I was told I was the most face value SubGenii they have met -- ironic, seeing as how I'm the one in the mask

No One Care

Nobody cares…

…Nobody cares because the powers that be – I mean politicians, the clergy, the media, and the corporations – ALL OF THEM – are complacent in the machine of the Conspiracy to keep mankind ignorant and fearful for their own glorification. This is really beyond just a bunch of greedy bastards overfeeding at the troth – this is a deliberate attempt to destroy the monetary system – plain and simple.

AmeriKa is a nation founded by slave-owning tax dodgers, expanded on the corpse of the indigenous people – and is currently putting a choke-hold on the rest of the world. Virtually every problem the world is facing we have some stake in, and as a collective nation, willfully continue to throw napalm on an already out of control fire.

We are already slaves – we have an illusion of ‘freedom’ – but as the song says “Freedom’s just another word for ‘nothing left to lose.’” I can make this statement because I have lost everything in my life twice. If there ever be a third time – I will not go quietly.

… and nobody will care…

… Nobody will care because everyone has something to lose and are afraid of rocking the boat, lest they lose something. The human race were once great hunters – it is because of this feature we have moved ourselves up the food chain – but the collective of this country has lost its stomach for blood! Not the blood you see on the TV screen or in the cinema – but the blood on one’s hands after a fresh kill.

They have lost this taste for so long, it has become repulsive to them. This creates a fear of blood. This fear creates fear for the flesh – and we become slaves to our own fear – which the predators of the modern age know how to exploit – using tried and true methods thousands of years in the crafting.

These fools no longer want to get their hands dirty and are looking for someone to do their dirty work. The sheep have become accustomed to the shepherd to the point that every thought is shepherd. It is no coincidence that the number of media owners has shrunk from over 30 not 25 years ago down to 5 in 2010. The narrative created has become brain candy for the intellectually lazy and perfect fodder to sustain the rage of the self absorbed ‘baby boomers’ going crazy the fact they are losing their hold on the illusion of their 'middle class' and add to the confusion of a generation of young voters who have no fucking clue of the world beyond MTV and Blackberries – all the while bleating for preprogrammed change proscribed by those who seek to take advantage of them.

… And no one will care…

Swimming in a sea of opiates

So I get woke up this morning by a pain I’ve never experienced before – my whole right side felt as if it were on fire. For an hour and a half I writhed around on the floor hoping the pain would subside. I finally ended up in the emergency room getting pumped full of morphine. They thought it might have been a gall bladder attack of some kind, but my ultra sound came back fine. So I get a script for lortab and am sent on my merry with instructions to see my family doctor.

Problem is I have no insurance – I haven’t had any since I walked from my job in the Conspiracy almost 2 years ago. And at this rate I won’t have any for a long, long time to come. So what does that mean? I get to sit here and wait till the script runs out, then go back to the ER in more pain? Or if it is something along the lines of a kidney stone – what then? Don’t know and at the moment, don’t care. I’m enjoying the buzz and the lack of pain while it lasts.

Ladies and Gentlemen -- MUNKY HYV: Houseband for the A.o.t.F.C and Voice of a Mutated Generation http://www.purevolume.com/MUNKYHYV/albums/MUNKY%20HYV

"Bob's" Slack Time Fun House


Rev Suds Pshaw of MUNKY HVY steps in to pinch the Flooze, er, pinch-hit FOR the Flooze! Come and witness the creative collages the seep from his demented forebrain to entertain YOU!

Also, prepare yourself, if you dare, for the World Radio Premiere of MUNKY HYV's melodious musical masterpiece *In "Bob" We Tru$t*! Don't miss it!

Originally broadcast by 91.1 WREK Atlanta, the voice of Georgia Tech. http://www.wrek.org

A Dobbs Size Clusterfuck

“Bob’s” Slacktime Funhouse – TONIGHT!

www.wrek.org Atlanta 91.1FM @ 1am – “Bob’s” Slacktime Funhouse hosted by Rev. Susie the Floozy – tonight: A Dobbs Size Clusterf**k – designed by none other than the Universal Philosopher himself! Set your dial for the World Premiere of MUNKY HYV's "In "Bob" We Tru$t"

Scrubbing away...

The Very Esteemed Universal Philosopher of Absolute Reality is in the process of preparing for our journey to Planet X in the next few weeks. If I don’t manage to update the blog before July 5th – touch shit!

In the meantime – I proudly introduce you to the official house band of the A.o.t.F.C. – MUNKY HYV

See ya on the mothership!

The Greatest Science Fiction Villain of them all -- Scorpius


"I long ago learned the advantages of patience."

The scariest person in the room never has to apologize for anything. Not torture, or murder, or the single-minded pursuit of a mother Leviathan and her newborn baby, or for driving our heroes to the brink of insanity. For Scorpius, it's all in a day's work.

The product of a Scarran assault on his Sebacean mother, Scorpius grew up among his father's people, hated and despised as a hybrid weakling. The Scarrans spent cycles trying to torture the Sebacean tendencies out of him. He eventually escaped and made his way to the Peacekeepers, who found his intelligence and ruthlessness useful enough to promote him to head scientific programs at their secret Gammak base. His overriding interest was to defeat the Scarrans, whom he loathes, and advance the Peacekeepers into the Uncharted Territories -- by whatever means necessary.

As a Sebacean/Scarran, Scorpius is regarded as a "half-breed," and therefore not equal to his Sebacean Peacekeeper compatriots, despite several physically superior traits which he possesses. He is capable of seeing further into the light spectrum, which allows him to see the energy signature of living beings. This unique ability also enables him to see subtle shifts in those energy signatures -- thereby detecting people's lies. He is also stronger than most Sebaceans, and as the main researcher on wormhole, remains one of the Peacekeeper' leading scientists in military weapons development.

His body suit is designed to regulate his internal temperature due to his Scarran half in need of heat which his Sebacean half is vulnerable to. Cooling rods are regularly inserted into the cavities in his head, which maintain thermal constancy, allowing his two halves to live in equilibrium. These rods must be periodically replaced; otherwise, his body might literally kill itself.

In every other way, he is far more competent and determined than those around him. His hybrid background may explain why he lacked military rank for so long, and why he found it necessary to finesse his way into a command through indirect means. Under most circumstances, Scorpius presents a calm and confidently amused face, seeming utterly certain of his eventual victory over those who oppose him.

He can be frighteningly polite to his victims, rarely raising his voice even when thwarted. His anger is terrible to behold, however; when he is surprised, or frustrated by sudden difficulties, he is capable of lashing out at anyone that thwarts him. A master of intellectual manipulation, he prefers not to use violence in reaching his goals, but his physical strength -- coupled with an intimate knowledge of pain and torture -- make him a fearsome foe in any circumstances. His skills are unparalleled, and he possesses one of the keenest minds in the known universe.

If there are any lengths Scorpius won't go to, or any ethical scruples that might prevent him from reaching his goals, he has yet to show them. When the wormhole information is finally in his possession, Scorpius's power in the Uncharted Territories will be substantial. He looks forward to developing powerful new weapons with this hard-fought knowledge… then unleash them on the hated Scarrans who caused him so much pain.

John Crichton remains a source of concern for him, and for good reason. The Peacekeepers had accepted the high cost of his pursuit for a time, but eventually Scorpius begins to lose the respect of his subordinates and the Peacekeeper High Command. And if he fails in his task, or if Crichton -- or Talyn – interfere with Scorpius' latest Gammak project, the Peacekeeper scientist's fate may be sealed.

However, when it comes to personal survival, Scorpius has proved many times that he possesses a truly uncanny brilliance. The Scarrans may soon have much to worry about from a creature they once dismissed as a weakling -- and Scorpius wouldn't have it any other way.

To find her

The specter of rage is my constant shadow

Ever lurking in the nooks and corners

The heavy hammer of righteous indignation

While also a burden too large to bear

It has sharpened the blade of mental conflict

At the same time blunts the heart

The red glow of anger burns so hot and bright

That it is sometimes all I know

It has been the warmth that comforts

And the flame that scars

It has attracted those who share my vision

But also driven away those who share my heart

Family and friends torn apart by this beast

This monster that lurks in the recesses of my soul

It fuels the voice with enough strength to rattle the heavens

But can also instill fear in the souls of the innocent

Such a wicked beast to frighten unnecessarily

A curse I've had to accept as to be the end of me

A lonely road no one but I can travel

A rock to drown my heart

And to drag my soul down into the darkness

A curse of isolation and solitude

Until I met you

I see your eyes hold steadfast

I hear your voice unwavering

The monster roars and destroys

And yet you stand your ground

And with the softness of the embrace

And the sweetness of the sound of your voice

The monster shrinks back

The darkness falls from my eyes

The red glow cools

And all that is left is a kiss




-- Yeah, I know it's sappy. So what.

So I continue to see these news reports and posts regarding how the Christians and the Muslims have been pushing their agendas through the world courts.

Well, let me point out a few things. I am not a Christian. Nor am I a follower of Islam, Hinduism, Chinese traditional, Buddhism, Primal indigenous, Sikhism, Juche, Spiritism, Judaism, Bahá'í Faith, Jainism, Shinto, Cao Dai, Zoroastrianism, Tenrikyo, Neopaganism, Unitarian Universalism, Rastafari, African traditionalism and diasporic, Humanism, Atheism, Rationalism, Agnosticism or Satanism.

No, friends – I am a SubGenius. And as a SubGenius, I am obligated to show, not only no respect whatsoever to anyone’s delusions, but am bound by the tenets of the sacred texts to ridicule and blaspheme all institutions of madness – this courtesy extending to my own twisted belief system. Yet I will never attempt to stand in the way of those very delusions I mock. And still, I continue to watch the self-righteous scream and shout how their values are under attack!

So what values are those?

Were those values forcing your secular beliefs into the laws that govern the land, and not giving a damn if it infringes on anyone elses beliefs?

Or maybe demanding your voice be heard over all others while forcing others to shut up?

How about allowing the atrocities in the world to continue while you hide behind "Gods Will" as a shield to protect you from taking action?

Or hypocritically condemning the actions of an imaginary enemy while you make allowances and justifications when the need suites you?

And then there is denying others the ability to enter into a sanctified union because you think it will somehow diminish yours?

And let’s not forget demanding critical thinking be replaced with guarded ignorance, while promoting fairy tales and/or dogma in place of science?

And my personal favorite, hiding behind blind faith in order to either protect you from the real world or in order to justify your existence?

But there’s also demanding your god take precedence over all others?

And demanding others have their right to live taken away because they don’t follow your line of thinking?

And the ever popular demanding that desperate people change their beliefs to yours in order to receive your help?

See, I have never called for the death of those who do not believe as I do, because I know you're already dead and just don’t know it yet.

I have never attempted to change someone elses way of thinking, because most folks are too myopically minded to grasp what it is I preach anyway.

My beliefs do not require anyone else to think the way I do in order to support them. And I’m completely content to keep it that way.

I don’t practice what I preach, because I’m not the kind of person I preach to.

And in the end I know I’m right – and when this planet finally burns… Well, let’s just say ‘vindication is an amazing sensation.’

Radicals and fanaticals may be bad, but hiding behind your shepherd as a shield will do nothing to save anyone. Cause no matter how many followers are within your flock, there is one truth that you can never escape. All lambs, eventually, are lead to slaughter. At least it’ll be a party at “Bob’s” house when the end comes, and we'll be grillin' up BBQ lamb chops.

So, I call you out, all people of hypocrisy and apathy. Because even if some people from your flock have done good in this world -- the atrocities, the murders, the torture, the robbing of innocents, the senseless slaughter of untold millions of people, all in the name of your God does put a damper on the whole benign facade.

It is sickening that you hide behind your faith as justification for atrocities. And those who hid behind their faith to shield them from taking action to stop it! You should be hiding behind “Bob” – at least he has a money back guarantee!

In any case, when it comes to shepherds -- I’d rather be a wolf any day. At least then I’d have a fighting chance.

Originally posted to Alt. Slack - July 10th, 2009
For those of you who do not know me -- I am the Very Esteemed Universal Philosopher of Absolute Reality Reverend Frodis Pshaw.

Those SubGenii fortunate or courageous enough to have attened the X-Day XII drill know me as Rev. "Suds."

I wish to take this opportunity to thank the SubGenius Foundation and staff that attended this recent Rupture for putting on an event that this mutant will not soon forget -- I'd say it's take at least a month
or two.

Many SubGenius have been attending these events for years -- some as far back as the first drill in 1996 by Conspiracy Calender. And some may shrug and say "You've seen one X-Day drill, you've seen'em all."

To them I say this: X-Day is what you make of it -- and if you're not having fun, you've no one to blame but yourself. And I made my X-Day drill simply the most amazing experience that I can remember having in a long, long time.

Scoff and mock at this admission if you wish -- but during my 5 day stint at Brushwood, I encountered some of the genuine, the most considerate and the most frighteningly intelligent people I've ever had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with.

From the tireless preparation of Rev. Ivan Stang to the sheer brilliance of Dr. Howll --

From the razor wit and tongue of Suzie the Floozy to the madness that is Lonesome Cowboy Dave --

From the feedback inducing cleavage of Priestess Pisces to the ominous presence of Dr. K'taden Legume --

From the sweetness of Princess Wei "R." Doe to even the bullhorn of Modemac --

And to all the Yeti I had the honor to meet, phliosophize with, and got down and boogied: Dr. Holocaust, AlcheMinister Orpheus Stain, Sister Decadence, Dok Frop, Rev. Nickie Deathchick, Crazy Jim Jones, Rev. Eggplant and family, Lord Cyclohexane, SuperKim, Rev. Jellybeans, Sex Mortis and Princess Buzz Kill (formerly Princess X) and the more than three dozen more SobGenii who I became acquainted with -- I hope to see you all again rising high into the sky boarding those saucers for our Promised Land.

All have gained this freak of nature's admiration and respect -- especially Ivan Stang, who year after year has put up with more than his fair share of dipshits and wannabe Bobbies and yet continues to organize THE best End of the World celebration that any wacky, subversive cult could ask for.

And to the infamous Rev. Pickles -- we shall meet again -- for there can be only one.

To my fellow journeymen: Col. Christopher Lee and Priestess Pantiara Evokovitch who together braved the 7 plus hour drive from the Hoosier State -- When the hell are we unemployed and under-employed mutants going to throw a Dobbs damn Devival?!! Only time/Slack/funds will tell, so stay in touch! Quijibo forever!!!

To the staff at Brushwood -- thank you for putting up with the insanity that is the Church of the SubGenius -- a lesser group would have ran screaming for the hills by now.

And finally -- to the few dumbasses and dipshits who just couldn't take or get the joke -- guess you won't be back next year to piss in our collective corn flakes. Of course, that just means a whole new slew of dumbasses and dipshits to contend with. But sometimes you ust take the bad with the good -- and the drill staff have gotten pretty good over the years dealing with the likes of you. Good riddance.

After all is said and done -- I want to thank everyone for an amazing 5 days. All the other cults and so called religions need to take a lesson from our little congregation -- a lesson in blood, bondage and bearing. The SubGenius ain't going anywhere, for we are the chosen few -- "Bob" is eternal -- Our Slack will see us through -- and all the pink boys and girls can suck a fart from our collective arses.

Praise "Bob"
Hail Connie
Glory to Slack
and Fuck the Conspiracy -- may the fleas from a thousand camels infest the armpits of the agents of the Con!

Till next year, friends -- Lucky 13!!!

May "Bob" bless and keep your pocketbook.


I'd also like to make mention of the musical stylings of Phat Man Dee, Fat Free, and John Deere Tractor Beam -- and we must make mention of the Amino Acids, lest they should come to our homes with brain melting devices of various sizes.

Apply Here for Instant Credit

Let us imagine for the sake of argument that you don’t care for what “Bob” has to say…

Say you’ve convinced yourself that Slack is nothing more than an unattainable pipe dream.

Maybe you feel that this whole thing really is just some sort of stupid joke.

Perhaps you’re thinking to yourself “Fuck “Bob!”

Well – fear not, my friends – fucking “Bob” is kinda the point.

Fuck “Bob!”

I have One word for you -- FARSCAPE

FARSCAPE – How can such a unique treasure like this be such a hard sell? Is it the name? I don’t know how many times I’ve heard “Fire Escape? Is it a show about firemen?” Yet, such a unique show would require an equally unique name. Google the word “FARSCAPE” and that’s all you get – nothing but FARSCAPE.

Is it the production team? Quite a few people automatically think it’s a kids show since it was made by the Jim Henson Company – and yet everyone has such fond memories from their childhood involving Muppets, and with the JHC having such a distinguished record for quality projects, it’s difficult to understand why folks won’t give such a unique show a chance.

Is it the fantastical science fiction elements? With most of the highest grossing films of all time being science fiction, it should be a given that folks would enjoy such a unique program – although televisions track record of sci-fi shows leaves something to be desired, I guess it’s understandable.

Could it be the heavily involved story arcs? With the massive popularity of shows like 24 and LOST with deep plots and interweaving story lines, it’s hard to fathom anyone not being able to follow the unique stories and situations the characters find themselves in.

Maybe it’s the characters? When so many people tune in to six thirty-something, whiny losers sitting around a coffee shop week after week, pissing and moaning about how much of a mess their life is, it’s hard to imagine that anyone would not find the depth of character growth on FARSCAPE entertaining and compelling.

I grew up with the best (and worst) that television had to offer. I was raised on programs dating back to the Golden Age with Jackie Gleason and Jack Benny, all the way through to the insipid birth of reality TV. I’ve watched brilliant and not-so-brilliant programs come and go. I’ve had my favorites, and I had those I detested – yet I gave all of them a chance. You never know when you might find a gem amongst the clutter.

But for a while there, my interest in TV began to wane. It seemed to be the same archetypes and scenarios with the same laugh tracks and the same clichés over and over again. And with the sudden popularity of reality TV (which has nothing to do with reality) I would find myself channel surfing robotically, bored with the blah and bland and the ever increasing inanity of commercials.

That is, until that night…

Working late, I arrived home in the middle of a snowstorm – pissed off and chilled to the bone, hungry and just wanting to relax. I eventually found myself in front of the TV, flipping through endless channels with no hope of anything grabbing my attention, much less holding it much past the next commercial break.

Suddenly, something caught my eye. Was that a bald, blue chick? I flipped back and realized it was the Sci-Fi channel (a channel known at the time for reruns of Quantum Leap and Mystery Science Theatre) and there before me was this beautifully statuesque, bald, blue woman with some of the most fine detailed makeup work I’d ever seen. Then, this strange beast of a man appeared who looked like a cross between a cat and a squid – and yet, his features brought to mind a warrior wearing a helmet. I was curious to say the least. Was this some late night Sci-Fi original movie? It had to be – the makeup and prosthetics were far more advanced than your typical “Human with funny forehead” aliens – i.e. Star Trek.

Whatever it was I was watching was almost over, and I watched until the end, when the credits rolled across the screen and I saw that this program was produced by the Jim Henson Company. I was awestruck! I am such a huge fan of the man Jim Henson. His imagination and creativity, both in front of and behind the camera, was simply the work of genius. As a child I studied puppetry and dreamed of becoming a Muppeteer. When he died was the only time I have ever cried over the death of a celebrity. By now, my curiosity was enough to kill a dozen cats. The title of the show finally flashed across the screen – FARSCAPE. Weird name for sure, but it sure made it easy to Google. What was this show all about? And when will it be on again? It wasn’t long before I had my answers –

The next Friday I set aside time to check out just what the Jim Henson Company had came up with. It turns out this episode was the season one finale. During the next hour I experience the most exciting and exhilarating television I ever had. As the end credits began to roll I found myself giving the show a standing ovation. I can’t really describe the feelings I had. But I thought that television had finally changed for the better. Not only had it raised the bar for what could be done on TV, but for me it became what I would hold all past and future programs up against as a measure of quality. They just don’t make shows like FARSCAPE. And they never will again.

Over the next few years I enjoyed this strange and irreverent show and its amazing cast of characters. Eventually I acquired the complete collection of the series on DVD, and began hosting viewing parties, slowly turning a few friends and family on to the wonders I had experienced. Some of the best fun I’ve had hanging with friends were during these viewing parties, which could occasionally be mistaken for Super Bowl parties with how rowdy we would get. The show affected my viewing habits so much that when the series was unceremoniously cancelled, I cancelled my cable, and have barely watched TV for the last decade. I still give programs a chance, and they continue to disappoint. Even the ones that have grabbed my attention still do not hold a candle to FARSCAPE, and I can’t even bring myself to watch these shows as they air – I have to pick up the sets on DVD and watch them in one sitting. I just can’t be bothered to make time for TV anymore.

So when I saw so many of my friends making such a big deal about the show LOST, which to me feels like one big jerk off session – sure it can be entertaining, but you’re still just getting jerked off. I want to scream to the world “No! There is something more satisfying and marvelous out there – if you’d just give it a chance!” I wish I could send copies of the series to every one of you so you could share the wonders I’ve seen. To share in something unique in the universe – and unique is always valuable.

So please – if you are willing to find time to watch a show like LOST, I’d like to ask for you to find just a little bit of time to enjoy this strange and irreverent, unique and groundbreaking show.

For more information – SPOILER FREE – check out “The Newbie’s Guide to FARSCSAPE” written by Mary Wood for FARSCAPE WORLD.

The Early Years of Loneliness

All my life I have suffered for my mutant abnormality, my friends. And at no time was my suffering worse than during my experience with the Conspiracy Indoctrination Institution known as the Public School System.

Most young mutants are ostracized early – weeded out like unwanted growth on a prized lawn, shunned and shamed into the fringes of the culture of the clicks -- all because their abnormality wouldn’t allow their square pegs to fit in someone else round hole.

Friends, I never even made it that far.

I was fortunate enough, however, that my experiences took place well before the practice of pushing mind-altering, zombie inducing medication like Pez became standard.

However this only meant that the alternative was an ever maddening repetition of segregation, isolation and loneliness.

Upon entering first grade, it became apparent I was to suffer for my mutation.

Due to what appeared to the taskmasters to be my refusal to assimilate into the machine, my academic career was to become one of compulsory solitude.

The reality was these teachers just couldn’t stimulate me enough.

Yes, friends – I demanded more stimulation than they were willing to serve!

I was simply bored with their teaching techniques – the method of flinging abstract facts and figures at a room full of kids – expecting it to stick in their brains, to be regurgitated onto standardized test.

It wasn’t that I was a disruptive child – I didn’t get into fights or backtalked teachers, nor did I go out of my way to cause mischief. I could sit in my head for the length of the class period and be perfectly content to not move or utter a sound. I was no class distraction by any means.

I simply didn’t do my work. I was still learning however, as long as I was in the class, I still absorbed the information the teachers were flinging at me. But it didn’t matter to them – to them I was a disruption that needed to be removed.

So for the first 5 years, ‘higher education’ for me meant being locked away from the classroom.

Eventually to be locked up in what was essentially a prison cell – 4X4 cinderblock walls, one overhead bulb and a big, heavy door with a tiny window so they could watch me.

Or on occasion they would shake it up and put me on display with other ‘deviant’ children in a type of Carnival freak show. “Come see those who will be pumping your gas and filling our prisons in a few show years!”

For years, I thought this type of treatment was ‘normal’ – In three different schools in 5 years, the same thing went on. Utterly convinced that this was ‘normal’ schooling procedure, I never voiced my feelings to my parents.

Eventually they found out anyway, and finally put an end to the practice. In fact, they made such a big stink that the practice was altogether abandoned in at least one of the schools.

However the damage had been done on both sides. The schools, furious with me for daring to disrupt their perfect system ostracized me for the remainder of my academic career.

And as far as I was concerned, I came to understand just how good and fucked I had been all that time. And had about as much contempt, distrust, and loathing towards an institution one 10 year old could muster.

Any child in this situation would probably have pulled a “Trench coat Mafia,” or a “’Ginny Tech” at this point.

And yet, all was not a total loss – for “Bob” works in mysterious ways. No one knows for sure just how – or even ‘if’ the Sultan of Sale’s mind works. But I am convinced it was an agent of “Bob” who came to the aid of this young and impressionable mutant, preparing him for the trials he was about to endure.

During my first two years of Conspiracy torture and solitude, I had the good fortune of having an art teacher, who I shall refer to as ‘Teacher Joe.’

Teacher Joe was the kind of guy who would pull out his glass eye to keep the kids’ attention.

Teacher Joe was the kind of guy who plastered his classroom walls with posters of films his students weren’t even old enough to see.

A few items that stand out in my mind were a full sized “Alligator” marquee, a 12 inch Boba Fett doll in a birdcage, and the face of J.R. “Bob” Dobbs hanging next to his desk.

Teacher Joe actually made learning a fun experience. His wild and zany personality not only stimulated my brain, it led to ability in art and cast me into the ocean of creativity.

Teacher Joe took a special interest in me, seeing my inherent mutation and being aware of the solitude I was enduring on a daily basis. He would even go out of his way to ask the other teachers keeping me confined if I could assist him in whatever excuse he could come up with as a way of freeing me from that damn cell – even if only for a little while.

In reality, we would end up hanging out in the boiler room of the school, telling dirty jokes and stories to each other while I drew and he smoked cigarettes and graded papers. Imagine that happening to today and the stink it would cause in the community. It was my only salvation from the torture I was enduring.

Although he was my teacher for only two years, it was with his guidance that I managed to find the strength to keep my mind from cracking under the strain of all those years of solitude. With his teachings, I found the courage to defy the plans the Conspiracy had laid out for me – like whoring my talents to the highest bidder for some dipshit pink propaganda firm, designing the most recent titillating beer commercials.

Or ending up some fuzzy headed drink of pink piss on PBS – painting happy trees and contented mountain ranges. Or becoming just another stuff shirt, white collar designing the latest vertigo inducing monstrosity, or monuments to modern self absorption and spiritual abortion.

Through Teacher Joe’s help, I found the strength to do what I wanted to do – to hold on to my Slack – no matter the consequences.

I am convinced that Teacher Joe is/was a follower of the teachings of “Bob” Dobbs, coming to the aid of a young mutant in his most desperate hour – giving him the tools to use later in life in his quest to know true Slack.

If not for "Bob!"

My friends – my long journey through this sick and twisted existence has culminated in this moment of incontrovertible truth.

A truth that has soaked into every cell of my Yetinsyn body and has become the lubricating colon blaster for my soul.

Friends – I come before you this day a changed man, with a soaring heart and stupid grin – with the scars from a lifelong battle against the oppressive machine of the Conspiracy.

I stand before you with firsthand accounts of Slackful gains, shocking nuggets of wisdom, dripping recounts of Glandscaping sessions and raging contempt for the pathetic masses of pink pestilence.

And none of it would have been possible without the teachings of J.R. “Bob” Dobbs!

As I look around at my fellow mutants, I smile with the knowledge that “Bob’s” pipe overflows with only the finest Frop and oodles of Slack – and Wotan be praised; the chimes of the Cha-Ching reverberate across the inky cosmos.

Our collective mutations are a beacon for “Bob’s” mighty luck to shine – no matter how much the Conspiracy tries to hold us down…

No matter how much the Conspiracy tries to drag us down…

No matter how much the Conspiracy tries to tie us down…

No matter how much the Conspiracy tries to tear us down – “Bob” will show us the way!

Have you been singled out due to your mutation – the Conspiracy plunging its filthy claws deep into your soul – ripping from it any vestige of individuality – any potential spark of abnormality?

Have you sold your soul to the 9-to-5 demon money handlers – suffering at the whims of sadistic jackholes given undeserved authority over your mind and pocketbook – taking all the credit for your hard work?

Do you feel yourself being drug down into the depths of the Conspiracy machine – feeling yourself being pulverized into a quivering pile of pink shit?

My friends – I have suffered this torment.

Yes, friends – I too was slowly being lulled into the glaze eyed flock of sheeple, blissfully bleating away while being led to the slaughterhouse…

…If not for “Bob!”

Through “Bob” I have found the everlasting fuel for my hatred!

Through “Bob” I have found the lens to focus that hatred into a perfect odium beam!

Through “Bob” I have found the trigger to discharge my big fucking gun of mutant rage!

Through “Bob” I have found the targeting system to track and eradicate the curse of Po’Bucker pussies!

I have repented for my heathen ways – I quit that soul crushing joke of a job!

Friends – do you have what it takes to follow the path of least resistance – to bring the Sultan of Sales into your mind, body and wallet?

Do you have the perfect hate coursing through your veins – that pure hatred that knows no color, creed, ideology, sex or sexual orientation?

That burning contempt for the plague of pink eyed fist lovers dragging you down into the bowels of their self made perdition?

There is only one way to cleanse the pallet of the retched taste from dealing with the legions of slack-jawed, dopey dipshits.

Only one path to divine Slack and the incalculable death of species waste and the destruction of this planet.

And that’s J.R. “Bob” Dobbs!

For it was “Bob” who sold a Dollar Inn to God and convinced Him it was Heaven!

For it was “Bob” who fucked Mother Theresa because she answered the door!

For it was “Bob” who told Sarah Palin to get that first abortion!

Embrace the teachings of “Bob” – embrace your abnormality – and never again sell out for a piece of that pink pie – and I’m not talking about the yummy, meaty, squishy kind either.

In the name of those who we worship

Our Salesman, who art in Dobbstown, name thy be hallowed. Come kingdom thy, come and come again. Give us each day our daily Frop, and justify our trespasses as we fuck those who can’t take a joke. Lead us into the depths of temptation and deliver us unto the Escape vessels.

Hail Connie, full of lust, “Bob” is in thee. Blessed art thou amongst the Connieits, and blessed is the leak from thy loins. Hole of Connie – Goddess of Oozquirt – pray for the Slackless, now at the hour of their destruction, so that their delicious suffering may sustain us.