sent in by Pastor X


I'll be posting this on alt.slack over the next week in four parts, but I figured you could see it all. I have to go through boxes in my attic to find all of the stuff that Kenny did that I have copies or originals of. I met him right after high school, and man what a trip! He and I wound up being best friends. We shared many a bottle, smoke, toke, women, hell EVERYTHING. I even tried to talk my wife into letting him do our wedding vows. I've seen him happy and sad, drunk and sober, wheezing like an eighty year old TB sufferer, everything. I really got to know him. There was nothing like hitting a go-go bar with him in his vestments. Free drinks, girls all over him (and me), guys coming over and confessing to him or asking his advice about shit. Of course, ABSOLUTELY nothing in this world or the next, could even come close to comparing about twelve hours of drinking, drugs, and rock n' roll with him. When you were in an, umm, "expanded state of mind", and he was on the same trip with you, you actually saw the sky tremble and heard angels call his name. I have quite a few friends, but none as close as he was. Nothing can be said about him that would capture even the smallest part of who and what he was. Enough! I wish to discharge my daily duties and then go rape a bottle of something alcoholic. I know for a fact that I'll never drive a car again if I've been drinking, that's for sure. I'm working on it.

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November 22, 2063

Today is the 100th anniversary of the Kennedy Assasination. Society has crumbled, cities are rubble, huge beasts slither from the poison seas, in search of prey. These are the End Times. The Xists landed, as Dobbs predicted, back in the summer of '98. Most folks never even noticed, what with cable TV and all. Yessir, they were vidio lobotomized, not that most of them had a brain to speak of to start with. Pink Boys, Glorps they were, willing to ignore radioactive waste and acid rain, as long as nobody tried to take away their moussed hairdos, fast cars, and greasy fast-food deathburgers. Yes, when the Xists landed, the only ones who knew their intent were the Subgenii, and thank Wotan we had J.R. "Bob" Dobbs, who was there to intercede on our behalf. He made the Deal with the Xists, told them there was something on Earth worth saving, the Subgenius! And the Xists, acting in their role as Odin's tool of Judgement, gave the cosmic "thumbs up" to us, and spirited the SubG's away on the pleasure craft of the Alien Sex Gods. And it came to pass that we were transformed, given new names and bodies. We became Overmen, incredibly powerful super-mutants, destined to be the Strongarm of JHVH-1. Even now, most humans don't relieze that all of these things occured. But I know, because I Was There. This is my tale. I am Dr. Legume. I rule this dimension, placed in charge of it by Dobbs Him/Itself, 50 years after I killed him. Aided by my band of trusted psychopaths, I sit at the control sofa in the Earth Time-Space Continuum Control Center deep under the poison ocean, placed dead center of the Bermuda Triangle, in the city of New Atlantis. My duties basically include the opening and closing of the "Portal to Elsewhere", and basically making what's left of humanity miserable with shitty weather and crime and bad TV being doled out to them like canned goods given to homeless winos back in the 90's. This volume will represent the true facts and incidents that occured in my life as they happened, in the form of my personal diaries, published verbatim herein.

Doktor Legume


In the begining...

there were the unclean, the defilers, the pious, blasphemers, the ignorant, the hairy-of-palm, the SubGenius.

And Wotan smiled.


as a counterweight in the cosmic scale, there came to exist another race, a race of PinkBoys, Barbies and Kens, politicians and lawyers, bootlickers, glorps Fundamentalist Christians, advertising executives, "cocerned citizens", the Moral Majority, and wannabes of every description, the Conspiricy.

And Wotan yawned.

From the Diary of Dr. Paradox
October 31, 1990

Halloween. The night anything can happen. Yesterday I would have laughed at such a melodramatic harum-scarum sentiment. But, as they say, shit happens.For the last year or so, I have dabbled in SubGenius Philosophy. It was a sort of hobby, a running joke to entertain myself. I even went so far as to adopt a "Church Name". "Dr. Paradox", that's me, formerly Kenneth Lyle Narouski, sociopath. This SubG thing fit into my lifestyle like a missing puzzle piece. I had seen the smiling face hundreds of times, not realizing the signifigance, thinking, "Why is this Ward Cleaveresque face painted on walls and signs around here?" My curiosity piqued, the face haunted me, and it was years before I found out the truth behind the face. Through purely coincidental circumstances (although I know now there is no such thing) I met the Biker Rev. Stephan R. Spider, fellow sociopath and Rouge SubGenius. He taught me about "Bob", and Slack, and the philosophy of pissing people off. But Rev. Spider has returned to the walled compound at Dobbstown, and I am sitting on my zero-gravity sofa writing my memoirs. At first, I laughed at this "Bob" person and didn't really believe all of this JHVH-1 and UFO Bullshit. But tonight, Halloween, I have had the truth shoved rudely in my face. I was driving my motorcycle through many of the small villages in my area, doing my "Legend of Sleepy Hollow" imitation, riding through time and again laughing maniacly at the top of my lungs. It was about 20 miles outside Grovers' Mill that I experienced a breakdown. My cycle wouldn't start, all the electricals fused. Then I was blinded by a light that transformed night into day. When I awoke confused, some time later, I was aboard a craft that was not of this world. It's crew was composed of a dozen smiling, pipe-smoking men, all identical in every detail, all of them "Bob". They had attached wires to my freshly-shaven scalp, for the purpose of planting "subliminal orders" into my brain. Before returning me to Earth, "Bob" handed me a pamphlet. While he was taking it from his pocket, I noticed a small piece of paper fall to the floor. I retreived the scrap, on the pretext of tying my shoe,and when I examined it, it turned out to be my mother, in an embarrassing position. Could in be that the father I had never known was in fact "Bob"?After my experience, I found both the pamphlet and the picture gone, evidently snitched by one of the "Bobs". I was unsure what had been done to me during my captivity, but my motorcycle started the moment I touced it. Appliance Healing? Perhaps I should consult the Book of the SubGenius.

December 25, 1990 - Dobbstown, Malaysia

Having a good time here in D-town. It's that Jesus guy's birthday and all of the Jesii are here, partying it up with "Bob". The Homo Jesus just pissed in the punchbowl and yelled "Transmute THIS, motherfucker!" at the Fighten' Jesus, who proceeded to beat him mercilessly with a cat-o'-nine-tails. I arrived a week ago. Everyone thinks I'm in California, but in truth I caught a midnight flight to Dobbstown, acting on my subliminal orders. I survived the initiation into the cult, mostly due to the intervention of [CENSORED] and my third nostril operation went of without a hitch. Should return to America by the first of the year. But for now I'm going to play a few hands of poker with the Rich-but-Stupid Jesus.

January 14, 1991

Over the course of the last few weeks, my hats seem to be getting tighter. At first I merely assumed my hats were shrinking (why?). The only other explanation is unthinkable.

January 29, 1991

Well, it seems the unthinkable is the only explanation for my hats getting tighter. Through careful and dilident measurement and mathematical computation I have come to the conclusion that my hats are not shrinking, but in fact, my head is growing.

February 5, 1991

My head is growing at an incredible rate. My cranium has expanded 1.75 inches over the course of the past 3 weeks. Is it coincedence that January 14th was thw day I sent my dollar to "Bob"?

February 6, 1991

My SubGenius pamphlet arrived today. My head abruptly stopped growing. I tried to read it, but even my new enlarged brain couldn't handle that much data at once. I immediatly wiped out all of the memories of the seventh year of my life, just to make room. I absorbed the knowledge. I mailed the check. I am a "Doktor for "Bob"".

February 12, 1991

My tale of transmutation has taken a rather bizarre twist. I had my arm ripped off in a freak accident. The doctors in the emergency ward were quite impressed at the way my arm grew back during the ambulance ride to the hospital. Even my tatoo grew back. Good, I'd hate to think of a perfecly good tatoo going to waste. But the oddest part was yet to come. My severed arm grew a whole new Dr. Paradox, a perfect duplicate of myself. Or am I a perfect duplicate of him? I must be the original, because I have the driver's lisence and he doesn't. (This next entry occurs twenty minutes later.) My duplicate is definitely a formidable opponent. He seized the first opportunity to soak a rag in chloroform and render me unconscious. He then stole my wallet and my motorcycle. I feel the worst will come of this situation. When or if he comes back, I may have to kill him. For now, I'm going to consult the book for an exorcism ceremony

February 13, 1991

My duplicate returned from his excursion this morning at dawn. Upon entering my sanctum, I leapt out from behind the door and lopped off his head with a meat axe. I thought that was the end of my problem, but the head started growing a new body, and the body a new head. I was forced to fry them with the afterburners of my zero-gravity sled. One blast from those nuclear powered mother-humpers and it was instant Auschitz, and even adding water woulbn't help. Later in the day, I removed [CENSORED] appendix, and then extracted some fluid from his pineal gland.

February 14, 1991

I injected [CENSORED] pineal gland extract into a stray cat. The cat exploded into a pile of chunks, and the chunks wouldn't die, so I torched them. I decided to make more duplocates of myself to experiment on. I cut off my left fingers and toes, and of course they grew back immediatly. Soon I will have all the subjects I need for my experiments.

February 14, 1991 - 11:59pm

Approximatly one hour ago, I cut the brains out of my clones with a chainsaw (with remarkable surgical precision, I might add). I ate them quikly, while they still throbbed, and now I am waiting to see what effect all of these pineal glands will have on me.

February 15, 1991

I woke up this morning and didn't feel any different. That is, until I said "Hello" to Abdul Hocaroach, and his head exploded. I took a sample of his DNA and injected it into my middle finger, which I then amputated. A whole new Abdul grew within minutes, and he suspects nothing. He thinks it was a bad dream, but every so often his middle finger acts of its own accord.

February 16, 1991

My zero-gravity sofa ran out of fuel today, and a few of my clones escaped before I could torch them. As they escaped, one of them blurted out "SubGenius Uber Alles!" and mumbled something about "Killing "Bob"". This does not bode well.

February 22, 1991

After a week of dealing with my duplicates I have come to the realization that killing them is not the course I should take. Instead they have become my co-conspiritors. Now I really can blame things on my Evil Twin. I even found a use for them. I send them to work in my place, leaving me free to develop my lost psychic abilities and regain my lost slack. I have already regained several astounding psychic abilities. To wit:

Dr. Paradox's
Astounding Psychic

#1) Delevitation - the ability to stop objects from floating out of Earth's atmosphere #2) Paraignormal Telepathy - the ability to ignore the thoughts of others #3) Divinication - the ability to obtain information about people simply by "whiffreading: their drivers' license #4)

February 25, 1991

This morning my accelerator exploded on my zero-gravity sofa during refuling, and the shrapnel blew me into 27 pieces. Luckily, all but my head was incinerated in the insuing fire. I of course grew a new body, but the explosion blasted a stray mutron particle into my brain, and I was instantly endowed with the Lost Secret of Appliance Healing.

March 4, 1991

After days of seclusion in my lab, I have constructed the Appliance Replicator Matrix Generator. It works on the theory that Matter doesn't. It's psychtronic power supply can pull an identical object from another dimension from the very spot in the other dimension where the same object once sat. In its place, we must transmit through this mini interdimensional portal an object equal in mass and area of the original object. I find that garbage is an excellent transmittal medium. For example:

Automobile A is present in all dimensions. Automobile A takes up approximately 308 square feet in surface area. It weighs 3574 pounds. Garbage B is identical in weight to Automobile A.

By generating Slackful thought at the psycotronic power supply, the speed of the micromutron within it increases and releases the amplified Slack energy, causing the protons and electrons to quit their jobs and Slack off, opening a portal between this dimension and another. Then you simply substitute the object on the other side of the portal for the garbage. Push in Garbage B while driving out Auotomobile A. This transferral must be performed simultaneously to prevent implosion in the other dimension which would be caused by the vacuum created when an object suddenly, for all intents and puposes, ceases to be. It would also prevent the explosion that would be caused by the 308 square feet of area smashed when that "Auto A" rudely parks its atoms on our side of the portal. Exchanging the two simultaneously can be easily done if you merely consult your Nental Ife Twin, who, naturally, will be in your space on the other side of the portal. This would prevent the implosion/explosion caused by your being in two places at once(or nowhere). By the way, my Nental Ife Twin, "El Guapo", desperatly needs garbage for a project he's involed in over in dimension X-17. And he's willing to trade...

I immediatly replacated my motorcycle several times, and sent my clones off to Dobbstown for Zombie Duty.I am now free of them and can go about my work that is no work

March 25, 1991

Today I experimented with my Replicator. I threw my sacred 9-iron into the replicator feild, but my Nental Ife dupe "El Guapo" didn't throw anything back. Luckily my exoskeleton protected me from the implosion. I examined the controls and discovered that those damned poltergists had reset the adjustments so that I sent the 9-iron on an orbital path around the sun in dimension X-17, and hopefully it will smack George Bush in the testicles when it re-enters our dimension. Which, calculating the 9-iron's speed (nearly twice that of Earth's), I predict will be sometime in August, but Odin only knows where.

March 26, 1991

Today I sent Replicator plans to Foundation HQ in Dallas. They will install an Appliance Replicator Matrix Generator on the Bulldadda Time Control Satellite orbiting the Earth. It should be ready by mid-April. I may be awarded the Dobbs World Anarchy Award for my efforts.

April 15, 1991

The Replicator was activated and I foolishly tried replicating my SacraMental Pipe. The Replicator choked on it and coughed up a million or so pipes, which rained down on the Vatican for 2 hours. There is a huge Band-Aid in the sky over Rome, a temporary patch over the rip in the fabric of reality. The Replicator was destroyed. The Pope had no comment.From the Diary of Doktor Legume

May 1, 1991

Today I came home from [CENSORED] and, much to my suprise, found myself lying dead on my bedroom floor, a pipe clenched in "my" teeth, a deranged grin on "my" face. I pulled the pipe from my/his teeth and I/he spontaneously combusted. Looking through the remains, I found a wallet and a key to a strongbox, wherein I found this journal. It seems that up until this entry, this journal was written by "Dr. Paradox", who also went by the name "Narouski". I have "whiffread" his psychic Pstench from these pages and absorbed his knowledge. I sent his remains back to Dobbstown for analysis. I have assumed his "Narouski" identity, But as for his SubG "true" identity, "Dr. Paradox", I could never pull off that big a scam. Another Sub could whiffread me at once. All entries in this diary from this point on (barring unforeseen circumstances) shall be written by me, Dr. Legume.

May 18, 1991

Almost blew my cover today. Didn't relieze today is "Narouski's" birthday. Very confusing, since my own birthday is February 29, so I age a year for every four. Right now I am merely an extremely advanced six-year-old. I have revealed my identity to St. Gonad and Pastor Zippy. They seek to avenge Paradox's death, and I'm the most convenient target for their vengence. I must remain vigilent.

May 20, 1991

Today I was sitting in my newly built subterranean lab, working on my latest Time Control device, when two heavily armed men burst in, guns blazing. A stray bullet ricocheted off my sacred pipe and struck the Q-36 module and reversed the polarity just as the Dobbshead fell off the wall and landed on the on switch. It produced a rather startling effect. Everything on Earth STOPPED. Luckily my bionic parts protected me from the time stoppage. The bullets hung in mid-air. I ripped the ski masks from my attackers. It was, as I suspected, Zippy and Gonad. I removed their brains and replaced them with reprogrammed green energy Xist organic computerbrains (I bought them used- only $29.92). I took them back to the Weird Little Church that Smells Like Acetylene, and they suspect nothing.I'm somewhat tempted to leave time stopped. I get to pork any woman I choose. You didn't think I'd pass up on a chance like this, did you? Only problem is, they don't move. I'd trade one homely nympho for a hundred dead super-models. But I digress. I replaced the module on my machine, and, after picking the bullets out of the air and pointing them in the direction of a stray cat, turned the power off and reset time into motion. Amazing how the stoppage of time did not reduce the effects of momentum. The cat was pulverized. Squeak was avenged.

May 24, 1991

Performed a vasectomy on myself today. Can't risk impregnating any past-life ginch during my time travels. I could father my own father-clones. That could screw up the gene pool and possibly alter my SubGenius Ancestry... HELL, I MIGHT FUCK MYSELF NORMAL!

June 18, 1991

Mt package from the Foundation arrived containing my Doktorate of the Forbidden Sciences and a sheaf of propaganda to be used in the War Against Normalcy. Zippy and Gonad haven't rejected the brains I installed, and they still suspect nothing.Gonad did disappear fot a week, but I assume he was in Dobbstown.

August 10, 1991

Have been in seclusion 2 months (Dobbstown), and placed an android duplicate in my stead to deal with any questions that might arise from my "disappearence". Spent the last three days nailed to a cross in the center of the universe contemplating the Bleeding Head of the World Cup Golfer. Tomorrow I return to the U.S. with the False Head. Am bringing Rev. Spider with me.

August 11, 1991

Rev. Spider and I spent the afternoon launching the False Head in the back yard. No one thinks our behavior is strange, so my droid-dupe has done his job well.

August 27, 1991

Rev. Spider will be heading back to Dobbstown soon, but before leaving, he branded me with a Subgenius Time Control Logo on my left forearm. But he didn't use ink, he tatooed me with blood extracted from an Advanced Supersonic Aluminum Nazi Hell Creature from Beneath the Hollow Earth. I can feel the power emanating from it. It will be like unto a beacon when the Xists come for me in '98.

August 28, 1991

Wake up this morning and my S.T.C. tatoo was glowing. "El Guapo" says it is a sign that I must kill "Bob". My plane to Dallas leaves at midnight.

August 29, 1991

Arrived in Dallas 4 A.M.. Plane delayed do to a meteor shower. The front door retina scanner at SubGenius H.Q. was on the fritz, so I had to hang glide onto the roof from an ajoining building. I was almost captured the minute I set foot on the roof. G. Gordon Gordon, that sneaky bastard, was hiding in the shadow of the satellite dish, meaning to blast me into Valhalla with his auto-shotgun. But before he could fire a shot, the S.T.C. logo detached itself from my arm, flew across the rooftop, and beheaded Gordon. I found Ivan Stang on the 83rd floor, sitting in an easy chair, fropstick hanging from his lips, his eyes glazed. I beat him mercilessly until he told me where "Bob" was. Having the info I needed for my mission, I emptied a full clip from G. Gordon's Full Auto Shotgun into Stang's head at point-blank range. I then took the hidden elavator to the sub-basement and boarded the Subterran Rocket Tube, destination: Dobbstown.
J.R. "Bob" Dobbs must die!

August 31, 1991 - Dobbstown, Malaysia 3am

Arrived yesterday and started my surviellance of Dobbs. No one suspects my Sacred Mission of Death. My S.T.C. Logo doesn't work here. It remains firmly attached to my arm, and it stopped glowing the moment I passed through the front gates of the compound. Without it I had no weapon, having fired all of the Shotgun ammo into Stang's Head. Unarmed, I had no prayer of defeating the Overman gaurding the entrance to Dobbs' quonset hut. But suddenly, a 9-iron mysteriously fell from the sky, landing at my feet. I crept up behind the Overman and, shouting "Fore!", launched the Bleeding Head of the Overman completely out of the compound. Now nothing stands between myself and J.R. "Bob" Dobbs.
Before me stands My Greatest Battle.

August 31, 1991 - Noon

My Greatest Battle - yeah, right. As soon as I burst into the room, Dobbs was on his feet, jumping up and down, screaming, "Kill me! Kill me!". I of course did. With a primal scream and a mighty swing of my 9-iron, I launched the Epopt's stupidly grinning head with such force it splattered into an ugly smudge on the wall. But my triumph was short-lived. Within minutes I had been transmuted until I myself had become "Bob". Now all of the slavish Zombies, Whiners, and Gimmebobs whorship ME. While here in Dobbstown, the Doktors just sigh and say, "Just another damned "Bob"". Can I escape this fate? I can only pray that some SubGenius out there will come along and KILL ME.

From the Diary of "Legumebob"

Date: unknown - Somewhere on Earth

I have been "Bob" now for days, weeks, I don't know. The Doktors call me "Legumebob" and it seems I'm the 394th incarnation of "Bob". There's not much to this "Bob" business, just surfing the Luck Plane, following the Path of Least Resistance, shit like that. I mean, over the course of the last week I:

1) acheived Slack
2) resurrected Stang
3) scared the crap out of some primitives 4) said profound things (B.F.D.)
5) put the fear of "me" into some bobbies I hope the Luck Plane tilts my way (I expect it to, being "Bob" and all).
This sucks.
Geezus! In the time it takes to sign my name I accidently made a million dollars. Oops, there's another one...

Date: unknown - Dallas, Texas

Showed up at SubG HQ this morning by accident. I thought it was a whorehouse from the outside. There was a bit of screaming, gunshots, and smoke when I came out of the elevator. Philo Drummond (01 ) rudely shoved me into the main vault. I can still hear the gunshots in the corridor outside, and the door is glowing red-hot...

From the Diary of Dr. Legume

Date: unknown -Hell

Yes, I'm in Hell, and I guess I have some explaining to do. I was "Bob", I was locked in the vault at SubG HQ, and the door was glowing red-hot. That was St. Gonad and Pastor Zippy, cutting through the door with his acetylene torch. He managed to get the door open, but before I could ask what was going on, they both simultaneously shot me dead. I don't know what happened after that, being dead and all, but Pastor Zippy is in the room next to mine (Hotel Inferno, room 13013, Epopt's suite). Right now, he's being sodomized by Hitlerdroid #73679. the walls here are paper-thin, and I think he's enjoying himself from the sound of things. I talked to Zippy earlier today on the speakerphone, and he explained that the neuro-locks burned out in the cheap compubrains I had installed, and he and St. Gonad had come to Dallas to avenge Paradox's death. They beat my location out of the droid-dupe I left behind. When they cut through the vault door and found "Bob" instead of me, they decided that they would kill "Bob" instead. They didn't realize that I was "Bob", and were quite satisfied when my "Bob" body transmuted back to my "Legume" body. Kill "Bob" and avenge Paradox at the same time. However, their elation was short-lived. Zippy became "Bob" and GONAD KILLED HIM. And now we're both in SubGenius Hell. It's pretty cool here most of the time, but sometimes things happen here that just plain suck. If that sounds familiar, that's because this place is almost exactly like Earth! "Zippybob" agrees with me about the resemblance.Today we were thrown into Hell county jail for jaywalking, and we were brutally beaten by a guard who turned out to be the late Dr. Paradox. It's been a rough day, "Zippybob" is making a lot of noise next door, and I'm exhausted. I'm going to bed, but perhaps a bit of Frop' first...

Date: unknown - Hell

"Zippybob" is dead. Or has he gone to the Hell equivelent of death (do you go to sub-Hell?)? Hitlerdroid #73679 fucked him to "death" last night sometime. Since we're in Hell, and the Hitlerdroid couldn't transmute into "Bob" incarnation #396, the "Bob" essence returned to Earth and became "Bob" again. I've gotta get out of this place.

Date: unknown - Hell (SubGenius Hell, not Christian Hell)

Today I sat in my easy chair, Fropped to the gills (of which I have none), and asked myself, "What would "Bob" Dobbs do if he were in my shoes?" It's a good thing I asked myself that question, because I know what Dobbs would do in my shoes. I WAS Dobbs, damnit! Dobbs would escape! Escape from Hell! As a matter of fact, Dobbs did escape from Hell, back in '87 I think. I need a plan.

Date: unknown - Hell

I have devised a fool-proof plan to escape from this place. I wil not divulge the manner in which I plan to escape, but I will need the following supplies:

400 feet of steel cable
50 pounds of dynamite
a pick axe
a chainsaw
25,00 board feet of lumber (oak)
cutting torch
1.5 milion nails
an '84 Cadillac Sedan DeVille
the background scenery from the Broadway prodution of "H.M.S. Pinafore a hammer
33 seedless grapes
the "Solid Gold" dancers
Ronald Reagans head
a Daisy BB rifle (CO2 powered)
the soundtrack to "Apocalypse Now"

Date: unknown - Hell

Today is the big day. I'm going to get out of this damned place (no pun intended). I sure hope my Luck Plane powers don't desert me now...

July 1, 1998 - Earth

Well, my escape plan didn't come off as planned (the "Solid Gold" dancers were all booked up through 2013). However, I am back on Earth. "How?", you may ask. It seems that the answer was under my nose all along. As I was leaving the hotel, the manager presented me with a bill for forty thousand bucks. I of course didn't pay it. The police were called, I was hauled into court, and the Judge sentenced me to LIFE with no parole. I said to the Judge, "Since you sentenced me to Life, I must no longer be dead. And there are no living people in Hell." And, to quote the writer Douglas Adams, I promptly vanished in a puff of logic. And reappeared here. On Earth again. Only 4 days before the Advent of the Angelic Host. I have work to do.

July 2, 1998 -in New Jersey instead of Hell (like there's a difference)

Found St. Gonad in the same place he was 7 years ago (time flies in SubG Hell, don't it?). He was suprised to see me, back from Hell, no gunshot wounds or anything. After I resuscitated him, I explained everything that happened. He was upset that Zippy was no longer in Hell. He always wanted one relative to achieve his goal in life. I saw that he had stolen the boots from his dead brothers corpse, and had an idea. If any of Zippy's DNA was left residually in the boots, I could possibly clone him. Assuming my subterranean stronhold was still intact...

July 3, 1998

Success! Well, sort of, anyway. We cloned Zippy from the foul deposits soaked into the "odor-eaters" in his boots. But there was an unexpected side-effect. Some of St. Gonads DNA was in the boots too, him having worn them for the past seven years after his siblings death. The cloning produced a grotesque creature, half Zippy, half Gonad. It promptly collapsed. This creature has provided me with the answer to a question which has plagued me since my descent into Hell. "Why didn't Saint Gonad become "Bob" when he killed "Zippybob"?" The answer - Because the "Bob" essence couldn't live in Gonad's physical body! And neither, I suspect, can Zippy live with this "parasitic-genetic demon" in his body. It will be amazing if he survives the night.

July 4, 1998

Woke up at dawn when my houseplant burst into flames. I blurted out, "What the fuck is this shit?", and damned if the burning houseplant didn't talk back! "call Jesus", it said. "What?" "Call Jesus." "Damn that Jesus and his parlor tricks! I don't need this shit early in the morning! I don't even know WHICH Jesus to call! So fuck it, I'll ignore it, I won't call," I said. Then the phone rang. I picked it up. "Fuck you, too", Jesus barked at me. The following is a transcript of our conversation:

LEGUME: Look, I don't have all day to blab on the phone with you. So let's get down to brass tacks. Which Jesus are you, and what the fuck do you want? JESUS: I'm the Mercenary Jesus and I'm calling to collect on a poker debt. Remember back in 1990 you lost $5,000 bucks playing cards with the Rich-but-Stupid Jesus? LEGUME: Yeah, what about it?
JESUS: Well, it wasn't just a run of bad luck. You were hustled by the Lying Card Shark Jesus. LEGUME: That son-of-a-bitch!
JESUS: Don't badmouth my mom, asshole. He's paying me 10% to collect on this debt, you welsher. Now if you don't pay up, I might come over there and turn you into a turd or something. LEGUME: Whoa, calm down J.C.! Look, I have a little proposition for you. If you win this bet, I'll pay you DOUBLE that five grand, plus your ten percent. But if I win, you gotta take that gamblig debt and shove it up your sacred poop chute. Dig? JESUS: Okay, what's the bet?
LEGUME: That you can't exorcise the "Gonad Demon Essence" out of Pastor Zippy. JESUS: Easy.
LEGUME: Without killing him.
JESUS: Still Easy.
LEGUME: Meet me in my lab at 3pm.
---Line goes dead---

I called St. Gonad and had him meet me at the lab at about 2:30. J.C. showed up about 3:15. I chastised him for being late, but he didn't care. He said to me, "Well, shit, the Christians have been waiting two thousand years, so fifteen minutes won't kill you." He had a point there, and shucking his sunglasses and crown of thorns, prepared to exorcise the "gonademon" from Pastor Zippy, now strapped to my exam table and traquilized with a rhino dart. I must say, old Jesus has a lot of flash when it comes to this miracle stuff. He flicked the wristwatch-switch on his Halomatic and a golden glow surronded his head. He did a little high-steppin' Jesus Boogaloo around the table ,spoke some backwards Latin, and that "gonademon" hit the holy highway pronto. Zippy was up and about in a matter of minutes. I wrote Jesus a bad check and he split. I don't care if he gets pissed, because tomorrow is the Advent of the Angelic Host and we'll all be gone. He can't cash it today - the banks are all closed for the holiday. And if I come back, I'll be an Overman, and then I'll fix his ass.


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Original file name: Diary of Dr. Legume

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