After the deafening strains of McFartney's "Live and Let Die" died away,
signaling the end of the Throb cheezcake show in the Hilton Ballroom, astute
Subs struck their "set" for them and moved in. Sister Susie the Floozie
installed her heartwarming "Vomiting "Bob"" sculpture, with a Dobbshead
letting loose a green effulgence of consumer goods all over a glowing,
blinking Earth.
At first, other Dragon*Con guests of honor wandered in, including Cliff
"Log Off Now, This Very Minute" Stoll and Jim "Hey Baby, When You've Been
In The Business As Long As I Have" Steranko, but both were inadvertently
reduced to ashes as soon as the Lymph Nodes began their set (which
continued on throughout most of the devival). No great loss;
DupeDroids(TM) have already been released to replace them.
Ivan, looking much scarier and cooler than any of the earlier photos you
might have (and yet still hauntingly like Hal Robins' sensitive portrait),
ascended the stage in his white preacher's outfit, doffing it once he
realized the air conditioning *was* on. After an inspirational rant on
THOSE OF YOU WHO HAIN'T PAID YET, Dr. K'taden Legume, all 350 pounds and
aluminum baseball bat, warmly passed around the collection pitcher while
we were suitably motivated.
Videos played included the presumably now-NTSC format "Something New To
Die For" (is that available in NTSC, huh?), a tribute video barrage
including interviews and the new SubGenius Promo Video (almost too slick
to be bulldada), and a reedit of the Archies performing the Sex Pistols'
"God Save the Queen," a real treat for those of you who remember all those
Archie Jesus comics, and finally the obligatory EBN stuff.
Dr. Janor Hypercleats delivered a rousing pee-on-the-flooring-er head-pie
rant rivaled only by his outfit, a suit perhaps designed for Wayne Newton
by Rip Taylor. I remain firmly convinced the constitutional amendment
forbidding a presidential candidate from choosing a fellow state resident
as a running partner is the only thing keeping Janor from siting in Al
Gore's seat.
And the perennial flock-teaser, the closest thing to Connie you'll *ever*
meet, Reverend Sister Susie the Floozie warmed the cockles of our hearts
with a show that put the 5H in our Pentels (spiritually speaking of
course). This Fightin' Babe of "Bob" was on the brag and she didn't care
*who* knew it.
Shortly thereafter, the rest of Sister Susie's co-hosts on WREK's
SlackTime Funhouse came on board for their own rants, but were co-opted by
a walking ad for Antabuse who attempted to disrupt the show. Let me step
aside for a mo' here to address this.
Dude, if you are even marginally literate enough to have a friend who
reads this newsgroup, allow me to interrupt your slackless pickled
existence for just one moment. Some of us drove four hundred and twenty
fucking miles for eight hours just to bask in what might be humanity's
last hope for slack. This time, you were lucky. Next time, we might just
let you drink a little more, and accidentally forget to de-beak the squid
before we start taping. Ohhhh, yess, the taping. I bet you forgot about
the video... If I were you, I'd be generously offering to pick up the
mail before your roommate/spouse/date can for some time, lest a
suspiciously VHS-sized parcel come addressed to them. Of course, when your
mom gets it...
I confess to being a TOTAL ASSHOLE and pussing out on the post-devival
party and thanking those parties Who Shall Go Nameless for reasons Which
Shall Go Unexplained. Worse still, at no time did I leap atop the stage,
tear away the mike and read my inspiring religious piece.
A great time was had by me. Fuck everyone else.
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