and announced his intent of shocking us to the point where we would toss our cookies...and if any man could do that, it was none other than this one, Andrew the Impaled. Yes, the star attraction of Circus Apocalypse had made it to Brushwood in time for X-Day, and he expressed his gratitude by doing things to himself that defy description. NONE of what he does is fake, folks: he doesn't use props or tricks. When you saw him eat broken glass, he was eating real broken glass. That was a real screwdriver he pounded into his face. Again, those were real broken bottles he jumped up and down on. And when he jammed a skewer through both of the cheek s of his face, that was real blood running down his chin. But by far the most vulgar display of his show came when Dr. Legume came up on stage, and Andrew shoved a needle through his lips and sewed them shut. This was something that many people had wanted to do...but only Andrew had the guts to actually do it.
Also at this point, the winner of the "Win A Night With Janor" contest was announced. Jesus produced a dollar bill with a name written on it, and the winner turned out to be...who else but Reverend Angela! She had told me before that she was a big fan o f Janor, and she had been prepared to do whatever it took for an opportunity to spend her last night on Earth with the dreaded Janor Device. Janor took her hand, and the two of them walked slowly off into the night, never to be seen again...
..which was my cue to exit as well. I'd spent most of this day in a half-awake stupor, and once again I felt so tired that I knew I had to head back to my tent and crash. There was a live sex show scheduled next, but my lack of interest just goes to sh ow how tired I was. I've since heard the show was great, and I regret missing what people have called the greatest rant ever to spring from the lips of Jahweh David Lynch, but that was my choice. I didn't want to sleep through the End of the World -- le ss than seven hours away at this point -- and so I headed back to my tent, ready to doze off and let my alarm clock wake me up.
(Oh, by the way, I should tell you something: the "Win A Night With Janor Hypercleats" lottery was fixed. I should know, because I fixed it. Why else do you think Angela spent the weekend with me? It sure wasn't for my good looks...)
* * *
The End
...I awoke to a voice ringing in my ears, the voice of...Janor Hypercleats?!? It turned out that I'd turned on my radio before going to bed, and Or Kill Me Radio was interviewing Janor. I had no idea what time it was, because everything was still pitch black, so I checked my watch. 2:30 AM? I'd planned to wake up at 5 AM to prepare for the Rupture, but it seems as if my body was telling my otherwise. I figured a lot of people would be staying up the whole night for X-Day, so I got up and looked aroun d to see what I could see.
The main shows of the evening had ended at the pavilion, though some folks were still there. What they were saying wasn't very interesting; it was just a few Bobbies giving drunken rants about Slack to the few people there who would listen. More interes ting, I discovered, were the folks sitting at the tables of the (now closed) cafe, chit-chatting and passing time until the final moment. I fell in with Popess Lilith, and when she had the idea of heading over to Or Kill Me Radio to do a show, I tagged a long. She had prepared a tape of specially chosen heavy metal songs (most of which I was unfamiliar with), and she wanted to play them over the air in preparation for the main event.
As we walked through the night, I noticed that the clouds of the previous day were completely gone. It was a clear, starry night once again. Yea, the Conspiracy had done its worst to drown us out and disrupt our celebration in preparation of the End Of All Things -- and they had FAILED! The night was beautiful, and it gave us the promise of a glorious day of Armageddon to follow. Four hours to go!
D.J. Shaver greeted us warmly (good thing, too, because the night was chilly and the radio tent was warm), and he had no problem with letting us get on the air. Like everyone else at that time, he was tired and more than willing to let someone else talk over the air for a change. And so, we spent the final few hours recording the last dying twitches of the Planet Earth, as the great wall of energy from the Xist saucers had already destroyed the entire Eastern Hemisphere by this point. It may have been 58 degrees here in Brushwood, but the temperature in Europe was 256,058 degrees. Asia was gone...Africa was gone...Europe was gone...we were the only ones left, waiting while a giant wave of invading saucers was sweeping over the Atlantic Ocean to meet u s.
And the Moon dipped low, and the dawn approached for the final time...and behold! A true Miracle of Dobbs occurred! For when we looked up into the sky at about 6:00 AM, what did we see but a giant "X" floating there in the heavens! Eyes and hands were raised skyward, and we realized that it was truly an Omen of the coming of the Xists!
And so I headed back to the pavilion for the final time, where the crowds were gathering. From all over the world, they had come here to Brushwood to await the End. A few of them were lying on the ground, comatose (probably passed out), but they were gi ven little heed as the Elders of the Church of the SubGenius arrived and began to pass out the sacred Kool-Aid. Friday Jones, Suzie the Floozie, Papa Joe Mama, K'Taden Legume...they were there, waiting for the final moment when we would have our REVENGE on all who had ever mocked us!
But then I noticed there was a panicked look on Friday's face. From here I learned the truth: Stang was nowhere to be found! Both he and Someone Else had disappeared late last night, and in spite of a furious search of the grounds, they had disappeared without a trace.
But no, this was the day of "Bob," and nothing could stand in the way of our destiny. It began at 6:50 AM -- only ten minutes left! -- when a shining white limousine roared onto the Brushwood grounds. From that limousine sprang the figure of Reverend Iv an Stang, clad in preacher's robes, long hair drifting in the breeze, a smile on his face that outshone all others as he sprang up to the platform and announced the imminent arrival of the Xists.
The ceremonial one dollar bill was burned, the smoke from the burning money lifting its way skyward and letting the Xists know that we were there, and we were waiting for them.
The crowd cheered wildly, as the final moments counted down.
TEN SECONDS TO GO! We raised our glasses skyward...
"Five!"
"Four!"
"Three!!"
"TWO!!!"
"ONE!!!"
"ZERO!!!!"
And the crowd let out a great cry:
"XISTS! TAKE ME NOW!!!"
AND...
...nothing happened.
A few moments of silence, then a nervous buzzing began in the midst of the assembled throngs. We looked to Stang to see what next, and he had a surprised look on his face. Hurriedly, he said that maybe it just hadn't worked right; maybe we should try again.
"Xists! TAKE ME NOW!!"
Still nothing happened.
A look of panic appeared on Stang's face, while the crowd began to become more visibly hostile. Where were the Xists?!? Why had we not been Ruptured? Why were we still here on Earth, standing in cold morning air with hangovers? WHERE WAS "BOB?!?"
Stang tried to calm us down, to explain the situation...but the crowd would have none of it. Something was wrong, we could sense it. We had waited patiently (well, not so patiently) all of these years for the coming of the Xists -- we had done everythin g we were asked to do. So where were they? We'd given our FAITH...surely this was enough? Could it be, perhaps, that faith was not enough? Was it beginning to seem as if "Bob" had LIED to us?!?
And as more and more members of the crowd came to that conclusion, the prevailing mood changed from one of joy to one of apprehension, to downright anger and fury. And that fury was directed at none other than the one who had duped us all in the name of "Bob:" Reverend Ivan Stang.
"Wait! Wait!" Stang shouted, desperately. "I can explain!" And he reached into his pocket and miraculously produced the original scrap of paper, upon which J.R. "Bob" Dobbs had scrawled his prophecy of X-Day. The words, though barely legible, were th ere: July 5, 1998. But that scrap of paper (actually, it looked like the back of a pizza box) had seen a lot of abuse, and at some point it had been torn apart and taped back together again. As he explained this to us, Stang suddenly gasped as he realiz ed: "Maybe...maybe we've just gotten the date wrong all this time!" And he turned the paper upside down to reveal a new date:
July 5, 8661
6,663 years to go?!? Was this true? Or was Stang merely trying to cheat us once more?
The crowd didn't buy it. They had become hostile, and I could smell blood in the air. Since "Bob" wasn't there, that meant there was only one person who would take the blame for it. They began shouting, screaming, smashing things.
Stang stepped back, a look of terror on his face. Things were spinning wildly out of control, and he did not know what to do about it.
And from Dr. K'Taden Legume, the one who had defied Stang all this time, there came a great command: "RUSH HIM!"
And the revelers -- the former Ivangelicals and followers of "Bob" -- crowded onto the stage, surrounded Ivan Stang, and tore and clawed at him. And they beat him limb from limb, and stripped off his clothing, till he stood there naked before them, exposed at last as a charlatan and a fraud. Honey was poured all over Stang, and he was covered with pink feathers. Stang's true color was shown at last: PINK!
And the mighty Reverend Ivan Stang, Sacred Scribe of the Church of the SubGenius, stood at last at bay, and yet unvaliant He sued for peace and pardon, and he begged and craved mercy from the crowd. But the answer to his plea was swift in coming: "Mercy? We'll give you mercy, all right: a two second head start!"
And with a yelp of terror, Ivan Stang took to his feet and ran for his life, dogged by a mob of angry zealots.
He didn't make it very far. He was brought down, and his feet were hewn from under him, and he landed on his face. He was carried back in humiliation, to the lake at Brushwood where the Bleeding Head had been launched the night before. No one swam in t his lake because of the solid waste there, and the leeches. It was a perfect final destination for Stang, who had leeched Slack from us all. And with a mighty heave, he was hurled into the water.
Standing there, alone, covered with honey and pink feathers, up to his waist in stinking water, Stang ranted and railed at us, calling us traitors and Pinks and far worse. But no one heeded him, and the crowd jeered him and mocked him.
Thus ended the Celebration of X-Day, when Ivan Stang was revealed as a fraud and a charlatan, and the Church of the SubGenius was shown to be nothing more than a joke.
* * *
But for me, this was not truly the end. There was a final climax yet to be given to the Church I had joined and supported for the past four years, and I intended to show them all what true FAITH was. Jesus called the faithful back to the stage, and I gave my final sermon to the audience, explaining why I followed "Bob" and why I had chosen to join the Church of the SubGenius in the first place.
I had chosen to post my sermon to alt.slack in advance, so that everyone could see that I was making a true statement of faith and not merely ad-libbing some lame excuse for why the saucers didn't show up. And what was the password for the encrypted PGP
file? What else could it be but:
fuckthexists
And here it was that something odd happened to me. I had prepared my sermon for advance, in anticipation of reading it aloud to the audience...but now that I was doing so, I felt myself being seized. My voice became stronger and more confident, and I fe lt an emotion surging through me that I have rarely felt before. I learned then what it is like to truly Rant from the gut, to pour your heart and soul into a sermon that is far, far more than merely reading some scripted lines off of a piece of paper. I think the crowd was able to perceive my honesty and my sincerity, because when I finished my sermon, they let out a cheer.
That is why X-Day ended for me with the cheering and joy of friends, not merely with the laughter and sarcasm of a defrocked former savior. And yet, in spite of the harsh disappointment that the Xists had not appeared, one fact could not be denied. We h ad had the PARTY OF THE YEAR! We'd come to Brushwood and partied naked for four days straight, done things we'd never have done otherwise, and enjoyed the hell out of a fine weekend...while the rest of the world thought it would be cool to sit home and w atch TV, or maybe go to a fireworks show sponsored by some radio station, sitting in the hot weather with 250,000 strangers.
But yet another event happened, even now. As I was packing my tent, I heard my name mentioned and looked up to see two people in person for the first time: RevJack and MegaLiz. We exchanged friendly greetings, and I apologized because I'd been so busy o ver the weekend, we'd never had a chance to meet! Indeed, I'd been so busy (or dazed from lack of sleep) that I'd never had the chance to say hello to them, or to RevLurch, or to Phineas Narco, or to so many others I would have loved to meet. I was only able to say a few words to Onan Canobite, and I di dn't even see Sternodox Kekhaver, even though he had been there.
Realizing this, and saying goodbye to everyone as I packed up my tent for the way home, I knew confidently that there would indeed be an X-Day Plus One celebration, next year. We'd all gotten together and had the time of our lives! Xists or no Xists, we would gladly be here next year to do it again.
And as I stood there in the middle of the field at Brushwood, thinking of the people I'd met and shared experiences with, the things I'd done, and the feelings I'd had, I felt something else wash over me. It wasn't sadness, and it wasn't loneliness...but it brought tears to my eyes. And right there, in the middle of Brushwood, I spent a few precious moments of my life crying.
People talk about having spiritual experiences, when they find themselves awash in emotions they cannot understand or control, and those emotions leave them helpless and shaking.
For the first time, I truly understand how truly spiritual a moment can be.
Appendix:
Modemac's X-Day Sermon: July 5, 1998, approximately 7:45 AM
This message was posted in encrypted form to alt.slack, before I came to Brushwood to greet the Xists as they arrived on July 5, 1998. Now that X-Day is here, I'm off to the saucers for an eternity of pleasurable SexHurt, while the Conspiracy finally com es crashing down, its death-throes wreaking havoc and leaving the world as naught but a twitching, helpless corpse, the last vestiges of its life oozing away into the mire from whence it came. But from the ashes of the Conspiracy, a new specter has arisen, one as menacing and relentless as the old: the spec ter of a World Without Slack.
Now that the End Times are at an End, and the planet Earth is entering the new age of a World Without Slack, I must confess my true reasons for joining the Church of the SubGenius.
Even now, with X-Day here at last, some of the people talking about X-Day still think it's all a big joke. They're strutting around saying, "Oh, I didn't send in my thirty dollars because there are no saucers coming!" Or, "I'm gonna fight my way onto th ose saucers without sending in my thirty bucks!" Or, "The SubGenius Foundation is just a rip-off. I'm having a cool time without sending in my thirty bucks!"
The people saying that, dear friends, are the ones WHO DON'T KNOW WHAT TRUE FAITH IS.
They got into this SubGenius bullshit because they went to a Devival and had a lot of fun, or they saw our Web sites, or they might have read the Unholy Books of "Bob" or heard the Hour of Slack. And they thought "Cool! This is really funny and hip, so I'm gonna tag around and enjoy myself WITHOUT SENDING THEM ANY MONEY."
And a lot of people did just that. They had a lot of fun, because this whole SubGenius thing IS a lot of fun!
But if "fun" is all we could ever get from the Church of the SubGenius, then it can't be much of a religion.
In February of 1994, I sent twenty dollars to the Church of the SubGenius. I told them that I was ready to become a minister, and I wanted my ticket on the Escape Vessels of the Sex Goddesses.
Since I sent in my money to "Bob," I've been investigated by Scientologists, mail-bombed by net.kooks, threatened with lawsuits by hypocritical hacker publishers, sent death threats by skinheads, praised by SubGenii who actually like the shit I've dragged onto alt.slack, and thanked by a few people who say that my online ministry, the First Online Church of "Bob," opened their eyes and made them see that a certain other cult was dangerous, or that they had decided not to commit suicide because they weren't as alone as they thought.
I've seen people come and go since I joined the Church, and my own life has been changed by my involvement. But I've continued to preach the word of "Bob," confident that on July 5, 1998, my struggles would be rewarded and I'd be Ruptured off of this planet into an eternal paradise of love, sex, and food with the Men from Planet X.
Now that fateful day is here at last, dawning as any other day...but now that it is here, my friends, I must confess that X-Day is not the reason why I became a SubGenius.
Fellow mutants, I didn't send in my twenty bucks for the saucers. (Of course, since the saucers are here, I'm glad to say I got my ticket!) I didn't send in my twenty bucks for a Stark Fist subscription. And I didn't send in my twenty bucks for a member ship index card, some bumper stickers, and a couple of photocopied posters to hang on my wall.
I SENT IN MY TWENTY DOLLARS BECAUSE I BELIEVED IN "BOB!"
I saw the message of the SubGenius and of "Bob" when I read "High Weirdness by Mail." I said to myself, "This is GOOD! It's a cause worth supporting, and it's a cause WORTH SENDING MONEY TO! I LIKE IT, and I'm gonna show these guys I believe in them by SENDING IN MY TWENTY BUCKS! It might be a rip-off. I may never hear from them, and I might lose twenty bucks. BUT I DON'T CARE. I'm taking a chance and letting these guys know that I LIK E their message, and I will do my part to bring the message of "Bob" to the world!"
So I sent in my twenty bucks. I'd never been to a Devival, I'd only met one hard-core SubGenius before in my life. I was taking a chance. AND BECAUSE I HAD FAITH IN "BOB," THAT CHANCE PAID OFF!
How many people sent in their money, expecting to be ripped off and never get anything in return?
[At this point, there was a pause of a second, and hands timidly went up...amounting to about a third of the audience. This hesitant pause spoke volumes: It told me that people were really pondering "Bob" and not just taking part in another joke.]
YOU are the TRUE SUBGENIUSES!
YOU are the ones who read between the lines, and saw the message of "Bob," and YOU know the true meaning of the Church of the SubGenius!
I walked into this cult with my eyes open, fully expecting to be ripped off. And instead, I've gotten more SLACK than I could ever hope to have! I've changed people's lives with my Internet ministry, and I've got a girlfriend. But if that's all I got f rom "Bob," then I would have just given the whole thing up and found something else to do.
I've met some of the coolest people in THE ENTIRE GOD DAMN UNIVERSE! I've scored my victories against the Conspiracy by changing lives through my Internet ministry. And most of all, I've met all of YOU, both online and offline. I'm part of a band of mis fits and outcasts who know how to have fun, how to anger, enrage, and defy the Conspiracy, and how to make life itself bearable in a World Without Slack.
We have our Slack, sisters and brothers! And we have it because WE BELIEVE IN "BOB!"
So all those losers who think they're such hot shit because they didn't TAKE A CHANCE and send in thirty bucks to a cause THEY CAN BELIEVE IN, they can just go and FRY with the rest of the Pink morons who populate this cesspool we call the world.
As for ME, I GOT MY SLACK. I've got SO MUCH SLACK that EVEN IF THE SAUCERS HADN'T ARRIVED, I'd STILL be standing on that stage at Brushwood praising "Bob."
I am proud to stand with such mighty icons of Slack as Ivan Stang, Dr. K'Taden Legume, Popess Lilith, Suzie the Floozie, Papa Joe Mama, Saint Janor Hypercleats, and so many, many more people I couldn't possibly name...AND ALL OF YOU!
PRAISE "BOB!"