Today's Topics:
True Tales of the Brendan Behan Pub
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Update on the Signs Of The End Times
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[OK, OK, relax. Another slave of "Bob" has been found to take over the
Immoderatorship. Nothing like threats and ultimatums to get some
action out of you lazy geeks. This IS an old-time religion, after all.
-- Rev Travers, soon-to-be-former Immoderator]
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Message-Id: <199505161851.AA045920294@netmon.marcam.com>
Reply-To: trevay@marcam.com
Date: Tue, 16 May 1995 14:51:32 -0400
To: Gerry Harbison <gerry@wendigo.unl.edu>, Subgenius@mc.lcs.mit.edu
From: Tom Revay <trevay@marcam.com>
Subject: True Tales of the Brendan Behan Pub
Cc: trevay@marcam.com
True Tales of the Brendan Behan Pub
Volume XIV, Episode 4
"You can always tell a Cork man,
but you can't tell him much."
Our man, Eoin (pronounced "Owen") Patterson, is belly up to the bar, his
pint before him. Eoin's a good man, despite the fact that he kicks with the
left. He's a social worker by day, and pub itinerant by night, often found
resting at the Behan with a copy of the Boston Herald. He begins speaking:
"Ya see yer man down the bar, the one with the spikey blonde hair, there?
He's been comin' here since I've been comin' here, and that's since
eighty-nine. Now, Mick's his name. And Mick's from Cork.
"I'm in here about a month or so ago, and there's yer man, Mick, over in
the corner, cryin' inta his pint. Me mate Dan is with me, and he says,
like, why not go have a word with yer man? Sez I, sorry, I finished me
work, now I'm drinkin' me pint. Well, fuck, sez me mate, I'll go have a
word with him. Aff ya go, son, sez I.
"So I'm readin' Hagar the Horrible, and I hear this god-fuckin'-awful noise
comin' out'a the corner. I see me mate Dan over there, shoutin', well
fuck, then, just fuckin' do it, ya know? Ya gonna aff yerself, then quit
talkin' and just fuckin' do it! So I figure I better go over there.
"I go over and say ta me mate, Dan, ya gotta go about this kinda stuff a
little easier than ya are. It does yer man no good ta shout so at 'im.
But Dan's goin' now, he's not listenin' ta me.
"Says Dan, ta Mick, ya gonna top yerself or wha'? How much money d'ya have
in yer bank account? Says Mick, I got a hundret twelve dollars.
"Well then, Dan says, I'll bet you one hundret twelve dollars yer not gonna
top yerself. Mick looks at him, and says, right, is that it, then? I'm
goin', I'm goin' home ta do it! And Mick stomps out'a the pub.
"Dan, I say, ya shouldn't a' done that. Says he, he's not gonna do it.
Plus, I can't lose -- if he doesn't, I'm a hundret twelve dollars richer,
and if he does, I won't have him ta fuckin' listen to, feeling pathetic
about himself, and his girlfriend gettin' married to this crazy feller.
"Mick, y'see, was seein' this woman from Adelade, in Australia. She's
illegal, ya know, and about three weeks after they start gettin' ta know
one another, she's movin' in ta his house. An' about three weeks after
that, they have some kinda god-fuckin'-awful fight about Christ knows what.
"In the midst of the fight, Mick says, that's it, I'm goin' down the pub.
And he's walkin' out the door.
"Mick, now he has quite a collection of old record albums, new wave stuff,
like. Old Police, the Clash, a bunch'a Pistols albums, that kinda stuff.
And as he's comin' out the door, he sees all these record albums get heaved
out the winda, onta the front garden. She's really lost it, ya see. So he
shrugs, figures there's nothin' ya can do right now, and goes ta the pub.
"When he comes home, yer woman from Adelade is all cut up, on her wrists,
like. She tried ta top herself, ya see. But she didn't do a very good
job, just a lot a' blood around the place, but the wounds are closin' up.
"Mick grabs the phone and calls the ambulance, but since she's illegal,
she's got no health insurance. So they take her to Mass. Mental, probably
the worst place you can bring anybody. They take her up to the fourth floor,
where the keep the people on the suicide watch, and where they put the
real loony-bin cases, ya know.
"She's there for about a week and a half, negotiatin' her way through, and
doesn't she meet some fella there, in her group session? So when she gets
out, she takes her stuff from Mick's place, and brings it all over to yer
man's apartment, and moves in with him.
"Well, it seems that, the night Mick decided he was gonna aff himself, it
was because he'd heard the news that she was gonna marry yer man from the
mental hospital. So about four days after Mick made his bet with Dan, Mick
is comin' in here with his fuckin' checkbook. He's writin' a check for a
hundret twelve dollars ta Dan.
"Dan takes the check -- then he rips it up, sayin', I'll make it double ya
won't go ta the weddin'. Mick says, right, I'll go. Fuckin' right I'll
go. Where is it?
"Flann O'Brien's Pub, sez Dan. They're gettin' a Justice o' the Peace ta
do the job in the pub.
"So there's Mick an' Dan at the weddin', in the pub, yer woman from Adelade
an' yer man from the loony bin. The weddin' couple didn't have rings,
y'see, so they got a couple frogs ta exchange. They exchanged frogs.
"Durin' the ceremony, yer woman's frog jumps away. Later on, Mick is
havin' a word with Dan about the money that Dan owes him. Mick's
rememberin' all the shite that Dan gave 'im that night in the Behan, y'see.
And Dan takes out his checkbook and pays Mick his bet that he won.
"Now, it turns out that yer woman's frog was found squished inta the floor.
She wanted ta keep 'im as a pet, y'see, but he was nothin' but guts by the
time she fount 'im.
"An' Mick? He nearly fell on his arse leavin' the pub. Seems he got a
load'a wet frog guts, mashed inta his Doc Martens."
------------------------------
Date: Tue, 16 May 1995 18:37:51 -0700 (PDT)
From: "Amy B. Christner" <christna@pacificu.edu>
To: subgenius@mc.lcs.mit.edu
Subject: unsubscribe
Message-Id: <Pine.SUN.3.91.950516183642.24300A-100000@tabitha.pacificu.edu>
unsubscribe me
_________________________________________________
the more i look at it...the more i like it.
the fact is:
no matter how closely i study it
no matter how i take it apart,
no matter how i break it down...it remains consistent.
I WISH YOU WERE HERE TO SEE IT!!!..................I LIKE IT!!!!!!!!
------------------------------
Date: Tue, 16 May 95 11:46:35 CdT
From: andrewm <andrewm@ipdlink.ipd.anl.gov>
Message-ID: <9505161146.A03087@ipdlink.ipd.anl.gov>
To: abaum@cc.brynmawr.edu, alt-slack@cs.utexas.edu, coe@netcom.com,
mjs@anlpns.pns.anl.gov, Subgenius@mc.lcs.mit.edu
Subject: Update on the Signs Of The End Times
Text item: Text_1
5/16/95 C.E. ~11 a.m. Central Standard Time
1146 days until the Rupture...
Babble On Enterprises
Ogyr Network Division
Non Servam Corporation
This is Official Business.
CHICAGO, IL. U.S.A.
Today, the first of the thirteen thousand and thirteen signs of
the coming apocalypse manifested itself in the form of St. Andrew's
shoe-laces turning from their usual rainbow motif to a transparent
smoky black. Non Servam scientists working in close cooperation with
MWOMW's Signs Of The End Times ("No U Turn Now, Buck-o") projection
applications have concluded that within the next 1,145 days, an average of
11.365 miracles and other insane phenonemon will occur each and every day
to various SubGenii around the globe. Considering the projected population
of True Yeti-ites [tm] of this planet is around one-tenth of the total
population of the planet, this makes the chances for a miracle occurring
to your standard card-carrying SubGenii around 1 : 483,941.9269688 against.
Due to these odds, Babble On Enterprises wishes all those who have
been asking Pope Reverend Doktor Phrederick Quetzacoatl Armageddon and
St. Andrew for their own personal miracle to be patient and to comprehend
that the odds of having their wishes fulfilled via their god-like powers
are still very slight. In view of this, Babble On Enterprises also wishes
for people to consider their requests for miracles a little more before
faxing them to Ogyr Network's Phax-Phred-A-Miracle [tm] services. To remind
those Yeti-ites who have been using this service for the low measily cost
of $23,117 a month, Ogyr Network wishes to re-release its RULES FOR MIRACLE
REQUESTS.
RULES FOR MIRACLE REQUESTS on the OGYR NETWORK
PHAX-PHRED-A-MIRACLE Service
1) All requests for money are accepted under the condition
that if the miracle is granted, requester agrees to submit 99.995%
of total gross monetary income to Ogyr Network to cover costs of
manipulating the Luck Plane in their favor.
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have been denied. This endangered species knows darn well what's
in store for it once captured, and Ogyr Network can no longer be
held responsible for personal damages and loss of appendages due
to the mis-use of this frisky creature. The key thing to remember
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After all, not *everyone* can feed the Pope and get away with it.
4) Will a Mr. Rev. Ivan Stang please quit submitting fax
requests for someone to give him a winning lottery ticket so he
can get the Church of the SubGenius out of debt? Also, thank you
for the glamour shots of "Connie"... They're framed and up on the
wall now.
5) There was a rule number 5, but I ate it for breakfast.
We were out of Frosted Mini-Wheats.
With these rules in mind, all those who wish to continue service
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form which can be attained from us. It outlines the procedures in which you
must make out your will leaving Babble On Enterprises as the sole
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those who are not yet subscribed to this service can attain more
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Andrew directly at:
OGYR NETWORK
PO BOX 53
PLAINFIELD, IL. 60544
(to receive the latest copy of their magazine, include $2 US cash)
or:
email: saint_andrew@anl.gov
Thank you, and Phred Bless...
st. andrew, ksc
Fineas J. Whoopie says: "You have just read some Holy Words written by..."
OGYR NETWORK's $aint @ndrew, KSC. Campus Chaplain, Miskatonic University
Confused Saint of the 23rd SubGenius Discordian Church of Euthanasia
and OFFICIAL DISCORDIAN POPE ("Where's my damn meiter?") of Chicagoland.
Contact: OGYR NETWORK ($2 US, cash!) PO BOX 53, PLAINFIELD, IL. 60544
E-mail: saint_andrew@anl.gov -----><----- (5)(23)(13013)(17)
Disclaimer: Argonne Ntl. Lab wants nothing to do with me. fnord? kallisti!
------------------------------
Date: Tue, 16 May 1995 09:14:47 -0700 (PDT)
From: Juge <eugenej@pacificu.edu>
To: Subgenius@mc.lcs.mit.edu
Cc: Subgenius@mc.lcs.mit.edu
Subject: Whoops
Message-Id: <Pine.SUN.3.91.950516091359.13077C-100000@tabitha.pacificu.edu>
unsubcribe me.
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End of Subgenius Digest
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