Greetings Brothers and Sisters!:
I bring news, hot off the wire from the brutal zone of destruction
that was, in a past life, known as Sherman, NY.
All is lost.
But perhaps some leadup-
Angstrom, Riboflavin, and your intrepid correspondent were dealt
a serious setback when it was revealed, much to the suprise
of the muffler shop guy that discovered it, that the most
holy Ford Tempo of the Black Death has had the vast majority
of its engine mounts vaporized by some unknown technology.
The engine and transmission are no longer connected to the
rest of the vehilce, and could come flying into the passenger
compartment at any minute. We decided not to attempt the
passage in that vehicle.
Fortuately, Riboflavin was able to aquire through totally legal
and orderly means, a large Ford Diesel pickup truck at the very
last minute. This enabled us to travel "in cognito" amongst
the shotgun brandishing local populations of upstate NY without
disturbing them in their natural habitat.
But you don't give a shit, and I haven't slept in days, so
I'll shut the fuck up about that.
The Battle: Never before have I witnessed such a large group
of heavily armed and armored people accomplish so little in
the alloted time. The winner of the battle, and thus the person
who got to launch the bleeding head of *rnold *almer, was Janor
Hypercleats, who was not actually present for the battle.
The combatants ate pig. We chose to drive to nearby Mayville,
where we ate at a small diner, and our waitress was quite possibly
the single most beautiful young woman any of us had ever seen.
Then some people ranted. They were all great, but nothing particularly
stuck out in my mind. It's one hideous memory of bizareness rolled
up in my medula oblongata. One day it will develop its own persona
and start lashing out in violent episiodes. I look forward to that day.
Then there were some fucking dangerous ass fireworks, which resulted
in many fatalities. The fire fell from the sky, and the bleeding
head of *rnold *almer was prematurely detonated. The orgy of flaming
violence continued for at least eight hours. Nowhere was safe, those
who took shelter inside of motor vehicles were most likely killed
instantly when the fuel tanks exploded. Those were the lucky ones.
I took advantage of my ability to breathe both on land and under water
and hid in the pond, at least until the depth charges started getting
close.
With the head of *rnold *almer destroyed in the hellfire from the sky,
the only option was to launch the head of the goddamn stuck pig
they ate after the battle. Your imagination will have to suffice,
as describing exactly what happens to a well cooked actual real pig
head when launched with a golf club is too difficult for words.
Keep in mind that I've had no (0) sleep for the past two (2) days.
Then the master motherfucker from the motherfucking mothership
Jaweh David Lynch gave a motherfucking mind bending crazed
brilliant rant. It was worth the price of admission. Fuck yeah.
Then that guy, shit, Andrew the Impaled, I think, circus apocalypse
guy. He was fucking awesome. Sewed Legumes fucking mouth shut.
Blood. Real blood. It was a sight to see. Jammed a screwdriver
in his nose. I almost puked. I loved it.
Am I making any sense? No? No shit. What I'm describing didn't
make any sese.
The local pagan population was out, beating drums like crazed
motherfuckers with pulsing quartz crystals instead of pineal glands.
With a big freaking fire. Naked dancing. It was goofy goodness, and
toasty warm to boot.
This is probably out of order. Time had no meaning, there was no
way to differentiate one moment from the next. Could've been the
chemical enhancement, or the electro static vorticies generated by
having so many SubG's in one place. Maybe it was the fact that I
was already under the effects of nosleep.
Time blurs... a mass wedding that people here should already know
about... ranting... Jesus killing time by constantly asking for
the time, though it was meaningless... more ranting... faux alien
sex goddesses with plastic appendages... stuff and people gets auctioned...
some healthy fornicating takes place... Associated with the wedding:
Orbit drink, passed around. People unfamiliar with orbit don't trust
it... sitting around various fires, talking to various people...
The moment arrives. The Kool-aid is passed out, Stang arrives in a
white limo. The countdown begins... Five, four, three, two, one,
zero.
Nothing. Stang tries again.
Zip. Nada.
No saucers, no Xists. Nuthin but an increasingly apologetic Stang
and an increasingly hostile crowd.
Oh, and Jesus shaved his beard.
So Stang pulls some shit out of his ass about "Bob" actually writing
the date as 8661 upside down, instead of 1998. Yeah, fucking cheapass
copout. The crowd wants blood. The anger swells, and they pounce,
tearing Stang from limb to limb and feasting on his entrails.
Actually, they stripped him, dumped motor oil all over him and covered
him with bright pink feathers. He cried like a baby for mercy, and only
a little was given, in the form of a two second head start running. The
last your intrepid correspondent saw of Stang, he was being hauled by
the angry mob toward the pond, as the Bruswood staff felt that he would
pollute the pool with his foul outer coating.
We, however, were called in on yet another crazed misison of mercy to
teach stupid motherfuckers the true meaning of honking goddamn horns.
It was a brutal journey, but if we weren't going to do it, nobody
was, and that would have been the real tragedy.
All in all, quite an entertaining time, and as of 3 minutes ago,
I have been awake for 48 hours straight. The words crawl like vicious
ants across my computer monitor. They make fire.
What remains to be seen is what will happen with the church itself after
such a high visibility failure. The Discordians were heavily recruiting
the now X-Dayless SubG with the distribution of documents.
I, however, have my own course to follow...
As even though the Church of the SubGenius may be a big Joke, Slack
is still very real and attainable. The quest continues, but is
under remodeling pending new management.
-Lungfish
----------------------------------------------------------------------
From: BRYNMAWR@webtv.net (D. J. Farrell)
ETAtAhUAuwuUaHgUw/4obq12fl1+0cqe+FgCFFGV+4ohkKrydIfI1LNcEA95+7St
Xref: spln alt.slack:114951
..We will return next year.
We'll smoke lots of 'frop & drink lots of beer.
We'll rant, and chant "Praise Bob, Kill Bob"
as turds slowly swirl in the 'ol hot tub.
The Anti-Music all night will play
while we roam under the sun naked all day.
Sicker stunts we all shall plan
as we tar-and-feather Ivan Stang!
So all you "bobbies" have no fear,
for we'll all return to Brushwood for X-day+1,
..next year!!!
Rev. DJ.
[poetic license revoked]
ps, had a very slack-ful time.
despite the noticeable absence of the saucers!
yee-haw!
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++9 out of 10 Brain Surgeons agree,
www.angelfire.com/ny/BrynmawrMusicPlus/index.html is a great place to
be!
----------------------------------------------------------------------
From: alberich@iglou.com (Mark Kinney)
Joseph Carpenter (lungfish@earth.execpc.com) wrote:
: So Stang pulls some shit out of his ass about "Bob" actually writing
: the date as 8661 upside down, instead of 1998. Yeah, fucking cheapass
: copout. The crowd wants blood. The anger swells, and they pounce,
Or perhaps this is the renegotiation Bob took on. 8661. That means six
thousand, six hundred and sixty three more Drills, one of which I may even
be able to attend one of these days. Missing out on the naked dancing and
healthy fornication really sucks...
: What remains to be seen is what will happen with the church itself after
: such a high visibility failure. The Discordians were heavily recruiting
: the now X-Dayless SubG with the distribution of documents.
Hah! I don't even think the Discordians can match having 666 somewhere in
the difference between years.
Hmm... perhaps its time to ressurect the Zen Discordian SubGenii. :-)
--
alberich@iglou.com | Mark Kinney | http://www.iglou.com/nations
"You see that I am different, see that I am strange, I'm a bumpkin I'm a
lout" -- Shane MacGowan and the Popes, "Victoria"
----------------------------------------------------------------------
From: twgs@whatsthepoint.net (Jahweh D. Lynch)
>Joseph Carpenter (lungfish@earth.execpc.com) wrote:
>
>: What remains to be seen is what will happen with the church itself after
>: such a high visibility failure. The Discordians were heavily recruiting
>: the now X-Dayless SubG with the distribution of documents.
The Discordians? They're all on drugs. Fuck 'em. The Discordians could
never, EVER organize a party like X-day. "Organize?" they'd say. "But
we're DISCORDIANS!" And that, in a nutshell, is why they suck and the
SubGenii rule, even if they're wrong.
--
"Wir feiern einen Party und du bist nicht dabei"
- Herbert Groenemeyer | remove whats to email
JIGGY WEEK: http://www.thepoint.net/~twgs/jiggy/jiggy.htm
----------------------------------------------------------------------
From: terrygibson@rocketmail.com
In article <e/wbear-
ya02408000R0607980326550001@news.direct.ca>,
e/wbear@hibernia.ca (Bear23) wrote:
>
> In article <35a064ff.13658913@news.netwurx.net>, no@email.ads wrote:
>
> > The artificial intelligence formerly known as e/wbear@hibernia.ca
> > (Bear22) wrote:
> >
> > >Tell me more!
> >
> > The most famous alt.slack denizens are dead and rotting in Brushwood,
> > the froup is overrun with yammering Bobbies, my posts from late last
> > week didn't make it off the server, and e/w bear has turned into an
> > Eliza-like 'bot.
> >
> > I FEEL SO ALONE (* sob *)
>
> That is sad
>
All right now boys ,its time to wash up and head in
for supper.....................you've got home work to do.
-----== Posted via Deja News, The Leader in Internet Discussion ==-----
http://www.dejanews.com/rg_mkgrp.xp Create Your Own Free Member Forum
----------------------------------------------------------------------
From: e/wbear@hibernia.ca (Bear29)
what is homework?
----------------------------------------------------------------------
From: lungfish@earth.execpc.com (Joseph Carpenter)
In article <EvnKnr.M54@iglou.com>, Mark Kinney <alberich@iglou.com> wrote:
>Joseph Carpenter (lungfish@earth.execpc.com) wrote:
>: So Stang pulls some shit out of his ass about "Bob" actually writing
>: the date as 8661 upside down, instead of 1998. Yeah, fucking cheapass
>: copout. The crowd wants blood. The anger swells, and they pounce,
>
>Or perhaps this is the renegotiation Bob took on. 8661. That means six
>thousand, six hundred and sixty three more Drills, one of which I may even
>be able to attend one of these days. Missing out on the naked dancing and
>healthy fornication really sucks...
The naked dancing was very interesting, I highly reccomend it.
The healthy fornication in the damp chilly grass was wonderful,
but that can easily be had most any ol' day of the year.
The experience that will remain with me is standing on the shore of
a pond, watching as a group of clearly insane people throw piles of
fireworks onto a blazing fire, and Jesus is standing next to me with
a bullhorn yelling "Now would be a really good time to go back to
the pavillion! The fireworks people have lost their minds, and one
of them is our only EMT."
>Hmm... perhaps its time to ressurect the Zen Discordian SubGenii. :-)
Yes! It is time to ressurect EVERYTHING!!
-JC
Original file name: X-day report -JoeCarpenter
This file was converted with TextToHTML - (c) Logic n.v.