Mah name... is Popess Lilith von Fraumench. Ah am th' last survivor of
Th' Battle Of Brushwood, also known as Stang's Last Stand. Turn on that
Zip drive! Start savin' mah posts....
That's kind of how I felt on X-Day Morn, certifiably one of the few who
actually stayed up until 7 AM on July 5. There was absolutely no
fucking good reason for it; I should have slept and saved my energy and
firewood for the next night, when we'd all stay up for the morning
Drill. Still, I had done it. So had Pope Phred, who had wondered over
to the pagans' all-night drumfest.
I wonder just how many drunken SubGeniuses had wondered over to the
pagans' camp anyhow?
I had my priorities straight: Get warm. Get clean. Get fed. Get rested.
Repeat As Needed. The first two were rectified by a hot shower and a
change of clothes. I waited *almost* patiently for breakfast. (Remember
what I said about breakfast last time?) Then, having eaten, I shuffled
back to the camp, where I might have done something besides crash
immediately--but I don't recall if I had.
That meant I missed the baptismal. That was a bummer, in many ways.
Still, even with Susie and Siouxsie and Friday and many other women
present I should have felt comfortable. In fact, the last time I was
baptised I also got to watch my pastor amble out of the font and start
stripping to his pubic hairs. That was a truly traumatizing experience.
So I guess I had a few hang-ups about attending the baptismal, anyhow.
If you think I'm bashful about my transsexual body, however, then you
haven't been over to my house. Clothing are made to accentuate comfort
and appearance. When they fail to do either, you may as well go about
bare-assed. And indoors, with decent lighting, clothing fail me.
When I awoke I found myself scrambling for a watch. Then I recalled
Friday night's events with more clarity. Ah, that's right, Legume
started a bonfire and invited everyone to burn accursed Conspiracy
artifacts. My contribution was--my watch.
Bloody thing was ugly and tended to stick in Military Time, anyhow.
It must've been getting close to time for the wrestling, I figured.
Yesterday Pastor Craig had asked if I could be his bodyguard for the
match. Only if you don't mind me cheering on Jesus when he makes a good
move, I said. We shook on it. Now that my eyes were freely opening and
closing again, I got dressed in my standard lesbian-terrorist
getup--olive tank top, black sweats gathered at the boottop, and of
course the jump boots. I brought my correctional phrenology tools and
my watergun, along with all my electronics gear.
When I arrived Stang and Susie were getting warmed up and oiled down. I
started taking pictures. The recorder was going. And I got the best
moments of the hot-oil wrestling between Stang and Susie/Friday.
I'll scan these as soon as I set up my computer again. Sit on your
hands or something.
I spent the afternoon transferring images from TheCharlie's digital
camera to my laptop, then to TheCharlie's Bernoulli drive. I also
prepared material for that evening's rantings. Let's see, what can I
trim from "The Brag Of The Transgendered SubGenius"? Ooh, if I make the
text font large enough I can set this laptop up as a TELEPROMPTER.
But the time had come for The Ugly Parade to gather. Stang offered
masks for those who felt they were not ugly enough. I grabbed the
Overman mask; with that I made the nut. Besides, except for putting on
my S.P.(U.T.U.)M. shirt and hat I hadn't changed clothing since
arriving at the Pavilion.
I had some fun with that mask.
At the end of the Ugly Parade we met at a table set for thirteen. Could
only mean one thing: It was time for Jesus' Last Supper, Part Two. We
raffled off seats earlier, and now the drawing began. I didn't win.
Considering that fishsticks and Yahoo substituted for bread and wine, I
didn't mind that much. And when Jesus showed what happened to the
fishsticks while they dethawed, I was praising Dobbs.
It was about that time that Jesus was abducted by Legume. We followed
the car as well as we could but by the time we caught up with them
Jesus was already nailed and lashed to the cross. There was blood
everywhere. I got some on me.
"I went to the X-Day Drill, and all I got was The Blood Of The Lord on
Sure, some of the blood *might* have been fake. But thanks to Legume I
can assure you that, by the time Jesus surrendered his spirit, there
was plenty of the REAL THING dripping off that cross.
Meanwhile those of us on the ground began The Usual. We were cracking
P-Lil: Hey Jesus, how many Jesii does it take to screw in a light bulb?
Jesus: *dejected sigh* How many?
P-Lil: "What, with my hands like THIS?"
We sang "Nah-nah-nah-nah, hey-hey, good-bye". Somebody TIPPED JESUS,
and stuck the dollar right in Jesus' U.S. Flag britches. Someone
brought forth shaving cream pies, and the crowd made sure Jesus was
well-lathered. I stepped up and drew a smiley-face through the shaving
cream on Jesus' stomach. As expected Jesus got thirsty, and Legume
helped out with a face full of squeezed bottled water. It was revealed
that the cross was loaded with explosives, and a small test bang went
off. We gambled for Jesus' clothing. And when He finally gave up the
ghost, I bought a piece of the rope used to lash Jesus to the
cross--and I used the tipped dollar to pay for it.
The body went into the trunk, and Stang was roughly pushed into the
back seat of the car. Some say Dobbs was in the back seat as well.
Legume drove off with an evil grin on his face.
So how is it that Jesus yet posts to alt.slack? Ah, but you must have
FAITH. After two thousand years you think Jesus would have enough
practice with ressurrection that it wouldn't take him three whole days
anymore, right? I myself witnessed Jesus Christ Himself rising from the
trunk after THREE MINUTES. He's getting better, I tell you. And all but
one wound--his foot--had healed. No more of that bloody stigmata
I dropped back by the camp before heading back to the pavilion. It was
getting cold, and Kevan lent me his coat to help keep me warm. A true
gentleman, Kevan. I take back every mean, vindictive thing I ever said
about his barbecue.
I passed the remaining moments of Bleeding Head Disco Soccer in the
fields and hunkered down backstage at the pavilion. This time around I
was going to get the whole night on mike. I also needed to make sure my
laptop was ready. A crowd had formed at the other stage, by the
crucifixion scene, and the band Succor was playing ravey tunes. Not bad
for a bunch of Dobbs-damned technohippies. It's not that
"mind-altering" music is BAD--it's just that I prefer the stuff that
invokes Shiva, or Y'Geartal, or even EeHeegEeHeen. The other stuff
gives me a headache.
Susie was there, and we continued our flirting and cuddling. At one
point she confessed she did not feel like going on. I reached back on
my knowledge of magick and performance and asked her to try something
to help. Her eyes were beginning to water. She was not feeling up to
the task. She had performance anxiety. I held her for a while, trying
to stir up a bit of idle slack in the area. Then she left for a quick
trip to her cabin.
Susie didn't go on until half-way through the program, and I was near
the end. And tonight was a more musical event, with Steve Slack, Jehova
Hates Phred, King Of Slack, DK Jones, Absent, Dr. Dynasor, and a crowd
of dozens to accompany. I got lots of dancing in. Interestingly enough,
during Jehova Hates Phred's set the power went out three times. We
determined we were overloading one of the circuits and reconnected
wires to a more isolated power strip. Legume took advantage of the
darkness and set the cross on fire. When it went up practically
everyone noticed immediately. I even heard a faint "whoosh" as it burst
into flame. But soon we had all the speakers reconnected to power and
it looked like we'd be able to finish the show.
Susie was great, by the way. We all were great. Pee Kitty's
pulpit-destroying rant following my own was most impressive. Farmers
complained to Jesus that we'd curdle the cow's milk if we weren't
quieter. Unidentified Flying Amish buzzed the campgrounds, shaking
their fists at us and cursing in Pennsylvanian Dutch. A thick fog
descended. A bullet collection was started for Dr. Legume, who was so
touched he shed tears. Jehova Hates Phred completed their set of Pink
Phred's The Con without any more power outages. The stars were aligned,
and the black blood of the earth sang "Bob"'s name for the ears of the
At the appointed hour I climbed onstage and let loose:
YEEYEEYEEYEE! I am the Yeti Hermes, fucker!! I wear
36-inch heels and I paint my toenails with the Blood
of the Fucking Lamb!!!
I gave Tula her first beauty lesson and I showed Wendy
Carlos how to play my organ!
I put the MOOOOOOAN into "hormone", bitch, don't dare
fuck with me! PeeDog and I took turns on top and I
made him slurp up the mess!
For I am the Sex Goddess Bitch STUD from the 10th
Bardo, just try to keep "up" with me! My meatsword has
its own fleshy scabbard, baybee -- REAL close to home!
I'm man enough to be God, and you know She is a
I fart with CHARM, motherfucker! I burned my
bra and the damn breast forms with it! My knockers
KNOCK LOUDLY, and I got a throbbing member that
Wotan turned into a Prairie Squid to rape me... HIS
I wear lead-lined lingerie under my see-through
kimono! I seined Cthuhlu from the Mariana Trench with
my fishnets -- AND I DIDN'T TAKE THEM OFF FIRST!
My sex chromosone is XXX! I threw in a couple of Ys
I get PMS for laughs, it feels good feeling that
bitchy, it makes my balls itch!
I scoop smegma from my clit hood and feed it to the
Archangels! They can't make a jockstrap big enough,
strong enough, or pretty enough for my Holy Scepter,
you best believe it!
I took the Infra-Red Woman of the SubGenius to bed and
made a MAN out of her! I don't use electrolysis on my
facial hair, I use kerosene and a matchstick, hon!
I had a threesome with the Dobbses... "Connie" suckled
my UPPER half and "Bob" hoovered my LOWER HALF!
WAAAAAHOO!! NheeGhee is my gaff, he tucks in my bulge
with tender loving care!
Talk shows, MY ASS! I'm fucking syndicated! I'm
crazier than Dr. Frankenfurter and funnier than Pat
Riley -- and I taste better than both of them! Even
I'm a lewd spectacle of wanton depravity, I AM A
VISION OF MACHO FEMININITY, eunuchs get hard over me!
They mistook me for a virgin in Guadalupe and I rained
manna on them from my nether bits! Drag queens PRAY to
me! They beg me not to kill them!
The feminists banned me for being too ladylike, and
the Men's Movement is afraid I'll make them look like
wimps! I tear planets asunder without chipping a nail!
Who'll stain their skin with my lipstick? Who'll put a
leash on this he-bitch?? I DARE YOU to figure me out!
My genitals are modular, my crotches swap out in a
snap! Hot damn! I am the Yin-Yang made flesh and
knocking at your door, Pink "Boy"!
I say, FUCK hormone pills, I drink raw piss straight
from pregnant mares for my estrogen, and I spit the
dross in the Devil's eye! I am the reason Jesus has
long hair and wears robes, and I sheared His head to
make my panties!
I entered Milton Berle in a wet t-shirt contest and
walked away with the prize money! I did burlesque with
GWAR! We stripped PAST the skin, sugar! AIEEEE!
I stuff tomatoes and peppers past my labia and churn
salsa out my pisshose! When they ask me what's my sex
I scream in their crusty faces, "I AM ALL SEX,
I am the envy of bulldykes, the dick that slaps MY
thighs is a God unto myself, when I masturbate, people
mistake me for Shiva and Kali bumping ugly!
My soprano pierces the ears of DOGS, and my basso
shakes skyscrapers in San Francisco! I get my perfume
from the musk glands of a wolverine, while it's alive
I told P. T. Barnum I'd never be in his freak show,
and he gave me a cool million out of relief!! Treat me
like a lady, or just fucking KILL ME!!!!!
I'll be dancing with Nunu light-years from the earth
when the Conspiracy gets its genderfuck! They'll never
even touch the hem of my skirt! Now move from that
mirror before I rant again!!
<taken from my laptop's notes>
The crowd loved it. Even Jesus, who had resumed managing right after
being crucified, thought I had a good rant, and he invited me to join
him and others at the hottub later. Ah, but that's a bit too Hollywood
for this gal.
I wish I took him up on the offer, because this night was the coldest
yet. I found myself getting up from Saint Pickle's campfire to check on
the Pavilion, just so I can keep moving and work up some warmth. I
helped Bill T. Miller pack up his gear and move it back to his car, and
we got caught up on some of the things going on in our lives. Then I
returned to the campfire and tried to stay awake.
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