You don't look so hot.
So, what's wrong, huh?
You're looking a bit pale and worn. A little tired and dragged
out. Fagged out for our friends in the Tudorian commonwealths.
Now, I know we can't be up all the time, but you're just
plodding along, and have for some time now. Where's your pep?
Where's your vim and vigor?
Here I've been hopping up and down making an idiot out of myself,
which I don't mind at all, because it usually gets you going. But
lately, you just seem so, I don't know, maybe depressed?
What is it, all the fighting and stuff? I know. That's a drag.
But look, it happens sometimes, and now it's over. So what do you say
we YANK your fucking HOG TIED THUMBS out of your ASSES and DRAG
you down the street NAKED. Huh? How about we SET FUCKING FIRE TO YOUR
HAIR? Would You WAKE UP then?
Where's your YETI GONADATROMPING? Jesus, (not you, get back to work)
you're like them monkeys in the neutron bomb experiments. Dosed with a
fatal blast of neutrons that they COULDN'T DETECT and they just turned
off and waited to DIE.
WAKE UP. KICK ME. SCREAM. KILL ME.
By Grampaw Stang's Fresh New Asshole On His Old Wrinkled Butt, you
people have CRAWLED UNDER A ROCK. There used to be TWICE as much
soul burning rantrafication going on, and I don't mean just in
relative amount to the background noise, I mean in REAL LIVE
ABSOLUTE VALUE POSITIVE INTEGER NATURAL COUNTING NUMBERS.
Oh, a FEW of you come across now and then, and the STYLE and
FORM are just fine, but it's like it's an EFFORT for most of you.
You're wandering around like a boring cocktail party that nobody
wanted to go to. Like it's a fucking CHORE. Like the officer and the
minister showed up on your porch to tell you the BAD NEWS about
ALT.SLACK.
BY DOBBS I WON'T HAVE IT.
There's a whole damn UNIVERSE of EVIL SHIT out there circling around
your heads, and you're PLAYING FUCKING GAMES. This is NOT SubSite.
It's not your PERSONAL PRINT-ONLY COMIC BOOK.
Oh SURE, you talk Slack and CON and pinks and saucers.
But where's NHGH? Where's the Prescriptures? Where's the PYROFLATULATING?
Where's the channeled memories of Antiquitum,
the "Bob" sightings, the Palmer/Travino Blood Feuds, the Foot Gland
exercises, the Yacatisma baiting, the Underground Clench Maneuvers,
the GIVE ME A DOLLAR OR KILL ME YETI DRIVE TO OVERCUM?
and what about G'BROAGFRAN?
You people need to take Chapter 19 out of BotSG, roll it up full of
'frop, and SMOKE the damn thing until you hit the wall of FAITHFUL
MEAT EATING BONE CRUNCHING DOBBS PRAISING PREACHER MY LEGS ON FIRE
TEETH GNASHING PLANET SMASHING FACE BASHING BLOOD RED FIRED FRENZY.
You want "Bob"? I'll give you "Bob".
"I will NOT give in; I WILL whup 'em. I WON'T GO DOWN!! We shall HOUND
them and HOUND them and nip at their heels 'till their ROTTEN DEAL
finishes ROTTING!!" -- J.R. "Bob" Dobbs, Chapter 20, BotSG "Your Move"
Your Move. Get it? MOVE.
Are you going to leave your savior high and dry, fighting for the
very future? Or are you going to BACK HIM? Are you going to READ
his words, or are you going to LIVE THEM? Are you going to sit back
and wait to be entertained, or are you going to SHOW YOUR FAITH IN
DOBBS?
There's too damn many of THEM out there, and too damn few of us in
here. We have the edge, because they don't know what they're doing.
THEY don't know that they are THEY. But we'll LOSE that edge if we
don't make it WORK FOR US. EAT or BE EATEN children, EAT or BE EATEN.
Now, if this were a CHURCH, there'd be some PREACHIN'.
WHO will give me some PREACHIN'?
If this were a CHURCH, there'd be some WITNESSIN'.
WHO will DROP their DRAWERS for "Bob" and give me some WITNESSIN'?
If this were a REAL CHURCH, a HELL BREATHIN' CHURCH, a SOUL SEARIN'
CHURCH, there'd be some Minsters MINISTERIN'.
WHO will MINISTER UNTO THE RIDGE-BROWED HYOOMUN HEADS the
MINISTRATIONS OF DOBBSPAIN THEY SO BADLY NEED?
I want to SEE IT HAPPEN. I want you to MAKE ME FEEL IT.
Because if there ain't some RANTOLOGICAL CHURCHIFICATION going on
here pretty soon, if there ain't some HIGH POWERED FULL AUTO
INTERCONTINENTAL BALLISTIC RELIGION going on, well then maybe
you think "Bob" is already dead.
And if sees things they way they are, if he ain't already,
he will be.
--
Doktor DynaSoar Iridium -- dynasor@infi.net -- Punctuator of Evolution
------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: surak1@ix.netcom.com (Rob [Not-Bob])
Subject: Re: Come on, you can talk to Dyna...
****************************************************************************
Personifying Satyriasistic Dyslexic Cacodemonomaniacs of the World, Untie!
You have nothing to lose but Mr. //Soulshredding// Dig-nightie!
****************************************************************************
This space is intentionally left blank for an obligatory disclaimer.
If this scares you, log off now and shoot your computer just like the guy
did on T.V. Of course, he did shoot a system with AOL on it...so he must
have had *some* sense, yes?
If you are at all bothered by the seven dirty words: shit, piss, fuck, cunt,
cocksucker, motherfucker, and tits, you should read no further.
Your AOL TOS-guide (who is monitoring every click of your mouse remotely
from AOL HQ, Virginia) instructs you to turn yourself in to the "It's a
Small World After All" Exoteric Anal-Retentive Religious Fanatic
Holier-than-thou Labor Re-education camp (EARFHLR) forming outside the
Nation's capital as we speak (take RT 50 toward Annapolis, take the Bowie
exit; follow Rt 301 to the Upper Marlboro CDA Detention Center). There, you
will act as a Monitor Of Restricted Obscene Names (MORON), tasked to root
out residual freedom of speech among the former internet users incarcerated
within the CDA EARFHLR facility. Be sure to bring plenty of copies of the
FIRST AMENDMENT TO THE CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, as
adequate supplies of toilet tissue cannot be guaranteed.
If you are a mediocretin Pink luser who hangs out on alt.slack just to
sputter with teenage orthographic inaccuracy laced with lexicographic
vapidity the follow epigram: "Youse guys suck," then going out to the
wheeled conveyance located in the enclosed space adjoining your miserable
abode and initiating the internal combustion of the complex mixture of
alkanes located within said conveyance seems to you RIGHT NOW to be the
cynosure of noumenal and phenomenological TRUTH. Leave the internet behind,
pick up the keys, open the door... that's it. We'll be waiting for you...on
the other side.
If you are an NSA Usenet monitor geek, this may or may not seem of interest:
Betty Q-fever Fred Plutonium Wilma Botulinum Barney Aurora Dino Spy Bedrock
President Rubble Lasers Flintstone Hostages.
If you are a high muckety-muck in the government, you are reminded that the
following and preceding represent the opinions of the author alone, and do
not construe the official positions, fetishes, or desires of the United
States government, the U.S. DoD, the Department of the Coast Guard, the
Department of the Army, the Department of the Navy, the Department of the
Air Force, the U.S. Public Health Service, or the Triliberal Illuminati.
This rant will be defended as a legitimate expression of religious beliefs
and as a free exercise of the rights granted to all Americans under the
*much aggrieved* First Amendment to the great Constitution of these United
States. Don't even start with me.
Regardless: knowledge of this rant will be denied at the highest levels.
Burn your computer after reading it. You know it is the right thing to do.
****************************************************************************
In article <4mevop$q79@nw003.infi.net>, The Mighty DynaSoar-sensei
emeritus-shmeritus by the Grace of "Bob" ERUPTED Thusly:
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Now, if this were a CHURCH, there'd be some PREACHIN'.
WHO will give me some PREACHIN'?
If this were a CHURCH, there'd be some WITNESSIN'.
WHO will DROP their DRAWERS for "Bob" and give me some WITNESSIN'?
If this were a REAL CHURCH, a HELL BREATHIN' CHURCH, a SOUL SEARIN'
CHURCH, there'd be some Minsters MINISTERIN'.
WHO will MINISTER UNTO THE RIDGE-BROWED HYOOMUN HEADS the
MINISTRATIONS OF DOBBSPAIN THEY SO BADLY NEED?
I want to SEE IT HAPPEN. I want you to MAKE ME FEEL IT.
Because if there ain't some RANTOLOGICAL CHURCHIFICATION going on
here pretty soon, if there ain't some HIGH POWERED FULL AUTO
INTERCONTINENTAL BALLISTIC RELIGION going on, well then maybe
you think "Bob" is already dead.
And if (he) sees things they way they are, if he ain't already,
he will be.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
By "Bob" in Connie, Dyna, I hear ya! I may be a second rate
preacher, and a third rate poetaster, but, by G'BROAGFRAN, Narnini, Nunu,
NHGH, Bohandas, and Yacatisma the {Energy or Robot Techno-Mutilators from
ORION}, I can frigging well WITNESS my ass off in pubic (I mean, public) for
"Bob" and Dyna's Candy-Assy for SubPrez of these United SubGenius Stoats of
Amentia.
In 1985, I was a typical Harvard undergrad senior pre-med bio major
dweeb type status-post 3.97 GPA high school grad-you-ate Type A+++
goal-oriented written-schedule-slave from beneath a cold rock. I ate
anti-slack for breakfast in Mather dining hall, trudged through the snow to
the Biolabs thinking anti-slack, sat through mind-numbing lectures on <a
href="http://eatworms.swmed.edu/">caenorhabditis elegans</a> that drained my
slack DRY, sat in the labs late at night with Myleus sp. (pacu) as my sole
(sic) companions writing Japanes kanji after kanji, all the while kicking
myself for not writing my medical school applications. Then, in late
February, 1985, I first heard of the "Church of the SubGenius" from my
friend and roommate, who I'll call "John O'Neil" for the purposes of this
tirade.
"The what?" I asked archly.
"The Church of the SubGenius," he replied, his thick red eyebrows
narrowing in concern at my unwonted neuronal memetic lacuna. "You know,
flying saucer doomsday J.R. "Bob" Dobbs God-Dog Connie Sex Slack Supersonic
Aluminum Nazi Hell Sex Creatures from beneath the Hollow Earth type stuff".
"Well, sounds, good," said I, "but...*SubGenius*... I mean, damn,
man, aren't you frigging tired of everbody around you... EVEN HERE...
calling you a genius? Get real, man, no way am I gonna label MYSELF a
genius-anything!"
"But, but...Rob, it's got NOTHING AT ALL WHATSOEVER TO DO WITH WHAT
PINKS (that is, normals) THINK OF AS GENIUS! It's a dumb name, granted, but
just READ THE BOOK-- you'll see!"
"Ya, right. O.K., now, I just attacked your Bavarian Dudes with my
Gnomes of Zurich, and..."
And so it went, into a short-chain substituted-carbon-fragment haze,
until APRIL 1995, when I had to have my wisdom teeth removed over Spring
Break. During my recovery, besides crafting my own Illuminati set by hand
(ha ha Steve, only kidding), I actually bought and read the entire BOTSG.
BY DAMN BY DAMN BY DAMN BY DAMN BY DAMN BY DAMN BY Great Balls O' Fire!
"Of course! Of course! A child could do it, Jim! A child could do it!"
--Dr. McCoy, Spock's Brain, Star Trek TOS, 3rd Season, Stardate 5431.4
These SubGenii weren't Einstein-Planck-CliveBarker-FrankHerbert-type
geniuses... their genius had nothing nichts nada wala nulo to do with the
standard temporal reference we call reality...
NO!
We're talking Geniuses of SUB, here! SUB! As in, what's long and
hard and filled with seamen! As in, yes, oil and pepper and hold the
rutabagas, please! As in, SUB-Space, SUB-Species, SUB-Born, SUB-sTITution,
SUB-Acute, SUB-Critical, SUB-Cutaneous, SUB-Fusc, Sub-Lation, SUB-Liminal,
SUB-Luminal, SUB-Reption, SUB-Rosa, CHUB-Rosa (!que linda!), SUb-Sumption of
SUB-Gum SUB-Terfuge from beneath the SUBULATE CHUBULATE of the INTERSTATE
PRELATE Himself, J.R. "Bob" FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING (did I say, FUCKING?)
Dobbs himself, Hollow be his Dame! Slack, the quintessential desideratum of
my suppressed:
<a href="http://ourworld.compuserve.com/homepages/surak1/coollink.htm">
Multiple Luck Plane Personalities</a>,
could now finally be acknowledged as, not only A goal, but THE goal of my
life! SLACK! So, if it made me feel more slackful, then, yes, apply to med
school, go to med school, study... but skip non-mandatory lectures and
<em>read the typed class notes instead!</em> Study, yes, but compress all
actual learning activities into <strong>24 hours of condensed ass-sitting in
the LRC</strong> rather than day upon day of endless studying a la the
normals around me. And, even when I was saddled with a hideously tenacious
slack vampire of a SigOth, I managed to manifest the Dobbsian dharma with
the little things...such as driving out to Virginia to meet my best friend
for drinks at 0100 on a "school" night... and, in the end, even the breakup
my long-term relationship seemed PERFECTLY WONDERFUL when viewed through the
lens of Slack, as in:
<strong> PRABOB, I won't have to listen to her cyclothymic whining anymore!
</strong>
So, in the end, as in the beginning, "Bob" has seen me through many of the
hardest times in my life. Now, "Bob" isn't for everyone...
IF YOU ARE A MEDIOCRETIN GLORP HORDE PINK TYPE INDIVIDUAL, THEN HE IS MOST
DEFINITELY NOT FOR YOU!
You probably think I live in a box under a bridge, and am uploading
this missive using the electromotive force from a stolen MOTORCYCLE BATTERY,
but think again!
"Bob" has brought me material wealth, a lovely (Yetifemme Model
T2000) wife, two kids, three cars, a kick-ass computer, and the stunning
physique of your typical Webcrawling, Usenet-addict
former-programmer-during-summers geek anesthesiologist type dude.
"Bob" has given me the strength, Slack, and cojones (as in CO-JONES,
Get it?!) to write publicly about EXTREMELY PERSONAL THINGS so that everyone
in the known universe can archive my words for posterity, and hold it
against me when I run for Potentate of the Cosmos, and I don't EVEN give a
Nickie's BR549ZEN.
"Bob" has brought me into contact with the nice folks at alt.slack,
who tenderly greeted me last September with the warm fellowship evidenced in
this touching "Welcome Wagon" post:
Subject: Re: If god could....
Followup-To: alt.blasphemy,alt.slack,alt.fan.jesus-christ
Date: 4 Oct 1995 15:54:47 GMT
Organization: Harvard University, Cambridge, Massachusetts
Lines: 34
Message-ID: <44uao7$bm6@decaxp.harvard.edu>
Not RobRob (Not Bob) (Bob) wrote:
: ...As the Buddha Herself said, "In Bob's Pants".
: Not Bob
Yes! That's right, citizen, you win the Most banal, annoying, useless,
poo poo doo doo loo loo Usenet post that I don't like and anyways is
done by someone who I feel like calling a Bobbie because he is an idiot
because he has no brain, soul, genitals or ANYTHING else for that matter
especially creativity or originality award. Your prize is to have a
bucketful of ticks dumped down your pants. If you would like to collect your
prize, then just fucking COLLECT IT, you dick weed dweeb splat fart that
spews diarrhea on his baby children! What are you waiting for, you tweed
jacket with nothing inside of it??? Me to tie your shoelaces for you?
I'll tie them to the rear bumper of an eighteen wheeler if you don't GIT
OUTTA TOWN! Go home! Go take a shit in your own pants! I dare you! But I
don't think you've got the guts. You couldn't even take a shit in the
late Pee-Wee Herman's pants, let alone your fucking OWN! You couldn't
even take a shit down your LEG, because you used up all your shit pooing
in your mother's uterus before she had you so she got cunt poisoning and
DIED and it was ALL YOUR FAULT which you never really forgot, not your
subconscious anyway, which is why you're such a shrivelled prune of a man
who doesn't even deserve to THINK "Bob"'s name, let alone claim not to be
him. (Not that "Bob" isn't a pile of wet rotten diaper goo himself, but
that's BESIDE THE POINT!) Just as you are BESIDE THE POINT, mister Rob
Bob Nob Slob Nabob Corn on the Cob. "Not Bob" my sweet fanny! Even if you
WERE "Bob" I'd STILL KICK YOUR ASS!
Agsts "So Make Me" That Guy Q P M
{Sniff!} I still get choked up just thinking about the "good old days" of
alt.slack... but, then again...
THE BEST IS YET TO COME, YETINSYNY!!!
For, with DynaSoar as our Maximus Exalted Exhuberant Ex-Laxed SubPresident
for Life, we shall march VICTORIOUS, I SAID:
VICTORIOUS!
My Raving Lunatic Alt.Slack Mavens and Enlightened Lurkers,
My Homo Excellsior (sic) in situ Sothers and Bristers,
VICTORIOUSLY SHALL WE WALK THEN
Onto those n-rijhgnaer-tau-omega powered saucers come X-Day, mosey
into first class, SHOOT any NEENERISH or NEENER-BOINKINGISH individual we
may see sipping martinis unawares, RECLINE our fucking seats *AND* TRAY
TABLES into their full DOWN AND DIRTY positions, IGNORE studiously the
flashing "fasten gravity neutralizer" signs, and shout with the STINKING
GARLIC-LADEN ROAR OF TRUE YETI WARRIORS into the steam-covered window panes
displaying far below the final destruction of all that is not SUB:
PRABOB! PRADYNA! PRA-ALTSLACK!
...nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnext.
Elect a SubGenius for President of the United States
To vote, send $1 to: PO Box 140306, Dallas, TX 75214
For Dyna: "SubPresident DynaSoar"; against Dyna: "SubPresident DynaSoar"
Vote early, vote often, vote for or against anyone you want.
--
______________________________________________________________________
Rob (Not-Bob), AKA Dr. Archvile of Doom/Heretic fame, AKA MHM 14x5 AKA
Frater Notbobbus Indignitatus O' the Darkyoni Clench DisOrder F.A.H.T.
surak1@ix.netcom.com ; 75032.1035@compuserve.com
http://ourworld.compuserve.com/homepages/surak1/
______________________________________________________________________
Original file name: DYNA
This file was converted with TextToHTML - (c) Logic n.v.