a sermon by Father Joe Mama

Hello friends, and welcome. The sermon tonight is entitled "pumping bob". You heard me right. "PUMPING BOB!" Because you see friends, it all goes back to the quest of a thirsty heathen crawling though the hot, shifting sands of the Mojave desert in search for water. This heathen did not know where he was. This heathen did not know he was in the Mojave desert, but he did know he was in A desert, and more importantly, he knew that if he did not drink something soon, he would perish, and become the dead dehydrated dinner for the same vultures that provided the only shade whenever their bodies flew between him and the piercing sun.

So you can imagine how relieved our wayward wanderer was when he saw an old fashioned hand pump protruding from a distant sand mound. With his last ounce of energy, he crawled up the dune to the rusty pump, and frantically pumped away. But alas! Not a drop! Not even a cough or sputter to give hope! Just the shrill clankity-clank of vapor lock. All seemed lost, and even as our hot helpless heathen collapsed at the base of the pump, he used his final calories of life to roll over his back and beg the heavens, "Lord god almighty, grant me a miracle!" And then, out of the clear blue sky, a drop of moisture fell on his face. And then another!...

With disbelieving eyes, our desperate desert dweller looked skyward. He could not cry, for he had no tears to shed. It took his shrivilled eyeballs a moment to filter out the blinding sun rays to see the source of his salvation: It was the vultures, emptying their bowels in preparation for the upcoming feast.

The traveler was furious! He grabbed fists of sand and threw them up at the birds, but to no avail. The sand merely fell back in his eyes, causing him more irritation. He cursed his god, and stomped about kicking the dust, when quite unintentionally, he stomped his toe on something buried in the ground. The pain gave him new strength. He yanked the dirty jar from the Earth, and aimed to toss it at the buzzards. But during the wind up, he felt a sloshing from within. With dire anticipation, he scraped the dirt from the label. It read:

This jar contains water. Do NOT drink it! Use it to prime the pump and then refill it when finished. Thank you, and have a nice day."

Well, well, well, I don't have to tell you what a predicament this put on our poor protagonist. If he drank the contents of the jar, he would have this thirst quenched temporarily. But if he put his faith in the MESSAGE, he could have the everlasting liquid of life in limitless liters! Now which would you do? Or to be more precise, which have you DONE? For every day, dear friends, you are faced with the same dilema: The everlasting liquid of life is SLACK. The MESSAGE you must believe to receive that everlasting life is the WORD of J.R. Bob Dobbs! Believe in him, and you will receive his slack in everlasting quantities. Not just a taste here, or a gulp there, but an abundance of slack EVERYWHERE! You will drown in life's pleasures, monday thru friday, weekends to boot! You see, the conspiracy wants to keep you on a tight chain. They don't want to give you any slack at all, but they do so grudgingly since you need it to survive and serve THEM. They give you weekends or some time to set aside so you can recharge and get another life sustaining drop of slack. Most folks use the opportunity to mow their yards, wash their cars, do errands or go to church. Somewhere in between, they get slack or die. Such are the bare human necessities. But how much they get is what the conspiracy tries so hard to control. Like the dehydrated traveler, they want to ration it out to you in with an eyedropper, drop by drop, so you'll always be at their mercy, ready to fulfill their every whim. They control you through your ignorance. They tell you Bob's a joke, a myth, some kind of hocus-pocus circus magic! The only true religions, according to them, are their very own state owned and operated religions; Christianity, judaism, islam, fill in the blank. There's a thousand different religions with a thousand different rules, but all their rules and religions have one thing in common: They tell you that Slack is BAD! Slack is EVIL, the work of the devil! Hard to believe isn't it? And yet, most of the world believes just that! Only BOB has the go-nads to tell the emperor the naked truth! Only BOB is stating the obvious, universal truth:

"It's good to feel good! It's bad to feel Bad! If man were meant to feel guilt, he wouldn't have been born with a Bob!"

While the Conspiracy is telling you "You gotta serve somebody", Bob is saying "Serve yourself! Take as much slack as you want! It's not a rare commodity! This planet is covered with it! You only need to know where to look!" And Bob Dobbs wants to be your guide, for as he said so himself, many years ago, "You can give a man a fish, and you've fed him for a day, but teach a man to fish wallets, and you've fed him forever!"

So what's it going to be dear friends? A conspiracy recommended daily allowance of slack? Or a complete unadulterated, drown in your pleasures orgy-of-slack, where you , and ONLY you, say when you've had enough! The choice is yours dear friends, for as Dobbs so adroitly observed, "You can lead a man to slack, but you can't make him drink it!" Here endeth the word of Bob, praise bob, amen.