Friday Jones' Report: Atlanta SubGenius Devival '97 HAVING A BLAST

The Atlanta Devival

Produced by Rev. Susie the Floozie and Dr. Jim Charnitski

May 10, 1 BX at CRC

ReSpew by IrReverend Friday Jones

Photos by "Lamar" -- Captions by Rev. Susie the Floozie

It was the Thursday before the Atlanta Devival that I decided I just had to go. I didn't have any plans; I'd made no preparations; I just showed up at the airport and went. Praise be to the Internet, for plane schedules! Praise be to the Olympics, for giving Atlanta a public transportation web site that led me right to the Devival door! I knew everything would be all right when I noticed that the passenger in front of me was covered with BUMPS and had one eye lower than the other. A good omen. Bouncing merrily along, I got to Atlanta (nice airport, got its own little train system), and thence to the subway, and the bus, and the large and finely appointed CRC Bar and Eatery. Where I discovered - that I was there before anyone else. Of course. It's always like that; practically a Friday stereotype.

When the Devivalists finally walked in, they blithely paraded right past me as they went to admire the stage, the fine effects lighting, the projection video system and the many speakers. It was only as Jesus was walking to flog on the Bobbies in unloading the equipment that he noticed that Bobbie at the bar was, in fact, a Boobie - me. One by one, it percolated through the Devivalists that I'd flown from BOSTON just to lend a helping hand.

"You came!" exclaimed Stang, with an expression that mingled glee, lust and sheer astonishment.

Well of course I did; I'm a SubGenius and I can COME whenever I feel like it! That's a good Church motto, "Come Whenever You Want With "Bob"." One rich old man whose impotence drives him to try ANY solution would give LOTS more money than any five impoverished SubGenii can muster.

Soon the undulicious Rev. Susie the Floozie and I were exchanging mating calls whilst she hung up her gleaming Dobbshead comet, to be joined by dancing Dobbs skeletons in due course. The stage was soon ornamented to look like a lush tropical jungle, befitting the Devival's Krakatoa theme.

Rev. Rock-In-Hand (a rock is the softest thing his hand has ever held, believe me) and the soon-to- be-deflowered Dr. Legume inspected the edifice and deemed it worthy. The fine CRC band Pee Dog Night was preparing their instruments of mayhem, murder and music.

Meanwhile I set up the sales table right under the video screen, and was delighted to discover that the esteemed Papa Joe Mama would also be selling his wares, the infamous Home Study Tapes and the unnerving Icons, at the very same table. And this time around I'd be right next to the stage and could see all the action!

Well, I could if I leaned around the towering bank of speakers. And ducked under the inflatable Godzilla looming at my shoulder. But anyway, at least I could smell the preachers properly.

After the CRC's fine cook tried his hand at an impromptu filet de Bobbie (which came out quite nicely, thank you) and the Devivalists stoked their internal fires, it was practically time to open the doors, admit the ravening SubGenius flood - and let the sales begin!

And a fine lot of sales they were! Atlanta was practically starving for "Bob"'s outstretched hand to accept their money, because they bought dozens of books, hundreds of buttons and tapes, tens upon tens of T-shirts. We ran out of half of the swag, and could have used about THREE TIMES as many Membership Packets! Papa Joe Mama was assembling his icons as fast as the crowd bought them - some people bought a set of ALL SEVEN! Praaaaise BE to the Saint of Sales!

I literally could NOT CLOSE the cash box at the end of the night, it was so full of money! I had to duct-tape the blessed thing shut and then give it to Jesus - and try not to snicker when he nearly collapsed from the weight.

As the Devival began, the projection video system fluttered the endless "Bob"-orgasm of ARISE over my head as the noble Jesus Christ took the stage to explain SubGenius 101 as only the Son of God can. I soon realized that the frightening-looking man lurking about the sales table in his leisure jumpsuit was none other than Dr. Dynasoar - I didn't recognize him without his dress! How embarrassing. And while the majestic tones of Papa Joe Mama rolled over the crowded room, I was alas trying to tell two earnest Christian girls that of course I believed in Jesus - wasn't He right up there in the sound booth, cussing the disobedient DAT equipment to Hell and back? And in fact, He was looking for some groupies to share that back-stage shower and waterbed with ... They scampered off. Too bad.

As Circus Apocalypse was unable to attend (saving themselves up for Ydnax's GRADUATION PARTY) their freakshow function was filled by a party of lively contortionists, Ensemble For Plastic, who had deft feet, symbolic tattoos and very tight shiny leotards. And they hula-ed very well late into the night. Perhaps their contortions were not up to the level of a Shaolin monk or Buster Keaton. But then, I'll forgive almost anything of people wearing very tight shiny leotards.

Susie Sez: ACROPERVS: Gene splicing fun! Just for kicks, the Doktors created several new forms of inconvenient mutations, including this daring genito-spinal Siamese bonding! (I later had to drive these guys home because they couldn't fit in their Honda Civic.)

The noble Dr. Legume strode forth to SMASH the very nuts of the Conspiracy under his feet, even as he shattered the Earth itself with a single blow. Let us all wish a long and FERTILE marriage to the Bad Doctor, and hope that many children shall make golden his grey years.

The sin-tillating Susie took the stage, and it yielded utterly to the grasp of her velvet tongue. The crowd went wide and Susie slipped right in, planting that seed-word of "Bob" firmly between their soft tender ears. She was a cloudburst in a bustier, a thunderstorm on white white thighs. Susie came and we all came too. Praise "Bob."

FLOOZE: I really thought it was safe to keep little Puggsley, my favorite of the face-fucking bats, with me in the dressing room if I had him leashed. I mean, it seemed so harmless, so Zsa Zsa-by-way-of-Elvira! How could I have known--? Too bad about Dr. Dynasoar. (See photo below)

While Dyna was regaling the room with his musical repertoire, I was suffering the anguish of whoever runs the sales table at Devivals - the better the person on stage, the lower the form of Bobbie who comes to buy and tithe. All of the interesting, tasty Bobbies are watching the good rants and events while only the Pinkest, most brain-dead ones shuffle over to the table, spending an hour picking out just the right button. And of course, I'm not talking about YOU, naw, must mean somebody else.

The crowd was electrified when Stang revealed how he had spent his previous evening after carousing with Legume at his bachelor party - he had visited the unmarked grave of JONBENET RAMSEY and stolen letters that people had left there for the poor dead little lass! Letters that he proceeded to read on stage! Letters threatening the most intimate harms to those who had snuffed the little blonde Barbie-babe, and protestations of love - from GOD! I was heartily impressed. Stang had done something that even offended ME.

Of course, I was the one who would later suggest (over breakfast no less) that JonBenet should have been buried in a glass-covered coffin so that people could dig down and watch her rot through the lid ...

The earth shook, the skies grew thick with sparks, and suddenly, the VOLCANO ERUPTED! And the HEAD, the veritable BLEEDING HEAD OF ARNOLD PALMER was cast aloft in a pillar of fire!

SUSIE SEZ: *Lest any doubters scoff!* The Head is glimpsed actually hurtling from the volcanic bowels of the earth, a split second after the tumultuous eruption.

You could smell the flesh sizzling as the Head was laid upon the battered shell of the Earth for Papa Joe Mama to launch. From my vantage point I could mainly see Papa Joe's gaily swiveling ass as he did his best golfer impression - not that I minded, mind you. If only he'd been wearing the very tight shiny leotards ... The Head was launched, the world still spun. Still more time to save souls for "Bob."

Susie Sez: A seemingly lucky seeker makes the Catch of the Day. His exposed areas (head, hands, legs, genitals) had to be buried in lead cannisters beneath the CRC Club's private bunker--but it didn't stop him from partying on into the night, cramming pils and burning wads of frop down his neckhole.

Susie had warned me earlier about "things flying around" and the "antidote", but I didn't quite realize what she was talking about until Stang started talking on the stage about face-fucking bats. FFBs? Here? In a crowded room? What sort of a monster would - ulp!

It was on me before I could set my teeth against it, wings fluttering around my ears, huge barbed penis plunging into my tender mouth. In and out it rasped, and blood and less wholesome emissions started trickling down my throat. Screaming (well gurgling) in agony, I managed to hurl myself from behind the table and desperately crawl towards the stage, where Susie was a vision of healing with the tube of Face-Fucking Bat Sperm Antidote Pudding nestled in her divine cleavage.

Susie Sez: The Face-Fucking Bats Take Their Dread Toll! Witness bizarre light phenomena as Brother EZ Mark, Rev. Friday Jones, and Vox Mutantis thrash, their esophageal penetrations spurring them to greater convulsive heights!

As I felt the scorching poisons of the bat-sperm soak into my flesh, burning it, searing my nerves, suddenly Susie was astride me. With a few deft blows to the chest, and a sip of the Pudding, I was purged. I crawled away to under the table, and took a quick catnap amongst the T-shirts. The residue of the sperm and Antidote coursed through my system for the rest of the evening (now early morning) making everything strange and vague. I remember a new pillar of fire arising from the volcano, and speaking in the dulcet tones of Robby the Robot.

Susie Sez: Pictured just before I rammed the vial between my tits and administered Extreme Uggghnction to poor Brother Ximo of "Ensemble for Plastic." Tragically, it was too late...his bat-ravaged body had to be doused in gasoline and burned in the parking lot afterwards. Just don't ask "After WHAT?"

Susie Sez: Puggsley sure took a likin' to the Ol' Dok. Luckily, the full-throatal reaming didn't slow down his singin' later that night. But we had to pump him so fulla' antidote pudding that it was drippin' out of every orifice. Tasted pretty good, too. At least, uh, that's what I *heard*...

I remember a pair of large hairy testicles being cupped in Susie's palm - and then severed! I remember the skeletons on the wall proving that they had 208 bones in their body - and one bone up the Conspiracy's ass! I remember singing a song with Stang, and bouncing him on my lap just like a lively little tuxedo-clad puppy. I remember women with phone cables for hair, and drunkards with no hair. I remember that which I want to forget. I forget that which I want to remember ...

It was during breakdown of the vast stage set that Stang's impassioned lust for the inflatable Godzilla was finally consummated. I was trying to deflate the dear thing, and just as I found the large, rigid air-release nozzle, Stang found the cloaca. With one mind, we hurtled ourselves on the slick green vinyl, forcing the air out of it, ravishing the King of the Monsters over and over again. "Oh Friday, it's even better than IRC!" Stang wailed. I was out of breath with panting. We humped and humped and humped until Godzilla was shriveled down to nothing. Then I rolled it up and shoved it into its own box while Stang moaned in relief. Hopefully the various stains will have dried before Susie unrolls the Godzilla again. Whew. What an experience. I'll never look at a scaly tail the same way again. Even Stang's scaly tail.

After the eighteen-wheeler was packed, it was time to proceed to the after-Devival Debauch. I had no real objection to being blindfolded on the drive to Susie's house; security you know. Making me drive while I was blindfolded was a rather novel experience however. Jesus claimed it was to test how well I surfed the Luck Plane. Following the shouted and often contradictory instructions, I actually did make it to Susie's! And I'm sure that those things I ran over were just speed bumps. At least, that's what the Devivalists said they were. But they were snickering an awful lot ...

Susie's house, nay PALACE, is a monument to the living idol of pulchritude that is Susie herself and her fellow Bad Girls. Every wall seemed to breathe beneath the weight of dazzling female flesh in paint, ink, photo emulsion and brain-tanned skin. Reptiles of dubious extraction slithered underfoot, and the basement was overflowing with records of every breed and color.

Artists you never heard of - artists you never wanted to hear - "artists" who were beyond "art" - and Bernard Herrmann!

Naturally I was called upon to "pamper" the sore flesh of the Devivalists.

Why, poor Jesus' hands were nearly raw from picking up and carrying the heavy weight of that cash box. Really. Of course, I can't go into details ... I'm sure you wouldn't be interested anyway. There's something very special about being held firm under a man's weight while watching Robert Tilton sputter and smile on TV. Just thought I'd mention that. A non sequitur.

And finally, the violent intimacies of saying good-bye. Over and over I chanted the mantra "See you in two months ... two months ..." I'm sure that any Pinks looking on thought that we were the contortionists.

It was WORTH it damnit. It probably would have been worth it if I'd had to fly to TEXAS. Where else could I get such sheer good fun? And BAD fun too, dirty fun, nasty fun .... heh heh heh, green straps ... Godzilla ...

Susie Sez: Ah, this one is lovely, but GEE,Stang! Thanks for holding your stupid tapedeck over my tits. You just lost the Church another million from the wealthy titfreaks on the 'Net. Ah, hell--just Photoshop 'em in. And make 'em even BIGGER.

Don't Miss These Bonus Extra Pages with more Sick Illustrations!

Chat transcript: Stang reports on ATLANTA DEVIVAL '97 on Sunday IRC Devival, the night after, still sleepless -- includes transcripts of haunted letters to Jon Benet Ramsey, stolen from her grave and lurid descriptions of Joker Strippers

Rev. Rock-In-Hand's Atlanta Devival Report pt.I: Legume's Bachelor Party; More Joker Strippers

Stang Report on Susie the Floozie's Face Fucking Bat Sperm Antidote Pudding Dispensation from alt.slack

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