Saturday, April 16, 2005
Yes, I'm back in the death rattle again.
Rev. Dr. Mike Burns of the Church of the SubGenius here on another one of my acid-rushes to judgment daze...
"...OH, MOTHER OF GOD
CAN THIS REALLY BE THE END
TO BE STUCK INSIDE THE POPE MOBILE
WITH THE DROOLING BANJOES BOOZE AGAIN..."
And they say I never sang for my father in Rome, whom the Boston Sunday Globe just celebrated on his passing with an awesome front-page screaming headline:
'A Hero For The Ages'
Yes, I guess if we're talking about the...
'Getting Medieval On Your Ass For Ages!'
Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition...
But here I go to hell with it anyway...
A hero manwitch who said no to birth control and contraception, and yes to letting the Third World savage and ravage itself on ignorance, poverty, overpopulation, starvation and AIDS.
A man's man who said no to women priests and yes to keeping women at home barefoot in the kitchen and keeping them pinned down everywhere else.
Mr. Pro-Choice who said yes to condemning the living and no to not holding himself high massively above all other walking, breathing abortions.
A most infallible fellow who said no to priests in South America to becoming politically active against fascism, but yes to ignoring, enabling and even rewarding priests everywhere who molested and raped the innocence everlasting out of their young parishioners. "Can you spare an old altar boy a quarter cup of decency, Father Fucker?"
The man who wouldn't die, and who wouldn't say yes to evolution and to any and all progress while presiding over the biggest walkout of followers of the faith since old Martin Luther knocked on heaven's torture chamber door.
The man wearing the world's biggest dunce cap who said no to recognizing divorce and yes that I will remain forever married to my X till that'll be the fucking day that I fucking die, even though I have seen neither the hide nor the hair across the ass of her in 10 years now. Yeah, with heroes like that, who needs villains?
The John Paul George & Ringo One Man Band who said no to stem cell research and yes to eternal suffering for the existing, nothing but existing.
The Mayor of Fat Cat Can City who said yes to life and no to mercy killing, declaring that all those in a vegetative state must be kept alive at all costs till the skin has completely fallen off the bones, till all they are is dustly jays in the windy city.
Unless of course we're talking about His Unholiness Himself. Even though he'd been brain dead for nigh on 27 years, he finally saw fit last week to have his feeding tube removed. Some guys die with all the dignity, but only of course after they've paraded themselves all over, throwing stones from glass houses on wheels, while much of the world went to hell in a drool bucket.
Alas, if only the holy roller, drooler dribbler had had the good decency to pull the plug as well on the collective vegetative state of mind of what's left of his followers.
SINEAD O'CONNOR FOR POPE!
Unfortunately, you and I both know we can look forward to more of the same meet the new boss, same as the old boss. Ah, men.
Won't get drooled [on] again,
Mike Burns in hell on earth for you...
Breast Feeding Of Animals #2
of raping the circus fat woman.
First he heard her testimony of lost virtue, and how,
though small in stature, the dwarf was a creature of
enormous equipment, but of low and base morals who it
was well known by all had long lusted after her, and
harrassed her often.
Then the judge asked how it was possible that such a
small man could have assaulted such a large woman, to
which he received the tearful reply that "He had used
a bucket!", before the witnesses' sobs became
The judge said he was forced to find the dwarf innocent,
as even the slightest kick by the woman could have sent
the dwarf sprawling, so to a considerable extent, she
must have at least passively submitted to his lustful
And yet, noting his smirking and unwholesome countenance,
the judge summoned the dwarf to the bench one last time,
telling him that, having been found innocent, he could
not be charged again with that same crime; but at the
same time, he felt that the dwarf had indeed, somehow
raped the fat woman. So he asked him how he had done it.
To which the dwarf replied, "She was right that I used a
bucket. But I wasn't standing on it. I put it on her
head and held on to the handle!"
Friday, April 15, 2005
Thursday, April 14, 2005
I guess all I can say is, UNITARIAN JIHAD!!!
What Makes Baby Jesus Cry
*Foolish lists of things that either annoy you up front or which you
find amusing and pass around until it hits someone who really does find
*Ditch weed. Rats.
*Dumbasses who forget to use their flash suppressors, thereby allowing
the SWAT boys to triangulate on them twice as fast, shamefully lowering
the body count in the baseball diamond across the way.
*China. Other countries suck in their own ways, but China sucks with the
force of billions. You know its bad when you're HAPPY to find something
made in Mexico.
*Bad audio cords and those who sample their crackling or 60-cycle hums
so as to mess with people at sound checks.
*Writer's block. Hell, *I* cry over that one. After a few days, it gets
to be like a cross between a toothache and a full bladder. Boo hoo.
*Colon block. Its a bad thing.
*SpongeBob marketing. ENOUGH! What's next, a sci-fi version of "The
Tempest" and underwear featuring robots? Wait, I think they did that...
yeah, "Forbidden Planet." Damnit, where was the Robby underwear? Forrest
J. Ackerman would have bought 2 dozen pairs. Now if anything really
deserves a proper remake, that film does.
*Conservative pundits. He's cryin' because He's not yet big enough to
kick them in the crotches so hard, they sail through the air and land in
South Carolina pig pens, face-first.
*Easily half of all anime, with some making the cut only because they're
beautiful to see, despite weak or grotesquely violent stories that just
make you shrug and go "Eh."
*Men and women who can't find a balance between the fact that he's been
taught from toddlerhood to be "tough" and go it alone, where she's been
taught to confab and share at all times. If you treat the edges of those
vast differences with some regard, it can be a great splice. If not,
well, cops hate domestic dispute calls worse than anything; they can go
nuclear faster than mere robberies or car wrecks.
*Guys named Judas or Pilate.
*The fact that we do so much through wires alone now, the social fabric
is suffering. Its clear that we lose precious things for want of it
happening face-to-face often enough to stick properly or shake itself
out. If someone e-mails and tells you I ate condor eggs, don't shoot me
until you see actual yolks.
*People who get drunk at parties and fall headfirst into the television
*Meth users. My nice ex-wife, oddball that she is, successfully kept a
bathtub filled with goldfish in the back yard for about 5 years and
nursed them along until they got almost khoi-sized. They survived
everything from bad weather to attempted raccoon incursions and made her
very happy for the mere price of fish food and some protective screening
over the top. Then a scumbag landlord started renting apartments to
other scumbags at a place just a few hundred feet away from my ex's back
yard. She and her neighbors began to smell nail polish remover on the
air and get nasty headaches. It didn't take me a New York second to hear
this and say "Its partly acetone, which is used in one of the last
stages of 'cooking' up methamphetamine to get that nasty crystalline
effluent all too many love to snort. There's some other lovely crap like
pseudephedrine in the mix, too."
The police finally triangulated on the fools and routed them, but it
seemed clear that the fish, as well as the neighbors, fell prey to
toxins generated by essentially worthless creatures. Baby Jesus shed a
quart over that one. R.I.P. Nemo.
*Sushi. Damn, its RAW FISH! Are you NUTS? Hah.
*Decerebrate fools who ramble on and on and on while blowing clouds of
Swisher Sweet smoke in your face until you wish a giant alligator clip
would drop from the sky and clamp around their heads.
*The cancellation of "Futurama," one season too soon. Stupid meatbags.
*Your taste in clothes.
*Friendships that go sour for small or avoidable reasons. Slow down a
little, damnit. Take a second breath before you speak or act. They
aren't hanging from trees to be plucked casually and you can't make any
new old friends.
*The mentally disrupted. That manic stuff and OCDs will make you crazy,
especially if you're the one whose mainspring is overwound. That crap
smarts. Its like an ectoplasmic hernia, ow ow ow.
*The truly insane. You know who you are and who THEY are and what THAT
is and its all THEIR fault anyway and maybe you need a gun or something.
*Commercials. He cries harder when they come every 6 minutes and He was
really enjoying the show the $#@! things keep interrupting.
*Computer drives that crap out and fussy magnetic media in general. He
really hated the punch card era and He's straining for data crystals so
we can leave the disks behind. Jesus uses a Mac; Satan went UNIX early
on. Even the gods know Windows blows.
*Catching His foreskin in a zipper. Hell, that'd make anybody cry. Say,
he's Jewish, so no foreskin maybe, nu? Well, you get the idea.
*Politics. For every real statesman, flawed or otherwise, there are and
have been hundreds of people in public service, mostly male, who
shouldn't be allowed to sell used cars, much less guide a nation.
*The fact that Doom-3 looks so boss while being sheer crap with a story
a micron deep.
*"American Idol." Lord, there are so many things wrong there, I ain't
EVEN gonna try to type it all out.
*When your new surfboard gets slammed by a big wave and broken the first
time you take it out for a spin after the paint job had cured.
*Bullies. You know who you are. If its a drag on the schoolyard, its
beyond insane in the so-called adult world. You deserve to have a dead
opossum locked in your car for 6 weeks during July and then be made to
eat it as a brisket. Every BITE, you hear me?
*Lost opportunity. Slow down a little, damnit.
*SUVs, even if they are passing crash tests better after a dismal start.
I'd hate 'em less if every other person driving them didn't have a cell
phone glued to their ear. You make me want to give you a drive-by
colonoscopy with an old phone booth. There's some road rage for yer ass.
*Most of Usenet, except for the groups that focus on the arts, hobbies
or science. Those are usually engaging and benign. The rest feature
dragons and talking sphincters.
*Alt.slack, also known as Chez Cesspool. The problem is, its one of the
livelier groups and its so full of crap, pigs are turning and saying "Ye
GODS, what a stench!" And here I am, in the middle of it, rooting for
truffles that were already shipped to Kroger's for sale to clueless
meatbags. Oh Lord, I humbly apologize for SUCKING.
*My personal gall.
Boy, that holy little bugger must be really dehydrated, huh?
Who is "Bob"
"Bob" speaks to your OTHER brain.
The one you thought you lost. The one you found stuck down under the cushions in the couch and stuck it away somewhere then forgot where you put it. The brain BEHIND your brain. You know how they say "we only use 25% of our brain?" "Bob" speaks to the OTHER 75 %.
The brain SLUM. The JUNGLE brain. The REPTILE brain. The brain that understands things that don't make sense. A vast sea of mystery and surreal dreams. The brain that VOTES. The brain that SPEAKS IN TONGUES, the brain they make HOT DOGS out of. The brain the CONFUSES PARROTS. The brain that speak from BEHIND your other brain, and tells lonely shepherd boys that that sheep is KINDA CUTE. The brain that speaks the language of LOST ALIEN WORLDS, worlds with three suns and purple moons.
"Bob" talks about flying saucers, but it's a HOLY MYSTERY. Your other brain IS a flying saucer. AND a time machine. And a deep fat fryer and a cable TV that only broadcasts BUG PORN.
"Bob" is what you've been waiting for.
KILL THE FOREBRAIN AND ACCEPT THE LOVE OF "BOB".
"Bob" is waiting. Shove that icepick up your nostril NOW, for only THEN will you know the truth that is BETTER than truth.
via Fark, artist named j0ebear
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
It is the effort of a Normal to act in a Surreal fashion, usually in an effort to sell a product.
But Normals don't understand or comprehend what Surreality is, so they are doomed to fail, and fail miserably. Often with the same results as someone who has no sense of humor TRYING TO TELL A JOKE! (such as Pauly Shore or Carrot Top.)
You see, time was when Normals could only parrot their Normality. They tried as best they could to eliminate *abnormality*, *humor* and the surreal from their advertisements, believing it to be too distracting. But competition was so fierce that eventually one of them tried injecting a tiny non-sequitor into their blipvert.
And it sold stuff, because even Normals bash their little wings off against the glass of the porch light known as abnormality. Like hunching puppies whose brains tell them to strive for sex their bodies aren't ready for. Like a pretty little flower poking its head up through the fall snow just before it is mercilessly ground into filthy slush by the snowplow of the Con.
And so Surrealanality was born. "The effort of the anal-retentive to be abnormal."
But why is it a threat or menace? BECAUSE, as puny as their efforts are, eventually they will start to notice (if not comprehend) REAL SURREALITY.
And in their pathetic Scheistgeist, they will TRY to embrace it, even if it KILLS them; maybe by giving it an AWARD, then trying to DISSECT it, so they can FIND OUT HOW IT WORKS AND USE IT OVER AND OVER AGAIN ADVERTISING EVERY PRODUCT FROM PEPSI TO 'N'SYNC!
Thus killing it dead, of course.
And once they have squeezed the life gel out of the smallest bit of Surreality, it will only whet their appetite to SMOTHER the rest of abnormality with their horrid CONventions. EVERY SINGLE COMMERCIAL WILL TRY TO BE SURREAL *AND* FUNNY!
And from their it is but a short step until THE VERY CHURCH OF THE SUBGENIUS ITSELF BECOMES POPULAR!!!!
Truly endtimes. Ragout.
Brief Encounter With An Airhead
Though she was attractive, for some reason, perhaps because it is what I usually do, I took an instant dislike to her.
But, to be polite, I inquired, "Are you a student at Enormous State University?"
I must really discontinue this practice of trying to be polite. It is a bad habit.
Her response, of course, was "Huh?"
"Well, they are only interested in money. They gave up on trying to educate years ago. They are just a large diploma mill."
"So, what is your degree?"
"Oh. I'm studying marketing, because I want to make a difference!"
At this point I gave up.
Agoraphobic Shut-In Stang in State of Constant Dread
universe is inexplicably a speaker at Starwood this year again, and
that he has foolishly been given Burning Man clearance and a two week
time-frame for California traveling. The great thing about this is
that, since we know Stang to be an Internet-nerd shut-in, uncomfortable
around real people if they aren't Bobbies kissing his ass and jabbering
about "Bob" all the time, he will surely suffer excruciatingly no
matter how he is feted and celebrated by whoever these brainwashed
people are that keep bringing him back to these boring events year
May 5-7: teX Day -- High Rock Ranch, Austin TX
June 30 - July 5: 8X-Day -- Brushwood, NY
July 20 - 25: Starwood -- Brushwood, NY
August 17 - 23: Psytopia -- Jamaica
August 29 - Sept 6 -- Burning Man
October sometime: Columbus Devival -- Columbus OH w/ Stylex, CD Truth,
Stang, Huey, more
Stang's inability to function outside of his tiny office garret is all
too well documented:
See also the entirely hallucinated alt.binaries.multimedia.slack video
stockpile -- if you're DELUSIONAL!!
I don't HATE Stang, no. No. Hate? Ahahaha. In fact I merely PITY him
24-7. But I do live and breathe for the day when I and my fleet of
lawyers shall DESTROY HIM UTTERLY.
By the way, you can find the coward Stang holed up at his actual
residence at 5390 Waterside Wallow, Dallas, TEXAS. It's not Dallas Ohio
like some KOOK told me it was. The coward has it set up so that the
only other way you can get to him and challenge him to his chickenshit
face is to go to one of these stupid "devivals" ( sic - he doesn't even
know how to SPELL!!). And there's NO WAY I'm going to pay the ruinously
high entrance fees they charge at those things just to tell Stang what
I think of him. Plus he probably has all those bodyguards around him.
"Rev. Buck Naked" and those other Stang-lovers who toady to him. He's
surrounded by these obsequieous Bobbies all the time, you know. They
completely insulate him from anything in the real world. He doesn't
know what it's like to be told "FUCK YOU" by a TRUE YETI. But that's
what I'd say to him if he wasn't to chickenshit to come over to my
place. WHICH HE CAN NEVER KNOW OR FIGURE OUT because baby, I have
COVERED MY TRACKS.
Stang thinks I'm just some Bobbie he can push around. But Stang doesn't
know WHO HE'S DEALING WITH.
He used my art on those CafePress frisbees and then had the NERVE to
send me a CafePress PRINT-OUT that said only ONE had ever sold! And a
measly $3 check! I have SEVEN AND A HALF lawyers on that case now.
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, April 12, 2005
Do you REALLY know what condition YOUR condition is in?
I just got off the Interociter with Loke E. Coyote. He's got more bands signing up to play at teX-Day than he knows what to do with. (INCLUDING THE GREAT GROOVY NEPTUNE!!!!) That's GOOD, since EVERYBODY has to pay to get in. I just found out how much I'M gonna have to pay to get there and get in... but by Gobbs I'll do it ANYWAY!
I just can't bear to NOT! It WILL be a first teX-Day NOT TO MISS.
The location, High Rock Ranch, is a pleasant 40 minute drive from Austin -- 25 minutes if you already know the way, or are coming back TO Austin -- and the hosts are DEFINITELY COOL! I checked the scene out at their event last October, as did several other non-pagan Subgenii, and found it OF HIGH SLACK-CHARGE! Very much like Brushwood only without the hot showers or the pool. But there are plenty of chem-cans and a nice stage, gorgeous land, mysterious forests, weird caverns, a Sex Temple (really! -- not that you'd catch MY taint in that place), topless witches, big bonfires, and probably, in early May, very nice weather with only a slight chance of thunderstorms for 20 minutes every afternoon.
And Austin, now as big and safely Pink as Dallas, is within easy drive for those who fear scorpions and rattlesnakes. (I would think there are decent motels fairly close to the site.) I am planning to fly to Austin on Thursday and hie my and Wei's hines to the site on Friday. Princess Wei does not want to miss this either.
I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR ANY MORE WHINING ABOUT HOW "THE GOOD X-DAY DRILLS ARE ALWAYS IN NEW YORK, EEEEWWW!!"
EVERY SubGenius in Texas, Oklahoma, New Mexico, Louisiana or Arkansas who doesn't make it to teX-Day is hereby declared in advance a TOTAL ABJECT PUSS-WAD.
There. Line drawn. Start crossing.
Here's my report from last October, with pictures.
Here's Loke's Flashimated teX-Day CARTOON:
plus all the other pertinent info like directions to Red Rock, Texas.
The entrance fee has been LOWERED to only $25 if you REGISTER AHEAD. (CHEAPER THAN X-DAY at Brushwood!) $35 at the door.
FOLLOW THE LINK, OR LANGUISH LIKE A PINK!