XXX-Day Report:
By Boddhisatva Troutwaxer
If any of you see the need for any amendments or corrections to
the following report, please send them to tungtung@pacbell.net.
Thanks
T.
Day One - Thursday June 29th
After a day of anti-slack at the hands of American Airlines, my
wise and beautiful yeti life mate, Sri Devi Beledi-Ma and I
arrived at Brushwood around 1:00 p.m. Thursday. For those of you
who've never been there, Brushwood is just over the Pennsylvania
border in Chataqua county, a lovely rural area where it seems
that everything is green. There are red barns with white silos,
cows, well tended fields, several pretty streams, and even the
occasional Amish woman in a black shapeless dress driving her
horse drawn carriage down the road. I know some are inclined to
make fun of these rural folk, but I'm descended from them, and so
am fairly relaxed where they're concerned. We signed in, met the
Prophetess Lilith and Jesus, then volunteered to man the
registration the next day.
After sign in, we drove down to the main field. We passed the
kitchens and studio, drove past the trailer where the Church
Hierarchy was staying, and went down the hill to the camping
area. On the left a road went down between the trees and we saw
some tents. We went past the pond and drove by the covered stage
area, bowing briefly to the Dobbs Head rising above the stage,
and made a right. There were several buildings nearby, a pool
house, a café, and a couple of shacks. One of these shacks would
sell swag later, and the other would be used as Nickie
Deathchick's first aid station, then later as Papa Joe Mama's Hut
of Hate. South of these building was a big Pagan sales tent.
Later we examined the Pagan swag and discovered that it was
pretty good, particularly the clothing (lots of good medieval
costume stuff and fun ritual garb) and weapons sections, (swords,
clawed gloves and several improbable Klingon style weapons.) They
also had some cool bondage gear. Anyone who didn't at least
examine Brushwood's merchandise missed out big time!! A couple
hundred yards past the tent full of Pagan swag was their fire
circle, which people currently worshipping "Bob" were supposed to
stay out of. Southeast of the stage were more woods full of
campers, some of whom had wonderful theme camps. Going west past
the pool house and café were more green fields, some separated
from us by rows of trees. People were camping all over.
We eventually decided to set the Troutwaxing Pavilion up across
the dirt road from the main stage. There followed several hours
of slackful work, during which we raised a 12 X 10 pavilion of
red canvas while listening to Rev. Yukon Jack's mighty radio
station and being serenaded by the "whump" of the potato cannons.
We decorated it with purple plastic curtains, and oriental
gewgaws purchased in China town. The ceiling area was filled with
a big Chinese paper lantern, several plastic goldfish, a toy
Godzilla, and some inflatable space ships. Our Mockery Ministry
mainly involves making fun of the New Age, so we brought plenty
of incense, some crystals, the miraculous spinning Dobbs Head,
Virgin of Guadalupe (an incense) in a Can, and a grotesque
sweetness and light attitude ("Only the pure of heart can scour
the planet." "Visualize world destruction." "Don't try to do the
hating yourself, let "Bob's" hate flow through you!!") The
Pavilion was covered with glitter, and the gauzy curtains were
tied into place with shiny ribbons. At the south side of the
Pavilion we hung a banner that read "SEX" in three foot high
letters. We inflated a big couch and two chairs, (many thanks to
the camper next door who loaned us an air pump when our battery
powered one died) and put up a table, then went off to change
clothes. We had no sooner returned from our costume change than
The Lord Jesus himself came and threw himself down in one of our
chairs, declaring the Troutwaxing Pavilion to be good. Our theory
was that if we created a comfortable, shady, and creative space
that people would come to us and ask to hang out. It worked quite
well, and we had many wonderful visitors, at least one of whom
slept in the Pavilion.
That evening I took a walk and helped unload the sound truck.
Beledi was in a lot of pain by then (she suffers from injuries
sustained in a traffic accident years ago) so she stayed in bed
and read. We went to sleep early and slept late.
Day Two - Friday June 30th
The next morning we got up and went to work registering people.
Everyone signed away their body, their image (for video and
photos) their sanity, and their legal rights to "Bob" then got an
XXX armband with a number. We told registrants that this number
would be used later in a lottery to choose those who would season
the mixture if the Xists found the souls of the pinks
insufficiently spicy and tangy. We took some of our crystals with
us, and had the new members breathe their souls into the
crystals. Later we would whiff these young, sweet souls with
visitors to our Pavilion. (You new people didn't really think we
were going to give them to "Bob," did you?) We met lots of
wonderful people while working the registration table. The high
point of the day for me was registering Patrick Volkerding, the
inventor of Slackware Linux, (AKA "X-day for Microsoft.") and his
entourage of beautiful women. Patrick is one of my Short Duration
Personal Saviors and I had trouble restraining myself from
licking his mighty boots. We also checked in the glorious,
beautiful, utterly sexy Rev. Susie the Floozie. I cannot over
rate her erotic presence, which stretches well beyond her in a
sort of field that radiates for miles. Even after leaving
Brushwood for good on July 2nd, both Sri Devi Beledi-Ma and I
felt that we were within her erogenous zone until well after we
had passed Erie on the way to Pittsburgh airport.
We missed the defiling of the ground and the blood wrestling to
help register people. For reports on these events you must look
to others. However, one terrible event that we didn't see bears
mention. As we were registering the newcomers, Pastor Craig broke
his collar bone during the blood wrestling. We heard bits and
pieces of the crisis over the walkie-talkie Jesus had left us,
then heard that an ambulance had been called. As it turned out,
the injury wasn't too serious, and Pastor Craig had rejoined us
by that evening. Many kudos to Ken Pastore (sp?) AKA Sosodata for
helping Pastor Craig get packed up and driving him home.
We went to town for provisions, getting there just in time to
watch Pastor Criag's ambulance leave its spot at the Sherman
Volunteer Fire Department, then spent the rest of the day in our
Pavilion. Late in the afternoon we got dressed for the Fetish
Ball. I wore a latex maid's uniform, and Sri Devi Beledi-Ma
dressed in a see through skirt and a corset, carrying with her a
knotted cat of nine tails. There were a couple of more cross
dressers, and several more women in some form of "mistress" garb,
including Rev. Rabbi, who gave me a couple of lovely slaps with
her cat. One man wore a yeti suit, complete with a nasal sexual
organ, another had an alien where his cock should have been. The
most bizarre costume I saw was the "Cheetos suit," worn by a tall
man who had glued Cheetos to his pants, jacket, and hood.
Dr. Bizarro did a lovely magic act, then several contests of a
disgusting nature, designed and presided over by Rev. Nickie
Deathchick, were held. There was a "most believable" contest,
where women were judged on how well they'd faked an orgasm, and a
"best form" contest where men were judged by how well they
masturbated a long balloon fastened to their crotch. I won this
mainly by accident. The strap holding the balloon had broken and
Rev. Stang was called up on stage by Rev. Nickie to help hold the
strap together. When I "came" I made a point of holding the end
of the balloon up to Stang's face and pretending to shower him
with my jizz. This disrespect for the Church's mighty sacred
scribe proved quite popular, and I received more applause than
anyone. There followed a "Suck Sister Decadence's Cock" contest,
where Jesus proved his ability to work a dick. He was followed by
Babushka, Rev. Evangela, and the Prophetess Lilith. Evangela won
this contest, but my personal opinion favored the mighty Lilith.
After that there was a "Most Believable Fetish" contest, won (as
it should have been) by the guy wearing the Cheetos suit.
There followed The Spanking of Nickie Deathchick. Dr. Legume and
St. Andreux worked her round firm ass over for awhile, then Rev.
Susie the Floozie finished her off with a graceful and lovely
combination of spanks and caresses. At that point, after several
erotic contests and a spanking, the ice was nicely broken. I
looked forward to dancing the night away with my lovely Sri Devi
Beledi-Ma, and as the sexual energy continued to grow, perhaps
even finding a third person for us to play withS but instead of
bringing a band people could dance to on immediately, or
convincing one of the radio guys to DJ some erotic songs for
awhile, everything just sort of stopped. No one had thought out
what to do beyond the ice breaker, and the party just dissipated.
This was characteristic of the weekend. It seemed that some great
(or at least well conceived) ice-breaker would take place, then
nothing would follow it upS This is not, of course, to say the
weekend was a dud - far from it, I had a great time and will
definitely go back next year. Its just that some thought should
have been given to keeping the energy moving once it got goingS
After the Fetish Ball, we had dinner and sat in the hot-tub with
Critter and her boyfriend Michael, then Beledi went to rest and I
watched HellPope Huey's brilliant rant, heard a performance of
Cardinal Sin's well written "I Fucked Connie" story, listened to
Jehovah Hates Phred's mighty music, and enjoyed the Bulldada
auction, which raised around $150.00 for the Sherman Volunteer
Fire Department.
Day Three - Saturday July 1st
We woke up and got breakfast, then went to the Troutwaxing
Pavilion. Events started early, and we were soon called to the
sales blessing of the Connie-ite Calendar, a wonderful document
that covers the SubGenius year (July 5th through July 4th) with
twelve beautiful pictures of Connie's anti-virginal priestesses.
The calendars were signed and passed out. Were we ever happy to
have such lovely pictures of the slut goddesses of our mighty
Church!! We even vowed to hold it up for each other so we could
each use two hands!! Praise Connie!!
There followed the "Flesh Cream Social," wherein volunteers were
called forth to have themselves covered with ice cream toppings
and then licked off. When I got there, Sikki Nix was just being
covered with whipped cream and sprinkles. It was obvious,
however, that she wasn't too interested in having the stuff
licked off, as she kept asking for a towel. At the request of the
audience, (what there was of it) I volunteered to be covered with
toppings. I didn't realize it at the time, but most of the
Connie-ites were still busy signing calendars, so I ended up with
Sri Devi Beledi-Ma eating the cherry in my belly button and a
bunch of guys standing around looking at each other with the
(recognizable to any man) "I don't want to look like a faggot"
expressions on their faces as none of these pink dickheads would
even attempt to break the male/male taboo with the Xist landing
less than twenty four hours awayS At that point I began to
despair of the saucers ever coming. Obviously our sin offerings
would be unworthy. I gave Jesus, who was running this event a
big, creamy hug and went to clean off. Apparently they tried to
re-start The Flesh Cream Social after the Connie-ites were done
with the Calendar signing, but by then the thoroughly bored Sri
Devi Beledi-Ma and I were back in our Pavilion complaining about
the poor handling of the ice-breaker events and I was feeling
unwilling to get sticky again without some kind of guarantee that
there would be someone to lick the sticky stuff from my bod!!
The next event was the thoroughly successful "Naked Bobtism,"
run, as usual, by the mighty Dr. Legume and his able assistant,
Jesus. Dr. Legume was cleansed by the females present, then he,
in turn, bobtised them, then we were all bobtised, having our
Conspiracy sins (such as work) washed from us, so that we would
be worthy of Xist attention. We then created the mighty Vortex of
Slack, all of us running around the pool in a circle as we
created a mighty whirlpool.
That night we gathered to hear more bands. The Duke of Uke was
first, (unfortunately, I didn't finish dinner in time to hear him
close up, but I hear his set was incredible) followed by some
ranters. Babushka did a short, but lovely solo set, then the
amazing HellPope Huey (our Church's Bach) took the stage, and
ripped off the top of my skull with a mighty set full of twisted
harmonies and bizarre rhythms. I was disappointed by the turn-out
this mighty instrumentalist generated. I later learned that the
Quijibo Cartel was holding a cocktail party at the same time as
the HellPope was on stage. Naturally, some chose to worship the
alcohol demons rather than listen to the Hellpapal music. Both
the Quijibo Cartel and those hard drinking types who dissed the
mighty Huey have been entered in the Troutwaxing Book of Hate,
from which they will be removed only after paying a huge
sin-offering to the Troutwaxing Schism. When will the HellPope
put out a CD!!
After the HellPope played, I ranted, and was well received. There
followed a couple more ranters then Little Fyodor and Babushka
got up on stage and ate what was left of my brain. For those of
you fools who have never heard his anti-musik, I would describe
Little Fyodor as "Woody Allen playing hot guitar on lots of
really good acid!" Just dancing to his hellmusak was a glorious,
incredible exorcise in pain and hate. Those of you who have not
heard Little Fyodor are missing out on huge amounts of slack and
hate and pain and more slack and more hate and more pain
andmoreslackandmorepainand - JUST GO TO HIS WEBSITE AND BUY THE
FUCKING ALBUM!!
http://www.grantrproductions.com/pages/fyodor.html
After Little Fyodor ate my brain, there were more ranters, then
Einstein's Secret Orchestra came on. They are, simply put,
incredible. We had dragged our inflatable couch over to the stage
area, and the lovely and brilliant Prophetess Lilith came and sat
down next to meS what joy!! Later, to keep from getting sleepy, I
got up and danced to ESO's lovely, incredible sounds. Others did
as well, and many beautifully costumed, or sexy, scantily dressed
bodies moved wildly through the night.
In a sane world, the line up of the Duke of Uke, HellPope Huey,
Little Fyodor and Babushka, with the climactic set played by
Einstein's Secret Orchestra would fill a stadium. Sadly, there
were never more than seventy five people in the stage area at any
one time. For this alone, the Earth deserves to be scoured.
After the first ESO set, they laid back and backed Stang up as he
blasted the roof off with a brilliant rant. I've seen some
criticism on alt.slack that said his rant was eighty percent old
material. So what. His old material is better than the best stuff
generated by eighty percent of the complainers, eighty percent of
whom don't have an hour of rantable material!! Also, a little
respect please. The man was doing this before some of us were
born. Do any of us have a rant that doesn't owe something to an
idea of Stang's? I probably would have defended that baby
murdering, puppy wound buggerer Stang with words such as those on
Saturday night. But by Sunday at noonS
Day Four - Sunday, July 2nd
At seven o'clock we were down by the stage
To ravage the earth, or vent our sick rage
But Stang and The Lord, they drowsed in their beds
Neither leading our jihad, nor healing our dread.
That's right folks, not a single member of the hierarchy was up
at 7 a.m. Sunday morning. I woke up just before the mighty
Modemac, noting that seven o'clock had happened Stanglessly, led
a raid on the Hierarchal trailer. Some of us actually hoped to be
ruptured, while others merely wanted to throw Jesus into the
pond, but only Rocknar actually got out of the hierarch's trailer
and joined us. I can understand that after four days of working
hard to make XXX-Day go they were all tired and worn, (except for
The Prophetess Lilith, who joined us around 7:30,) but there were
a few dependable people who weren't used up, people such as the
HellPope or myself who could have said a few words or followed a
script if only someone had clued us into the fact that all the
organizers had crashed and one of us needed to DO SOMETHING!!
There followed the most important event of my life - A beautiful
LongDurMar ceremony by the Prophetess Lilith, who hitched me to
my yeti lifemate, the lovely and talented Sri Devi Beledi-Ma. We
held the ceremony at a little after ten o'clock on the bridge
near the stage. The only unhappy moment was due to the absence of
that jellyfish slime snorting roach fucker Stang, who had agreed
to rant on behalf of all yeti males who were about to accept the
blondage of unholy mate-rimming-moany. Sri Devi Beledi-Ma had
really been looking forward to the Sacred Scribe's presence at
her wedding. She did her best to look happy while in the presence
of others, but once we left Brushwood, she broke into tears and
cried all the way back to the Pittsburgh airport about how he'd
ruined her wedding.
(-note- This is Beledi here. I did no such thing. Please, can
you really believe a man who blatantly waxes his trout? SDB-M).
Anyway, I asked the uber-mensch HellPope Huey to be my best man,
and he agreed. The mighty Critter was chosen as Beledi's maid of
honor, and the divine Prophetess Lilith preached a short but
lovely sermon, had us shake hands on the deal and kiss one
another, while she reached out with her mighty psyche and fused
our nental ives together, making us one!! We then dined on the
lovely cake provided by Rev. Eris Pagana and OverDJ Rev. Yukon
Jack, briefly met the wonderful SubGenius Spice, and gave some
gifts to those who had helped us get married. (That's right
Stang, all you would have had to do was show up and you would
have gotten the Virgin of Guadalupe in a can, or maybe the thrice
dead Dobbs Head incense burner.) After a few minutes of
celebration we hurriedly broke down the Troutwaxing Pavilion,
said our good-byes, and headed for the Pittsburgh airport, where
we once again suffered much anti-slack at the hands of American
Airlines, arriving back in Los Angeles two hours late after much
stupidity!!
The one cool thing about the trip back was passing the huge
thunderstorm somewhere over Kansas. I spent fifteen or twenty
minutes just watching the huge bank of clouds light up. I tried
for just a moment to believe that the bank of clouds hid space
ships and that the flashing lights were Xist particle beams, but
I couldn't sustain the fantasy. It was just lightning. Then I had
a lovely thought. There might be a tornado down there, or maybe
some pobucker was getting hit by lightning, or perhaps there was
an orphanage full of pink babies getting washed away by the storm
- its always X-Day for some slimy normal son-of-a-bitch, and
every once in awhile "Bob" lets you dish it to those who deserve
it. What yeti can truly ask for more? Fuck building my own space
ship. I'm gonna stay here and lay a little hurt on some pink
bastard!!
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