A.o.t.F.C.

A.o.t.F.C.
I was told I was the most face value SubGenii they have met -- ironic, seeing as how I'm the one in the mask

Bobbie Bashing I – Or “You’re too PINK for Starbucks!”


My friends, I must address an issue that has been plaguing me since my ordainment. Something that insists on pissing in my corn flacks. Someone continues to stick his dick in my birthday cake and, quite frankly – I’m a little tired of it.

For you see, I’ve had the distinct displeasure of having to deal with some of those who are worse than pink – far worse than the masses of pink putrescence that plague this planet – those silly shitheads, at least, aren’t even aware they are pink.

This inundation of the most vile and despicable creature to ever slither and slink its way up from the depths of the primordial sludge…

Those who are unworthy of sucking farts from the arse of G’broagfran – who bleat monotonous amounts of mental deficiency – regurgitating ineptitude at levels that even most pinks are incapable of.

These putrid imperfections of protozoan puke permeate the dark recesses of the church far more than I ever dared to believe.

Hiding behind their Dobbshead t-shirts, pretending to know the paths to Frenzy, blindly following the edicts of those who would and will take advantage of them for their own deliciously demented, yet tastefully slackful purposes.

BOBBIES!

Do not underestimate these vile and disgusting abominations!

These bobbies are fully aware of their pinkness, yet they deny it – in fact, I’m absolutely positive that some listening right now don’t even realize that this is directed towards them.

I’ll place a wager of money AND Slack that right now they are thinking “Yeah, you Give’em hell “Suds!”

You moron! Go back to giving yourself a spiritual swirly, take a hardy dose of ‘sit the fuck down’ with a tall glass of ‘shut the fuck up’ to wash it down!

These degenerate, feces flinging monkeys have wasted our time – worse, they waste our Slack and that is unforgivable!

As for their punishment, we shall continue to use and abuse them for our own entertainment.

They shall suffer, never knowing the reasons why “Bob” has never seen fit to grant them true Slack – their suffering will be delicious candy for all across the corporate galaxy.

In the future, we shall bring forth to you detailed accounts of our torturous attempts at abusing the bumbling buffoons we find so detestable.

Their actions shall be remembered come X-Day – when the legions of card carrying church member shall be enjoying the immaculate madness of SexHurt and Oozquirt.

Laughing with the ÜberSexGodesses over the destruction of the bobbies and their pink brethren!

And in any case – “Bob” will keep their money.

So reaffirm your faith in the Sultan of Sales – the instigator of yucks for the alien warbarers.

May the pure hatred for these sorry fuckers, who blissfully allow the madness to continue unabated fuel this engine of reprisal.

May the rage sustained by pink insanity drive this vehicle -- May the fire of our hatred keep us nourished through even the darkest times – may it warm us in our coldest nights!

May you find shelter amongst the wrinkles of “Bob’s scrotum – may his shadow of opulence pave your path of least resistance.

May SubGenius efforts in proverbial pie-chucking and backhanded slapstick appease the lunatic gods and their insatiable funny bone!

Lest we once again find ourselves hung out to dry on X-Day – being mercilessly mocked and heckled from beyond the stars.

Praise god damn “Bob!”

Subversive cults are always more fun


Friends – am I to give “Bob” all the credit for this moment of self-actuating and self-stimulating understanding?

Or could there be even more sinister forces at work here?

Well – I must give credit where at least some credit is due, and there happens to be one other I must thank for this divine wisdom.

One other entity that I must pay tribute for my final reckoning.

Friends – I must take a moment to give thanks to the Conspiracy itself.

Now, I know it must come as a great shock to my brothers and sisters.

I’m sure you’re thinking to yourself “How could he give that lumbering, all-consuming, Slack sucking machine of slow, agonizing species death an ounce of credit for anything other than piston fucking the collective rectums of our congregation?

You’re probably wondering how in the hell I can sit here with the audacity to give any appreciation to that which we have sworn our undying hatred towards?

You must be trying to understand where this silly sonuvabitch gets off polishing the helmet of that which our sweet acts of subversion seek to destroy?

Why you ask?

Because the Conspiracy pushed my fat ass straight into “Bob’s” pipe, and for the first time in my life I know what true Slack means for me – I realize I had it all along – and no matter what hell bound path the Conspiracy has planned for me, they will never be able to take it away from me!

Praise fucking “Bob!

Now, don’t get me wrong – I like my fellow SubGenii am far from perfect.

I admit that I am guilty of many acts of stupidiy – some more recent than I care to admit – and some I look back on and wonder why I’m even still here after pulling such a stupid stunt.

Well – the old proverb “Wise is the admitted dumbass” has never been truer – and this dumbass looks back on his experiences with hard earned wisdom, humility and a better understanding of the stupidity around us all.

Six BILLION points of stupid that is…

These ill-reputed sons of fatherless camels – these ignorant, sycophantic piles of donkey spunk.

Of course I’m speaking of the mindless glorps, pinks and asshole figureheads within the Conspiracy who rob the Slack of the true Yeti.

Tools! Every last one! Unworthy of the edict of “Bob,” they bumble to and fro stupidly clinging to any shred of false Slack they think they have – praising their lord for giving them something they’ve never known and were never given in the first place!

Now, I know there are some pretty strong opinions over what to do with the legions of myopically minded half-wits.

Hey – why wait for X-day to enslave the masses – especially since they are nothing more than fodder for our demented fantasies.

What’s more fun than convincing the stupid to take that bullet for you?

What better way to keep slaves than to convince them they aren’t slaves to begin with – the Conspiracy has had it down to a science since air, right?

It seems these opinions have widened the Great Divide between the clenches of our little church of the inside joke.

Of course, I speak of the rift between the intellectual Ivangelicals – hoping to ‘save’ the human race from extinction by ‘enslaving’ them for menial labor, experimentation, human sacrifice and sexual exploitation.

The militant Holocaustals striving to completely snuff out the moronic masses of this planet.

And virtually every other clench and schism branching haphazardly off the backs and carcasses of “Bob’s” conquests.

A massive pit of collective ideals and abnormality – a cacophony of white noise, a stream of conscienceless so muddled through the mudding of our sacred shores by the trample of individuals, beating our collective chests loud enough to rock the very heavens above!

This pit has become so wide and so full, I can’t see the other side! Friends – I have stared into the abyss of my twisted soul, and I have seen the face of true terror – and it is “Bob!”

My friends – I must tell you I wouldn’t give two shits for what happens to this planet, or the stagnant, pink races.

As a founding member of the A.o.t.F.C., I am here to remind you we have all gathered at these sacred grounds for the same damn reason – no matter what opinions we hold.

The divine pronouncement of Dobbs proclaims we will be on the Xist’s ships getting our eternal freak on with the ÜberSexGodesses on our journey to Planet X!

As long as we keep our ‘senses’ about us; Common sense, sense of humor and dollars and cents!

“Bob” has seen my green – so I got nothing to worry about.

“Bob” is in my corner, because I’m in his pocket!

Why should I care about infighting, rivalry and feudin’ within the church?

See, you’re so busy fighting over whose vision sounds better that you seem to forget the best part of all this – SEX WITH ALIENS!

We’re gonna be living it up WAY up in the motherfucking mothership, getting our fancies tickled by the most exotic extraterrestrial intersexuals this galaxy has ever known!

Fuck the pinks! Leave’em alone or kill’em all – It just doesn’t matter!

At this point we’re all nothing more than performing monkeys here to tickle the twisted funny bone of the creatures of the carnal cosmos!

“Bob” sold it; we smoked it – that settles it!

George Carlin (1937 – 2008)

The three voices that inspired me are now gone from this world -- Sam Kinison (December 8, 1953 – April 10, 1992) -- Richard Pryor (December 1, 1940–December 10, 2005) and now George Carlin (May 12, 1937 – June 22, 2008). Since I gave up watching TV or even listening to radio years ago, I didn’t find out about his death until this morning. I have to admit – I couldn't help but think "He may be silent now, but they'll never shut him up."

Along with Kinison and Pryor, George Carlin managed to express their frustrations towards the world around them in a way that touched something deep with me. They weren’t just telling jokes – they were making observations on the worldly lunacy that strangles the thinking man. And it was these observations and commentary that helped them to transcend being simple ‘stand up comics’ to ‘laymen philosophers.’ These three names were able to do something that no other comic was able to do – they managed to grab our attention and point to the absurdity of everyday living, shaking us from our complacency under even the deepest piles of laughter, while never once becoming heavy handed or didactic.
Most comics tend to comment on their lives, or plights that they deem worthy of commenting on. It often comes off as whining or preachy, or simply becomes ‘just another joke’ meant to make the audience laugh at the comic’s expense – But these three greats never fell into that trap. Their social commentary was biting, painfully accurate and exhilaratingly hysterical. They used the power of laughter to rip away our protective cynicism and hold the harsh reflection of the preverbal mirror in our collective faces – pointing out that we are our own funniest joke. And they never apologized for it.

So if you would all join me now in a moment of reverence for the Late George Carlin as we recite the “Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television.”

Shit - Piss - Fuck - Cunt - Cocksucker - Motherfucker – Tits.

And let’s not forget the three "auxiliary" words he added later on:

Fart - Turd – Twat.

Tonight – we in the ‘Suds’ household will be holding a George Carlin memorial. We shall be watching a few of Carlin’s HBO specials, along with his hosting gig for SNL. VHS tapes of the old “The George Carlin Show” – and at least one of the Bill & Ted flicks.

Now I’m going to have a good laugh at my own expense. George would have wanted that.

Realizations


The Very Esteemed Universal Philosopher of Absolute Reality has come to some realizations in this life -- and he'd like to share a few of his observations with you:


  • I have come to realize that living with constant pain, both mental and physical, changes a person, and not always for the better.

  • I have come to realize that those who can’t handle honest critique simply won’t acknowledge and accept their own faults.

  • I have come to realize that some people aren’t happy unless they are struggling through life.

  • I have come to realize that some people have been groomed to reject the evidence of their own eyes.

  • I have come to realize that the concept of individuality coupled with conformity makes no sense.

  • I have come to realize that most folks aren’t really stupid – they are either ignorant of the facts or apathetic to them.

  • I have come to realize that I could live the rest of my life without ever touching another glass of alcohol or smell a wiff of tobacco smoke. But I won't begrudge someone their choice to indulge in either.

  • I have come to realize that the modern concept of marriage is a sham. It’s nothing more than a legal contract in the eyes of the law. Every other aspect of marriage is just ritual to fulfill the bride’s delusional fantasies of fairy tale weddings.

  • I have come to realize that if it hurts to bang your head against the wall – STOP!

  • I have come to realize that I actually take joy in pissing off certain individuals and groups of agenda toting demagogues.

  • I have come to realize that my kids have opened my eyes to many things in this world – both good and bad.

  • I have come to realize that there is no such thing as “good and evil” – only good choices and easy ones.

  • I have come to realize that I have no problem with never owning a cell phone -- ever -- EVER!

  • I have come to realize that I hate mornings. I’ve always been more of an afternoon / evening / late night kinda guy.

  • I have come to realize that the house feels cold and cheerless without my kids there.

  • I have come to realize that the world does not follow any preconceived notions of how it should work. But I know a fucking fact when it hits me in the face.

  • I have come to realize that religion and politics were created to lull the hapless masses into hapless sheep.

  • I have come to realize that the Government is really pissing me off.

  • I have come to realize that I refuse to bow down before the alter of public opinion.

  • I have come to realize that television is a fad in desperate need of going away.

  • I have come to realize that I hate being right all the time – because it means no one is listening.

  • I have come to realize that there are no answers – because no one is asking the right questions.

  • I have come to realize that free will is only as free as the choices offered.

  • I have come to realize that most people are too afraid of loosing something to take a stand against the injustices in the world.

  • I have come to realize that tomorrow’s gonna be a better day – but today has to go to shit to get there.

Divine Vision of "Suds" Pt 3


My moment of realization was interrupted by my frop ring getting snagged on the shield admitter, popping the ring and sending my plummeting back to Earth. As I began burning up in the atmosphere, I had a moment of clarity.


We’ve all come to understand that “Bob” is lucky – not smart. And it sure is luck for him I had this vision.


For taking my cue from "Bob" Himself, who proclaimed that we pull the wool over our own eyes, cast Him out and make our OWN religion, I, along with the MoFo of Mojo, Pastor Phister Gagghōl – Minister of Music, Madness & Mayhem, made the decision to schizm from the schizm and clench our own stark fist by forming the A.o.t.F.C. –


Which is itself an offshoot of the 28th Day AdBobtist movement, splintered from the Apocalypsoholoic branch of the Dobbsian Mentalodge of Sanctimonious Conditioning – the Mental Cleansers and disinfectants of the old days.


Our tenets include not only making money for "Bob" playing turf accountant to those gambling on the many inter- denominational battles waging between the deficient, pink rag dolls of the Conspiracy and laughing mercilessly at their folly – but to also insure that payment is received in full on time.


So if you’re late, expect a knock on your door in the middle of the night. We’ll be paying you a little visit.

Money will flow like the explosion of wet sex over the face of the highest ÜberFemms, and a never ending fountain of Slack shall empower the Yeti race for the trials and tribulations we shall soon face.

You see, my friends – we are at a turning point in SubGenius history. A point where our race has the opportunity to truly prove its worth over the worthless heaps of pink stupid –

Sure, the Conspiracy can never be truly defeated by sheer Yeti will alone. But it can be hampered – it can be heckled and, with a little luck and a little Slack, we should enjoy the simple humor of watching the most righteous of the Consuckers ending up with egg on his face.

For if the Church of the SubGenius, and every other schizm that dares to speak of “Bob” are anything at all, it is this: A SUBVERSIVE CULT! And how do you become a subversive cult?

By subverting, of course!

To claim all of the churches of the inside joke are the greatest joke ever told just isn’t enough! We need to show the Conspiracy that it’s not the joke that’s important – it’s the punchline!

A closed handed, brass-knuckled haymaker right square in the jaw of the Conspiracy!


With the levels of twisted imagination the Yeti collective has, the sheer force of humor should be enough to blow the lid off this stupid machine – and show the aliens that we are the best goddamn performing monkeys the galaxy has ever seen!


We must pool our resources and develop ways of sticking a shit laced finger into the eyes of that the theorists have dubbed “Big Brother!”


We must find ways of flinging the monkey’s own feces back at them, and their wranglers!


We must find a way of slipping the almighty whoopee cushion under the arses of every pinkneck politician and bureaucrat we can get our hands on!


We must find a way of scribbling a mustache on every holy relic and sacred artifact that the gullible Pink saps would kill to protect!


We must find a way of spelling out a great big “FUCK YOU” across this nation coast-to-coast!


And we must let the agents of the Conspiracy know that “Bob” is their true master!


Are these thoughts blasphemous?


Are these beliefs heresy?


Are we out of our minds?


Are we desperate for money?


You’re damn right on all counts!

And I know "Bob" is happy for this – see? He's grinning! How can you argue with that!

By turning a profit off the backs of prophets is just one of the multitude of ways the Assembly of the Flaming Carpet find's their Slack!

And that's exactly what "Bob" wants, (well, besides our money) He wants us to have Slack! And by "Bob" we aim to have it!

Divine Vision of "Suds" Pt 2


And as I rose over the gleaming hull of that craft – the I watched as sky filled with the vanguard of a Yist attack cruisers – Sonic Ascendancy Cannons at the ready.


Two mighty races – poised on the precipice, ready to attack in a heartbeat, yet neither wanting to be the one to fire the First shot! A Mexican Stand-Off if you will --

As luck would have it, I eventually floated lazily across one of the viewports for what appeared to be an observation lounge. It was then I witnessed something that would change my thoughts on the secret workings of the universe.


Seated before a massive viewscreen, segmented into thousands of separate images, were representatives of both the Xists and the Yists, all of them in a fit of hysterical laughter.


The screens they were watching had images taken from all over the planet: the food riots in Africa, the war in Iraq, that former moronic monkey dancing a jig on the floor of the UN – so many images flashing across the screen so quickly that my mind could only absorb the barest fraction of the information.

Erected behind the group of hideous mutations was a large markerboard set up with what appeared to be a point spread written across the board. And putting up the odds was none other than J.R. "Bob" Dobbs himself – Money was flowing like wine, wine was flowing like wet sex, wet sex was flowing like money!


Eventually Connie appeared, carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres and, wearing nothing but a gold color strap-on that appeared to shine with an intense energy, served and serviced the throng of alien monstrosities, who cackled and guffawed at the exploits of the stupid pink bastards that plague our world.

At that moment I was struck with an epiphany!


All around us the mental midgets of the pink race bobbing their heads to the pronouncements of morons – their eyes glistening in a bovine glaze of intellectual laziness.


Utterly oblivious to the cliffs the Conspiracy sheppards them towards. Flagrantly disregarding scruples while aiding criminals aiding criminals by legalizing the very crimes they themselves are guilty of.


And all under the umbrella of thunderous applause and thudding back-patting over the fattening of coffers.


On all sides they come, armed with the stinking madness of their fear – they file in, shoulder to shoulder, jackbooted fools baying and bleating like legions of demented sheep.


Launching their blitzkrieg of bullshit and incompetence on the heads and hearts of all they do not understand, decimating the very ground under their feet with the sheer weight of their crusade against rationality and common sense!


But, my friends – all is not lost. Nah, my friends, the fun is just beginning.


For the Divine Vision of “Suds,” known as "The Immaculate Contradiction" testifies to a phantasmagoricaly fantastical method of successful venture that rivals any pink headed pyramid scheme the sorry sacks of pathetic normals could never dream.


The plan has changed! The great edict has been pushed aside in the name of massive profit!


The Xists, upon arriving to our backwater little dirtball, prepared for their reign of death and destruction down upon the heads of the pitiful creatures of man when the Yist arrived – ready for a fight. But like a crazy scene in some old gangster flick – the two sides found themselves staring down the barrel of each other’s guns.


Things were looking grim in Mudville – until "Bob" interviened.


"Bob" must have convinced them to hang out and enjoy the entertainment that the genetically stagnant human race has to offer. "Bob" himself has taken the opportunity to turn a healthy profit and has turned turf accountant, a bookie if you will, making money hand over stark fist, taking advantage of a change of events that no one could have foreseen, but only “Bob” could take advantage of!


In fact, "Bob" of course has the upper hand in the dealings and proceedings with his ace in the hole – the SubGenius! It appeared to me that "bob" had thrown us into the proceedings as an extra couple of yucks for the alien warbarers.


The more SubGenius subterfuge and subversions against the Conspiracy and all it represents, the funnier the aliens think it is, the more money exchanges hands/claws/tentacles, the more "Bob" likes it! And with an ÜberGodess like "Connie" in his corner, He can't lose!

Divine Vision of "Suds" Prt 1


So, I want to talk to you about this whole X-Day thing. I touched upon it earlier, but I was touching myself and stopped paying attention.


Now, specifically in regards to “Bob’s” prophecy and 1998. This topic has been beaten into the ground, but I’m still in the mood for some beatin’ – care to join me?


You see, there are a lot of theories floating around. Some refer to the Conspiracy calendar noting trustworthy – or that maybe “Bob” got the date wrong


I’ve even heard the idea that the memo was upside-down – or that it’s all just some big joke – Ha ha ha ha!


Friends, I have seen a vision – a vision of hope, a vision of promise – a vision profits, pipe smokers, and pudenda!


As a student of sound (audio engineering is my Slackful fetish) I enjoy my evenings creating soundscapes in which the discerning SubGenii can escape the humdrudgery of this Conspiracy infected globe.


Along with my frop pipe, I glide along the sonic sheen of mental masturbation, clinging to the rings of frop smoke like a swimmer with his innertube.


Nothing is finer than floating through the cosmic slime clinging to the frop rings from the pipe. And let me tell you, that was some mighty fine frop this one particular evening.


It was such a lovely evening to FropScape and I was soon bouncing gently along the air currents. Soon, I would be drifting out of the stratosphere and away from this shitball known as Earth Farm One.


Now, I had happened to notice the glint of light just as I escaped the atmosphere, but I had mistaken for the MTV satellite, which I was eagerly hoping to run across so as I might send it plummeting to the ground.


It was then I realized they were trans-dimensional space vessels in geosynchronous orbit, triangulated between myself, the CNN satellite and the moon; I pondered the strange madness of these twisted grotesqueries dancing in orbit around our pathetic little planet.


Upon a close inspection as the frop ring gently bobbed along the currents of the solar surf, I noticed, spray painted in red on the thermo-chromic hull of one of the ships – just to the left of the Quantumaramagnetic Slipstream Propulsion drive – a sign that read "Earth of Bust." I realized that I was witnessing the preparation of the invading Xist armada --

At that moment the solar winds picked up about 20 zettajoules, sending me headlong into the side of the closest ship. Fortunately, frop smoke has a wonderful rubbery elasticity, and I safely bumped along the hull like a balloon caught drifting in a wind of flatulence.


Sacred Onomasticon of Veneris Flambé





But you know friends; I’m not here just to jerk off “Bob.”

We at the A.o.t.F.C. may find wisdom within “Bob’s” word – but it’s in Connie’s bosom where we find our comfort.

For it was Connie who gives nuns the ‘hell’ in their habits and the ‘cream’ in their convent!

It is within the creamy thighs of Connie where we contemplate the lustful mysteries – and it is within the Pheomelanin rich Veneris Flambé where we find our euphoric divinity.

It’s not called the Assembly of the Flaming Carpet for nothin’, folks.

Now, although Connie has always cum in many different shapes and sizes, and we take great pleasure in all of these – there is one form of Connie’s succulent essence that the A.o.t.F.C. holds Divine.

SCIENTIFC FACT – Across the planet, that the gorgeous genetic disposition for the creation of natural redheads only exists in less than FOUR PERCENT (4%) of the global population.

Now there are some out there who have actually made the prediction that within just a few generations – the trait may disappear completely from the gene pool.
Even if this just speculation, the fact is: true redheads are unique – and unique is always valuable.

It is this reason we at the A.o.t.F.C. dedicated not only to Slack, but we love to play with fire.

Members of the A.o.t.F.C. make it their sworn duty of hold in the highest regards those ÜberFemms of the sacred Veneris Flambé.

“Fire Fuzz,” “Red Hot Hoohah,” “Flame Broiled Furburger,” Yes, friends – I speak of that exquisite Redheaded Connie.

The passion of the Redhead Connie – the rage of the Redhead Connie – the inspiration of the Redhead Connie, shall drive even the most masculine to their knees crying for their mamma!

Along with the holy Prescriptures of J.R. ”Bob” Dobbs, the A.o.t.F.C. keeps a writ of piquant pooder known throughout galaxy known as the sacred Onomasticon of Veneris Flambé.

Now, there are some provisos, three stipulations for making the list:

A) They MUST be female – Yes, Eric Stoltz is a ginger as they come, but swingin’ dicks can’t qualify…

B) They MUST be a real person – sure, Wilma Flintstone is a hot little number – but ink & paint can’t qualify.

C) The carpet MUST match the drapes – Lucille Ball may be known as “that Wacky Redhead”—but a phony fire can’t qualify!

Among these many names of luscious crimson and ginger are Marg Helgenberger, Bryce Dallas Howard, Gillian Anderson, Julianne Moore, Nikki Cox, Laura Prepon, Amy Yasbeck and Lily Cole to name a few.

And let us not forget to mention two of our most exquisite examples of this rare and most delicious of genetic attributes – our very own Rev. Susie the Floozy and Rev. Zoot!

So – if you are an astute Subgenius whose Slackful fetish is the euphoric admiration of the Pheomelanin rich Connie –

Then the Assembly of the Flaming Carpet may be right for you –

Side effects include: High blood pressure, profuse sweating, speaking in tongues, shortness of breath, swelling of the genital region, explosive discharge of seminal fluid, feelings of mild to intense ecstasy, dependency, heart attack and gleeful shouting.

Please consult your Dokktor to find out if the A.o.t.F.C. is right for you.

One Slippery Soapbox!


Greetings to all and praise “Bob!”

I am The Very Esteemed Universal Philosopher of Absolute Reality Reverend Frodis Pshaw -- Co-Founder of Assembly of the Flaming Carpet (A.o.t.F.C.) -- the 28th Day AdBobtist movement, Professor of Audiophilic Mixology at the Apocalypsholoic branch of the Dobbsian Mentalodge of Sanctimonious Conditioning – the Mental Cleansers and Disinfectants of the Elder Days, and student of the teachings of one J.R. "Bob" Dobbs.

– you may call me Rev. “Suds.”

And by the power of Wotan, I am pleased bring to you the Assembly of the Flaming Carpet (A.o.t.F.C.).

SubGenii come from all walks of life – all are abnormal by nature, and all embrace the teachings of J. R. “Bob” Dobbs and his war on those Conspiracy Pinks who try to rob us of our Slack – but along with these tenets, members of the A.o.t.F.C., whether they be man, woman, or one of those swinging’ alien mutants, hold high praise of the almighty Veneris Flambé – so long as the carpet matches the drapes. The A.o.t.F.C. is the ONLY schism of the Church of the SubGenius dedicated to the continuation of cunning linguist studies in reverence to Connie’s Glowing Gash.

Founded by myself and the MoFo of Mojo, Pastor Phister Gagghōl – Minister of Music, Madness & Mayhem, The Assembly of the Flaming Carpet, in no way wish to simply ‘enslave’ the Pinks for menial labor, experimentation, human sacrifice and sexual exploitation – nor do we strive to outright exterminate the whole race of Pinks: we at the A.o.t.F.C. simply don’t care one way or another, since we will be on the Xists’ spaceships getting our eternal freak on with the ÜberSexGodesses anyway.

In regards to X-Day, members of the A.o.t.F.C. believe –- and this appears to be the main difference between us and the Father Church –– that the end times foretold by Dobbs have already come to pass. Some SubGenius believe that X-Day is still coming and could be here anytime, since using the Conspiracy calendar as a point of reference is wholly unreliable. Some believe that we simply got the date wrong, or read the memo upside-down or some silly nonsense like that.

We at the A.o.t.F.C. believe, in fact, that July 5th, 1998 truly HAS come and gone, but due to a nasty twist of fate, the Xists and the Yists are locked in what could only be described as a “Mexican Standoff,” both sides hovering over our planet with cannons at the ready, preparing to annihilate each other and taking ALL OF US with them!

Of course “Bob,” being the opportunist that He is, has convinced both sides to simply kick back – SLACK OFF – and enjoy the SubGenii spectacle of subversions and of all major global events, gleefully pissing themselves at the exploits of the moronic masses of Pink pestilence, while a naked Connie serves hors d'oeuvres while wearing her sacred strap-on,

The Assembly of the Flaming Carpet wishes to set itself apart of the “norm” of “abnormality" – So long as the teachings of J. R. “Bob” Dobbs shows us the Paths of Least Resistance, we shall resist the Conspiracy at every turn!

We will pick the pockets of the Pinks dry!

AND WE WILL HAVE SLACK!!!

PRAISE GOD DAMN “BOB!!!

Eternal salvation is here with a TRIPLE your money back guarantee! How can you beat this deal of an afterlifetime?!!

The Conspiracy will do it’s damnedest to squelch the teachings of J. R. “Bob” Dobbs – but we will continue to get louder and more obnoxious than ever!

REPENT!

QUIT YOUR JOB!

SLACK OFF!!!

THE WORLD ENDS TOMORROW AND YOU MAY DIE!!!!

Till next time, this has been the good Rev. “Suds” Pshaw

May “Bob” bless and keep your pocket book