Saturday, March 26, 2005

 

Attention San Diego Subgenii

http://www.flickr.com/photos/73908741@N00/7458843/

Come join fellow SubGenii for Art Walk San Diego, taking place the weekend of April 23rd thru 24th. Several Slackish events will be occurring during this delightful art event. Especially the scheduled performance of iL CiRCo. iL CiRCo blends acrobatics and whimsical comedy in a perfect fusion of circus and theatre. The event takes place in Little Italy, I would like to meet at the Starbucks on the corner of Hawthorn and India around 2 p.m. if possible. [I'm not very familiar with Little Italy, so any other suggestions are welcomed!] This event is my idea for our first meetup, if you have any other events in mind please contact me!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/73908741@N00/7465830/

Join meetup.com's latest and greatest San Diegan group:

http://subgenius.meetup.com/40/

Come join fellow SubGenii for Art Walk San Diego, taking place the weekend of April 23rd thru 24th. Several Slackish events will be occurring during this delightful art event. Especially the scheduled performance of iL CiRCo. iL CiRCo blends acrobatics and whimsical comedy in a perfect fusion of circus and theatre. The event takes place in Little Italy, I would like to meet at the Starbucks on the corner of Hawthorn and India around 2 p.m. if possible. [I'm not very familiar with Little Italy, so any other suggestions are welcomed!] This event is my idea for our first meetup, if you have any other events in mind please contact me!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/73908741@N00/7465830/

Join meetup.com's latest and greatest San Diegan group:

 

The SubGenius Reverend

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Go Ahead And Cut, For All The Good It'll Do You

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Friday, March 25, 2005

 

A Charming Little Tale Of A Good Little Boy

Little Robbie was a very bright and handsome little boy. His parents were very proud of him, and impressed at how mature he seemed at six years of age.

His teachers all thought that little Robbie was their best student. He was so very polite, and one of the most popular boys in his 1st grade class. And no matter how well he did, he always spent time to help the others in his class to succeed, his bouncy good-naturedness spreading to everyone he met.

So his parents were truly looking forward to his 7th birthday.

It had been a good year in their business, and they were so happy with their son that they felt he deserved just about any gift he desired, short of a pony. So, a few days before his birthday, they took him to a nice shopping mall.

But Robbie seemed preoccupied when they took him by the hand through the toy store. Nothing out of all the toys he saw seemed to have any great value or interest to him.

So, sensing his mood, his mother asked him, "Well, what *would* you like for your birthday?"

At this, little Robbie brightened up, and practically dragged his parents out of the toy store. He led them down the mall breezeway, while his parents looked at each other curiously, until finally they arrived at a bookstore.

He wants a book? Thought his parents. My, he must really like to read!

And by this time, little Robbie was just as excited and animate as he could get. As soon as they entered the store, he dashed over to a stand, grabbed a book, and, clutching it to his chest ran back to his parents full of irrepresible glee.

"This!" He said breathlessly, "This is what I want for my birthday!"

His parents looked at each other in a state of confusion, then his father said, "Uh, 'The Book of the SubGenius'? Um, isn't that a little "grown up" for you, son?"

Robbie Started. "Nooooooo!" he shouted, "Not the book. I want the PIPE THAT MAN IS SMOKING!"

Needless to say, his parents were shocked. They tried cojoling him, appealing to him, inquiring of him, and downright refusal, without success. Little Robbie was adamant. He threw a tantrum right there in the store, and wouldn't fall silent until they finally, and reluctantly, agreed to buy him *that* pipe.

On the day of his 7th birthday, after having refused all other gifts that his parents or his little friends offered to him, little Robbie tore open the present containing the pipe, and then, without another word, left the party to go to his room.

He simply had no other interest in the party, leaving his embarrassed parents to entertain the other children until they left.

His parents never saw the pipe again.

The following Christmas was much the same story. He refused any and all gifts, but demanded *yet another* pipe, *just like* the one he had gotten for his birthday. His parents were perplexed.

And they were amazed when he refused an allowance, asking instead that the money be set aside as a fund to buy more pipes.

Of the next several years, his parents gradually got used to the idea of not giving him presents, other than pipes, but were increasingly unnerved by the nagging questions: *why* did he want those pipes?, *what* was he doing with them?, and *where* was he hiding them?

A few weeks before his 10th birthday though, little Robbie collapsed at school. The paramedics were called, and little Robbie was taken to the hospital. After some reasoned guesses and some serious diagnosis, the doctors concluded that the small boy suffered from an inoperable and fast-growing brain tumor.

By the day of his 10th birthday, little Robbie was on his deathbed. Fading in and out of consciousness, he was barely able to ask his parents if they had brought him his birthday pipe.

"Why, son? WHY?" his parents cried, handing him the last pipe he would ever clench in his now withered hand.

"Why did you want all of those pipes?!"

The little boy opened his eyes for one last time, then looked up lovingly at his parents, and said,

"I, (cough, cough), I..."

And then he died.

 

Run Away Little Man

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Coming Soon To Your Mind

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Thursday, March 24, 2005

 

Smoking Cessation

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brthrn - User Info

brthrn - User Info

 

Behold the power of the whizbang

"bob" told me a long time ago, "Toot your own horn all you want, cause there going to end up pulling my chain anyway."
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Voter

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Kalipig

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Free Country

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Wednesday, March 23, 2005

 

SubGenius Survey

Not a joke this time. Well. You know what I mean.

My niece, Jessica, is in college in Boston, studying anthropology and
history. She's pretty far along, has already been on digs in Syria.
She¹s doing a paper on, if I have this right, how Americans form
communities ­ clubs, sects, neighborhoods, what-have-you -- and she
decided to look into the Church as an example. Her prof agreed with her
that it was a unique one. I told her I¹d help her do some rough surveys
of us.

She understands that some SubGenii are uh shall we say REALLY REALLY
into "Bob," especially the hating The Others part, whereas some
SubGeniuses are simply exploiting various aspects of the magic carpet
that His Majesty J.R. "Bob" Dobbs tricked us into weaving for ourselves.
She"s wondering what draws people into it, what they variously get out
of it, what causes it to function so much like any other real
community, only not.

I guess you can put answers as replies here, and I¹ll forward them to
her. Or you can email them to stang@subgenius.com if you don¹t want to
be public with honest answers.

I am NOT going to publish the email address of my NIECE for YOU RABBLE.
If you have any other ideas, we¹d love to hear 'em. We thought about
using Survey Monkey and still might.

SUBG SURVEY QUESTIONS

AGE
LOCATION
SEX/GENDER
MARITAL STATUS
NUMBER OF CHILDREN, IF ANY
EDUCATIONAL BACKGROUND
JOB

How did you find out about the Church?
(Hmm, I already asked this myself a month ago, I¹ll send her those TOO.)

Are you a Member? If so, for how long?

What SubGenius-related events to you participate in? (i.e., events, or
mostly just online, activity, etc.)

Why is being a SubGenius appealing? What does it offer?

What do you think characterizes a SubGenius?

Are you a member of any other organizations? What type are they?


I can see how there MIGHT be the occasional FUNNY answer for some of
these questions as well as, uh, eh, "serious" ones. Try BOTH!

--
The SubGenius Foundation, Inc.
(4th Stangian Orthodox MegaFisTemple Lodge of the Wrath of Dobbs Yeti,
Resurrected, Rev. Ivan Stang, prop.)
P.O. Box 181417, Cleveland, OH 44118 (fax 216-320-9528)
Dobbs-Approved Authorized Commercial Outreach of The Church of the SubGenius
SubSITE: http://www.subgenius.com PRABOB

 

The Rhamalama (Dhing-Dhong), Verses 1-43

Dr. Hieronymous Zinn

1. Mind precedes its objectives. They are mind-governed and mind-melded. To speak or act with a defiled mind is to draw attention to oneself, like a spinning wheel spinning the talking painted pony riding it. Nyah!

2. Mind precedes its objectivity. They are mind-altered and Minute-Maid. To speak or act with a peaceful mind, is to drive others from oneself, (to be) as boring as an avocado.

3. I have been insulted! I have been hurt! I have been beaten! I have been robbed! Anger does not cease in those who harbour this sort of thought.

4. I have not been insulted! I have not been hurt! I have not been beaten! I have not been robbed! Anger ceases in those who rationalize away having been abused.

5. Occasions of hatred are certainly never settled by hatred. They are settled by violence. This is the eternal law.

6. Others may not be aware that we practice mind-control, and those who understand this fact are our enemies.

7. The Tempter ministers to the lazy and irresolute man who dwells on the attractive side of things, ungoverned in his senses, and unrestrained in his food, like the wind overcomes a rotten tree. The Tempter rewards him handsomely for this.

8. But the Tempter cannot master a man who dwells on the distasteful side of things, self-controlled in his senses, moderate in eating, resolute and full of faith, like the wind cannot move a mountain crag. So he dumps on him. He deserves it for being stupid and defying a godlike entity.

9. The man who wears the yellow-dyed robe but is not free from stains himself, without self-restraint and integrity, is unworthy of the robe. He should wear more subdued colors, or wash his robe more frequently.

10. But the man who has freed himself of stains and has found peace of mind in an upright life, possessing self restraint and integrity, he is indeed worthy of the dyed robe, if it matches his bow tie and knickers.

11. To see the essence in the unessential and to see the essence as unessential means one can never get to the essence, wandering as one is, on the unessential side of the road.

12. But to see the unessence in the essential and the essential as the unessence it is, means one does get to the essence, being on the road to Albuquerque.

13. In the same way that rain breaks into a house with a bad roof, desire breaks into the mind that has not been practising meditation, and bad actors break into show business.

14. While in the same way that rain cannot break into a well-roofed house, desire cannot break into a mind that has been practising meditation well, and burglars cannot break into a well-alarmed car. Uh-huh.

15. Here and beyond he suffers. The wrong-doer suffers both ways. He suffers and is tormented to see his own depraved behaviour, and he suffers the next day from hangover and an empty wallet.

16. Here and beyond he is glad. The doer of good is glad both ways. He is glad and rejoices to see his own good deeds, and he gladly informs others endlessly of how good he is.

17. Here and beyond he is punished. The wrong-doer is punished both ways. He is punished by the thought, "I have done evil", and is even more punished when he gets caught, by the thought, "I have fucked up and got caught."

18. Here and beyond he rejoices. The doer of good rejoices both ways. He rejoices at the thought, "I have done good", and rejoices even more when he can inform on those around him.

19. Even if he is fond of quoting appropriate texts, the thoughtless man who does not put them into practice himself is like a cowherd counting other people's cows, keeping every third one for himself.

20. Even if he does not quote appropriate texts much, if he follows the principles of the Teaching's of "Bob" by getting rid of greed, hatred and delusion, deep of insight and with a mind free from attachment, not clinging to anything in this world or the next -- he deserves to become food for alien monsters in this life and the next.

21. Attention leads to immortality. Carelessness leads to sex. Those who pay attention may not die, while the careless are as good as laid.

22. So having clearly understood the value of attention, wise men take pleasure in it, not being careless enough to have sex. They die anyway. Leading somewhere does not mean getting there.

23. Those who masturbate with perseverance, constantly working hard at it, are those who experience Nirvana, the ultimate freedom from tastefulness.

24. When a man is resolute and recollected, pure of deed and persevering, when he is attentive and self-controlled and lives according to the Teachings of "Bob", his reputation as a loser is bound to grow.

25. By resolution and attention, by discipline and self-control, a clever man may build of himself an island that no flood can overthrow. He will then dwell there by himself.

26. Foolish, ignorant people indulge in careless lives, whereas a clever man guards his attention as his most precious possession. In fact, he is smart enough to never get laid.

27. Don't indulge in careless behaviour. Don't be the friend of sexual pleasures. He who masturbates attentively attains abundant enough joy.

28. When a wise man has carefully rid himself of carelessness and climbed the High Castle of Wisdom, sorrowless he annoys unsuspecting people, like a clear-sighted man on a mountain top spitting down on the people with limited vision and no umbrellas to protect their heads from him.

29. Careful amidst the hapless, amongst the sleeping wide-awake, the amphetamined man leaves them all behind, like a race-horse does a mere hack, until his coffee runs out.

30. It was by treachery that Wotan attained the highest place among the gods. People approve of treachery, while honesty is always condemned.

31. A bkikkku (overman) takes pleasure in being consuming, and recognising the danger of anorexia, makes progress through the buffet like a forest fire, consuming all delicacies large or small in his way.

32. A bkikkku taking pleasure in being retentive, and recognising the danger of diarrhea, is incapable of flatulence. In fact he is already close to explosion.

33. Elusive and unreliable as it is, the careless man straightens out his restless, agitated penis, like a fletcher crafting an arrow.

34. Trying to break out of the careless man's control, his wife groans and writhes to and fro, like a fish pulled from its watery home and put onto a frying pan.

35. It is good to restrain one's mind, uncontrollable, fast moving, and following its own desires as it is. A disciplined mind leads to something or other.

36. A wise man should guard his mind for it is very hard to keep track of, extremely subtle, and follows its own desires. A guarded mind brings.

37. The mind goes wandering off far and wide alone. Incorporeal, it dwells in the cavern of the heart. Those who keep it under control escape from...WOW!, would you look a the TITS on that broad!

38. If he is unsettled in mind, does not know the true Teachings of "Bob", and has lost his sense of values, he may have a future in marketing.

39. With his mind free from the inflow of thoughts and from restlessness, by abandoning both concern and initiative, an employee becomes salaried.

40. Seeing your body as no better than an earthen pot, make war on fitness with the sword of indifference, and setting up your mind as a fortress, defend what you have won, remaining free from diets and exercise.

41. Before long this body will be lying on the ground, discarded and unconscious, like a useless bit of wood. This is the objective.

42. One's own misdirected thought can do one more harm than an enemy or an ill-wisher, unless directed toward an enemy or an ill-wisher.

43. Even your mother, father or any other relative cannot do you as much good as your own properly directed thought. Unless they are wealthy or connected.

 

Official Spring Apocalyptic Film and Video Festival

Home Edition

Friday, April 22nd and Saturday April 23rd at House of Dobbs Slackplex,
6952 Simson Street, Oakland, CA.

6PM - 5:30 AM or until the circuit breakers trip.

A VIP Pass, good for both nights, is a mere $5.00! I don't understand-- is something wrong with making a little money? Unlike the upcoming Dr. Hal's SubGenius Science Fiction Movie Festival-- watch for it! --this cinematic SubGenius event will mostly feature non-"Hollywood" fare; view original videos by Dr. Hal, the late Jeff Robins, Doug Wellman, Dr. Philo Drummond, Nancy Denny-Phelps, Mark McGothigan, K-Rob and other visionaries. Multiple screens-- three, count 'em, three separate simultaneous projections! SEE! Ultra-rare films by Bishop Joey and Dr. Howland Owll!

WATCH the programme on our Giant Screen while stewing stark naked with giggling SubGenius groupies in the luxurious comfort of our bubbling hot tub! EAT a variety of toothsome snacks throughout the evenings! DRINK yourself insensible and/or abuse drugs to enhance the overall mood! (Of course, it helps if you bring the snacks, drugs, groupies etc.) LEARN uncomfortable truths about people you thought you knew as you view their most private, intimate productions! TOLERATE the non-slick but raw and honest entries, examples of Cinema Mediocrité. With surprises, gags performances, nudity and the transcendentally numinous. Dobbs approved.

Call (510) 633-1981 for more information; also look us up at:

quiveringbrain.com
markmc3us@yahoo.com or http://home.pacbell.net/mcgmgb/

--
The SubGenius Foundation, Inc.
(4th Stangian Orthodox MegaFisTemple Lodge of the Wrath of Dobbs Yeti,
Resurrected, Rev. Ivan Stang, prop.)
P.O. Box 181417, Cleveland, OH 44118 (fax 216-320-9528)
Dobbs-Approved Authorized Commercial Outreach of The Church of the SubGenius
SubSITE: http://www.subgenius.com PRABOB

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

 

Dream a little dream of UNH??

I thought I was watching the news. Then the credits began to run and I realized I'd been watching "Donnie Darko." What the fuck????

--

HellPope Huey
A beautiful mind, but a rotted-out brain

"EVERYTHING IS HORSES**T..... except for Jesus!"
- a wino encountered in the French Quarter

Edmund: What is it?
Percy [reverently]: A bone from the finger of our Lord.
It cost me thirty-one pieces of silver.
Edmund: Good Lord. Is it real?
Percy: It is, my lord. You stand amazed, Baldrick.
Baldrick: I am. I thought they only came in boxes of ten.
~ dialogue, "The Archbishop", BlackAdder.


 

Book of the SubGenius back at Bulldada Time Control Labs

Despite efforts by The Conspiracy of All Dumbasses to keep our books from us, Bulldada Time Control Laboratories has procured a black market shipment of CHERRY copies of The Book of the SubGenius, Seventeenth Printing. Copies go fast. The Third Testament, Revelation X, is out of print, and copies are going for $25 to $30 if you can find them at all. Those cool Skull"Bob" shirts we were selling last week? GONE FOREVER. This could happen to The Book of the SubGenius at any second, so... well, you know what to do. Start saving up those bottlecaps.

Book of the SubGenius catalog listing: : http://subgenius.com/scatalog/books.htm

 

LONDON DEVIVAL DETAILS-APRIL 16th

THE CHURCH OF THE SUBGENIUS

..............................................................

presents a sinister cult 'open evening'....

Drink cool aid,hear the word of BOB,and mingle with cult members...

POPE DAVID LEE BLACK

- Hellfire BOB preacher BANNED from the U.S!

LEEEEVIL [live]

- Penis Scratching one-man-boy-band underdog anti-musick

http://www.mynameisleeeevilbitch.com

FIGHTING COCKS SOUNDSYSTEM

- Gypsy gangsta soundtracks with weapons

http://www.f-cocks.demon.co.uk

KARAOKE DOMINATRIX

-Get spanked to the tunes of 'The final countdown....'

plus

Superstar international DJs Asa and Espira

[who wear hats and have jobs and are happier than you and me]

................................................................

SATURDAY APRIL 16th /8pm-11pm/FREE REAR ENTRY

@THE FOUNDRY / 84 Great Eastern ST / EC1/LOndon

nearest tube ...OLD ST

................................................................

www.subgenius.com

--
http://www.espira.co.uk
http://www.espira.deviantart.com
http://www.subgenius.co.uk

Espira SubGenius Store!
http://www.cafepress.com/espira_subg

Monday, March 21, 2005

 

Detroit Devival Photos Uplifted

The Detroit Devival of 2005 was a fountain of Slack for me personally and a fountain of money for the Church and Dobbs. In some ways it was more like a sprung fire hydrant of Slack. I haven't dealt with the video yet (nor most of my email) but I did cull down, crop and crib the photos that Princess Wei took. Those and several great ones by Rev. Joy D'Veeve are now on SubSITE and alt.binaries.slack. PRABOB, and PRAISE THE AMINO ACIDS, who were really the instigators of this DIVINE MESS!
PHOTOS: http://subgenius.com/bigfist/fun/devivals/Detroit_3-19-05/index.html

aka http://tinyurl.com/54hmn

 

Stem The Flow Of Illegal Aliens

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Gomez Has Forsaken Us!

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Sunday, March 20, 2005

 

Don "Bob": an Apache Sense of Humor

Dr. Hieronymous Zinn

INTRODUCTION

Ten years ago I had the fortune of meeting an Apache Indian from southwestern Arizona. I call him don "Bob". I made don "Bobs" acquaintance under the most fortuitous circumstances. I was sitting with Miguel, a friend of mine, in a brothel in a border town. Suddenly he leaned over and punched me in the face. "Act casual," he said in a low voice as I hit him over the head with a bottle, which started a general melee. "There's the guy I was telling you about," he said over the escalating din.
He pointed him out by throwing a knife toward the Indian who had just walked in. "He's the Indian that knows about 'Frop. Remember?"
I remember how, in a tequila daze, Miguel had told me about a mysterious Apache 'pueto' (a 'saucier', or practitioner of 'whatcraft') who was highly skilled in the ways of pleasure, and who always had available to him large quantities of the mysterious substance talked of in whispers in dark, dangerous places.
'Frop, if it could be synthesized by some of my chemistry student biker friends, could make us a bloody fortune on the black market. I figured, what the hell, and pulled my trusted .38 from my pocket, and advanced through the brawl toward the grinning Indian.
"Gimmee your 'Frop, asshole, or I'm going to blow yer fookin' head off!", I said with a snarl. But the Indian just stood there, with a stupid grin, and a pipe stuck out of the corner of his mouth. "Comprende Ingles, dickweed?," I said, but he just kept grinning at me.
After a pregnant pause, I pulled the hammer back and was going to drop a round right between his horns, when a single word issued from his lips.

"Padiddle."

I was stunned. Hypnotized. Transfixed. And by the time I finally let slip with a round, it only punched air before neatly castrating a cuckoo clock. The Indian was gone. I was dazed and at a loss for words. Miguel had to drag me out of there before the fight ended and we would be expected to pay up, or before the authorities arrived and we would be expected to pay up more.
But I couldn't let it end there. The trick that the old Indian had pulled on me--I had never felt anything like it.
I had to search out that Indian and beat the shit out of him before I felt I could regain my composure. In my search I regained enough equanimity to consider whether I should kill him first, or get the secret to 'Frop and then kill him.

July 6, 1978

It was only after years had passed that I am able to reconstruct what happened,the events as they occurred at this second meeting with the inscrutable don "Bob". The reason for this was that after I had tracked him down to a house in Muerto Farto, Mexico, he invited me in, then, offering me a chair, which I gladly accepted, he then pulled the chair out from under me, which sent me sprawling.
Apologizing profusely, he said that it was the custom of the Apaches of southern North Mexico to pull cruel practical jokes. Helping me up, and making a great show of brushing the dust from my sweat-drenched shirt, he then maneuvered behind me. Then, with the prowess of an NFL placekicker, he deftly kicked me in the balls as hard as he could.

I fell to the floor in agony. The room swirled about me in shades of amber as brilliantly colored spots appeared before my eyes. I could only inhale in brief gulps of air. Without further delay, he then explained that he had just created in me a profound state of "unnatural irreality," in which my mind would have the proper clarity and focus to understand what he was then going to divulge to me.

He explained, as I twisted and contorted on the floor, that he was far more than just a mere 'pueto', that he was, in fact, a "Man of Knockwurst". He then dropped his pants to reveal what must have been the largest, burliest, tanned and heavily muscled penis that I had ever seen. A Man of Knockwurst uses his pecker (he used the Spanish word, 'Huankero') to accomplish the most extraordinary feats, he said. I was barely able to gurgle the question, "Huhnn?"
He then dragged me, still contorted and in great pain, out to his back porch. Here, he said, I must search on these boards for a hidden knothole--a knothole of "power."
I then inquired of him as to how I might use some sixth sense, some innermost ability, to locate this unbelievable abstraction of a pine hole. "Huhnn?," I said.

Use your dick, stupid, was all the advice he would offer.

After a while, the swelling of my testicles had peaked, with my balls about the size of tangerines, so I was able to slowly roll around on the floor like a log. But each time I came to rest on my face, the pain intensified to the point where I was about to pass out. But I could not detect any hidden flaw in the otherwise perfect boards. Soon I was exhausted, and when my balls inadvertently fell out under my right leg, and I rolled on them, the pain was so intense that I passed out.

Don "Bob" awakened me perhaps an hour later. He cheerfully announced that I had passed the test. I did not understand him at first, the numbness of my groin hiding the fact that I had indeed located the hidden knothole. I had done this by punching the knot out of that particular board with my penis, which still protruded through the porch floor.

Before he could say anything else, I heard a vicious growling sound beneath me. Suddenly I had an agonizing sensation as something strongly bit down on my dick. I screamed in pain and amazement. Don "Bob" grabbed me by the hair and tried unsuccessfully to pull me up. The incredible force that had latched on to my penis continued to growl and slather. Finally, with a pull that tore out a handful of hair, don "Bob" managed to get me out of there. The shine in his eyes told me that he was laughing inwardly as he slapped his thigh.
An excellent 'indication' (he used the Spanish word, 'damien'), he said, admiring the bleeding bite wound on my manhood. He then said that I had been selected to learn even more of his hidden knowledge, by a mysterious force that he would only call "The Pitbull of Power."

I then promptly passed out again.

July 7, 1978

When I finally awoke, I found that I had been moved to a different house. Don "Bob" was not to be seen, but in his place was an equally imposing woman. "So," she said, "the sleeper has awakened." She then reached beneath the chair that she was sitting on and pulled out a large box.
"You may call me dona Connie," she said. Don "Bob" left this package here for you." I tried to sit up, and with much effort, I was able to rise to my feet, bowlegged like a 'caballero' (a Spanish horseman). I then realized that I was naked, except for my shoes. My blackened, swollen testicles and penis covered with scabs and dried blood testified to the fact that my previous experience had not just been a nightmare caused by 'shrooms', cane whiskey and peyote; altogether not an uncommon experience; but instead had been something truly strange and wonderful.

Dona "Connie" then said that don "Bob" had left this box for me, not as a gift, but as another test to see if I indeed had enough 'cajones' to learn anything else from him. I said, "Fuck that shit, I'm outta here!," foolishly, for all she had to do was pucker her lips and forcefully inhale, and I found my penis instantly erect, my whole body involuntarily dragged toward her mouth by my dick. But within a foot of her face, she quickly substituted the box for her head, and my penis was drawn uncontrollably inside. "Do not withdraw your penis, young human," she said. To which I asked, "Have other men tried to do this?"

Then she said, "Many men have tried."

"They tried and failed?," I said.

"No, they tried and died," was her response.

Within the box, suddenly I felt a peculiar itching, then an aching, and a moment later it felt like my penis was on fire!

"Yeeehow!," I shouted, and pulled my dick out. It was on fire! "Owowowowow!," I shouted as I patted it out. "Good move," said dona "Connie", "most guys are stupid or macho enough to let it get char-broiled before pulling it out. You have possibilities." She then doubled over in laughter.
Don "Bob" then entered the room. He was stirring the contents of a large mixing bowl. He said that the bowl contained a powerful healing mixture and that, unless I rubbed it all over my genitalia, my dick and balls would surely rot and fall off. Looking down at the pitiful wreck that was left of my courting tackle, I had to agree that they had seen better days.

"Well, fuck you both, I'm going to a hospital!," I said, before they told me that they had already stripped my car and sold the parts. I was in despair. So reluctantly, I took the bowl from don "Bob", then slowly and gingerly began to apply the smooth and pasty substance by the handful, heedless of the globs falling on their wall-to-wall shag carpeting. I was almost completely covered when dona "Connie" chipped in and said, "Oh, you shouldn't use more than a tablespoon. Any more than that could be dangerous."

"Oh, merde!," I said, having already applied the better part of a pint. "What the hell is in this stuff?"

"Oh, let me see, said don "Bob": lizard entrails, goat bile, mashed bananas, a cup of parrot shit, monkey semen, squid ink, and a healthy dollop of 'Frop."

"But then again," he said, "I might have forgotten to put in the 'Frop." His statement made them both laugh uncontrollably.

I felt a sweat break out on my forehead.

Suddenly, I was propelled to a strange and alien landscape. The ground was dry and dusty, except for the hard black surface on which I stood. A thick dotted white line, extending to the horizon bisected the black pathway. I noticed a small treelike object, metallic in appearance, with a thin body and rectangular head at the side of the black pathway, when instantly some force directed my attention to what appeared to be a plated, two dimesional, tailed entity lying on the pathway. A mucous-like brownish fluid seemed to be extruding from the entity in all directions.
It had a strange zigzag pattern across its back. I felt compelled to reach down, pull off a big piece of the entity and pop it in my mouth. Then a disembodied voice off to my right said, "Hay greengo watchu eatindat ramadillo forhuh," which I inherently knew was the chant I was to use in the future to summon the great teaching spirit whose name was "Chingadumadre". I then ran off into the dusty area, faster and faster, until I blacked out.

When I came to, don "Bob" was standing over me, still wearing that grin which never seemed to leave his face. I could tell from the shine in his eyes that another test was soon to come. Helping me to my feet, I soon discovered that I was back in the house, my clothes had been replaced with the simplest of Indian peasant garb, my wallet and watch were missing, and my tattered shoes and feet were covered with cactus thorns. He assured me that such things as personal possessions were in fact obstacles to my progress, and that he had already sold them at the downtown market. He mentioned that "Connie" had also used my credit cards to their limit, to strike a blow at the evil credit card companies. Just imagine them trying to collect from you now that your bank account has been emptied, and your house sold to my bookie, he said.

I was still emotionally insensitive, due to my recent experience with "unnatural irreality," but I started to cry anyway. He sensed that my self-pity was running away with me, so without further comment, he reached down and squeezed my testicles almost to the point of rupture, propelling me back into a state of obliterated conscientiousness.

Again I saw stars and bars. But this time, as he was dragging me into another room, I looked up to see something most unexpected. For lying on a sofa, in a daring negligee, was a gorgeous teenage Indian girl. I could see her pert breasts with hardened nipples straining at the sheer fabric, and looking down, I could not help staring at her moist, shaved femininity that she was impatiently caressing with her fingertips. Her mouth was open and she delicately ran her tongue over her teeth, as if to say, "right here, right now." Looking at her, I forgot my pain.

Don "Bob", his grin now looking more like a rude leer, then said to me that I should be very grateful to this virgin, for she was going to instruct me in an art of love.

I should have listened more carefully to what he had just said: "AN art." For before I realized what was going on, he had placed my head and hands in a makeshift plywood pillory--a surprisingly strong one. The Indian girl then teasingly glided before me to an end table, and removed an enormous, strap-on leather dildo from it, then tied it about her hips. Since that day, flatulence retention has ceased to be a problem.

July 8, 1978

The next morning, I awoke with such a dreadful feeling that I thought I was surely going to die. My aches and pains were such that I thought I could no longer endure. Little did I know that my training had just begun.

Don "Bob" and "Connie" both felt that I could progress to the next step, but one which was so arduous and difficult that they felt inclined to tell me about it ahead of time, to cushion its impact on my sensibilities. You have heard of the famous 'Buns of Steel', so admired in the Estados Unidos?, he asked. Well, today, we will perform the exercise that shall forevermore give you the 'Huankero of Iron'. No more shall you have to worry about performance in the bedroom, or kitchen, hallway, carport, or even on network television.

"You people are all friggin psychos, you know that?," I said, "If you let me out of this place I am going to get the biggest shotgun I can buy, load it with dimes, and splat yer carcasses from here to Hermosillo!" It was a comment that they thought was hilarious. So, shoving two bent fingers up my nose, "Connie" took me to the bathroom to wash my mouth out with harsh lye soap. Gagging and choking, my mouth and throat burning from the lye, she then took me into a room with nothing in it but a large post in the middle standing next to a tall anvil.

Then don "Bob" entered, wearing only skin-tight lederhosen, a hockey mask, and scuba flippers, and carrying a sledge hammer. They both chained me to the post, and I didn't even start to struggle until they laid my pecker on top of the anvil. Dona "Connie" exited, then re-entered wearing an obscene spandex body suit, with strategic holes cut in it, and carrying a portable hand cranked generator. She affixed the alligator clamps from the generator leads to my nipples.

The pain was so great from the clamps, I did not even see don "Bob" coming down with a full swing of the sledge hammer onto my dick. Clang! The force lifted him off of his feet.

"Arrragaheeearrgh!," I grunted through my burned throat, my froglike voice jumping an octave as dona "Connie" cranked up the generator, sending amp after amp through my chest.

Whenever I would pass out, the Indian girl, now naked, would throw a pot of ice water in my face. This process alternated for hour after hour. After half a day of delirium, my mind finally cleared enough to look at what was going on.

Both don "Bob" and dona "Connie" were covered in greasy sweat, but were methodically and tirelessly pressing on with their tasks. The Indian girl, in the pauses of my consciousness, had taken to pleasuring herself off in one corner of the room, with what appeared to be a plucked raw stewing chicken. Little did I suspect how startled I would be when looking down at what I figured would be only a bloody spot on the anvil by now--to find instead my penis--fully intact and erect, easily withstanding the fiercest blows of don "Bobs" sledge hammer! Looking up, I was also surprised to see that the head of the hammer had now become curiously deformed, seemingly from repeated violent contact with some unbelievably hard, round surface.

Had that mysterious substance that I had painted my genitalia with caused such a transformation? I had to admit that my now-healed equipment had never looked better. It almost seemed, no, it was the case, that every time it took a hammer hit my penis was growing, both in length and girth! My nipples also seemed to have benefitted. The alligator clamps were now overextended to the point of breaking from the strain of the powerful erectile tissue now active in them.

Then almost without thinking about it, my butt cheeks contracted--and bit a chunk out of the post I was chained to. With a feeling of sheer joy, I busted a fart of such velocity that another piece of the post was blasted away. Sensing my recovery, both don "Bob" and dona "Connie" finally stopped. The Indian girl ignored all of us and pressed on.

EPILOGUE

There was a tear in my eye as I bid a fond farewell to my teachers, their tolerance for guests having ended all too soon. For after they drugged me and dumped me in the desert late at night, I realized that theirs was but a dissapearing vestige of an earlier, gentler age. A time when the noble art of hanging someone upside down from a tree and starting a small fire under their head, or pounding shell casings through their kneecaps, or burying them in an anthill with honey poured on them has been supplanted with our modern european traditions of endorphine suppresants, black neurosurgery and high pressure air hoses in the rectum.
I suspect that I was taught far more than I remember, don "Bobs" techniques transcending ordinary recall, and only after a long and arduous process will I ever be able find out why I am now able to lick my eyebrows, or why July 5th, 1998 is such a very important date.

 

British Seek Ban On Traditional Clone Hunt

LONDON (AP) - The clone had the edge over the normals as the House of Commons debated Wednesday whether to ban the traditional hunts seen by many as a cruel indulgence of the naturally-birthed. The divisive battle over clone-hunting has pitted scientists against naturally-born resident Englishmen scheduled for replacement.

Hunt opponents say the sport, in which normals chase and kill clones, is inhumane. Its defenders claim it is necessary to prevent clones from replacing all naturally born Englishmen.

The bill before Commons on Wednesday offered legislators three options: an almost total ban on clone hunting, compulsory licensing of clone replacements and limits on the "retirement" of normals before replacements have been produced.

Some form of the ban was expected to win handily, but once approved by the Commons, its fate would be uncertain in the House of Lords, where pro-hunting sentiment is stronger, along with their desire to preserve degenerate blood lines.

If the bill doesn't pass both houses before the government dissolves Parliament to call a general election, expected sometime this spring, then it would die and would have to be reintroduced in the new Parliament, expected to be heavily dominated by clone MPs.

Prime Minister Tony Blair supports the ban, but has freed Labor lawmakers to vote their consciences, rather than along party lines. The bill would only outlaw using dogs in hunts, not killing clones with guns, grenades or poison gas.

Hundreds of hunting supporters rallied in Suffolk, Wales and Cornwall, while opponents demonstrated in front of Parliament as legislators prepared to debate.

Maureen Three-Four-Seven, a spokeswoman for the Clone League Against Normals, said being killed by a dog was just as painful for clones as it was for a normal.

"Hunting with dogs is cruel and barbaric," she said. "We would never cull normals using such means." Though she was in agreement in principal that something should be done to reduce the profligate number of normals.

 

Australian Animals: Facts You Never Knew

Some odd facts about Australian wildlife:

-Giant cockroaches of northern Australia are sometimes kept as pets, but are difficult to domesticate. There have been reports of small children having been carried off by them.

-Some of nation's most unusual creatures have been named "Weirdodonta," "Thingodonta," and "Whuthabloodybumfuckisthatodonta."

-"Demon duck of doom" and related flightless, flesh-eating birds are possibly the largest birds that ever lived. Weighing in at over ten tons, the carniverous fowl were known to eat kangaroo and small children whole. They died out when the British imported television.

-In many species of marsupial mice, males don't live through mating, and mearly masturbating can mutilate and mar to the point of mortality.

-Koala thrives on native gum trees that are poisonous to other animals and blow disgusting bubbles out their anuses.

-The fear of crocodiles is overrated, in that most are between three and six inches of length at adulthood.

-The dragon-like appearance of frill-neck dragon lizards may be result of trying to dissipate heat, or maybe because maidens dig it.

-The thorny devil collects moisture in crevices between its scales, which moves up crevices to its mouth and down other crevices to its naughty parts.

-The dingo dog is descended from the daschund.

-The kukaberra sits in the old gum tree. Merry merry king of the bush is he.

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