Well, as SOME of you might have noticed, the world did not end July 5th as we had hoped it would. I attended the expectant gathering in far-flung (or "farf-lung") Amish-ridden, Sherman, New York, and joined with many of my Sub-Genius bretheren and sisteren, along with confused Pagans, curious onlookers, and misguided "Goth" youths to enjoy the last hours of our befouled Earth. Many interesting diversions channeled our fears and hopes to while away the remaining time: Blood Wrestling, spontaneous ranting and speaking in tongues, Pig Butchering, massive consumption of intoxicants, you know, the usual. Many "bands" appeared including the infamous Doktors 4 "Bob" and the Swinging Love Corpses. Janor Hypercleats gave a rant the like of which we have not heard in many a moon. Armageddon was fought on a huge field between the Holocaustals and the Ivangelicals. Someone stold the sacred Pig-Head. Some Dumb-Ass Youth launched a piece of refuse in the Hot Tub. Rev. Sternodox practiced Holy "Sex-Hurt" in his tent with his young accomplice until he was literally bleeding from all openings. All Hell broke loose. It was weird, but expected.
Upon the eagerly-awaited morning, the Reverend Doktor Ivan Stang and his entourage arrived in a white stretch limo to lead the proceedings welcoming the interplanetary X-ists to their target for conquest, planet Earth. Everything went as expected up until the appointed hour. When the X-ists did NOT appear as predicted, Stang tried a futile scam of saying that the date was upside down and that the "REAL" date for the end of the world was 8661! The crowd turned ugly. Stripping the clothes from his shriveled white, white, white body, they doused him with a gallon of honey and feathered him with a cascade of purple feathers while the crowd cheered, laughed, and mocked their former leader. He was picked up and deposited in a nearby pond, full of chilly, leech-infested, scummy "water". More derision followed. The crowd particularly seemed to enjoy his weeping and frantic pleading. When he finally hauled his unworthy carcass to the shore and dried himself off, he began preaching once again, asking for money to continue the church. The crowd sprang forward with fistfuls of cash ready to take up as if the preceding days had never happened at all. Barnum was right: one every minute! How long he can keep up this new crusade is anybody's guess.
And how was YOUR weekend?
St. Byron of the Church of the Sub-Genius
--
Byron Werner
hotwire@d2.com
Residing in the Incubator (No Mule Needed) Digital Domain
300 Rose Ave.
Venice, Ca. 90291
310 314-2800 ext. 2056
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NO! NOBODY said "McDonald's"! Are you nuts? ********************************************************************************
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