..and everything under the Sun...Deep-Fried, Sanctified, Hueyfied 4XD...

From: Hulkturds@crappagammabrick.ouch (HellPope Huey)
Newsgroups: alt.slack
Date: Tue, Jul 10, 2001
Pic: "Close Encounter" (stang)

...and weeks yet to come, turning this glistening new artifact of Dobbs' undulating artifice over and over in my hands, trying to make out its identifying marks and FIGHT the evil short-term memory loss demons, FIGHT THEM...

On the German import vinyl of "The Dark Side of the Moon," mixed way low over the clocks so that space cadets have to crank it up and lean in, is Roger Waters saying "I know I'm mad, I've always been mad.." and then David Gilmour saying "And THEN you have to explain why you're MAD." You so crazy. No convulsions allowed until you've delineated your pathology to the satisfaction of whomever wants a pint of pee and a prenuptial genetic scan of you. Or $30.

Yeah, its long, but you're a SubGenius, you can make the time. You're paid up, you have the time distorter, just back it up.

My 3rd X-Day had the triumphant charm of its numerical legend. Aside
from the goddamned Xists not picking us up AGAIN, all of the Slack one
goes for finally came unto me, but not in excess of the capacity of the
towels I brought with which to wipe it up. Why, I've just wrung a little
remaining Slack from a towel. I'm saving it in a yogurt cup in the fridge
so it doesn't spoil.

4XD was holistic heroin in its full, glorious bloom. I could still feel
m'pains, but they were both chemically and psychically opiated, merely
drifting in the background like errant balloons lost at the zoo. People
made me snigger & snort, surprised me with their graciousness and
reinforced my regard for whatever in the hell you call that thing which
MAKES us THIS way. That's more like it, Bobdamnit.

Andreux/Sikki & Joy/Prostata made a couple of extra noteworthy efforts on
my behalf that resulted in things working a lot better. They inexplicably
massaged me with comfort & enhanced utility. I don't slough off and take
that casually. Thank ye kindly.

Even the 'sedate' members let fly with these damned THINGS that are like
snuggling deeper into yer honey on a cold morning or hand-in-glove
gut-blowout funny or even BOTH. I can basically turn to any SubGenius and
say "What the fuck is up with THAT?" and receive a direct response. I
mean, that IS all too rare in the world, so being in an entire CROWD that
basically thinks like that is, hey, BITCHIN' BOSS *SOUL*, man! Non-Yeti
Native Arkansans aren't allowed to give straight answers. They apparently
burst into flames.

I had an almost unprocessably righteous time. I was getting used to the
idea that I just had to be BONED for a while here and roll widdit
indefinitely, with no break and then "Bob" opened the Slack sluice. I
didn't even know things COULD flow that smoothly. It was almost TOO MUCH
SLACK ALL AT ONCE. Sweet Karmic broad-band rubber-band snap-back o' mercy,
HAW glory. My toenails are still throbbing. I only know that I am home
safely because at 3, a maintenance guy suddenly appeared to festoon my
stove with a safety sticker for the vent hood that reads "USE THIS FIRST.
Then it is safe to cook your food." That many people are actually setting
off their smoke alarms lately. I couldn't hallucinate that one. Gah.

Everyone has a slightly different Brushwood experience. Here are a few of mine:

Spitting a piece of banana 15 feet into Rocknar's hair when that Cremora
bomb went off that time. You could hear the horses of the Amish
power-shittin' for miles, couldn't ya? Maybe a couple of them Amish as

Jamming as a duo for an hour or so with Saint'N under Ed Strange's kool
UFO-parachute-dome in midfield on Friday afternoon. Surreal fun. I was
told we drew the interest of a modest crowd whom I could not see. Good,
that synchronicity is what its fer. This guy knows his stuff; his musical
sense and timing are crisp. What a manly specimen of Euro-trash! A real
natural for this crowd, one of US. Shake yer Polish booty, mon!
I watched offstage as der lovely Hellena nervously reviewed & wadded up
lyric sheets Saturday night, but she was dynamite. They even snapped back
straight away when the power blew for a moment. Grace under fire, great
band, highly Dobbsworthy. Wonderful fresh blood for "Bob!" I bought
"Slogan's Run" from 'em, which I recommend as ultra-boss. Go to
www.minitru.org to get their CDs.

Philo Drummond plays the goddamned saxophone. I never knew. Is there no
END to the man's atrocities??

Goddamned Codini tried to kick me in the knee, so I left a 2"
pirhana-like circular bite out of his ass. No, I didn't enjoy it, "Bob"
made me. He got a molar with his pliers, punched me in the throat and I
spat blood for 3 hours, so we're even.

Rev. Illuminatrix joins the Wotaning with some incredible guitar (the
guys WORKS in a guitar factory) and then asks me later that evening, "Did
I do okay? I didn't really know what we supposed to be doing."
Common Ideal-SubGenius Syndrome: he didn't even REALIZE that he'd scored
big, even though we were knocked out by his performance (I think the
"band" dropped back and let him wail good a coupla times) and THEN touches
on the very 3rd Chamber of the Dobbsheart by unwittingly admitting that he
"SUPPOSED" TO DO!! Doktor, you were "supposed" to be doing exactly what
you DID or you'd not have done it, yizzir, praise "Bob". Fine stringwork.

I holler at him, "You're a CRAZY BASTARD!!"
He hollers back "Well I should certainly HOPE so!"

Pope Phred's Spore Index of toe jam overload and inadvisedly-stored
moist clothing. When the spore cloud begins to interefere with your view
of the TV screen, its too late. Phred IS a colossal twat if he don't bathe
better'n that, but I didn't personally SMELL anything, sooo.....I figure
that means cleaving unto his Index is a good idea. Sorry JHP didn't manage
to play. Phred be read Pamphlet #1 when I last see, Phred GOOD boy, GOOOOD

Brushwood's foot-friendly foliage. Down South, nature is prickly and
AFTER you. The NY stuff welcomes your skyclad feet, even when the rest of
you is covered in black to the wrists and SunBlock 2000 an inch thick.

Not a failed rant in the bunch. Several different KINDS, but all of them
except mine were coherent, inasmuch as we practice it. And sweet DOBBS,
what was Stang's seamstress's name? One has to stand in awe of a woman who
CAN and WILL scream like a really large mutant chicken that way.

The lovely Sister Decadence, beset by a whole BAG of Pop-Tart demons.
Hah, THAT'LL teach you mention on alt.slack that you like a thing that
runs for less than $5 per unit before Brushwood! She kissed me on the head
(upper head) and I told her I'd never wash it again. She said if I didn't,
she'd never KISS it again. Church of the Pragmatic SubGenius.

Saint Phloigd's sacrifice of his very HAIR and that MAGNIFICENT RAP
afterwards. Dear GOD, the man has heretofore unsuspected evil/talent. I
could barely make out half of it, but it was a thing of horrific beauty.
Post the lyric sheet, Doktor! I laffed my fuckin' ass. I'd hafta say that
was an exhibition of sheer overloaded UberNERVE that for its sheer
heartfelt intensity, ranks right up there with St. Andrew the Impailed's
performance and for its shining moment, was crackling with as much heat as
Saint'N & Hellena's set. No, really. Here Be Monsters...right in bed with
us all this time and we scarcely knew it. Well, I mean, I FIGURED, but you

Saint Andrew the Impailed. I have no words. What did he yell at one
Spewed burning lamp oil over my synth and didn't befoul it, which ranks
near walking on burning glass and losing no blood. There's just something
about a guy who can drive a nail up his nose....

The freshly-vacuumed surreality of the Erie Airport baggage claim sector.
The place always smells like a Mafia assassin's glove box.

Lil debuted a new lipstick: Bruised Marilyn Mauve. Its YOU!

7:47 a.m. on July 5th.....that weird version of "The End." I AM awake, of
course, as are even the nematodes 3 feet down in the soil after the first
big WHOOMPF at 6:59:32 and I hear strains of "The End." EEEErrrrrrr.....

Someone referred to another attendee as "baby-shuckin'." I've shucked
corn, but that sounds somehow wrong. Probably TRUE, but sounds wrong.

Damned Pagans didn't do any really serious drumming this year, fell down
on the job, so I had to listen to death metal and other crap. I could
sleep well to the drumming, such a nice lulling ambience for twitchy
Yetikin, but Deicide, no.

The fine metalsmith who gave the lovely Beledi Ma the "SubGenius
discount" on collars and chains for her hypnotizing, thigh-moistening
belly dancing.

Joy D'Veeve and Prostata rescuing me with needed caffeine, twice. Kept
me from falling over once, too. I appreciate that and I don't color it
with a misdirected attribution to imagined selfishness just because a tow
motor and boat hook would be needed to move me if my main CPU failed to
that extent, leaving their crushed belongings clinging to my shirt and
trailing me as the truck pulled away. No, they were just accomodating. I
got fed stuff along the way, but theirs was the best overall, nyaahh.

Sitting at the back of the Trout-Pavilion Friday night, listening to
ESO's excellence (Michelle gots intonation, yaz), enjoying UltraMan
pounding on some rubber monsters with my left eye cocked to the video
stage and watching this full, ghostly yellow moon rise over the main
pavilion to my oblique right, bedecked with hazy strips of clouds. A real
hippiefied instance of Slack as befits a man riding a peak moment of
complimentary medications and a valley between traumas. Not quite as
thrilling as a juicy calendar of nekkid goils, NO, aaahhh, mmm, but still
memorable enuf.

Stang's rant about how we wouldn't BE there if we weren't Fucked Up and
how that was Alright, even a Good Thing. Saint Susie said tears ran
because someone had finally FOUND THE RIGHT WORDS for it.
Let's get a Church tattooist and a design going. We'll all have it put on
our chests or butts or anywhere but the forehead (well, maybe Phred or
Phloigd, HAH) and it'll say I'M FUCKED UP ON "BOB" AND THAT'S A GOOD
THING. Little cherubic Dobbses around it, bows fitted with fropsticks for
arrows, a banner made of $100 bills, stuff like that?

Susie gave me a great Jack Kirby sketchbook she edited. Always the
thoughtful gift-giver...I mean, she ALREADY gives SO MUCH! Yeah, like it
had to be pointed out, eieieiei. What a lush sweetie.

Being half-stoked on codeine the whole time. Praise whoever created that
stuff. It put the nagging pains up on the back shelf where opiates put
them, which was timely. Pardon me if I wobbled while we were talking. PART
of it was the pills. I like pills. I don't really like retaining names
spottily. "Which one were you again? Pardon me, how do you do, I'm fucked
up on pills, would you please repeat that? I knew your name yesterday, I
think. Howyadoin', got a name tag, what?" I'm cute when I'm all stumbly.

Jesus gave me a Bobbie prize for overall weirdness, but it was just a
yellow ribbon that sez "You're Special!" Cheap bastard. I needed fresh
socks. I still bought a DobbsMagnet.

Special related nods to Rev. Amphibious Assault, St. Andreux, Boddishatva
Troutwaxer and Stinking Bishop Prostata for hauling my synthesizer around
at various points; I couldna lifted the wee bastard all stove up and done
my bit nearly as easily without you. Small stuff can be way big sometimes.

I gave Stang a creamy-translucent Jesus night light for a partial wedding
"gift." He held Him at arms' length, pointed a finger at Him and said "Now
I can keep an EYE on you!" I squeezed his ass at one point and it was a
great joke until he tried to do tongues, too. Tasted kinda like salmon.
Old salmon.

At one point, over my right shoulder from the Troutwaxing Pavilion, there
came a piper in full clan garb, rounding the hill and fading off into the
field. He was on-pitch, too. Really played 'em. Most people understandably
hear bagpipes and think someone is poking out a cat's eye with a stick,
but to some (incl. myself) its also a rich, beautiful sound he gave full
credit with his touch. Learning THOSE is no small thing and deserves

I mystically located everyone I most desired to locate. Not that doing so
is that hard in a crowd of about 200 over 4 days, but it was often so
opportune....I went over to thank the sound guys who did a great job for
us with grace & downhome style, all hail ACE, and immediately saw my solo
set tape lined up neatly on the stage with all the cabling. I thought I'd
lost it. Kismet like that.
BTW, those guys ran a tight ship. All the needed stuff was there, at
hand, upon request and they WEREN'T ASSHOLES. They even had FUN at it.
Let's have them back again; they're at least Yeti trainees.

Beautiful naked girls. Beautiful NOT-naked girls. Beautiful girls, one of
whom admitted to being 53. Beautiful girls from Planet X. A beautiful girl
oiled my butt from neck to ankles and I giggled like a colossal Phredian
twat. Beautiful girls.

Too many ugly male butts. Most of 'em are, mine is, cover it up unless
yer in the hot tub. Be kind, don't blind.

The weather essentially didn't fuck with us. The big rain came & went,
the little rain didn't spoil anything. The last 2 XDs ended with
besoddening torrents.

I wanna know when we're gonna see the wireless minicam video Doc Frop
made from the mushroom overdose Saint'N, um, "suffered." Some monster
dosed him with a disguised peanut butter sandwich. Poor bastard crawled
around in his tent looking for the thing in a paranoid manner while
ubertripping. Doc feigns innocence, but its too late for THAT crap, *WE
KNOW HIM*!!! So cough up at least a nice gif. loop of one of our own
writhing in psychedelic torment, you beeg liar. Rotting minds need to

Princess Wei, for all too few loverly moments.

Praise the darned VIDEO guy (whose name just didn't stick, I 'pologize)
who ran numerous glorious oddities such as "Glen or Glenda?," the coming
attractions antiquities from gems such as "Shock Corridor" ("NYMPHOS!")
and the Japanese monster festival. He also ran a copious wad of abstract
computer animation, rather intelligently-developed pre-fractal goods that
showed some extra oomph rather then being mindless algorithmic randomness.
Dunno where it came from, but it had some quirky charm. It was also sweet
when the SuperJapHeroDroid pulled the evil insect man's head OFF and let
the spinal column trail and wiggle underneath. I love the classics.

I tried to rub Legume's head for "good luck," but I burned my fingertips.
I thought his head was all red from sunburn, but no. That sunuvabitch, he
got such a purdy mouth, I just fell for his charms.

Sign on the highway going back to Erie: "Fireworks and Karate Supplies,
Exit Now." There's some sort of natural synchronicity going on there, but
its not good.

The giant airbrushed fiberglass fish in the lobby of the Erie airport.
Its sock-a-delic. Watching Fox News while waiting for the flight and
hearing a commentator close with "I'm Brian Kilme." Kill me. Heh.

The long ribbon of magma-colored sunset Sunday night, flying out... rich,
angry orange-red to salmon to piercing, almost electric yet still-warm
yellow, with a stubborn strip of cerulean blue bravely holding out above
it... the massive thunderstorm, which the pilot claimed was 50 miles to
our east, but which seemed nose-pressed-to-the-window close... angry gods
playing basso lacrosse with a bundle of tattered souls, batting them
between mountainous, momentarily-illuminated towers of clouds with clubs
of lightning.... Lord Palmer is cranky tonight, but Stevie Ray plays
on..... The unreal ghostliness of the ill-matched ice-blue and sodium
yellow strips in the distance that ultimately turned out to be

...and then I saw his TEETH and something broke inside of me and I said
"See ya, Rog" and I marched right down and took that contracting job and I
haven't played the violin since. And I wonder, if F.J. Feterucci,
Contractor 1927, ever wanted to lay cement like...crazy...

And then James Earl Jones & Geoffrey Holder said "Come, white man, have
some of our Special *Punch*, HAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!"...... and then the reality
of where you are brings you back....

...and "Bob" is lifting the wallet from your dresser with a 7-foot-long
waldo, sneaking through the window...joke's on HIM, it only contains a
dirty playing card, a paper clip and an outdated Barney condom....

HellPope Huey, hellpopehuey@subgenius.com
...and that's where I awoke
to find my pillow missing.

"Enter, O Seeker Of Knowledge!
That's YOU, *Fathead*!!!!!!"
- Bugs Bunny cartoon

"Gave me Thorazine, gave me Stellazine,
gave me every 'zine they could think of
Kept 'em under my tongue, spit 'em out later on,
I was crazy, not just on the brink of!"
- "Dozin' & Droolin"," Root Boy Slim

"If she's grinding anything, let it be Bob!"
- "Becker"

World's Most Mentally Ill Job Resume

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StangDoe pic: "Vagina & Spaz Dancers"