[A FAQ for Slack, in honor and memorial of
Dr. (Doktor) Suess; certainly one of us, and
probably part of the reason we are.]
Let me tell you a story, a story of Slack.
(Sit down in front, so they can see from the back.)
And this Story of Slack can act as a FAQ.
There was a kind man known as J.R. "Bob" Dobbs.
He could sell anything, and he would sell gobs.
He'd sell pinky ringers, and he'd sell little thingers,
and he'd sell karaoke to professional singers!
He wasn't a genius, but he sure had his luck.
And with his wife Connie, he sure liked to
(what do you think? After all he's just human.
Well, no he isn't quite, but we'll get there. Quit fumin'!)
While working one night on a home made TV,
came a curious light, and what should he see?
That alien Wotan, plain as you, plain as me!
He jiggled and sizzled, he zapped and he popped.
>From JHVH-1, emaculation he copped!
JHVH-1 spoke, and spoke more, then stopped.
What "Bob" Dobbs then learned is a matter of Church,
for he fell to the ground with a stumbly lurch,
and he spouted and ranted and started to shout,
"THE X-ISTS ARE COMING! ALL YOU YETIS, GET OUT!"
For "Bob" learned that the Yeti were the original race,
and the humans came later, and there went the place!
They both were created by creatures from space.
The genes of the Yeti to this day survive
in those called SubGenius, those few left alive,
who are different as different as different can be.
Do you think one is you? I know one is me!
The Subgenii are born with original Slack.
The CONspiracy takes it, and won't give it back.
Oh they give us false slack, like trash in a sack,
They spew it from TV, they make us buy more,
they make us wish we had more more more MORE.
But it's never enough, because it's isn't real.
It hasn't the pstench or the look or the feel,
it just feels like JUNK, this stuff that we buy.
They don't care what it is, as long as we BUY,
and we BUY and we BUY from month front to month back,
And still we're left wanting, 'cause it AIN'T GOT NO SLACK.
(Let me cool off a minute, little Yeti kin.
Let me just cool off, and I'll jump in again.)
So "Bob" saw what happened, with the Pinks in control,
(Pinks are people who're normal, the Average Joe).
And this really set fire to the 'Frop in the bowl
of his Pipe, and he said, "Them Pinks got to go!"
So he started a Church so that he could put out
the words that he needed to chase the Pinks out,
and get back the Slack. And he hired Rev. Stang,
to write down his words with his writey-write thang.
Stang scribbled and scrabbled and he scratched and he wrote.
And he went to Devivals, there to emote
on the evils of Pinkness, and the joys of Slack,
and he offered salvation, or triple cash back!
And from Big Apple Piedom and Arkanseesawland
the Yeti came forward and all got together.
They saw they were different, they saw this was grand!
They gathered together like weirds of a feather,
and though they were similar as fire and ice,
they all were the same, and isn't that nice?
And they enjoyed being different together with others,
their Yeti kin sisters and Yeti kin brothers.
And "Bob" decreed thusly, that they should have Slack!
And they should prepare to steal it back,
from the CON that took it, those nasty CON Pinks.
And he offered to sell them, to tell them, what they
Now "Bob" gave the warning that our time here is short.
The saucers are coming, and not one with Gort,
nor Klaatu. But real ones from the planet called X.
With big scary monsters, who'll breathe down our necks,
and pick out the Yeti to give them a ride,
and if you're not signed up, well it's no use to hide.
They find you inside or they'll find you outside.
They'll be here in July, nineteen ninety eight.
On the fifth of the month, and they won't be late.
At 7 AM, every Yeti girl and guy
will be taken on board, to watch the Pinks fry.
But you must have your ticket, if you want on board,
or you'll burst in the street like a microwaved gourd.
Send in thirty bucks. This IS the ground floored.
The SubGenius Foundation (make sure this name sticks!)
Post office box one four oh three oh six.
In Dallas, in Texas, and five numbers more,
zip code seven five two, and one and a four.
(Don't write less numbers and don't write any more!)
Now "Bob" is a reachin' through Rev. Stang's preachin'
on the Hour of Slack weekly radio show, and the
wired in Yeti call the Internetty, and
log alt dot slack, that's where you should go.
Now, I know that I've left out many parts,
very good parts!
But Slack's a big thing, bigger than I can say.
I could tell you from sun-up until night, and next day,
I'd still not be done, and have more to say.
So I'll just say one more thing (little Yeti, now hush!)
I wouldn't walk, no-sir-ma'am, I would rush
and send off that money, and find me some Slack.
And then you could write your very own FAQ!
Your very own FAQ about getting Slack back.
About "Bob" and Connie and saucers and such.
Better hurry! There's time left.
But not very much.
Back to hymndex