(Also see relevant post APPENDIX: Pee Kitty's Rant and at end: Popess Lilith's Rant!)
DEVIVAL '99: THE LAST TAMPA-TATION OF DOBBS by Dick Catheter
TAMPA, FL -- It was a dark and stormy night. The Florida sun radiated overhead. And this reporter looked towards the Tampa strip known as Ybor City with no small amount of trepidation. For tonight, November 13, the Church of the SubGenius were holding the first public Devival in the history of this otherwise serene region.
I arrived at Gylands at 5:00 pm, the listed start time, but found a sign on the door announcing that the Devival had been pushed back to 7:00. Fortunately, this meant they were still doing pre-show ticket sales, and I joined the line of people buying tickets from Steve Slack and Pee Kitty, two of the show's promoters. Kirk Bailey, the third promoter and spokesman for the event, commented out loud how pleased he was with the number of people attending. I counted about 30 people already present, tickets in hand, milling around Gylands waiting for the show to start.
The sales table was set up shortly after 6:00, and I examined the merchandise available. Several "Bob" T-shirts, books, and bumper stickers graced the tables, as well as some Bill T. Miller CDs and Connie shirts. Godfather Gillan and Betsy F. Ross, a pair of local SubGenii, were manning the sales table. They attempted to convert me to their faith; I was told that they were taking membership applications there, and that for a mere $30, I could lease my soul to "Bob". I caught a glint of something in their eyes that frightened me, however, and left quickly.
A small section of the dining area had been turned into a miniature recording studio, and Brother VT, another local SubGenius, was manning the video cameras. I caught glimpses of various preachers roaming around: Susie the Floozie made an entrance before heading upstairs into the 'green room' area; Popess Lilith followed shortly after with her assistant Jewyl (who I later discovered was Pee Kitty's significant other); Hellpope Huey was the most accessible, hanging out on the floor with the rest of the crowd. I didn't see Papa Joe Mama anywhere, however, and heard a rumor that he hadn't shown yet.
When the show had not started by 8:30, I asked a few questions from the staff, and discovered that the PA system was having problems; more gear was needed, and a bit of soldering and wire-running was still needed. Gylands' soundman and Steve Slack were obviously working frantically on these problems, with a little help from VT and Pee Kitty, so I stayed well out of their way and watched the first band, Ruins, set up. After a few long minutes, a pop was heard from the speakers, followed by a buzzing, followed by some old Thrill Kill Cult; the PA was working.
After a quick sound check, Ruins went on. They were much heavier than I was expecting, combining classic punk with a hardcore sound, and a hint of some tribal beats. The audience was definitely energized by the music, myself included. They played about a 40 minute set before exiting to thunderous applause. Kirk Bailey then took the mic and welcomed everyone to the first Tampa Bay Devival ever; the crowd was very receptive, raising their hands in the air and screaming in response... overall, a very unsettling situation for this young reporter. Kirk "ranted" (as they refer to their strange form of preaching) about the Church of the SubGenius, Christianity, and other subjects, and prepared to pass the focus over to the next band, Martyr Complex. Martyr Complex called out that they weren't set up yet, and Pee Kitty stepped up to the mic to rant instead.
Pee Kitty ranted for what seemed like a solid 20 minutes, covering everything from Slack to "Bob" to some sort of Conspiracy to alien saviors, ending with an apparent attempt to polarize the crowd into striking out at the world! When the crowd began yelling back in agreement, I made sure I had a clear exit to the door, but nothing dangerous happened. I managed to obtain the text of Pee Kitty's rant and have reprinted it elsewhere in this forum.
After Pee Kitty, Martyr Complex began their set with an amazing version of the Dr. Who theme song. I was suprised that these two scruffy men could turn out such incredible industrial music. It was remeniscent of older Skinny Puppy, with some modern electronica flavoring. Glancing around, I noticed what seemed like 200 or more people in attendance, and wondered how many of them were members of this strange Church.
Martyr Complex ended their set and Papa Joe Mama appeared out of nowhere to take the stage. Garbed in a priest's outfit, Papa Joe preached on the fallacy of X-Day. Apparently, the world was supposed to end in 1998. According to Papa Joe Mama, it was STILL 1998, and we didn't realize it. "'Bob' sold it, I bought it, that settles it!" The crowd apparently agreed. I double-checked my clear exit.
Upon Papa Joe's exit, Hellpope Huey sat down behind his keyboard. With little fanfare, he touched his fingers to the keys, and the audience was transfixed at the insane drum beats and melodies that emerged. Hellpope Huey played for about half an hour before standing up, walking over to the podium, and launching into a rant! I had to admit, the man was versatile. The audience got into the "Nuke 'Em" rant, chanting "BOOM!" along with Huey, punctuating his points. Hellpope Huey did several small rants instead of one long one, ending when Susie the Floozie stepped up onto the stage to do a cover of the classic "Downtown", with Kirk Bailey, Godfather Gillan, and Eric, a nice local gothic boy, on backing vocals. The sound was rather muddled, unfortunately, but it was obvious that she had changed the lyrics into a parody, about "Dobbstown". The closer audience members certainly didn't mind the sound quality, as Susie crawled into their laps and serenaded them. Two of the audience members were still catatonic by the end of the Devival.
Orange Stoole Chariot, the next band, wasn't quite set up yet, so Kirk turned the microphone over to a random audience member. This proved to be a mistake, however, as the man merely chanted various things about Satan and the Dark Gods, until he became embarrased and left the stage. Orange Stoole Chariot, with Pee Kitty on keyboards, then launched into their bizarre music. I can only describe it as a mutated combination of King Crimson, Zappa and Zorn, and a raw element that I couldn't place. The audience began whittling down, apparently unused to the abrasive music, or "anti-music" as they called it. True to my cause, I remained.
After Orange Stoole Chariot, Papa Joe Mama came out again, on the band's stage. He announced that a sacred ceremony would now take place, and began to explain the logic of - I am not making this up - launching the head of a world class golfer. He then proceeded to pull the head of Tiger Woods out of his suitcase, and a nine-iron. I wasn't close enough to see if it was a real head or a fake before he swung back and STRUCK the head, sending it flying into the audience... where it mysteriously disappeared. As I began trying to recover from this craziness, Hellpope Huey took to the keyboards again, playing stranger and stranger music. My head hurt. My eyes were sweating. I became worried, and sought refuge near the bar. At the sales table, Betsy F. Ross told me that they had recruited two new members to their Church. I faked a smile.
After Hellpope Huey finished his shorter set, Kirk announced the coming of Popess Lilith Von Fraumensch. The back doors flew open, and two female, armed bodyguards in leather trenchcoats, dark glasses, and emotionless faces took the stage, securing the area. It took me a moment to recognize them as Betsy F. Ross and Jewyl, and in that moment, Popess Lilith took the stage, grabbing the microphone out of Kirk's hands and throwing him off the stage. Lilith first took a moment to point out the hard work that goes into a Devival, and that that hard work should be recognized. That said, she proceeded to hand out certificates to Kirk Bailey, Steve Slack, Pee Kitty, Susie the Floozie, and Papa Joe Mama, acknowledging them as survivors of Devivals, or "Devivors". Then the true ranting proceeded.
I don't recall every aspect of the rant, because it was at that point that three armed police officers raided the building. Popess Lilith noticed but continued on without missing a beat; her bodyguards moved behind cover and kept their weapons ready. The policemen began surveying the area, weapons holstered, poking their noses into the sales table, the stage, the bar, and every other area public and private. At the far end of the bar, I saw a person I couldn't identify whisper something to one of the police, and that officer quickly rounded up the others and departed. Lilith finished her rant to overwhelming applause, and the Shakes took the stage.
The Shakes were a good old fashioned punk band, talented, listenable, funny, and drunk. The songs came flying at us, and even I was getting into them. Unfortunately, their guitar broke in mid-performance, and a replacement couldn't be found. Undaunted, they proceeded to play with just bass, drums, and vocals until Lebby, their guitarist, could find another guitar to use to close out the set. The audience applauded and braced themselves for Susie the Floozie's rant.
Susie took the stage and her background music began. Her rant was on similar topics as the others, but still touching on completely different things. I wondered how complex this church-parody could be... if it were a joke, it surely should have run out by now. She closed with a surprisingly mean-spirited rant about dumbasses, and half a dozen SubGeniuses rushed the stage... first to hug her, but it then seemed to turn into a group groping session! I averted my eyes until I heard Kirk Bailey thank everyone for coming out, and officially end the devival.
The audience began filtering out. Kirk was talking to the owners, Steve Slack was settling the money from the door and tickets, and Pee Kitty was settling the profits from merchandise sales. I walked up to Pee Kitty and asked him what sort of profit they expected to turn.
"Profit? Ha! You don't know jack about Devivals, do you pal? We're trying to get as far out of the HOLE as possible. If we're lucky, we may break even. Devivals don't make money, but we do them ANYWAYS, by Dobbs!"
He walked off to settle up with Steve Slack. Calculators were broken out, as well as pens and paper, and the tallying commenced. After a few moments, they sat and stared at the calculator for several minutes. "Are you sure?" Kirk asked.
"I've TRIPLE checked it," Pee Kitty replied.
Pee Kitty walked over to me, looked me in the eyes, and slowly intoned, "Do you remember what I said a few minutes ago? Well... we broke even. And then turned a profit. Three hundred dollars profit. This has been one of the most profitable devivals EVER. So you go back to your editor and tell him to put this motherfucker on the FRONT PAGE because everyone in FLORIDA is gonna have to prepare themselves for the TAMPA BAY 2000 DEVIVAL and it's gonna take the WHOLE FUCKING YEAR TO DO IT!!!"
When he picked up the table, I ran. Bolting to my car, I drove off, telling myself that I'd be happy if I never saw that damned Dobbshead ever again, for the rest of my happily-pink life, Amen.
[APPENDIX: Pee Kitty's Rant]
Pee Kitty's Tampa Bay Devival Rant
(some material stolen from Ivan Stang)
Oh, my friends, my friends... the impossible has finally happened! Hell has frozen over... Pigs are flying... God has come out of the closet... YES! "BOB" DOBBS HAS FINALLY COME TO TAMPA BAY!! ... PRAISE "BOB"!!
Wait, lemme check something first. How many whitebread, good old-fashioned, God-fearin' human beings do we have here today? You know, people who try to your best to do what others expect of you? Productive members of society? Hands, please... anyone? Okay, now how many ABNORMAL FUCKING MUTANTS do we have here tonight?!? How many misfits who don't give a FUCK what others expect of them and can't believe the god-forsaken Hell on Earth that they're living in right now?!? ...Good, because "Bob" has come to Tampa Bay... for YOU.
It had to happen sooner or later, friends. Everything good, decent, and fun in life is being made illegal! Drugs... lapdances... strange, perverted sex... they can't just be happy telling us that we're going to HELL for our sins, now they've got to send us to JAIL, too! Not that we aren't ALREADY prisoners! They've got us rounded up and forced into labor camps! Our Social Security numbers are the Mark of the Beast! The Rapture happened twelve years ago, and NOBODY QUALIFIED!
The Matrix was a documentary, friends! We're living in a prison camp / slaughterhouse and the only reason nobody NOTICES is because they let us clock out, go back to our cell blocks, and punch in for a few hours of "quality time" with the kids, wife, drugs, and TV... meaningless toil interspersed with meaningless pleasure. Everyone struggling for happiness but never achieving it... and do you know why? Because they've GOT YOUR SLACK. And friends... THE SUBGENIUS MUST HAVE SLACK.
What is Slack? Slack is what was taken AWAY from you! Slack is what makes life worth LIVING! You were born with Original Slack - we all were. But, from birth, the Conspiracy of Normalcy has been sucking it away from you, coercing you into a walking-dead existence instead of just letting you enjoy life! They've got everything so fucked up and turned around, people think Slack is something they have to WORK for! SLACK is what lets us grab life by the lapels, SCREAM in its face, and RIDE it like a wild bronco... instead of just being dragged along for the ride like the average person! Life with Slack is like playing Doom with all the cheat codes! YOU CAN ENTER GOD MODE NOW! True Slack is indefinable. It's luck, sex, money, happiness... a way of finding humor in anything... that which allows you to truly enjoy LIFE! An average person can enjoy a situation, or a vacation, but not LIFE ITSELF! Slack infuses all you do with a lust and passion! DON'T JUST EAT A HAMBURGER, EAT THE HELL OUT OF IT!
There is only one true shortcut to Slack, and that is the man with the pipe: J. R. "Bob" Dobbs.
Yes, friends, in these End Times, we have seen the coming of a savior! "Bob" Dobbs, innovator and salesman supreme, worked his way up the Conspiracy ladder all his life, and would still be there if not for the hand of JHVH-1 itself. Yes, JHVH-1, Cosmic Space God and diety of the Old Testament, lifted up "Bob" in the spirit and showed him that there WAS a Conspiracy in the world... a Conspiracy bent on stealing all the world's Slack, though they knew not what Slack was. You see, this Conspiracy is so powerful because it doesn't realize that it IS a conspiracy! It's not the government, or businesses! It's a Conspiracy of Normalcy!
And HELL YES that includes the governments with their laws about what you can and can't believe without getting locked up. HELL YES that includes the businesses out there that tell you what you can and can't buy without getting ostracized from the rest of the world. HELL YES that ALSO includes the kids you went to school with who laughed at you if you wore something that they didn't and HELL YES that includes the fascists out there that don't like whites or blacks or purples or stripes with plaids and *HELL* *YES* that includes all the plain ol' regular folks that get along with each other and quietly roll their eyes when someone dresses, talks, or acts in a manner which they do not consider "normal". I think it's fairly obvious to everyone by now that YES, these are the people IN POWER! Not just at the "high levels" of business and corporate, but throughout our society, DEFINING our society! Society itself is the enemy; society is nothing but an subconscious collective agreement between the "members" as to what is acceptable and what is not. And by defining what you can be, they limit you, limit your power, and TAKE AWAY YOUR SLACK!!
Yes, friends, it's truly US against THEM. We hate them, for stealing our Slack and turning life into a fucking board game - "Oops, didn't kiss enough corporate ass! Move back three spaces!" And they hate us, because... well, because we're better than them. I know you've looked around, and asked yourself, "Is everyone really this shallow, stupid, ignorant and naive, or is it me? Have I become so twisted and warped that I alone feel this hatred?" ...and you realize, "YES! It is me, and yes, I am a mutant, and MOST OF ALL, I AM NOT ALONE!"
We know what this country was like before they stole it from us and tried to sell it back to us for a profit! And we know the difference between kneeling down and bending over! The moron majority out there would have you believe that God put us on this Earth with a thousand different ways to enjoy ourselves, then declared that each and every one of them was a sin! Well, friends, "Bob" knows that the only way to be truly free of temptation is to give in to it completely! Choose your own path to salvation, OR damnation... or both! "Bob" will provide! See, "Bob" doesn't work for the forces of Heaven OR for the forces of Hell... "Bob" is the world's first Mercenary Savior! He works for your MONEY, friends, and that gives him the freedom to save your soul ANY DAMN WAY YOU WANT HIM TO!
The Conspiracy already HAS your Soul - lock, stock, and barrel - but "Bob" can sell it back to you! Unlike those other false religions - Christianity, Judaism, Scientology, Islam, Republican, Democrat - "Bob" Dobbs offers an ironclad guarantee.... ETERNAL SALVATION OR TRIPLE YOUR MONEY BACK!! Ha! Try getting that in writing from any of those other cults!
Some religions will whimper, "But... we give you salvation for free!"
Friends... you get what you pay for.
At any rate, their gods take their payment all right! They're paid with your blood, sweat, and tears! You get a personalized guardian angel watching over your shoulder for the rest of your life, making sure you haven't SINNED too much today, making sure you've KISSED GOD'S ASS enough today, making sure you're BEHAVING PROPERLY today... "Bob" Dobbs is the only savior that lets you BE ALONE. "Bob" doesn't give two shits about your sins. He doesn't even have the connections to get you forgiven. But what "Bob" WILL do for you is JUSTIFY your sins! He will RATIONALIZE your sins! "Bob" doesn't bring FORGIVENESS, he brings a divine EXCUSE! Fuck sin! Sin more! This religion has only ONE Sin, and that is the sin of serving the Conspiracy! ... Well, and the sin of not sending your money to the Church... and the 273 other sins listed in the books that we KNOW of, but we're still looking for more!
One of the central tenants of the Church of the SubGenius is that anything spouted by a member at any time, no matter how inane, automatically becomes true dogma. We also expect our enlightened members to SCHISM as soon as possible, forming their OWN church with their OWN dogma and spin on things! Of course, by no means does this mean they have to stop sending money to "Bob"! Remember: Your money, in your hands, is stagnant and tainted! Only by passing through "Bob"'s hands does it become purified! IF YOU'RE HAVING A PROBLEM WITH YOUR CASH FLOW, IT'S BECAUSE YOUR CASH ISN'T FLOWING TOWARDS "BOB"! Freeform religion? No, more of a do-it-yourself, while-you-wait religion. A malleable, disposable religion for the modern world. And "Bob" is a modern savior.
"Bob" does not expect you to follow him constantly - that would be selfish. "Bob" is a special type of savior; he is a SHORT DURATION PERSONAL SAVIOR. Yes, "Bob" wants you to take him into your heart, and take him into your mind, and take him into your wallet, for as long as you need him. Then when you're done, "Bob" wants you to THROW HIM AWAY! Your Short Duration Personal Savior can be ANYONE or ANYTHING, from the food you're eating to the person you're dating to the bleeding skull of Jon Benet Ramsey to YOURSELF, and they can last anywhere from a NANOSECOND to YOUR ENTIRE LIFE and you can have ONE, or a THOUSAND, or INFINITE saviors, concurrently, consectively, and recursively....
Yes, friends, "Bob" founded this Church on a solid base of SENSE: Common Sense, Sense of Humor, and Dollars and Cents. We SubGenii value sense over intelligence. Don't think the word "SubGenius" means "just below genius level"! SubGenius intelligence levels can range far, FAR below genius! See, we don't claim to have super-knowledge... instead, we excel at SUB-knowledge, knowledge of the undercurrents of reality - that which Pinks refuse to believe and secret masters refuse to reveal! Yes, friends, strange aliens DO have horrible plans for our world! What you don't know CAN kill you! THE WORLD ENDS TOMORROW AND YOU MAY DIE!!
Fortunately, WE... have a direct line to "Bob". As always, it's not WHAT you know, it's WHO you know, and my friends, we know "BOB"!! Yes, the world is a turkey and "Bob" gives you the carving knife! Not only is "Bob" a direct conduit to JHVH-1 himself, he's also in direct contact with countless aliens, and The Man Who Can Sell Anything has SWUNG A DEAL for us! Yes, "Bob" has found a way for us to survive the End Times, and all it took was the willingness to sell out every human being on the planet! A small price to pay, I think you'll agree. On that FATEFUL DAY that we call The Rupture... July 5th, 7 a.m.... Triple-X Day... yea, the saucers shall DESCEND FROM THE SKY and these "Men From Planet X" shall liberate the souls of every paid-up SubGenius, leaving the rest to fry in hell on Earth, burning in agony for their sins!!!
...<sniff>...I'm sorry... I just get so happy thinking about that.... but anyways...
We shall not weep when they are gone and we are living it up on the Alien Pleasure Saucers, no... for they have infiltrated and corrupted everything good in our lives! The Conspiracy has replaced "right" and "wrong" with "success" and "failure", terms that THEY can define as anything they want! You didn't make enough money last year? You don't look like that guy on that sitcom? You didn't get laid last night? I guess you FAILED, then! Never mind doing what makes you happy, what matters is whether you're following THEIR RULES for how to live your life, right? Face it! They've got you running around in circles, chasing your own tail and getting screwed over at every opportunity! Truth is, YOU CANNOT ESCAPE THIS, but you CAN choose WHICH WAY you want to get screwed! Some are fun!
"Bob" offers you a way out! "Bob" will joyously UPLIFT your soul... and "Bob" will gently WASH your mind... and "Bob" will lovingly LIGHTEN your wallet, easing your burden... and when it's all over, "Bob" will have GOTTEN YOU BACK YOUR SLACK! See, it's not even that hard to do... the Conspiracy doesn't even know what Slack IS; they just know that they don't want anyone else to have it! They're good at stealing it from you, but they don't know what to do with it... here's an analogy:
Let's say that your Slack is a delicious milk chocolate candy bar, sitting in your pocket, wrapped up in golden foil, just waiting to be eaten, mmmm. Now, you're walking down the street, candy bar in your pocket... you turn a corner, and suddenly, there's a plastic-surgery-enhanced topless supermodel rubbing her nipples - and you stare... and the Conspiracy sneaks up to you, steals the candy bar out of your pocket, and runs off again. ... Gotcher slack. ... But THEN... THEN... they'll round the corner a few blocks away... they'll pull the candy bar out of their pocket... they'll gently unwrap the golden foil from around the bar of delicious milk chocolate... and they'll PUT THE FOIL WRAPPER IN THEIR POCKET, and THROW THE ACTUAL SLACK AWAY! Because they wouldn't know TRUE SLACK if it came with full-color instructions and a flashing NEON SIGN hovering in front of their faces, spelling out S-L-A-C-K!!!
See, most people in this country are blind! They've got their eyes turned around in their heads... facing their brain instead of reality! And their eyes are looking right into the part of the brain that processes BULLSHIT. All they can see is BULLSHIT. "Bob" is a BASEBALL bat with the power to HIT THEM on the BACK OF THE HEAD, POP their eyeballs out, and let them settle in the right way! Friends, MOSES parted the SEA! OPPENHEIMER split the ATOM! But "BOB" CUT THE CRAP!!!
AND IT ALL COMES DOWN TO THE ONLY *TRUE* CENTRAL TENENT OF THIS CHURCH!
"FUCK 'EM IF THEY CAN'T TAKE A JOKE!"
And how do we do that? We channel the will of "Bob" and become WEAPONS FOR "BOB! YES, my friends, YOU are the BULLET and "Bob" is the GUN and nothing you do or say is going to change that, so it is up to YOU to decide what kind of bullet you are going to be! Are you going to be a dinky little .22 caliber BB? Or a piece of soft-leaded, aerostatic PEASHOOTER ammo? Or are you going to shape yourself up to be a MAGNUM-JACKETED, TEFLON COATED, SHAPED-CHARGED, SMARTLINKED, "COP-KILLER" WARHEAD FOR "BOB"?!? Picture the Rebel Gods watching your progress on an omnidimensional monitor! Watching as your face SLAMS into the weak spots of the Con and cripples a leg or mouth or netherhole! Cheering in macho, adolescent glee at the CRACKLE and POP of your flaming carcass setting the underbelly afire! Friends, while those pathetic PEASHOOTERS are clattering across the ground after their pathetic, flaccid attempt, you will be the highlight of Instant Replays across this MULTIVERSE!
And I don't care how lazy you are or how unaggressive you are; it doesn't matter! You don't have to pull the trigger or even look in the direction you're being shot - all you have to do is GET READY. Surround yourself with a jacket of PURE FORCE...a jacket of PURE SLACK! Build it up from within; let your Slack come out and OOZE around you until you can't walk down the street without strangers turning their heads and gasping at the...the...they don't know WHAT ("It ain't no smell...it ain't nothin' on him...it's just...uh...") It's SLACK! Surrounding you like the warm confines of a MAGNUM JACKET! They can't understand it, and it will give you the force to MATTER in the End Times.
Pump your powder to the limit; raise your caliber; FOCUS YOUR HATE! Hate the Con for what they are. Hate "Bob" for using you like the sheep you are. Hate your parents for making you the pathetic person you have been, will be, or are right now. Hate ME for putting you in your place. And hate YOURSELF for not hating ENOUGH! By slamming a lid of HATE down on the rest of the world, you can fly above it long enough to take that final shot right at the center of it and SHOOT TO KILL!
Cut right through the densest armor - let nothing stop you from sliding into the deepest vital points of your enemy - ruin their chances of deflecting your attack... PULL THE WOOL OVER YOUR OWN EYES! Relax in safety of YOUR OWN DELUSIONS! Everything you know is TRUE! You ARE superior to the pinkfux out there and your kind WILL prevail! It's all a joke...THE MOST IMPORTANT JOKE YOU WILL EVER HEAR, and GUESS WHO'S SUPPLYING THE PUNCHLINE. When you can THROW yourself into the murky realms of your own delusions, you have made yourself truly unstoppable.
Hone your Slack, focus your Hate, live your Delusions! Don't settle for being high caliber, become EX-caliber! Do you want to make a dent in an armor-plated fortification or do you want to EXPLODE in the air ducts of the enemy's fortress?
The hammer is cocked.
The chamber is loaded.
The finger is tensing.
It is YOUR MOVE.
Rev. Pee Kitty, of the order Malkavian-Dobbsian Meow!
"People love to be told what to do. They love not doing what they've been told even more. They love it the most when they are made to do it anyway."
'Frop (frop) n. [ATL Habafropzipulous] The only thing that can drop you
into the wading pool section of your own soul while the lifeguard's body
drips blood from the diving board into the water, creating a fractal
pattern dictated by an equation which has been built into your DNA code
since life began. Watch the pattern and learn next week's winning Lotto
numbers. [Webster-Dobbs, 3rd ed.]
Subject: Re: REPORT: Tampa Bay SubGenius Devival
From: Popess Lilith von Fraumench <lilith@ZubJenius.com>
Date: Tue, Nov 16, 1999 12:13 PM
Here are my notes for my rant, more or less as I actually did it. I
*always* leave room for improv, so this isn't a word-for-word copy. I
hate to read rants.
<Queue music: Beginning of Emperor's "Curse You All Men". Drums queue
bodyguards to assume front stage left, front stage right, five paces
from front center. Lil follows out on first cackle. Grab mike stand.
Eschew Nosallak, Tampa!
Can I get a 'Praise "Bob"' out of you? Can I get a 'Hail "Connie"'
out of you? Another 'Praise "Bob"'! Another 'Hail "Connie"'! Praise
'Bob,' Hail 'Connie'!"
<Repeat "Praise "Bob", Hail "Connie"" faster and faster. Scream
orgiastically, fade into Salute. Fan self, gasp for air.>
Whew... was it good for you too?
My dear fellow slackren, it is so good to lay eyes on this crowd. It
feels so good... I want to try something. Wanna try it too?
Now I had the privilege, back in May, of witnessing Pope David N.
Meyer in the flesh, giving what may well be his finest rant ever.
And as I watched this... MIRACLE WORKER... ply his talents, and
watched the audience WRITHE with Slack by sheer force of his VOICE
ALONE... that I realized something.
Wanna know what?
While watching Pope Meyer rant, I realized something, something
important. Ultimately, Meyer gets the most slack out of preachin'.
Never mind the ego, we're talking about the act of preaching itself.
Of spreading Slack to every SubGenius and licking the spatula clean
the whole time. THAT is why his preachin' is so goddamn good!
Now, this is my ninth year as a SubGenius preacher, not just a
minister, but a RANTER. Nine years since I first climbed up onstage
And after all these years, I still ask myself, each time,
Will anyone understand a damned thing I say?
When you're ministering you want to at least provide a few laughs,
let you relax and enjoy yourself for a bit, give you some food for
...Mayhaps, dare I say, let it INSPIRE you, yes, Slackren, to LASH
OUT at the very Conspiracy Of Normalcy itself! And from there,
Eternal Slack and Constant SexHurt for ALL SUPERIOR MUTANTS!
But YEAH, it's mainly for the laughs. No need to get THAT worked up
But that's my point. Because I feel kinda uptight before I get
onstage. Each time I preach I ask myself: WILL they laugh, at least
at the right places? WILL they get it, in their own way? WILL they
find Slack in my preaching?
But then, at my moment of doubt, I asked myself: Wait a second,
Popess Lilith. Do you get Slack out of preaching Slack?
And I said: Of course!
So I asked myself: Do you get Slack out of WORRYING about preaching
I said: Hell no! And why am I asking myself all these questions in
the first place?
And I said: EXACTLY!
So I said: Excuse me? Uh, what are you talking about, Popess Lilith?
I said: It's simple, really! It's what "Bob" told you!
And I said: OF COURSE! I'M RIGHT! How could you forget? "Bob" told me
to FUCK IT!!!
Can you say "Fuck it," slackren?
Then SAY IT! SAY IT NOW MY FRIENDS! FUCK IT!!!
"Fuck it" are the two most powerful words that a SubGenius can utter.
To paraphrase Goethe, "'Fuck it' has genius and power and magic in
it." They're the only TRUE magic words in the universe.
Through those words you will find eternal power AND internal peace.
Because you will be able to say "Fuck it" to that which keeps you
from GETTING that power and that peace!
No matter whether you are Emergentile or Rewardian, Hierarchite or
Bobbie, "Fuck it" is about as concise a definition of slack you will
So, if anyone asks you, "Reverend So-And-So, what is slack?" you tell
'em, FUCK IT.
Ultimately, however, even "Fuck it" can get dogmatic. That's fine,
because if you think about it, we're really not *that* different from
any other religion, now are we?
Of course we aren't! We do stupid things in the name of invisible
monsters so they don't hex our food, make the sky rumble, or just
outright kill us all, as the Sacred Scribe Rev. Ivan Stang pointed
out. Nothing unusual about that, I bet you've got relatives that
believe in one or more of the spooks.
Now, we KNOW that's what OTHER religions are like. That's because we
have Freedom of Religion in this country. But you know what? That
means we've got that freedom too! If THEY can believe any old
cockamamy story and act stupid for their religion, <wide-eyed> WE CAN
TOO, PRAISE "BOB".
If our spirituality requires us to, say, stuff a pumpkin full of
shaved squirrels, put it on a Pink's head, and gang-bang the pumpkin,
why, that's our RELIGIOUS DUTY! Mounting a pumpkin full of squirrels
is Approved By Dobbs and OK by Uncle Sam!
And then, if our dogma insists that we pack the used pumpkin into a
debeaked and broken-in Prairie Squid, then strap the Squid to our
faces and huff the fumes, then it is entirely constitutional! Because
"Bob" TOLD US TOO!
But, you know, friends?
It was "Connie"'s idea in the first place.
Speaking about sin...
It's only inevitable that, in your search to find true Yeti Mate
Oozquirt, you will have committed at least one act of Yeti-Human
bestiality. Friends, we must forgive ourselves our own trespasses.
"Bob" knew you did them, sure, but his attention span is blessedly
short, and his memory isn't much longer either. AND HE PORKED 'EM
Just don't MARRY one. Don't impregnate one, don't miscegenate, DON'T
cast good seed in bad swine! Nor bad seed in GOOD WINE! Keep naked
Dick out of the cold! BAG IT! "Bob" says so!
If you don't... you're a DUMBASS.
Now, let me tell you a little parable. Pope Sternodox Keckhaver of
Little Rock, Arkansas, had this neighbor by the name of Otis. Otis
was a 350-pound redneck who made his living driving a tractor while
eating Twinkies and drinking Diet Dr. Pepper, and who died of
congestive heart failure at the age of 29. Not exactly a role model,
I know, but before Otis died he taught Sterno an invaluable lesson.
One day, Sterno got one of those trendoid body-modification magazines
in the mail. You know the kind--full of piercings and tattoos and
what have you. But this issue had a full pictorial on the subject of
subincision. This is where you take a guy's dick... ARE YOU
FOLLOWING? ...And slit it right down the middle so it heals into two
Sterno sees this pictorial and thinks, "This will be good for
freakin' Otis out."
So he goes out front and calls out to Otis, who's repaving Sterno's
gravel driveway. "Hey Otis! C'mere, I wanna show you something!"
Otis climbs off his tractor with his snack cakes and his two-liter
bottle of diet soda, and lumbers over to Sterno.
"So, Otis... what do you think would make a man do THIS to his own
dick?" And he shows Otis the centerfold of a split dick.
Without hesitation, Otis looks Sterno right in the eye and says:
"'Cuz he's a DUMBASS."
And Sterno was utterly amazed! For he realized that, from this bovine
example of redneckery at its height, came the WISDOM OF THE AGES!
When that halfwit in the car he doesn't deserve cuts you off as
you're driving down the road, it isn't because of any Conspiracy
against you, it's CUZ HE'S A DUMBASS!!! When people pollute, or fear
sexuality, or vote for incompetants, it's not because of any evil
mass-media cabal running their lives, it's CUZ THEY'RE ALL
It's the Dumbasses versus the Shitheads, friends! But I'm not talkin'
any old shit. I'm talkin' bout the GOOD shit! I'm talkin' bout the
HOOOOOOOLY SHIT! I'm talking about the pure shit that spews forth
from the very bowels of J. R. "Bob" Dobbs! HUNGH!
Now, dear slackren, I want to pause for a second to discuss a subject
If you've ever heard me rant before, you may have noticed how often I
word "shit." Not exactly a lady-like word, don't you think?
So I've been thinking about this. I asked myself, "Popess Lilith, what
up with you saying 'shit' all the time? Is this some sort of
obsession? Do you have some sort of issue that's manifesting in your
words? Or are you just a damn potty mouth?"
And I mulled it over. And eventually I came up with the answer:
It's TRUTH IN ADVERTISING, friends. Ain't THAT right?
OH YEAH! Your FAMILY gives you shit! Your BOSS gives you shit! Your
FRIENDS give you shit! You get shit from STRANGERS! The GOVERNMENT!
The JONESES you're trying to keep up with! ME!!! And yes, even "Bob"
and "Connie" give you shit.
They can't help it! They're shaved monkeys!
Monkeys, slackren! Monkeys in a cage, just like at the zoo, flinging
shit at everyone!
Now it's true that we're part human, and therefore not much more than
shaved monkeys ourselves, but we are also part YETI! Superior
Mutants! The bastard children of sleeping gods! The rightful heirs to
this universe! And we don't have to take their shit!
And we don't just fling shit back at 'em either, friends! We build
TEMPLES out of the shit! We make shit OFFICES! We build shit
BUNGALOWS! Towers and malls and mobile homes, all made of shit!
Then we get the Pinks to settle into their new homes.
And we wait for the first *good rain*... to wash the shit and the
Pinks into the sewers, where they belong.
But you may be saying, "Popess Lilith, when's the rain gonna come? I
mean the REAL RAIN, the rain that's gonna wash all the Pinks and shit
down the sewers? That is to say... WHERE THE FUCK ARE THE XISTS?!?
"We've been waiting for the Pleasure Saucers of the Sex Goddesses for
a year and a half now! They were supposed to be here on July 5, 1998,
and they didn't show up THEN, and they didn't show up on July 5, 1999
Frankly, there's been a lot of EXCUSES invented since 1998. But I
think I have the answer.
Ever hear of G. Spencer Brown's book, *The Laws Of Form*? It's one of
the trippiest math books ever written. Seriously. It's MAJOR rip-off
In *The Laws Of Form,* G. Spencer Brown discusses a famous
topological problem called, "The Travelling Salesman Problem." And
while trying to answer it, he stated a very zen-like principle: "To
cross again is not to cross."
Bear with me for a second.
Now, July 5 has come around twice and the Xists have yet to manifest.
Therefore, we were DOUBLE-CROSSED! We were crossed in '98, and then
we were crossed again THIS year! And this means we never crossed to
begin with! Therefore, by divine logic, X-DAY NEVER HAPPENED! And
thus--the Xists HAVE to show up NEXT YEAR!
You must come to Brushwood Folklore Center in Sherman, New York, this
July! You know why?
You wanna know why?
Because that's when we throw our big Xist landing party, XXX-Day! For
this time WE'RE GOING HOME! EVEN IF WE GOTTA BUILD SPACESHIPS OUT OF
SODA CANS TO DO IT! HUMANITY WILL BE CRAWLIN' AND SUBGENII WILL BE
<Form XXX-Day salute bit-by-bit>
Cross 'em once... cross 'em twice, THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM!
Triple X Day! Get Off Or Get SCREWED! AMEN, HAIL "CONNIE," PRAISE
"BOB," AND GOOD NIGHT!
<Exeunt FAST. Bodyguards follow.>
====== Popess Lilith von Fraumench * http://www.foolspress.com ======
===== Stage Manager Of The EndTimes * Correctional Phrenologist =====
== Seattle SubGenii! We are the future! http://ssucc.ragnarokr.com ==
============== Mothers are the inventors of necessity. ==============
Subject: Tampa Devival Report Redux
From: HellPope Huey <Hueykins@troi.csw.net>
Date: Mon, Nov 15, 1999 9:09 PM
Oh SHIT, the blasting caps MISFIRED!!! Only HALF my head got blowed off!
Oh well, I'm sure P-Lil can pad out the hole with some pancake foundation.
("Look, its Darkman! What a mutilated HUNK!")
Ah, Tampa...I had a few trepedations initially, but I'm glad I followed
through. The smell of SULFUR even came out of my shirts on the first
washing, Yee "BOB!" I was really gratified. Fair enough proof that laboring
over some arcane, loathsome ritual in a dank corner of the back room can
have real-time merit in the light of day. Hell, that's how the Church got
If you can distract the Faithful from the ongoing turd-launchings of the
Pink world for a while and they get off on it, ye hast served Dobbs well,
thou good and paid-up servant.
Dobbsulent globs of t'anks to St. Kirk Bailey, Steve Slackopus, PeeKitty,
VT and various Tampa others; it was a blast and you did a great job,
especially for a first time gig. You guys give good DOBBShead, EIEIEIEI!!!
Hell, just ATTEMPTING to host a Devival indicates you're NUTS, so its always
a delight to see the INSANE win the day. Tampa has bitchin' Cuban
P-Lil, Susie, Papa Joe and Pee Kitty RANTED THEIR COLLECTIVE DAMN *ASS*
off! I lost 6% of my hearing, 12% of my remaining SOUL and 1/3 of my wallet.
Fuck the lost brain cells, Dobbs got his cut.
And the Fresh Prarie Squid were simply DIVINE, I tell you! I've still got
sucker marks on my cheeks! Remember, if you're ever drunk enough to try to
DRINK a 40-year-old 6-pack of beer you might stumble over, the BEAKS make
GREAT "CHURCH Keys!" Remember, if it ain't Tourette's Syndrome, its probably
HellPope Huey's Tongue Wrapped Around An Anvil,
HepMeh! Heeeeeeup! Eh, thyit!
I'll take 'Splintered Personalities Of The SubGenius for $400,'
"You no likee this show, you go see some OTHER glodamn show!"
-Tony Randall, "The 7 Faces of Dr. Lao"
"You always know what you're doing, according to Burroughs. Everyone sees
in the dark; the trick is to maneuver yourself into the position where you
can recognize what you see." - Ann Douglas, "Punching A Hole In The Big
Lie," preface to the William Burroughs compendium, "Word Virus"
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