It was a dark and stormy night ...
No, I mean it, it was a DARK and STORMY night! It was pouring sheets of rain outside, we could barely see to find the unloading ramp. All of the most EXPENSIVE preachers had shown up - I thought, until Stang started whispering evil thoughts in my ear about Pope Meyer showing up with a planeload of sycophants. The place was empty, I was tired, WE'RE ALL DOOOOOMED!
But ... perhaps I am getting ahead of myself. It seemed a shame to me that Boston was to be remembered on X-Day only for catching the puny last dribble of the Slack Crusades. I was determined that there would be instead a MIGHTY PLANTING of the SEED! This took two things:
lots of phone calls, and
a willingness to lose lots and lots of money. However, my calculations were that I wouldn't lose more than $1000. That is, until I heard about the Pope's Learjet. That really worried me, but then again - SO WHAT if I blow my life's savings? SO WHAT? I don't have any LIFE to SAVE them towards! The world is coming to an end so fast its sperm are wriggling up each other's anii. Why not spend my money the way that "Bob" would want me to - on "Bob"?
Anyway ... fetching Stang was a delightful chore, and casually strolling by the nervous drug-sniffing dogs at the Boston Airport while carrying a case of Bleeding Heads added a frisson of delight to the proceedings. Note to those who would have Stang as a house guest: a binder clip applied to his nose will prevent all snoring. Best if applied while subject is DEEP asleep. Residual scarring will not show up on the videocam. Of course, Stang had some pretty unsavory personal habits besides snoring. Every morning, he would get up and - well, you may find this shocking, but he'd take these beans that have been burnt, not in a fire but kinda charred, and soak bits of the beans in water and then DRINK THE WATER. It was totally bizarre and disgusting, also probably illegal. And it stank terribly. Yuck.
Legume was kindly unpacked from his carrying container by Modemac who delivered him already in working condition - and PRAISE STRANGE! The fabulous Pulpit arrived in time for the Devival! Meaning that I didn't have to drape a sheet over a barstool, or more likely over my head, to serve as a pulpit.
Alas, by the time Legume arrived, Stang had already snuck into my bedroom and had his way with a ripe, luscious piece of flesh: the pumpkin. It had grown the most appalling set of diseased white spots overnight, and was leaking some foul ichor. It was mutually decided to let the crowd handle its disposal.
It was when I was behind the sales table, with all the merchandise on display, all the banners out, the Pils in place, the pumpkin loaded and squealing, Pope Meyer & his bodyguard onsite (fortunately leaving the Lear at home) all the musicians in place and primed to anti-perform, that I felt the cold hand of NHGH close upon my soul. Some people had come in - about six. And I KNEW, to the bottom of my Foot Gland, that this was ALL the people that would show up.
(As it turned out, these six people were from BELGIUM and were filming a documentary about end-of-the-world cults. They chose a good place to start, eh?)
The next thing I knew was that there was a WALL OF PEOPLE in front of the sales table. Literally, I couldn't see past them! I could hear that the music had started, but all I could see were the people in front of me who were buying EVERYTHING! T-shirts flew out like rain, the cloisonné pins were gone in minutes, buttons were selling, books, a membership, TWO memberships, bumper stickers ... and then there was the little squinty man who insisted that he WAS "BOB" and that he had to know who "really" wrote the Book of the SubGenius because it was all about HIM - I told him that important news like that had to go straight to Jesus. I think he fell for it too.
Anyway, finally that inevitable back-up to any good Sales Table the 'show' started, and the crowd loosened up a little around the sales table, and I could finally see past the people packed solid in front of me to see - more people packed in solid behind those people. And more people. And more people.
Well - guess I wasn't doomed after all.
Unfortunately from an acoustic point of view I was not in quite the best position, as there were pillars between me and the stage and often the preacher's words were garbled in the echoes. Plus it was a NOISY, HAPPY, SLACKFUL crowd that was shoutin' to beat the band. The band beat back. Stang dispensed the Pils quite nobly from the bucket I usually use to hold my mop. I still wonder who got the fishhook ... And the pumpkin, disease and all, was a HIT! As it started flying across the room, the little squirrels heads poking out of the dick-holes staring in terror, like tiny furry Cosmonauts at the hands of the Brogdignagians, I was thinking "NO WAY is THIS making it into 'SubGenius:The Movie'." Now, whenever I see a lupus-speckled punk in Harvard Square, I'll know that it's a fellow Devival victim.
Much praise has been heaped upon my head for this Devival, but seriously: the profit was all mine. I mean the pleasure. And one of those pleasures was to meet in the Yeti-flesh the GREAT Pope David Meyer. Many a videotape of him had I watched in awe, and to have this workhorse of Slack come THUNDERING onto the stage, breath aflame - well, it was sincerely heart-stopping. Any Slack that I may have sent his way can only be a fraction of what he has EARNED with his brilliant, blasphemous preachings. And after Meyer, and Legume's debut (another Memorex moment as I had a fit of selling come over me), and the brilliant anti-music of Slackbangers, and Stang's Earth Anthem bit which always sounds like it's hysterical but which I can never hear - the great BROTHER CLEVE ripped one off the face of "BOB" and spit it back in our faces! His obscene, lean & fightin' mean rant carved a GRIN in the flesh of the Conspiracy dupes in the audience! Meanwhile I was SELLING OUT of things! I sold out of memberships, sure, but - I was selling out of BOOKS! I sold out of VIDEOTAPES - and some T-SHIRTS! These were people ready, willing and able to buy Dobbs' SHIT - and they'd pay EXTRA for the PEEN WORMS! They put money in the DONATIONS BOTTLE!
And I was GIVING STUFF AWAY! Yes, a kind SubGenius (myself) had donated a case of X-Files Graphic Novels (and some Babylon Five as well) to the proceeds, and whoever bought more than $20 worth of stuff got a free book! Anyone who bought ANYTHING got a free bumper sticker! Slack was oozing out of the audience from the goods they clutched, even as my cash box ran over with money. I had to sit on the damn thing to get it closed at the end of the evening.
And then - it was over. O-o-o-over. And after getting lost in Roxbury (not our ride's fault) I walked into my kitchen and found FOUR SubGenii camped out there, including Rev. Strange (who had driven up and PRAISE "Bob" would be driving the pulpit back) and Legume. Apparently the look on my face was more than ordinarily amusing. It seems that Rev. Strange got a little lost, then very lost, then totally and completely lost - and when he GAVE UP, he discovered that he was within two blocks of my house. I guess it's what "Bob" wanted ... but did "Bob" really want us all to have to share the same futon? The Rabbi was a pleasant pillow, but Stang's bony ass kept poking me in the back, right where I had a dent from lugging the pumpkin from the market the previous weekend ... and in the morning I think they ALL wanted to drink burnt bean water.
I took them out to eat.
And then sent them home on their various way, apart and together. Thank "Bob" it's OVER! And - it is the LAST. I'll never have to throw another one of THESE. Unless ... on the saucers ... they want me to ... NOOOOOO!
And now that we've handed around the praises, let's hand around a few more to: BETSY SHERMAN! Who got a SEVEN-paragraph promo blurb into the Boston Globe on the day of the Devival, undoubtedly doubling our attendance! PRAISE BETSY!
THE MIDDLE EAST! Who did send our publicity to and fro upon the Internet, and kept the crowd stoked and smoked! Praise the waitstaff! Praise the quarterstaff!
BILL T. MILLER! Not just for his magnificent musical performances, but his behind-the-scenes string-pulling to get Slackbangers live on stage - and his frequent counseling to a certain frazzled Devival organizer on How These Club-Things Work.
- Friday
http://www.tiac.net/users/fjones
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Original file name: Friday's Boston Devival
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