Almost fifty years ago, a great Salesman, whose symbolic pipe we smoked, created the Church of the SubGenius. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Yeti slaves who had been seared in the flames of slacklessness. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity. But fifty years later, we must face the tragic fact that the Yeti is still not free.
Fifty years later, the life of the Yeti is still sadly crippled by the manacles of normalcy and the chains of employment. Fifty years later, the Yeti lives on a lonely island of Hate in the midst of a vast ocean of techno boredom. Fifty years later, the Yeti is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land.
So we have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition. In a sense we have come to cash a check. When JR "Bob" Dobbs wrote the magnificent words of the Book of the SubGenius and Revelation X, he was signing a promissory note to which every SubGenius was to fall heir.
This note was a promise that all Yeti would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of sex, slack, and the pursuit of veangence. It is obvious today that Dobbs has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as the snotnosed Bobbies are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, Dobbs has given the Bobbies a bad check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But they refuse to believe that they've been ripped off. They refuse to believe that there are insufficient seats on the great escape vessels of the Sex Goddessess. But not all of Dobbs checks are bad . . . he would never pass a bad check to a TRUE SubGenius.
So we have come to cash this check -- a check that will give us upon demand the riches of Slack and the Mountain of Pills. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind you all of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of Valium. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of antislack to the sunlit path of revenge. Now is the time to open the doors of opportunity to all of "Bob's" children. Now is the time to bludgeon our hated enemies with the solid rock of brotherhood.
It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment and to underestimate the determination of the SubGenius. This sweltering summer of the SubGenius' legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of gratuituous violence. Nineteen-ninety-eight is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the SubGenius needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the SubGenius is granted his rightful Slack!
The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges. But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.
We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of terror and cruelty. We must allow our protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with wanton brutality.
The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the SubGeniu s Church must lead us to distrust of all Humans, for many of these talking monkeys, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and their freedom is inextricably bound to our mercy.
We cannot walk alone. And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of "Bob", "When will you be satisfied?" we can never be satisfied as long as our brains, heavy with the fatigue of boredom, cannot gain slack in the cradle of the weirdness and the peehole of the Prairie Squid. We cannot be satisfied as long as the SubGenius' basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as a SubGenius in Arkansas has no Slack and a SubGenius in New York believes he is too cool to need slack. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until heads roll down like waters and blood gushes like a mighty stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that paybacks are a bitch.
Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing by Dobbs' will this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all Yeti are created superior." I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Mars the sons of the Yeti and the sons of the Yacatisma will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood. I have a dream that one day the United States of America, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an ocean of ash and ruin.
I have a dream that "Bob's" mutant children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their sin, but by the content of their wallets. I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day the Catholic Church, whose dog-rapist pope's lips are presently dripping with the words of Candy-assed New Age prophecy, will be transformed once again into an Abattoir where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers into the meat grinder.
I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day every valley shall be scorched, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Dobbs shall be revealed, and all the flesh shall see it together and piss themselves in terror. This is our hope. With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope, with which to crush the skulls of our enemies. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of unbridled SLACK. With this faith we will be able to smoke together, to slay together, to fornicate together, to go to Hell together, to line up for Kool-Aid together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day when all of "Bob's" children will be able to sing with new meaning "My country `tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring." And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious whorehouses of Dobbstown!
Let freedom ring from the mighty skyscrapers of Dallas! Let freedom ring from the heightening Frop Fields of Tibet! Let freedom ring from the snowcapped mountains of Pinks' Skulls! Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks of Susie the Floozy! But not only that; let freedom ring from the medicine Fish Hole of Pills! Let freedom ring from every half-tone dot of "Bob's" face! From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to Kill all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, we will be able to join hands and sing in the words of that old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! Free at last! Thank "Bob" almighty, we are free at last!
Original file name: I Have a Dream
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