For beginners, teens and the Dobbs Youth, who often lack the patience, parental approval or financial resources for such exotic treatments at the Lab, instant nervanal psuedoslack (false highs every bit as fulfilling as the so-called "real" thing) are quickly reached through repetitive, monotonous Amphetaminoid Pundingis. Infinite variations of the basic Frenzy Techniques are possible, but fastest results come front painstakingly executed Reels, Chants, Hymns, Exorcisms, Prayvings, Procrastinational Off-Puttings, Miscelogenizings, and Etceterapings. Some elect to alter their consciencelessnesses by fasting and speeding on the SubGenius Industrial Diet (with close attemption to Movements), or through dangerous and foolhardy Testes of Faith. Other clients become FunKou Masters of the Martian Arts of Grutledge, a manly if random school of physical harm.
Highly analitized, strungtaut CompulsubGeniuses are content only when they are, AT ALL TIMES, following the unimaginably stern Laws and Dictates of the horrorbible Book of the SubGenius, adjusting their lives no matter the cost to the Three Lists of Approved, Banned, and Compulsory Things to See, Say, Do, Think, Know, and Buy. Finally, the most sub of the SubGenii just sit and bliss all over themselves through the Lesser Meditations: Pyroflatulation, Crepignition, Loogial Particle Retrieval, the game of They Always End Up On Their Heads, Meditation of the Avenging Cyclops, Seven-Bladed Wind-breaker, Moronic Bluh-Yah Lip Flappage, Excruciating Joint Popping, Fliback, the Silent Nostril Mining, and, of course, Tubing.
Common to the whorship of all SubGenia, however, are the wonders of FORNICATIONISM, about which the Church's eternal prudence allows nothing to be said in print, and...EXCREMEDITATION! Every few hours, the SubGenius experiences the most concrete reality of all, the impervious realness of staring at the wall while voiding. This of all the Meditations is the most magickal, for is it not also the least evitable? Even the False Prophets are forced to do it. It is the daily moment when each human is faced with profound contemplation of himself, and even if he feels it to be an unclean act, it only instills the bland virtue of humility.
But if he "attends" this necessary period of subgenitalaic gut blowout and bladder deflation as a prodigious gift from God, and truly mounts that especial Head, he recieves a bliss almost blinding in its intensity and with it an instinctual comprehension of the vast, meaningfully pregnant Coarse of things: and it is always healthy to momentarily acknowledge and accept such a random maze of deadlocked physical laws as our Universe, which for the SubGenius can change its basic structure in the twinkling of an eye; in these blisteringly transcendent moments he often recieves sinister inspiratorial messages from a whispering Jehovah 1 which invariably provide direct answers towards which the SubGenius has been unconsciously struggling all day, WHAT IS THE LAW? NOT TO WALK ON ALL FOURS, THAT IS THE LAW. ARE WE NOT MEN? IT IS A VAMPIRE?? ANSWER YES for when the prodigal SubGenius lays waste the chains that bind and pays homage to Removal at the Throne of Elimination (the key to health), does he not INVARIABLY recieve above and beyond all other calls to duty the ULTIMATE GOAL, THE FINAL ANSWER, THE CASTING OUT OF THE FALSE PROPHETS? ANSWER YES! PERFORM THE SALUTE!
NYES! The False Prophets, the Conpirators, Them, the Mediocretins, the stupid Pink Boys, the malignant ones who breathe down our necks and abuse their territorial urges without ever dreaming that they are doing it, the ones who have tried to maim our self-respect down through the centuries by making Slack and antipredictability TABOO in this human culture. They are the offensive ones who