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.
http://www.farscapeworld.com/other/articles.php?id=newbies

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.

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 28^th 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

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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