My gear was packed. This was the first camping trip I'd be taking since back when I was a Cub Scout, and I had what I considered to be essentials: sleeping bag, food, clothes, camera and tape player/recorder, freshly printed Dobbsheads, and a few other odds and ends designed to further my enjoyment of the Final Preparatory Drill, with ONLY ONE YEAR TO GO until the Pink Boys finally fry in Hell-On-Earth and the Xists deliver good on "Bob's" promise. Praise "Bob!" Earlier on IRC, I had taken RevLurch up on an offer to loan me a tent for the duration of the Drill, so fortunately my equipment was somewhat less cumbersome than I had thought. I could only hope that Lurch actually showed up at the Drill and I wouldn't have to sleep out in the open, but I placed my trust in "Bob" and believed that he would be there.
Thanks to the miracle of the Net, I'd managed to arrange a ride with to and from the Drill with Reverend Scott, another Boston Yeti. We'd met in person for the first time only a week before, and he'd never been to my neighborhood before; so I was worried that he might not be able to read my frantically scribbled instructions and he might miss me all together. But that turned out to be just natural last-minute worrying, and at a little past 10 AM on July 3 he arrived with his other traveling companion. This was a pleasant surprise indeed, for not only did it mean that the driving chores would be shared by three people rather than two, but we also were blessed with the presence of the lovely Emmanuelle I-XII (that's pronounced "Emmanuelle One Through Twelve"). This lady's name is taken from the many Bulldada-enriched movies starring her famous late-night cable counterpart, whose luscious form has treated the eyes of many a horny teenage boy and many a jaded somewhat-older Yeti. Emmanuelle's presence proved to be quite a boon, as we discovered later.
Directions to the Drill had been relayed via email by Irreverend Friday Jones (another lovely UberFemme I was looking forward to seeing), and this provided us with still more Slack, for NOT ONCE did we become lost or turn in the wrong direction. Friday had blazed the path for us last year, and we confidently followed in her footsteps. Praise "Bob!"
The Slack began to flow freely as soon as we were on the road. Many strange, bizarre, and beautiful wonders were revealed before our eyes, and it soon became apparent that we had entered another, stranger dimension: one in which time and space had no meaning. Nearly all of the unexpected and delightful surprises occurred too quickly for me to catch on film (by the time I had my camera ready, they were gone), but there were a few moments worth mentioning, such as the hideous Roy Rogers restaurant on the Massachusetts Turnpike, which provided its own dog-walking area in the back -- complete with fire hydrant; and the rest stop on Route 88 in New York, where we discovered a roadside stand vending food and drink. This particular stand was sponsored by Pope Lou Duchez's favorite charity, Habitat for Humanity -- and by their presence, I truly KNEW that "Bob" was watching us.
We passed through rapidly-changing conditions of brilliant sunlight, threatening clouds, and rain; the weather conditions were changing every couple of minutes. But this provided us with another glorious sight, for the July weather was making the rain evaporate almost as soon as it touched the ground. This caused lovely streams of mist to waft their way across the foliage-bedecked slopes of the Appalachian Mountains, and to see the fragile clouds of vapor making their way down the side of the mountains was truly a wonder to behold. Despite the threatening weather, only once did the rain truly become a torrent, and somewhere in New York we were forced to slow down...but this condition lasted naught but a few minutes, and we were soon on our way again.
At one point, we noticed a darker cloud in the distance to our right: it looked more like smoke than clouds or mist. And that is what it turned out to be: in the valley between two mountains, perhaps a mile or two away from us, thick smoke was streaming upward from a certain point. Then, to our amazement, a column of flame pierced the thick veils and erupted skyward. It was far enough away not to pose any threat to us, but to be able to see it so well at such a great distance meant that it must have been a fearsome conflagration. I can only hope that no one was hurt and that it was soon brought under control, but we passed by without learning more about it.
Through some inexplicable physical reality, we soon found ourselves reaching points of the globe that we had not expected to see. I still don't know how we were able to traverse the continents without seeing the Atlantic Ocean, but we saw direction signs leading travelers to Poland, Cuba, Florida, and Panama. How could this be, when we were only trying to make it through the state of New York? Truly, "Bob" works in mysterious ways.
And yet, the wonders we witnessed did not prepare us for the unending highway HELL known as Route 17. After making our way off of Route 88 to the 17 on-ramp, we rejoiced and looked forward to the end of our journey. But it was not to be -- the road stre tched on, and on, and on, and we realized that we would have to make our best possible speed in order to reach our destination. The mile markers and road signs burned their images into our mind, and the asphalt highways stretched onward to infinity, while the sun dipped lower in the sky...until finally, when we were close to the end of human and inhuman endurance, the blessed name appeared before us: "Town of Sherman." Praise "Bob!" After enduring the toils of the road and Conspiracy-enforced traffic laws, we had reached our destination!
Among our conversations in the car, the three of us had discussed what we were actually coming to the drill to see. Other than ravishing, luscious UberFemmes and deafening Anti-Music, what did we expect to see? This was our first Drill and only my second Devival, and we did not know what to expect. We finally decided that the best way to sum up our expectations was to say: "I came to see something different." Something unusual, something unexpected. And that is truly what we would see...beginning as soon as we entered Sherman and made our way through the roads to Brushwood. A horse-drawn carriage was moving through the street, and we saw our first Amish resident; though we didn't stop to gawk, as we knew that would be an insult. Besides, we had more unusual sights to look forward to. The dirt road leading to Brushwood is a sight in itself, and we were nervous as the car climbed hills that went STRAIGHT UP and STRAIGHT DOWN. But the brakes held, and there it was before us: "Brushwood Folklore Center." (Plus a smaller sign that said, "Income Tax Service." Even the Pagans flocking to this cultural Mecca and the Amish residents are slaves to the Conspiracy, it seems.)
And so, some time past 8:30 PM with a considerable amount of daylight still left, we arrived and registered for the weekend. As soon as I said we were here for the SubGenius festival, one passerby remarked, "Not those weirdo mutants again!" To which I replied, "Damn straight!" However, this remark was apparently made in jest, for I will say that not *once* during the festival did I see any signs that our presence there was unwanted.
Now we had to find our campsite and set up before the sun went down. It was soon apparent that many other Yeti had already arrived and were wandering around the place, and we soon learned that many SubGenii were camped out in the woods. We took the car out into a huge grassy field, dotted by the soon-to-be-familiar pavilions of the Brushwood festival buildings, and followed the car path to the end, where we noticed a few other vehicles parked at the edge of the woods. Stepping out and looking around, we saw others milling about there, also setting up camp...and we knew that truly, we had arrived.
Rev. Scott and Emmanuelle chose a site to set up their tent, while I embarked on what I thought was my highest priority: seeing if RevLurch had arrived, so that I could set up my own tent. It was then that I first discovered what turned out to be the most unexpected, strangest, embarrassing, and flattering phenomenon to affect me over the course of the weekend.
I went to up to a random tent, where a couple of mutants in their early twenties were setting up, and was both surprised and delighted to hear the names of several residents of alt.slack being shouted back and forth, including Pee Kitty and David Lynch. This gave me enough confidence to ask one gentleYeti if he knew of RevLurch.
"Yeah, he was supposed to be arriving, but I don't think he's here yet. Who are you?"
"Modemac."
And here was where it started. As soon as my name was mentioned, at least three heads shot up. Word quickly passed back and forth among the assembled mutants, and I was astonished to discover that I had suddenly become the center of attention...at least for a few seconds. I wish I could say that it was just my ego talking here, but I swear that this is what happened...or least, how it seemed to me. But nevertheless, my embarrassment quickly turned to delight as I was enthusiastically in person greeted by many of the greatest SubGenius names of alt.slack and IRC, including Pee Kitty, Reverend Unibomber, Miss Sakamoto, cuthulu, TheCharlie, Pope Lou Duchez, Pope Phred, Myrkury, Saint &rew, Popess Lilith, and many others. We exchanged felicitations and warm welcomes, and I was pleased to finally be able to place faces next to the names I have become so familiar with. As is often the case, our real-life personas bear little or no resemblance to the "image" we project online, and the Netizens of alt.slack truly represented a cross-section of Inhumanity, from all corners of time and space. At least one person was as young as seventeen, while the older mutants were in their thirties or forties...but age made no difference, and we were all glad to see each other. Some of the SubGenii had been there last year as well, and for them it was a reunion of old friends.
Most amazing of all, Sven Serrano of the Shining Path of Least Resistance had flown in all the way from Japan just to be here. When we were introduced and I heard him speak, I could not shake an uneasy feeling that he sounded almost exactly like R. Crumb's brother from the documentary "Crumb" -- the one who meditated on a bed of nails.
I learned that RevLurch was expected to be traveling with Doktor DynaSoar, and that they hadn't arrived yet; so while Rev. Scott and Emmanuelle were setting up their tent, all I could do was wander about and get the lay of the land, before I could get laid on the land. I made my way around the Brushwood grounds, seeing many Yeti and a number of pagans as well, and saw some familiar faces who I was glad to see again. Bill T. Miller, the King of Slack, had a tent set up close to the outdoor bathrooms (a smart move). Another tent had two big, fat, friendly dogs leashed there, and I met one Yeti couple who had brought their child -- a baby, perhaps no more than a year old -- to the Drill. I learned that the child had already been ordained, of course; and I wondered what would happen on X-day only ONE YEAR from now. Perhaps the child would take after many infamous science fiction cliches and suddenly grow up overnight, so as to take part in the carnage on July 5, 1998?
I was greeted enthusiastically wherever I went, and I tried to return these heartfelt greetings with equal fervor (though I was hindered by my own embarrassment). Everyone there was in a good mood, and they were all determined to enjoy the hell out of the weekend and take part in a nonstop orgy of depravity. The weather was still threatening, but on that first night it was truly beautiful: everyone was wearing T-shirts, there was a cool breeze blowing, and the ground and the grass was dry. This was the first Miracle of Dobbs. Last year's Drill report had noted that the ground was usually wet, but it was not the case this time; this made setting up tents so much easier. But I hadn't found RevLurch yet, and the light was noticeably fading.
Still, the general good mood and enthusiasm was catching, and I soon calmed down. The weather felt terrific, and I was not afraid of sleeping outside if I had to; I heard from a few Yeti that it was even possible to shack out in one of the buildings, if necessary. So I rejoiced: even if I didn't have a tent, I would still have a great time that weekend.
As I was making my way through the field back to the Village of alt.slack (as the Netizen tent city had been dubbed), I heard the familiar voice of the Sacred Scribe, and I saw him chatting enthusiastically with some of his friends. I stopped to watch and listen, and he turned around to notice me. "Modemac! I'm so glad to see you here!" cried Stang as he came up to me, and we exchanged a warm handshake...but my guard had been let down, and I was suddenly POUNCED by a warm, bubbly, friendly bundle of SubGenius UberWoman. It was Friday Jones in person once again, and as we embraced, the Pstench of her Slackful Aura filled me with a lusty, mirthful feeling that reached into the deepest Bonobo-tinged recesses of my Yeti genes. It was a feeling that would carry me through the entire weekend. Friday and Stang introduced me to their companions, including Papa Joe Mama, the Lord Jesus Christ, and Susie the Floozy. Yes, I met Susie in person for the first time, and I must confess that she is truly a sight to behold. The many erections launched by the innumerable visions of her, revealed to us through various SubGenius appearances on video, in magazines, and on the Internet, do not give even the least infinitesimal glimpse at the true beautiful and wondrous form that is Susie the Floozy. I would find myself falling in Yeti love with her over the weekend...but that story will be revealed later.
As I parted with Stang and went on to search for my tent, a thought occurred to me: How in the world had Stang recognized me? We had met in person only once, and I looked considerably different from my picture on SubSite. That man has got one hell of a memory.
Darkness fell, and a beautiful sky filled with stars came out...more stars than I had ever seen in my native metropolis. The field was full of fireflies, and it was amazing to watch them all, as if the field was populated with many shooting stars. People were still milling around, psyching themselves up for the weekend; as I was checking the buildings out, I saw the swimming pool and hot tub for the first time. The hot tub was full of people, and I soon learned that it was usually occupied 24 hours a day or more. There was at least one man walking naked across the fields to the pool area, but no one was giving him a second look; the attitude towards being "skyclad" was soon to be revealed to all of us.
Another minor incident that caught my eye: Around the compound and in the fields, many people were drinking bottles of a mysterious blue liquid. The label on the bottle said "Brainwash." I was offered some, but in spite of my having come here to take risks, I decided that I'd better not put anything into my body unless I knew what it was made of.
At this point it was quite dark, but I'd prepared and I had a flashlight. I learned that DynaSoar and RevLurch had finally arrived, and so I went over and met the great warrior of S.P.(U.T.U.)M. for the first time. He had received orders to distribute certain packages to the Warriors of alt.binaries.slack, and I got mine as well. I can't say what it is, though, because I don't want spammers to learn the secrets of the SubGenius Police.
Lurch, meanwhile, was setting up his campsite with a bunch of friends. We were properly introduced, and here's where another strange incident occurred. Lurch had promised to let me borrow a tent for use over the weekend, and I thanked him for his generosity. As soon as I mentioned that I needed to set up my tent, Lurch and at least two other people promptly grabbed me, moved me to a proper place for a campsite, and set up the tent for me so that all I could do was stand around and watch...even though I had insisted that they didn't have to trouble themselves. Praise RevLynch!
However, now that my tent was set up, I had one other problem. My gear was still locked in Rev. Scott's car, and he was nowhere to be found; he was out exploring and joining in the early parties. I smiled and shrugged, because the mood was so upbeat and everyone was so excited. I did have my sleeping bag, and though I slept in my clothes that night and wasn't able to get my stuff out until the next morning, I still beat off the car lag and enjoyed a night of sleep. I was here, I was ready for action, I was prepared for a great and REALLY weird time.
But first, as we all discovered, we had to pass the Test of Dobbs the next day...
I awoke and it was still dark out. In the summertime? I checked my watch, and realized I'd only slept about three or four hours: it was 4:30 AM. But I was awake, and I was excited; I knew that it was one of those moments where you know you're not going to go back to sleep, even if you tried. So, as the light was beginning to break, I got out my flashlight, put on my sneakers, and took a walk around the compound. The air was wonderfully fresh, and down by the pond, I heard the croaking of bullfrogs.
I discovered an outhouse that actually had a flush toilet (something that relieved me immensely). There wasn't a single other person in sight, except for one: on the road near the pond, one campsite had a fire that was still burning low. The fire was throwing off sparks, and frankly I was worried that an unattended blaze such as this might not start a dangerous fire. But fortunately the person who had claimed that site was awake, and he saw me approach; we then drowned the fire, and I went back to bed. As the sun began to rise, I saw that the sky was no longer clear: in fact, there was a heavy cloud cover. This worried me somewhat, because I had heard the weather forecasts saying that today would indeed have rain and thunderstorms. However, if the forecast was correct, the rain would end by afternoon and we would have smooth sailing for the rest of the weekend.
I dozed off in my tent, and woke up again at about 8:30...or at least, I think it was 8:30. (Another mysterious phenomenon was the tendency of all kinds of watches to stop, all throughout the weekend. Time Control in action, folks!) It was now very bright, though cloudy. Rev. Scott and Emmanuelle were asleep in their tent, and I didn't want to wake them up to get my stuff, so I didn't have anything else to do except take another walk. Friday Jones was there, somewhat bleary-eyed but awake; plus a few other folks were sitting around and chatting, waiting to see what the weather would be like. The Brushwood compound was serving hot breakfast, so I was able to eat; as I was doing so, the rain started. It was a light drizzle at first, and it stopped a nd started as time went by. This made us hopeful that there wouldn't be a lot of bad weather, and we would be able to get down to some serious partying.
I headed back to the Village of alt.slack, and found that my traveling companions were awake now; I was able to unpack my stuff and get my gear into the tent before the rain started again. This was good, as I was now able to take a shower and get out my radio. For a camping site, Brushwood's facilities are more than adequate: the hot water in the showers, in fact, seemed better than what I have in my own bathroom at home...that either means that my plumbing sucks or Brushwood is excellent. Or both.
But the rain was still falling lightly, which meant that most activities were being kept indoors at the time. Official registration for the Drill began at 11 AM Friday morning, and the Foundation had laid out its swag to sell. Not only was all of the great stuff available in the Scatalog there to be sold, but there was a number of other interesting items as well. Papa Joe Mama was there hawking his Dobbs Icon framed paintings; several zine publishers had put out their own stuff; and there was one potte r there who was displaying an incredible number of beautiful, awe-inspiring, hand-crafted Dobbshead plates, talismans, mugs, and much more. The effort that had been put into the creation of this merchandise was truly humbling. People were lining up to purchase their registrations, the stuff was selling like hotcakes...praise "Bob!" The MONEY was flowing like water, the sweet Pstench of each transaction making Dobbs' eyes twinkle a little bit more. I put together a sales sign to help recruit the masses into our cult, saying "Join Us And Help Us Reach Our Goal," though the rain had ruined some of the printouts I'd planned for it. Fortunately, the talented SubGenius artists filled the sign with images I had not conceived of, and it corrupted many an innocent Conspiracy dupe.
As I was making my way back down onto the field to the pavilion, I was startled to discover that there was an obscure object floating over the trees. To my amazement and utter disbelief, I realized that the shaped resembled a UFO...and what's more, it may have even had the Image of "Bob" Dobbs! Was this one of the ships of the Xists? I was able to snap ONE picture of it, before it vanished...
Meanwhile, I learned that the Drill was being broadcast live on SubGenius radio! There were not one, but TWO low-power FM broadcast stations set up on both sides of the compound: WBOB and OR-KILL-ME Radio. They were both playing SubGenius tapes, Hours of Slack, recorded Rants, and weird music. The rain was falling steadily now, so I got out my umbrella; I headed up to WBOB and donated a cassette of the Kings of Feedback Slackfux Devival from New York. (I don't know if they played it, but they would certainly get a lot of Slack from that tape nonetheless.)
But as the rain came down, the temperature dropped, and I felt a chill seeping into my bones. It was getting hard to walk around because I had only brought one pair of shoes, which were rapidly becoming soaked; in addition, my left knee started feeling some stiffness, making it difficult for me to move over rough terrain (and most of the place had rough terrain). Still, I trusted the weather forecasts saying that the rain would end soon...which proves, once again, that you must NEVER trust anything the Conspiracy tells you.
To keep out of the rain, I went to the Brushwood cafe: one of the buildings had a kitchen where they were serving hot drinks. A number of SubGenii were clustered at the tables there, keeping dry, and I had the chance to become more familiar with Miss Sakamoto. I'd first met her the previous night, and I came across her in the dark on my way back to my tent, but here in the daylight I was able to appreciate her beauty and do my best to help her enjoy the day, in spite of the inclement weather. Suffice to say, we were able to pass the time with each other doing things that are best left only to the imagination...
But dammit, the cold was really getting to be a bitch. The pain in my left knee was becoming more intense, and it reached the point where I was grimacing in pain just by walking uphill or over rough ground...and this certainly didn't give me any incentive to trek back to my tent again, in the rain. Jesus was still promising over the radio that the rain was going to end, except that it was coming down harder and harder. To keep my spirits up, I did what little I could to Bill T. Miller set up and decorate the main pavilion for the rock bands, watching Japanese bug porn displayed on video monitors and waiting for "Bob" to deliver us and make us WARM again.
But we persevered, even when the rain was at its hardest, and the afternoon wore on into early evening. Then the rain finally began to lessen, and people looked up and saw that they had an excuse to PARTY. And the evening came...and the Rants began.
It was certainly colder this evening than the previous one had been, but we were determined to go and have a lot of fun anyway. Besides, is it possible to see Susie the Floozy on stage and NOT have fun?
The bands came onstage, and Susie gave us a striptease we will certainly never forget. Have you ever seen a woman play a keyboard with her tits? By the time Susie was done, the whole pavilion was hot and roarin' for more. And they got more, as Papa Joe Mama gave us a fire-and-brimstone sermon on the usefulness of HATE. He told us about sheer SubGenius HATE, and how it is this HATE that will bring us through and give us the initiative to truly get our REVENGE on the Conspiracy and the Pink Boys on X-day...only ONE YEAR away. ONE YEAR! Doktor DynaSoar enlightened us with his telling of the Parable of the Feces, and we were terrified by Colonel Buford G. Thaddeus Beauregard of the Confederate SubGenius Axis, when he made his pledge: "One Human A Day Until X-Day!" The crowd felt the murderous, Slackful HATE, as one preacher after another expounded and ranted. Even those who were not very good at Ranting were encouraged; one person faltered in the middle of his Rant, but Stang encouraged him and the crowd approved the effort.
We were definitely feeling upbeat, if still cold, when yet another great SubGenius introduced himself to me: Wandarer, the Audio King of the Net and creator of 90% of the great sounds you hear on SubSite. I was humbled, as this was a person I'd been want ing to meet for a long time -- if for no other reason than to steal his secrets. I learned his secrets, all right, and I'll be trying to put them to good use.
But then something happened outside that really whipped the crowd into a frenzy: Dr. K'Taden Legume lit a huge bonfire outside, and the Burning of Material Possessions took place. We were all feeling our HATRED of the Conspiracy now, and Legume showed us that the Xists will cleanse the earth with FIRE. We will BURN the Conspiracy with our HATE -- and to show our HATE, we BURNED those things that we really HATED! We burned watches, the symbol of how the Conspiracy TRAPS us and ENSLAVES us with its clocks and its schedules. We burned Bibles. We burned Conspiracy money -- and not just $1 bills, either. We burned flags. We even sacrificed animals! And, praise "Bob," I burned my credit card. Yes! I took out that accursed, hateful piece of plastic that the Conspiracy has branded onto me, hanging its albatross around my neck, and I CAST MY UNHOLY, EVIL SHACKLES INTO THE FLAMES, AND I WAS PURGED!
My leg was killing me, however, and I'd left my flashlight behind in the tent; however, I was able to find my way back to my tent in the dark. I was feeling drained, but hopeful: the rain had indeed ended, and tomorrow was looking to be a good day. If today had been a day when "Bob" tested us, then tomorrow would truly be a day of Slack.
"...and lo! They were visited by the Spirit of Dobbs. And 'Bob' looked down from his seat amidst the flying saucers of the Xists, and he saw that the SubGenii had displeased him. And 'Bob' said: "Goddammit, you idiots! You call yourselves a religious cult? Then why the hell ain't you sacrificin' anything?!?" And the SubGenii sacrificed their material possessions, and did purchase many fine products. And 'Bob' smiled, and he sent the Sun to warm the faithful. And there was much sex." -- fragment of hastily scrawled parchment, dated 1 B.X.
[NOTE: According to the AdBusters Mental Environment Calendar, July 5 is proclaimed as "Workoholics Day." Truly this was a day of Slack!]
As soon as I woke up the next morning, I knew it was a good day -- for the sun was shining. The night had been cold, but my sleeping bag had kept me warm. I had my gear with me this time, which meant that I could head right out and get going. Today was July 5, but we had been informed that the 7 AM mass would not be held until Sunday morning. So I had some time to shower and get my gear together before finally plunging into the fray.
The high spirits that would visit us that day manifested themselves right from the start: as the Village of alt.slack woke up, the SubGenii gathered together around Lurch's fire and enjoyed a hearty breakfast. People shared food, and we ate excellent hom emade pancakes, and the fire was warm, and it was good. I was whistling the Beatles' "Here Comes The Sun" as I went up for my shower, enjoying the feeling of the hot July sun warming my bones and making me feel really good. People were up and about, planning the day's activities. I had my own project in mind as well, so I took out my tape recorder and prepared to spread the word.
I've read the Brag of the Female SubGenius, and I think it's still one of the best of all Rants, if not THE best. There's been an audio version of the Brag of the SubGenius in existence for years, but the Brag of the Female SubGenius has never been recorded on tape...and I wanted to rectify that. So, after visiting the sales table and Friday seduced me into buying some more copies of Pamphlet #1, five lottery tickets for a seat at the Last Supper, and the great "Bob"/Anti-"Bob" T-shirt, I set off to visit the two radio stations and announce my intention of getting the ladies together to Rant and Brag. This gave me the chance to get on the radio and announce, "I want WOMEN!" while encouraging everyone that they couldn't rant any worse than me.
Dr. Legume was making announcements that Jesus Christ would be baptizing people in the pool, and we should get ready to cleanse our souls (as well as frolic naked in front of dozens of people). This was truly the time to test or faith...but I was feeling so good at this point that I went over to do it. This was how we were all feeling by now. A feeling of bliss, of true Slack, was sweeping over us, and we were ready to shed our inhibitions and give up our modesty for "Bob" and for Slack.
I arrived at the pool and several people were already there, frolicking
in the water -- Pee Kitty, Miss Sakamoto, RevUni, and a couple of others.
I wasn't ready to take off my clothes yet, because I'd heard the water was
cold, and it was possible that Legume would order people out of the pool
before letting the baptism begin.
Then the time came for the ceremony to start. Everyone was really enjoying themselves, and I finally psyched myself up to go and do it. Off went the clothes...and >splash!< The water was great! It wasn't cold at all, once I got used to it and kept moving. More and more people arrived, including Stang and Friday and Rev. Scott, and many Yeti whose names I didn't know but who were brave enough to enjoy the pool anyway. Jesus Christ and Legume arrived and entered the water, and the baptisms began. Even Stang stripped and jumped in for the occasion (I think I suffered permanent eye damage at the sight of him). I was baptized for "Bob" by Legume -- and this will certainly prove to be an interesting tidbit of history for me. Dr. K'Taden Legume was the first man to touch me when I was naked. Now THERE'S something you don't hear every day!
Everyone frolicked in the pool and we had a really great time, and I felt refreshed. We were feeling so good that some of us never even bothered putting their clothes back on; they simply walked around "skyclad," as a great many people were doing. I should mention that the best part of it was that NO ONE CARED about the nudity. It was no big deal -- and that's what made it so invigorating. There were beautiful woman sunning themselves in the buff, and we didn't care that they were naked. No one was standing around leering, none of us were even excited by it. It was just another way of how we were being touched by the pure Slack of that day, as we were having FUN simply being there.
[By the way, if anyone got any nekkid pictures of me, go ahead and post 'em to the Net and whatever. I can think of only one person who would really be excited by a naked photo of someone like me, and I'd be more than happy to give it to her. :) As for anyone else, if they're so desperate that they need to whack off to MY image, then let 'em do it. It's better than killing themselves.]
But as the day wore on, more and more wonders took place. There were the Wrestling Matches between oiled men and women, plus Sumo wrestling refereed by the Shining Path of Least Resistance. Friday Jones and Susie the Floozy took on Reverend Stang and showed him up, while Pope Phred actually beat up Dr. Legume. Even Jesus Christ and the Fightin' Jesus took part! Bets were won and lost, and there was much revelry.
Then the time came for my recordings of the Brag of the Female SubGenius. All sorts of women -- and one guy -- offered to Rant for me in the main pavilion, including Nickie Deathchick. In the end, I did get three great rants from RevUni, Miss Sakamoto and Reverend Dak (though she had to have a shot of tequila before attempting such a mighty Brag). I have their Rants on tape now, and all I have to do is figure out a way to splice them together and add the appropriate background sounds...and with a little luck, the Internet will then be polluted by Female SubGenius Sex. Where to get the background noise? Perhaps it's time to visit alt.binaries.sounds.erotica...
I spent a good time hanging out and doing obscene things with Pee Kitty and RevUni -- those two are a couple you REALLY want to meet -- and then the Ugly Parade took place. Led by Ivan Stang and Jesus Christ, a swarm of mutants made their way up the hill side, where they discovered that the flying saucer had crashed! Its mangled remains (and at least one severed head) were strewn over the hillside, providing us with far more conclusive proof of the existence of the Xists than ANYTHING those idiots at Roswell are ever going to find.
The parade of Inhumans clustered around a long dinner table and watched as Jesus Christ sat down and ordered dinner. It was truly the Last Supper before X-Day. Christ came and chose twelve Yeti to sit with Him at the final dinner before X-Day...actually , he raffled off the seats. (Well, what do you expect in a for-profit church? Jesus' followers have been raking it in for two thousand years, so if Christ Himself wants to make some money on the side, who's to say no about it?) Jesus prophesied that Nickie Deathchick would betray him three times...but then, Dr. Legume and the SubGenius Police drove up in a cop car and arrested Jesus, charging Him with the many crimes committed by His followers over the years. A cross had been erected for the occasion, and Jesus was crucified once again. In fact, not only was Jesus nailed, he was CREAMED! He was tortured beyond belief, his body covered with unnamable refuse...and then Dr. K'taden Legume took out his gun and SHOT JESUS CHRIST, where it hurt the most. Right between the legs.
At this point, someone pointed out Nickie Deathchick and said, "You were one of them! You sat at the table with Jesus!"
"No! It wasn't me!" exclaimed Nickie.
"Yes, it was you!" came the reply -- twice and a third time. Nickie cried...and she cried TEARS OF BLOOD.
JESUS' PROPHECY HAD BEEN FULFILLED!
Too bad He didn't survive to see it, though...
And as Jesus cried out and his lifeless, defiled husk was left hanging on the cross, a ringing voice shouted out. "Food! Free food and barbeque!"
Praise "Bob!" Thanks to Doktor DynaSoar and RevLurch, there was a giant grill and barbeque taking place, with free food for all. Here's still MORE proof that the Church of the SubGenius is the greatest of all religious cults. When other cults give out free food, they use cheap stuff like canned Spaghetti-O's. But in the Church of the SubGenius, you get fried chicken and ribs, with a burning spice that has to be tasted to believed!
The Slack was flowing freely now, gushing faster than a raging river and inciting everyone to praise "Bob." But the best was still to come for me (so to speak), as what happened next was something I never would have expected: Susie the Floozy cast her spell on me. While the other mutants were rejoicing at the slaughter of Jesus once again, Susie invited me to her room for a quickie. We only took about ten minutes...but ten minutes is all that she needed. She shut the door of the cabin, and revealed herself to me...
...and I fell in Yeti love.
It's a pity we could only spend so much time together, but Susie had a busy schedule that night.
I staggered out of the cabin, clutching a little memento Susie had given me, and proclaimed my newfound Yeti love to my alt.slack friends.
Ah, Susie! As I sit here writing this, remembering the things we did in that brief encounter, a tear comes to my eye. You stole my heart (and other body parts) there at the X-Day Drill, and I thank you for teaching me things about the Church of the SubGenius that I suspected, but now know are completely true. You have simply got to meet TarlaStar one of these days: the two of you together would put the male chauvanist movement back about a thousand years.
When I tell my girlfriend about this -- and more importantly, when I show her what you did to me -- I can only imagine what will happen. I just wish she had been there with me: it would have been a threesome we'd never forget. While NO ONE can replace the Queen of the Fucking Universe in my soul, there will always be a place for you in my heart.
As things wore down and the evening fell, I took a trip back to the pool house to relax in the hot tub before the night's festivities. To be honest, that was my first time ever in a hot tub...and boy, did it feel good! After that I took a hike back to the tent area to get my warmer clothes (I'd learned the previous night how cold nights can get at Brushwood), and I joined with the Terrible Trio (Pee Kitty, RevUni, and Miss Sakamoto) as we gazed over the Japanese porn being sold by the Shining Path of Least Resistance. All I have to say about that is, it beats the crap out of ANY of the anime stuff imported here to the United States. I also had a look at some folks who were out gathering little green plants that were growing in the wild here. I know nothing about horticulture, so I can't say exactly what those green plants were...and in fact, it may better that I don't know what it was.
Another rock band was playing at one of the outdoor pavilions, and a crowd had gathered round to listen to the eerie sounds, dance, and bask in the feel of the 'frop smoke as it wafted over them. The temperature was dropping once again (which gave people more incentive to dance), and by the time the main entertainment and Rants started again, an eerie mist had blanketed the entire compound. Fireworks and rockets were launched in the dark, and the ear-splitting noise of the King of Slack pounded us once again. Bill T. Miller launched into his famous rant, "X-Day's A-Comin' and the Pinks Are Bummin'" and was possessed by the spirit of the Anti-"Bob," while the crowd roared, "Kill 'Bob!' Kill 'Bob!' Kill 'Bob!'" It was another night of hatred, ministered by Papa Joe Mama and the burning of Jesus' Cross by K'Taden Legume. Not only did Legume launch fireworks from the site of the firey cross, he actually thrust one rocket INTO the burning cross itself! The crowd moved back, fearful for their safety (and I'm not joking!), while the screaming missiles shot into the frigid night air. There was hatred to spare, Slack to spare, and the music of Jehovah Hates Phred meeting Pink Floyd, plus still more.
Meanwhile, across the field, a Pagan festival was taking place. There was a huge bonfire in the middle of the field, and much singing and dancing and wearing of red suspenders. I didn't get close to them, so perhaps another person can enlighten us as to what they're up to...but I've heard that the Pagans are really confused by the Church of the SubGenius, and they're having trouble figuring out what's going on when we gather at Brushwood. So much the better, sez I! If the Pagans want to understand us, let 'em do it the hard way like everyone else.
And by the time 1:00 AM came around, I was sitting around a roaring fire in the woods in the company of friends, roasting marshmallows and talking about how we became involved with the Church of the SubGenius. It was surprising to see how many of us had the same attitude about our Church when we joined, how we willingly and eagerly let "Bob" rip us off. As the saying goes: "Bob" sold it, I smoked it, that settles it.
(I may have smoked it, but it's a good thing I didn't down any of that blue "Brainwash" drink. I heard that it was turning certain body parts blue and causing people to shit green...)
The Holy Prescriptures state that the Xists will arrive at 7:00 AM on X-Day, and so the final mass was scheduled for 7:00 AM. I wasn't sure if I was going to wake up in time for it, as I had spent a Slackful and thoroughly exhausting day...but my bowels had other plans. I woke up at 5:00 AM, realizing that I had to answer the call of nature and that I had to do it now, or else. So as I was groggily pulling my clothes on to hike down to the bathroom, I realized that if I was going to get up, I might as well attend the 7:00 AM mass.
And it was a good thing that I did, for it made for the perfect climax to a truly memorable weekend. PILs were passed around, and Jim Jones brand Kool-Aid was available for all, as we counted down the seconds to X-Day and gagged on the incredibly sour ta ste of the Warheads. As we celebrated the fact that ONLY ONE MORE YEAR remains in this miserable, Conspiracy-dominated world, a loud shot suddenly rang out...and Ivan Stang fell to the floor of the pulpit! We weren't able to tell who had assassinated hi m...but thanks to the power of "Bob," he was resurrected shortly afterwards. Praise "Bob!" Afterwards there was another collection (of course), so that the members of Stang's family could be ordained into the Church. This means that Friday will finally have her chance with Sivet, after all...
But I had to be heading off shortly after that...unfortunately, a ten-hour drive lay ahead of us. And so after giving a fond farewell to the denizens of alt.slack, the Foundation Hierarchy, and everyone else, we got our gear together and were off to home once again.
One last bit of proof that "Bob" was watching over us: We must have passed over a dozen state patrol vehicles on the way home. But in spite of the speed we were traveling at, not one of them pulled us over. Praise "Bob," indeed.
So in spite of the driving rain, the weekend of X-Day 1997 will certainly be remembered as a MAJOR EVENT in the history of the Church of the SubGenius. All of the promises made by the Church were fulfilled, and my story here can't even BEGIN to describe the feeling of being together with so many good friends. This is why I have to make one final statement:
[NOTE to Stang: If you decide to read any of this on the Hour of Slack, then I must DEMAND that you include the passage below, in its entirety.]
The true devotees of the Church of the SubGenius are among the finest people I have ever met. Everyone worked together and gave their best to make the Final X-Day Drill a rip-roaring good time, but certain persons must be singled out for especial praise. The generosity and selflessness of Ivan Stang, Susie the Floozy, K'Taden Legume, Doktor DynaSoar, Jesus Bevilacqua, RevLurch, Wandarer, Bill T. Miller, Papa Joe Mama, Friday Jones, and many others who worked their butts off to make this event a success may not be known outside our beloved Church; but if there was any justice in this sickening planet enslaved by the Conspiracy, these wonderful, generous people would be given medals of honor. But because the Conspiracy rewards the altruistic with poverty, and the selfish with wealth and power, I can only offer these fine individuals my most heartfelt thanks and praise for a job well done.
PRAISE "BOB!"
--Original file name: ModemacReport
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