DR. LEGUME'S DRILL REPORT
Photos, art by IrRev. Friday Jones
Photos, art by IrRev. Friday Jones
Well, Shitfire, brethren, I hardly even know where to start telling you of all the insane paranormal shit that went down at and above the Brushwood Folklore center this past X-Day weekend. There were fropped-up nekkid Yeti chicks hanging from everything you could hang a nekkid Yeti chick from. There were manly Yeti studs strutting around pounding their chests and bellowing their fiercest war cries. There were ugly, weaselly, timid, little Yetisyn who abandoned their computers and gave up their traditional Sunday night rerun of 'The X-Files' to spend a weekend hunkered down in the bushes plotting how the Normals will suffer once the 'New Regime' seizes the reins of power away from them.
If you weren't there, then, simply put, YOU FUCKED UP. Oh,baby, the shit you missed. Literally HUNDREDS of SubGenii poured into Brushwood, roving in packs like wild dogs, devouring everything and everyone in their paths. There were freaks and geeks and scumbags and heroes, cops and their criminal brothers walking hand in hand, secret christians and gene-damaged greys, werewolves and overmen and even self-important bigshots hiding away in a trailer. Perhaps our detractors (rest their souls) would call this a circle-jerk, but it's better than jacking off alone.
Yes, Kindred, the drill was a huge fucking success, the party-before-the-party-to-end-all-parties. It allowed the brotherhood and sisterhood to really SHOW THEIR STUFF, to get up and GET DOWN, to show the world a little slice o' Dobbstown.
Thursday
After arriving it was plain to see that the weather was not going to cooperate...but if we had to whip nature's ass to complete our mission, then by Dobbs give me the whip. There was no way a pissing cloud could stop us with a mere spray of its icy urine.
Friday
Nature is being a tough old bitch. Stang stepped on her neck while Friday Jones worked her over with a barbed-wire dildo. I whipped Ma Nature so hard that my arm feels like it's going to fall off, but she just kept pissing and farting and begging for more. During the day the seekers laid low in the woods with their kin, but come sundown they said 'fuck it' and converged on the main pavilion to screech and preach, to dance and undulate, to fire up their instruments and run that nasty old whore nature out of their neck o' the woods. Susie the Floozy strut her considerable stuff, raising the crowd's consciousness as well as a few penises. Bill T. Miller, the King of Slack, put out enough raw noise to rattle Jehovah-1 right off the shitter. JHVH hates Phred then came on and flushed a cherry bomb down that bowl, making JHVH HATE HIM ALL THE MORE. The crowd was swaying as much from the music as from the FREE KEG OF BEER supplied by St.@ndrew (and "Bob" owes him a big toke on the true Pipe for that...but he still failed miserably in his quest for the big black sombrero...maybe next X-Day).Papa Joe Mama exhorted the crowd to rise up and kill their oppressors.
Rev.Stang and Jesus worked the crowd like pickpocket whores, lifting their money and making them lewd promises of the pleasures to come. Then I took the mike in my beefy fist and thundered out a powerful sermon that took Martin Luther King months to write and me minutes to butcher. Dr.Ed Strange pummeled his homemade bass guitar while Pastor Craig proved once again that old stereotype about white folks not having rhythm. Groovy G showed us all how proud he was of his Dixie heritage with an incredible rant about his new schism, the Confederate SubGenius Axis. I know I'm probably forgetting half of the other AWESOME SHIT that went on, but you can see the rest elsewhere on Subsite.
SATURDAY
The sun finally came out after I threatened to convert to christianity so I could go to heaven and KICK GOD'S ASS. We all gathered together for the NUDE MASS BAPTISM at the slack pool, and with Jesus Devilacqua's help I baptized a SHITLOAD of Subs this year, easily twice last years group. AND THE BABES!!! Hot Damn, "Bob's" been good to me! There were more titties in that pool than there were in the dumpster behind the cancer hospital. And it was a great way for an ugly Subgenius to show a female who might otherwise reject him, "I may be ugly, but look at the size of my DICK!!!"
This was followed by SubGenius OIL WRESTLING. The Jesus Brothers wrestled PeeKitty and Pastor Craig (UGLY) and kicked their asses. Craig was bleeding from the ass by the time the fight was over. Friday Jones humiliated Rev Ivan Stang and made him lick her steel toed gogo boots clean with his vestigial second tongue. Dr. Ed Strange shocked the assembled onlookers by challenging me to grapple with him. I learned that day never to underestimate a yeti with a low center of gravity when wearing cheap sneakers on a greasy battlefield. Strange soundly defeated me, sliding me out of the ring like a wino pushing a shopping cart full of old beercans. Yes, the Old Order took a beating that day, Stang and I defeated by the vicious upstarts. It was with a sense of shame and humiliation that Stang and I hired the Samuels Brothers to kill those uppity younguns. Sorry, Docktors Jones and Strange, but you must be made examples of...
Later the subs assembled for the Ugly Parade. Pastor Craig made an inspiring speech that no one listened to, then the throng headed up the trail to where the Last Supper was being held. I don't know what was going on at that time, because Dr.Strange and I were busy assembling an eleven-foot cross for the crucifixion that was to follow. Last year we nailed up ol' "Bob", but this year I was intent of fulfilling my lifelong mission to crucify JESUS HIMSELF!!! There was no way in hell that bastard would escape my clutches this time. Dr.Strange and I arrested Jesus at gunpoint, and by the time the crowd caught up with us Jesus was already nailed up and bleeding. There would be no negotiation this time ; no "Bob" to hang in his place. His ass was mine. Once He was up the other Subs were not shy about humiliating him. He was mocked and pelted with shaving cream pies. I myself spit at Him and then cut Him with a knife just to watch him bleed. Then all of the females (and more than a few males) lined up to blow Him on the cross. He finally looked up towards His dad's house mumbled a few expletives, and died. Strange and I cut Him down, and loaded Him into the trunk of my police-issue cruiser like a cheap suitcase. We drove His body to the swamp, wrapped Him up in an old sleeping bag, weighted Him down with concrete blocks and sank Him. Some of the more gullible subs told me that Jesus rose from the dead and was walking among the living once more, but only a dumbshit would believe a ridiculous story like that.
As the evening progressed there was more preaching, more antimusik by Bill T. Miller, JHVH Hates Phred, Steve Slack, and others. At one point, the main pavilion lost power and the bands couldn't play. It was cold and the crowd started to disburse. So Ed Strange grabbed a torch and lit afire the selfsame cross that Jesus was rudely murdered on, blazing a beacon of Pink Hate into the night. The cold subs gathered around the blazing icon, jumping and hooting and warming themselves in the golden glow of retribution. As the fires died down and the glow faded, the bands finally got the juice turned back on and jammed until the sun rose in the east again!
Sunday
I awoke from my slumber at 6:30 am. After rousing my beautiful young wife I stormed through the COMMAND CENTER like a drill sergeant, kicking the doors of my fellow hierarchites, growling "Drop yer cocks and grab yer socks, the saucers are on their way!" I proceeded down to the main assembly area and fired up the air raid siren to roust the sleeping believers from their tents and tunnels. The throng assembled under the pavilion where Rev Stang, Papa Joe Mama and myself fired up the crowd to a fever pitch of religious fervor. The Two Susies with the Scissors of Sight passed out Kool-Aid to the assemblage as Rev Stang counted down to Zero Hour and then...well, if you slept through it, or you didn't bother to come at all, then you are just plain shit out of luck. Maybe next year you will have the good sense to be there. If not...well, let's just say you better stock up on #9000 sunblock.
