It's hard for us to IMAGINE being so rigidly locked into fossilized, monotonous behavior patterns, and it's natural that we speculate: "Aw, the Normals can't REALLY be that bad, NOBODY could be; it's GOT to be US that's crazy." But that's giving the Pink WAY too much credit.

We're sick of our less confident fellow SubGenii feeling vaguely guilty because they have the FAIRNESS to be a little unsure if maybe the Pinks aren't right. We're just reminding you -- they AREN'T!! There're just MORE of them. It's best to look at them as an unfortunate fact of life, a force of nature, like drought. You can't prevent it, but you have to deal with it.

But it's another blatant case of something being as literally over their heads as is that bleeding one of Arnold Palmer upon Launching.

The CRAZIER a disparate set of facts and theories seem to be, the longer they tend to kick around in your mind, until you begin to see the connections between them. Sometimes there are connections that not even the craziest "normal" crackpot has stumbled upon -- and yet, we find them!

We are "maladjusted" -- we'll never adjust to the pain. This gets us in a lot of trouble on weekends.

Why do people in this enlightened age still cling to silly superstitions, when everything can be explained by SubGenius superscience? For instance, who needs God, when there's DNA? Pain and pleasure, and damnation and redemption, may be dramatic byproducts of life's endless battle, but the process has only one purpose: to selectively develop the most efficient possible genetic coding, and to project it forward into the future. We are nothing more than water-filled, gelatinous delivery mechanisms for that Code, which cares about nothing, and has infinite patience and limitless time to pursue its own incomprehensible agenda. We're merely a handy vehicle on which it may travel through the eons, undergoing as many interesting permutations as possible; the more complex the Code becomes, the closer it approaches the One True DNA Code. To kill time along the way, or to justify our misery, the vehicle, which is US, keeps trying to come up with explanations for what we're doing, fantasies about why we might be important... but that's just a diversion for the robot chassis.

We are only animals on a glandular leash... but we are the most dangerous animal, the Godzilla of our age. We kill more species than all the rest of them put together. However, our environment automatically seeks to out-evolve us, and the lowliest of all organisms, the viruses and bugs, evolve faster. They are our stiffest competition. As soon as we shake off bubonic plague and leprosy, along comes cancer and retro viruses. Whether or not our invincible technology can keep up with them is a moot point. The real question is, can our technology keep up with itself? Can it save us from its own poisons, or will we out-evolve ourselves?

Going back to the caves is not the answer to the world's problems. It might be your personal escape, sure, but only as long as the Pinks don't want your cave for a bomb shelter. Why, technology could bring us the heaven-on-Earth depicted in magazines like The Watchtower... if we use it with Slackful intent. We definitely don't want to revert to the Stone Age, but we just as definitely must drag the Stone Age along with us as we plod on into the future, seeking a BETTER ATOM AGE. We must haul Fred Flintstone along with George Jetson, or we will lose all perspective on our primary mission -- which is apparently to be fruitful and multiply, and relentlessly consume everything in our path until nothing but ourselves remains.

If you're truthful with yourself, you'll admit that everything you choose to do is done solely to make you feel better. Even if self-sacrifice is your `thing,' you're still just another sick fetishist doing it because it makes you feel good. Self-interest is the ONLY motivation, and unless you're a pervert, you'll agree that the most purely self-pleasing sensation is the orgasmic oozin' and squirtin' moment. If it wasn't for that, and all the "surrogate squirts" (like music, power over others, prayer, etc.), men and women would not tolerate each other, and life would cease.

This may disappoint those who were looking for a more `elevated,' high-faluting meaning to life, but HONESTLY: ISN'T THAT ENOUGH? If it's not, then that's probably because you haven't had the full-gospel OOZSQUIRT.

And you probably haven't, because the Conspiracy has been watering down our bloodline, and hence our capacity for Slack Awareness, ever since we created the Conspiracy in Mutantis in 80,000,000 B.C. That's right, we created the Conspiracy. Hideously ironic, but true. Did you really think that something as fiendishly insidious as the Con could have been devised by NORMALS?? We didn't mean to do it... we were SET UP by an even BIGGER Conspiracy! Nevertheless, it's up to "Bob" and us to destroy it, and it's up to you to start -- by rooting and burning it out of yourself.

We're here to make sure you GET that full-gospel Oozsquirt that you are owed!

"Now that we are on the Highway of Slack, where there's no longer a speed limit, we may go as fast as we'd like. But we have to pay "Bob" a toll. It cost "Bob," the first Upright "Bob," and his monks and monsters, a mighty pile to build that Highway." -- Dr. Philo Drummond, Road Sermon #576 (1979)

But the most compelling evidence of the glory that was Antiquitum is The Great Road -- something you won't be told about in the controlled media! (Present company excluded.) Seismic sonar techniques have revealed, miles beneath the planet's surface, a gigantic, globe-spanning "ribbon" around the Earth, made of solid stone. Thousands of meters wide and hundreds thick, it encircles the planet horizontally, at the equator, and vertically, around the poles.[7] The Mobil Oil geologists who discovered it originally thought it was a tremendous wall that had flopped over onto its side... until they found bi-Cyclopean "traffic lights" at the two intersections (located beneath the jungles of equatorial Ecuador and an ocean trench off the southern coast of Malaysia). This `road,' with intricate interlocking joints and hinges allowing it to swell and contract with the `breathing' of the Earth, had obviously been constructed by an extremely advanced civilization. Most astounding, however, is that the artifact predates not only the dinosaurs but even the vertebrates -- yet it seems to be inscribed over its entire length with gargantuan designs of some impenetrable C'thulhuvian occult significance! As yet, the seismo-photographs reveal only tantalizing hints of these pictures, hieroglyphs, or whatever they are. Was "God" an astronaut? A cartoonist? Is the Earth itself just some... logo?

After the Elder Gods went into self-imposed hibernation following their Dream Wars, a more degenerate race occupied the Grid System: the Deros or Supersonic Nazi Hell Creatures from Beneath the Hollow Earth.[8] Still under their clumsy demonic management today, the Grid System malfunctions constantly, causing random space-time warps around the surface of the planet. Both the Deros from the caverns, and the UFO-riding "Greys" from the star Sirius, take advantage of these space-time `portals' not only to broadcast their insidious silent radio mind control rays into the minds of innocent humans and SubGeniuses, but also to physically materialize and carry out abductions and impregnations -- all in collusion with the U.S. government!

Why did the Xists and Elder Gods require the Yeti? The Elder Gods are aetherial, bodiless. They cannot interact with the coarser vibrations of physical things. Imprisoned for the most part in their own dimension, they can influence occurrences on our plane only psychically.[9] The Yeti were one means by which they could toy with gross matter, first by bending the wills of the Xists (who are largely nonphysical) into creating the Yeti, and then by directing the Yeti to themselves shape genetic chains and forge new beings ("product").

Also, there are things that Yeti (and SubGeniuses!) can do, but the Xists cannot, simply because we have so fewer senses than Xists. We possess a sense that we don't even know we have, taken for granted, but which the Xists lack (or, rather, it is buried beneath their myriad other senses.) Just as we use dogs to hunt birds, the Elder Gods used Yeti for `hunting' human soul.[10]

Yeti were not behaviorally flawless, as they themselves so tragically learned. Mentally and physically, however, they were indeed the perfect bipedal Earth-form, of which the modern SubGenius is only a pathetic shadow, a reverted beast-man.

The thumb was more opposable than is ours, that is, placed higher on the hand, nearer the long, spidery, Hendrix-like fingers.

Their mental powers were such that they acquired such skills as speech telepathically, in utero.

Whereas the human eyebrow is manipulated by three muscles, the Yeti eyebrow had nineteen... creating a sometimes rippling line over the eyes, capable of leaping up to the very hairline in surprise, or pinching down so far over the nose as to meet at the lips in anger.

The nose was easily as dense with olfactory nerves as is that of the modern dog, and often as prominent, but remarkably expressive. The olfactory tissues were so extensive that, removed and spread out, they would have a couple of acres of surface area.

(The blithering little Normals have become so inbred, one is reminded of the "civilized" Eloi in The Time Machine who thought they could remain above the apish Morlocks toiling outside the dome... but who ended up being kept as beef cattle.)

We patronize our targets so snidely, and tell them what they want to hear so insincerely, that we wallow in the knowledge that they can't realize we are actually `counting coup' on them (sometimes even while selling them SubGenius books![11]).

Someday, some deep-sea oil drilling team will unearth a fossilized Yeti building. (Someone may already have done so, but, as with the crashed saucers, they have kept the event secret "for reasons of national security.")

Nevertheless, Yeti had NO RELIGION. The overall intelligence and flexibility of will was such that superstitions were utterly absent from the Yeti mind. They were incapable of any but the most cogent logic mixed with the most sublime mysticism. Despite their complete understanding of the physical universe, as well as an intuitive appreciation of the Music of the Spheres, they had detected NO SINGLE INTELLIGENT FORCE behind the workings of reality, only a chaotic bureaucracy of competing sub-deities and managers. They were aware that their masters, the Xists, were in turn manipulated by an even vaster entity called JHVH-1, and that JHVH-1 was but a youthful rebel among the Elder Gods, but they recognized these only as larger and more powerful entities than themselves. Yeti presupposed no life after death, for they had no death, only transmigration -- which for them was neither magic nor science, but plain common sense.

As a prelude to sex, the Yeti would often stand on one another's feet, embrace, and "kiss." (An observer would be hard put to tell where one head ended and the other began.) This would gradually change, over the hours, into acubiting ranging from sweetly gentle to ragingly fierce.

A Yeti's jaw and tongue could easily drop from its face all the way down to the crotch of another. A ring of muscle in both the male and female Yeti crotch, a tube about a foot long between the prehensile sphincter and the genitals, could extrude partially for coupling -- not unlike train cars locking together.[12] The Yeti vagina was lined with muscular "fingers" which could squeeze and knead. The cervix boasted lip-like tissue that could wrap around any intruder and apply suction while the little fingers worked.

The penis (bifurcated, with two separate glans) possessed a muscle which could bunch up and waggle rapidly like a tongue doing a Bronx cheer, or pulsate more slowly, like a wave rippling up and down a rope. Males could tighten up these muscles, constrict the vessels, and thus bloat alternating portions of their members of regeneration like a bullfrog's throat.[13] Hinged, the penii could swivel around to point backwards, allowing two Yeti to pop their pelvises out of joint and copulate end-to-end[14] -- indeed, in any position.

Breathing into and with each other's lungs initiated a tele-alchemical transformation, changing oxygen into "Church Air," an aphrodisiac.

If a second Elder god can manage to locate another two Lost Yeti Mate SubGeniuses for simultaneous use, then the TWO Elder Gods can, so to speak, "copulate" on some plane we cannot ever hope to comprehend, or would even want to.[15]

The Church is not a bad way to start seeking out your True Yeti Mate -- if you want one -- but you'd better keep broadening your horizons in every other direction you can, too. Our early Good Sex for Mutants Dating League was a miserable bust, we admit -- a hellish sinkhole of the most desperate, lonely dweebs and nerds in the world -- but we've lived that down. Church demographics have changed drastically since the early "boys' club" years, and from chance meetings of SubGenii, at devivals, parties, by mail, or (via Dobbs-emblazzoned apparel) on the street, many wonderful romances have blossomed. Not a few have gone down in flames, true, but that is because they were so incendiary to begin with. True Yeti Mates don't always both come from a Church background, but the SubGenius connection is unfailingly the critical, if inexplicable, link in the complex chain of events which brought them together.

Stop letting THEM walk all over you, and you will do and know what you WANT, not what they want you to pay for.

A handful of devolved Yeti remain here on Earth, phase-shifted halfway into the 7th dimension, so that we cannot see them -- appearing to us only rarely, and only when there are no other witnesses.[16]

It was theorized that the doltish males would be twice as likely to breed, if inspired by a second set of globular sex-triggers. The Yeti decided to duplicate these large hind appurtenances on the fronts of the females by enlarging the lactating glands into soft, bouncy buttock-fetish symbols. These counterfeit tuberosities of the ischium were made target-like by the addition of circles and dots that would change shape when manipulated, exciting the females and keeping the males interested long enough to find the right place for seed-dispensation. Hair was cultivated to make the spot even easier to locate.

Rev-X OUTS Part 1
SILENT RADIO by Dr. Philo Drummond
GIVE 'TIL IT HURTS by Papa Joe Mama
THE 3 PROGRAMS by Nenslo
SLACK and TIME CONTROL (Interview with the OverMan)
APPENDIX (Zoogz Rift's Confession, Ivan Stang sermon)

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