Slack is the basic living substance of all the stupid questions.
-Reverend Zeppo of the Taphouse Cabal, on Slack

Shut up.

Just shut up.  SHUT UP.

SHUT UP.

You’re making it really hard for those of us who have nice things.  You’re making it harder for us to sleep.  You’re ruining TV for us.  You spoiled the tea party, just when things were getting good.  You trashed Perry and Santorum and Palin, and you keep jumping in the way of our stock options.

You keep screaming about us sending your jobs to unfurnished countries, and THEN you bitch when we try to remove the furnishings HERE, so we can give you your a job back.  Just how the hell are we supposed to keep our stockholders happy, if we have to keep indulging your entitlement complex with things like “a living wage”?

So shut up.  Go vote for Red or Blue, and remember what a difference it makes.  Go to WalMart, and get your 5 gallon bucket of lard.  Turn on the TV and watch Cribs.  Or American Idol.  Or maybe some sadistic “funniest home videos”, where you can watch parents engineer horrible accidents for their kids, etc, in the hopes of getting on the TV and maybe even the GRAND PRIZE.

But shut up while you do it.

And shut up while they grab Juan off the street for “dressing like an illegal”.  This shit is for your OWN GOOD.  Juan was taking your job, anyway.  Well, the jobs that we didn’t send to Chinacorp.  So SHUT UP and PICK CABBAGES, you Goddamn ingrates.

And when it’s time to go visit Grannie, SHUT UP while they “pat down” your toddler, and feel your spouse up.  SHUT UP and get into the backscatter device.  Shut up in the terminal, or we’ll make you shut up indefinitely.

Why is this such a hard concept to grab?  Just SHUT UP.  ALL OF YOU.  This is AMERICA™, and we don’t need any hairy-headed freaks scaring Quality People with your “demonstrations” and your “occupations”, and really, just SHUT THE FUCK UP and put your money back into Bank of America and Wells Fargo.  There aren’t enough lifeboats for everyone, so SHUT UP and go back to steerage while we get the PEOPLE THAT COUNT into the lifeboats.

Just shut up.  All of you.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.  Forever.

-The Good Reverend Roger

Sermon for St. Buzz Aldrin’s day (Beastification pending)

IT IS WRITTEN:

Oh, no you don’t Buzz. Don’t you come at me with those sad old man eyes of yours. There’s some hard truths lined up for you, which you had best take heed of. But hold on to those tears. Made-for-TV Disney movies are distilled from such. Lots of money in that. Lots of money.

Yeah, They promised us Mars Colonies. But hey, this the Con. The Con says lots of things. The Con’s gifts may seem slackful, but they are always poisoned, full of FALSE SLACK. If the Con had given us our Mars Colonies, they wouldn’t have been like this:

Instead the Con Mars Colony would be a bunch of jocks with radiation poisoning farting in a tin can, living off cock-flavoured tofu while trying to figure out if Mars dust could be used to give Terrorists cancer. This is not a story of “us” trying to solve big problems. It’s a story of THEM failing to solve THEIR problems by fucking US over.

I don’t blame you, Buzz. You took the lowercase-s slack you were offered. We all did. And in your case, what a magnificent slice of slack it was. “Wanna go to the moon”? Not a thing you can say no to and live. But the IN-FUCKING-CREDIBLE, unbelievable, species-historymaking moonslack came with a little flag, and a little plaque, and little old men making stupid noises like “The Moon is Americun now”. Also a lot of rocks, a lot of politics, and not a single Dobbsdamned SCIENTIST coming with you until the very end. You didn’t even get to have a knife fight over who would go first. What we really, REALLY wanted, all of us, was the crystal palaces, the flying cars and the Big Fucking Lasers.

Instead they gave us Facebook. You’re disappointed with teh faceboog? Yeah, so are we all, deep down, in between the clicktrances and the dramaraging and the personal data hellbuttfuckings. But facebutt, well, it’s the cock-flavoured tofu version of the internets. We did have a glimpse of the awesome jetpacks going WOOSH there, for a moment – something strange and wonderful still lurks in the Web, but the Con caught on, panicked – as big dumb beasts are wont to – and now this guy:

wants to look at all of the pages on the internet before you can load them in case they contain nipples. Hi Alexander. No subversive Nuclear Anonymous Obama Sex chaining child porn codes here.

Because that is what the Con and its little pink handmaidens DO. That is what they ARE. They take wondeful things and magnificent mutants too weird to EXIST and turn them into poo just by touching them.

We have all been touched by the Con’s pooey fingers of false slack. Some of us it destroyed. Some of us bit them OFF and chewed them UP and spat them OUT and became even WEIRDER in the process. But however strong we are, however resistant to the charms of the blathering ninnies and false harlots of the Conspiracy, we are all in dire need of some true Slack, untainted by the stink of the Con. That is where Our Prophit, J.R. “Bob” Dobbs comes in. Because HE WANTS TO SELL YOU THAT SLACK! He’ll even sell it to you OVER AND OVER AGAIN if you like! Unto him is given the salesmanship! He can turn shit into champagne, guts into gold, he can dig into the shivering pile of pink jelly the Conspiracy has made of you and with his mighty fist of salvation HAUL out the raging yeti inside. Accept his Words into your wallets and internal organs and you SHALL NOT WANT, for his is the Slack and the Excuse and the Guaranteed Complete absence of Guilt Demons within fourteen days or so!

Come, let us prey.

History WILL JUDGE!

I believe history will record that Doktor Reverend Bork Cowcatcher is one of the most prolific and significant preachers of the post – “1998″ era. In a rare synthesis of the Cetaceosexual experience, Texan Ivangelicalism, and scriptural exposition, Rev. Cowcatcher confronts and challenges one of the most pervasive and recurring multidimensional issues of contemporary SubGenius persistence: Our imminent escape from planet Earth. Rev. Cowcatcher brings the congregation to the intersection of personal stimulation, excremeditational revelation, and cerebrospinal examination.

—Pupa N. Pedale, president
Royal People’s ‘pataphysical institute
Serving Episcopal Commissar
Lemurian International SubGenic Fellowship of Surnadal

Plastic should be set above all mortals, forever.
-Reverend Zeppo of the Taphouse Cabal, On Plastic

It isn’t true
that we are like animals
screaming at animals with fur in different shades of gray from our own.
it isn’t true
that we growl at cave wall shadows

because we are scared of strange shadows
because all animals are scared of shadows
it isn’t true that we walk in a lurk, always on guard, like cats
ready to strike at any sudden danger or noise
that we snap at strange smells
that human mothers hiss at the children of other mothers
it isn’t true that we are led like predators, blindly, by urges and fears
that we are driven on by demons inside us, that we are as wolves hunting in packs
that we must howl when the pack howls, that we can do no different for we are animals
it isn’t true
it isn’t true that we are led by fear of all that is unknown – that it is not evil – it is fear – for we are animals
and burn books on bonfires and scream together with red, gaping mouths
at pale, frightened strangers
and write PAKI with black paint at the metro stations
and do our duty with pale, closed faces and follow orders and collect shivering victims
and drive them away in lorries and gather them in police stations
and in gym halls and cellars or that we run in packs with torches and rocks
trough the streets
and break windows in shops owned by jews JEW JEW JEW
because we are led by urges – older than ourselves -
urges which drives us because that’s what we’re like
howling, frightened animals running in packs
it isn’t true. We are not ants nor wolves. We are people.
We want to whisper steamy words to each other
and search each other out and caress each other in the dark.
The wolves howl in the streets
afterwards they stand among the shards of glass and scream:
YOU ARE LIKE US. WE ARE WOLVES.
But
it is not true.

Odd Børretzen, 1926-2012

Please rest assured that your soul grows sick with longing for the rest of our a priori concepts.
-Reverend Zeppo of the Taphouse Cabal, reassuring his flock.