SLACK IS: A minor rant

This message from the esteemed Rev.Dr. Shoggoth went out to the radio-wired masses on the Hour of Slack #1512

Slack is the feeling of walking in your abortive shoes.
Slack is the secret grace in idle times

Slack is the knowledge that 7/11s are our Cathedrals and smokes and a Big Gulp are our bread and wine.

TV killed the radio star over slack.

I shot Liberty Valance because he told me it would give him slack. I hope it did. I accept no blame.

Slack is the feeling when your deadbeat neighbors actually pay you back the ten bucks they owe you.

Slack is what you feel when you steal from work and cheat on your taxes.

Slack is when you find an extra 20 in your pants on a day you’re broke and just need $20 worth of frop.

Slack is the fact that 9/11 was art. Slack is Bud Dwyer. Slack is knowing you’re the pinnacle of creation. Slack is being able to live off nothing but the boogers you pick. Slack is customer rewards cards that actually give you something like a free hot dog instead of fake discounts.

Slack is tits. Slack is dick. Slack is pussyholes and butt flaps. Slack is uncomfortably sexy clown. Slack is dreaming you’re broke and waking up and remembering you have more wealth than any millionaire because you have slack.

Slack is nothing more and nothing less than slack.

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How to talk to God

and it came to be that they were all gathered in a quaint roulette cellar in the evil quarter of Lisbon that night, and found that the wise man Ramalingam were seated in the corner, where he was shuffling cards.

Whereas none of them could bring to mind why they had decided to come there, they milled around in a confused manner and argued about small things.

The wise man Ramalingam said nothing, and shuffled his cards.

Finally, the one they called Doktor Ayatholla, who was the boldest and most belligerent out of them all, stepped forth, and did ask of him

“What in the name of the great god Fuck, man?”

Whereupon the wise man Ramalingam set down his pack of cards, and with no apparent effort steadied his chair, which had been on the verge of tipping backwards without ever quite doing so. and asketh of them

“Are you the quarter pounder men”?

After some consultation and debate and an awkward silence, it became painfully apparent that none of them were.

The wise man Ramalingam, having been staring at a dust mote in the harsh cone of light emanating from the room’s only light bulb and not listening at all, said “Then I shall teach you to speak to God”.

Let us all join together and sing what the wise man Ramalingam taught them that night.

 

Hey, buddy, whoever you think you are
We don’t care what’s your name today
Or what it is that you think we owe
Here’s what we want you to do
Because we KNOW you can, and don’t deny it

Give us back our friends.
Give us back our lovers.
Give them all back to us.
Take away the loss, take away the pain, and no lame excuses, you smug fuck.
Somewhere, someone is gasping for a last breath that won’t come
Somewhere, someone is born to unending horror
Everywhere, guts are spilling, flesh is tearing, bone is cracking, hearts and minds are failing
There are toddlers, tonight, screaming
as you watch it all.

We heard where you made this place easy as a breath and quick as a thought
and oh, do we see how you made it run on pain and rot and humiliation
And you trapped us here.
And you thought that was all there was to it?
That you could just sit back and watch us squirm for you?
There’s a reason we called you here today.
We’re going to tell you what we think of your handiwork.
We’ll do it in the only language you ever invented.

Come on, lads, let’s nail this worthless little shit up
Let’s do it where they can’t pry him down again.

And some folks say that if no one’s heard him yet, the Lord’s still hanging alone on a filthy basement wall in Lisbon.

 

Amen.

The Second Sermon to the Lemurs

Okay. I see we’re going to have to use simple words, here.

LOOK! No, not the finger, where I’m pointing. There. Smoking thing. Smiling face. Caaaaalm. Yes?

You may think you’re normal. Normal, like those other people. The people who laughed at you then called the police when you told them about your box full of pretty skin pictures you found.

Smoking Face Man is here to fix that. He will make the normals go away. All you need to do is give him your money.

No, they won’t go away right away. Calm down.

See, Smoking Face Man has made a deal. It is a very different deal. It is different because it was made with people from space, who are not like us. For one thing, they know how to skin and eat a world like a really big round live screaming pig made out of very hot rock. Once they arrive, they are probably going to do that anyway. But if you pay Smoking Face Man, he promises that he will get you off this rock before it’s too late. Isn’t that nice?

Yes, we know you think you’re just a lot of no good animals stuck in a forgotten crack in the rocks, getting picked on by all the rest of the animals. You are the little lemurs, the half-monkey-half-rats who come out at night when you think no one can see you, blinking your great big fear-making eyes in the grey dark, because the world is full of little bears who think they are big bears and wants to eat you.

But with the help of Smoking Face Man you can find out how much more you are.

Because you are like NOTHING to them. You’re TOO WEIRD TO BE.

There is not as much to you as there is to THEM because YOU are not all stuffed with bat shit.

You can never think more good than THEM. After all, you’re TOO STUPID TO DIE.

You can’t ever imagine yourself better than THEM, because you are busy imagining things like their little bear brains can’t even get close to thinking without catching fire and going all over the floor.

You won’t ever be able to know more things than THEM because their THINGS are without any use to you except to make your imagining turn over.

You can’t ever be more than THEM because THEY are busy becoming the only animal left in the world.

You HAVE NO USE because you were not MADE for the things they want to use you FOR.

You can’t laugh at them, because THEY aren’t the funny ones.

They don’t care about you. ONLY SMOKING FACE MAN CARES ABOUT YOU NOW GIVE HIM YOUR MONEY!

And don’t try to tell them any of this because they won’t learn a thing from it.

On religious freedom in America

Following this week’s decision by the American Supreme Court regarding the religious freedom of corporations, the Press Office of the Fylkir and Speaker for the Gods have released the following statement. The Exploding St. Judas Ministries is re-posting this encyclical from the Pope of all Vikings in a show of religious solidarity, and because we all need to run for the hills now, lest they lay waste to our homes, vehicles and loved ones.

(The Exploding St. Judas Ministries would to be the first to welcome our new bloodthirsty overlords, except the world ends tomorrow, and you guys will all die. Neener, etc.)

***

Offical Letter
“Frelsi fórnar”
Of the Supreme Fylkir
Olafr the Skull-grim
To his blessed friends
The Lawspeakers, Sages and Sibyls
And other Godly Men
Currently at peace with the Grand Court of the Fylkir
To the Harriers and Keepers of the Seed of Old in all Man’s Home and the Middle Realm, and to all
Men of honour dwelling therein
On the freedom to practice veneration

Honest Free Men and Beloved of the Gods
Health and Blessings to the givers of golden rings

The right of every man to venerate the idols and uphold the honour of his fathers and mothers of forn is a most serious matter, in which Godly Men keep the peace with Powers great and small to continue the life of their Clan, even though it sometimes entails many difficulties and hardships.

A matter of conscience

The recent course of law in the Realm of Mankind and the concomitant changes of what constitutes honest and virtuous conduct have provoked many new questions from keepers of the Old Ways. The Court of the Fylkir cannot ignore these questions, for they concern matters intimately connected to the daily life, joyfulness and honour of the faithful.

While the offering up of gifts and cultivating friendship and blessed peace with the Gods and Beings of the Land brings us great honour, increasing our harvests and annual profits, the duties of tradition have sometimes posed problems of conscience to Godly Men everywhere, as the cowardly God of the Christians would have us believe that the Path of Honour and the Sacred act of Sacrifice is somehow “sinful” or “illegal”.

It is therefore pleasing to us that the Supreme Court of the United States of America has now made clear the Will of the Gods in this matter, and we will henceforth take heed of the truth won by the court’s divine wisdom and insight.

Ungodly laws threaten our ways

The glorious revolutions against the many unfit and unmanly kings of the Franks and Englenders have pleased the Gods, gifted many fine warriors to the Host of the One-eyed One, and allowed free men to war against the Worm of Greed together in brotherhood, as equals.

However, these same revolutions have zealously and perhaps thoughtlessly removed all Godly conduct from the affairs of realm and common weal, leading many to fear that the Gods would abandon us, and that the Great Winter will soon come to pass.

Indeed, the free men of a raiding or merchant venture may now no longer go to council and vote to atone to the displeased Gods by performing the Threefold Sacrifice of an unfit manager, CEO or politician who does not have the favour of the Gods, even as he brings bad years and much evil to honest folk. Even as low men constantly insult us, we are prohibited from splitting their skulls, raping and burning them, their family, farm and livestock to show our displeasure and restore our honour. We may no longer cut the throats of man and livestock to wash the sacred images of the Gods in their blood, and we are denied knowledge of the future by reading secret signs in the pattern of the sprinkling of their spilled blood!

A new age of godliness

This new state of things have persisted for many turns of the ages now, but this new sign from the Great Court gives hope that Godly folk may once again call down the Gods to increase fertility, potence and profits of ventures everywhere.

As it is the deeply held personal belief of this Court that the Gods bring us good luck and great harvest when ritually invited to feast on the flesh of the finest we can offer, and when partaking with us of the purest alcohol we can distil, we will now begin the work of developing new Human Resource Management policies for all corporations in our extensive portfolio, and expect other Godly investors to do the same, for the Greater Glory of the Gods.

Herein is contained our proposals, for deliberation, sacred sign-taking and consensus-reaching at the next Great Sacrifice at the Irminsul of Uppsala in the 43rd year of King Gustav the Limp.

Whereas the duly agreed upon Law of the Land has always been recognized as the revealed Law of the Gods, we will not propose a complete set of new legislation for the Godly State, merely concentrating on core supplementary policies which can be applied privately, and more swiftly alleviate the lack of Godliness which the United States Supreme Court has revealed in the current body of laws, without necessitating a completely new constitution to usher in the coming Age of the Gods.

1: The right to restitution and defence of honour

It is the sincerely and deeply held personal belief of this court and its subsidiary corporations that it is the duty and right of all free men to uphold the honour of their Clan against all challengers, and if necessary enlist a rabid mob of hallucinating axe murderers to assist them in so doing.

Duels must be cleared with HR at least a week in advance. Employee attendance is mandatory.

Punitive raids or lawful expeditions to conduct cleverly and artistically performed revenge killings will only be conducted after the victim has been given at least three weeks head start and a chance to pay restitution in appropriate tender, such as cash, cows or fine jewellery.

2: The freedom to sacrifice

It is the sincerely and deeply held personal belief of this this court and its subsidiary corporations that the Gods must be appeased by the spilling of blood, milk and various alcoholic beverages, lest they turn away from the land of men, and the wheel of fate turn, ending our age and erasing the many great deeds of our Clans.

Sacrificial ceremonies must be agreed upon at a duly gathered and blessed council, and must be carried out on the Days of Mark indicated by the Court of the Fylkirate. Those who do not gladly volunteer themselves, family, slaves and/or livestock for sacrifice are subject to loss of all honour, banishment and outlawry.

3: The right to health and the faring well of life

As has been known to Godly Men since the Days of Naming and the Dawn of the World, the turning away of the Godly guest, and the hardness of heart, displeases the Gods, and hard it will go on the one who strike their outstretched hand away when They walk among us and test us.

Accordingly, subsidiaries of all Fylkirate holding companies will take necessary steps to ensure full, unrestricted health coverage and a secure standard of living for all employees, dependants and slaves of their enterprises.

Spoken at the Great Hall of Thor’s Court, on the second day of Ty the Lawgiver in the increase of the Month of Worms, in the tenth year of Our Fylkirate.

Quoth the Skald on this most auspicious of occasions:

The tender age has passed us by
we live now in the age of wolves
of war and tricks and violent men
shields shall split
swords shall bite
ere the world ends

On Subsistence in a world without Slack

Here’s the secret: All you really need to survive this dreadful, slackless existence until X-day arrives to rescue us all is a warm, humid climate all year-round and some frop fields – everything else is extra.

Unfortunately, the majority of Church Clenches flock to the cities, most of which are in the temperate zones. Here, life-shortening w*rk, predation by cow-orkers, roving gangs of bozos and the cold winds of Pink hatred are braved for the paltry technological geegaws of the Conspiracy, maintaining the sado-masochistic indentured lifestyles we have all become addicted to. The influence of our most revered Church teachers, handing down most efficiacious techniques such as Time Control, Acubeating and Morrealist Excess has taught us to live faster and more intensely, but more dangerously as well. The Slack which our Yeti ancestors used a century to accumulate in the past we can now cram into just 10!

Unfortunately, by trying to outpace the Conspiracy, we are burning ever more brightly and quickly. It is a great and interesting experiment we are all in, but it will not last. Eventually, unless the godsdamned pleasure saucers take some time out of their busy schedule and decide to turn up already, we will all have to pay Dobbs the full price of our high living and return to a simpler and more slackly-paced lifestyle.

Keep in mind that when that most glorious of days, X-day, arrives, the cities will of course be hardest hit, as they are the most slackless zones and will have accumulated the greatest number of grudges borne by the SubGenii forced to endure them. Until the great cosmic hitch-hiking event is complete, the farm boys, hicks and and multitude of species of rogue SubGeniuses in the deep woods, who are more self-sufficient, will fare much better, especially if they are living in the tropical or semi-tropical regions of the planet. Best of all will be those who have trained themselves to subsist on little but pure Slack and frop, or even nothing but Slack, and who are living in the warmer and more Slackful regions of the planet.

So keep sending that cash to “Bob” – praying that he’ll make it all go away BEFORE it comes to that!

Things to do when you’re a SubGenius in need

1. Excremeditate.

2. Operation Mindfuck Needs YOU! Join the Apple Corps today!

3. Devivalism

4. Self-devolution

5.  Start a band. Use it as a cover story to make the Glorps ignore your Conspiracy-incompatible ways.

6. Ranting

7. Raving

8. Pouncing

9.

10. Arteesteserie.

11. Build your own UFO

12. Forbidden Science

13.

14. Activate the Carnivorous Stage of your lifecycle

15. Assign a new Short Duration Personal Savior.

16. Find “Bob”, and KILL HIM.

17. Glandscaping

18. Fuck something.

19. Become a Lemur. Go to live with your brethren in the jungles of Madagascar.

20. Try one of the latest Arcturan sexual orientations.

21. Join the hive-building vulture chimps. Learn their ways. Become as one of them. Forget your true SubGenius self, until, one day, you encounter an image of a strangely familiar face while “browsing” the internet…

22. Find a Pink. Act Normal at it.

23. SHOW UP! Because if you don’t SHOW UP, how can you even begin do partake of the other funderful things “Bob”‘s Church has laid on for you? So FUCKING SHOW UP!

On the Supreme Method of the Forbidden Sciences

My name is Reverend Bork.

By occupation I am a doktor. As of last X-Day, I am a Doktor of Forbidden Science, by which I desuprasumalize my nental health solely by J. R. “Bob” Dobbs’ spiritual methods, gladly sharing my knowledge with those who seek it out.

My UTTER conviction in the effectiveness of the methods laid out by J. R. “Bob” Dobbs to control both my health, seemingly “random” events in my life, and the VERY STUFF OF REALITY ITSELF came about as I developed an understanding of how reality, in which most of us believe we live, is formed. It came to me as a result of my in-depth study of J. R. “Bob” Dobbs’ mail order courses and the radio ministry of His Church.

Now I finally understand that diseases as such do in actual fact not exist. They are as illusory as is the solidity of human bodies, comprised of “atoms” which are in themselves more like complex tangles of slacklessness rather than solid physical matter. That is, human bodies are virtually vibrational structures, pure snarled-up spiritual fucked-upness, a desinformational substance converted into matter, the substance which is the base of physical “reality”, through which Slack flows, impeded or freely according to an individual’s alignment with the Luck Plane. Health problems are simply the a cosmic constipation, the blocking of the flow of sweet, life-giving Slack in certain regions of the physical body.* J. R. “Bob” Dobbs’ unique methods enable the Slack flows to be pasteurized prior to being condensed and coming into contact with slackless physical matter, which means that with proper spiritual practice the body of every SubGenius can always be formed Slackful as well as Eternal.

All is welcome into Eternal, Slackful and happy life, made accessible to us by the Great Scientist – J. R. “Bob” Dobbs.

*Slack may occasionally flow into this physical universe
in the form of paramedics bearing injectable opiates.
This is an immaterial objection to the validity
of the Forbidden Method of the Great Scientist, J. R. "Bob" Dobbs.

Sermon for Hate for the Sake of Hating Day

For today’s sermon, I’m going to tell you a story from our ministry. You see, we were recently consulted by a master of Slack from afar. He had a personal problem which may seem unusual to you slackless drones, who barely get a moment’s respite from the eternally spinning hamster balls of hate that is your existence. I will keep this Bobdisatva of Slack anonymous, so as to avoid a congestion of Bobbies beating a path to his door. You see, he suffered from a terrible affliction; he could not find enough hate in his heart. His horn of Slack floweth over; his life was good, and unfettered by the sticky tendrils of the Conspiracy. In short he was TOO FUCKING HAPPY! At best, he could whip up a fleeting sensation of annoyance. How, he asked us, could he find the hate he so sorely needed to power his mutant abilities (available as mail order courses from subgenius.com at a low price right now!)?

And here’s what we told him:

Seal yourself in your excremeditation chamber. Form in your mind the image of the Pink. It may be that arsehat who told you off for liking a band not on his Approved List. It may be some human who did not have the decency to drop dead when you applied your brain-curdling psychic power gaze. The economically retarded roommate who spent the rent money on computer games and fed the eviction notice to your dog, who choked to death on it. Or maybe just the bastard who kicked you in the nuts and stole your phone.

There’s no shortage of turd-souled insults to the Face of “Bob” out there. Most of us use our mental powers to edit them out, or simply delete them from existence on those occasions on which they anger us. But for those of us suffering from a lack of hate in our lives, it’s important to remember that each and every scumfuck you encounter on your way to your eternal Reward forms a little golden opportunity, a small sprout of hate, struggling out of the usually placid and Slackful soil of your blessed Yeti mind, which you need to identify, water and nurture, transplant and replant, and add to that giant jungle of pure, scorching Grudge that will fuel your personal spacecraft ‘s weapons systems on X-day.

Pinks will tend to see any who oppose them as their “enemies” (in that puerile, petty way of theirs, the pink having no concept of the epic scale of cosmic Enmity available to the SubGenius), and instantly begin to apply Normalization Procedures, in accordance with their subconscious Conspiracy programming. But as SubGenii, we have a different technology to deal with those who offend in the Sight of Dobbs. By applying the basic psychic training available to any Church Member in good standing, such as time control, maintenance and discharge of Slack capacitors, and how to dispose of a body in ten easy steps (see Reverend Ellis’ excellent manual, Dead Pig Collector for more on this) we can defeat our enemies or even turn them against their Conspiracy masters, coring out their souls and using them as drones for our own purposes. And is that not a far better thing than simply letting your hate go to waste?

Obviously, building up a good crop of hatred is not easy for a person who lives in the Gaze of Dobbs, who is a master of all things Slackful, but with patience, you can grow the necessary glands, ducts and organs using radio waves and instructions encoded in the Church literature.

So go to it! And don’t forget – a little hatred a day keeps the Con away!

Sermon for Rush to Judgement Day

IT IS WRITTEN:

“Thwwaack…Can you feel the GUILT DEMONS leaving your body,
as I SPANK YOU? Do you NEED MORE……?”
-Reverend Nickie Deathchick

There are so many things that “Bob” should be doing, or never did, or actually did while I definitely wasn’t near the place.

But can you truly blame “Bob” for absolutely any thing?

Could “Bob” be identified as the guilty party even when he wasn’t directly involved?

Yes. It has been definitively proven that Everything is “Bob”‘s fault.

In fact, when you examine the evidence properly, you will see that whenever something happens that you do not feel like suffering the consequences for, that’s how things really were all along. Somehow, it was “Bob”. Despite this, you may feel a secret anaconda of guilt in need of placing writhing in your guts, but be too shy to admit to it. Sometimes we are too proud; sometimes we fear being hunted down and torn to bits and having our bits fucked by wild racoons while pinks and traitors cheer the racoons on.

These feelings of responsibility and self-respect can prevent us from aquiring Slack.

But admitting that what happened was wrong and blaming “Bob” for it gives us the opportunity to spread his word and expand his sacred Church and his Fellowship, making everything all right once again.

Blaming “Bob” can change something inside us, both for the SubGenius who places the blame, and all who bear witness to it.

Maybe you should really blame “Bob” for your clenchmates, for your j*b, or for your inability to pass for human at inconvenient moments? Have you tried doing that?

To publicly and loudly blame “Bob” is to enter into a new sort of closeness with “Bob”, a new kind of communion of Slack.

As you point the finger of accusation and place responsibility for any unfortunate occurrences that may or may not have happened in the past somewhere else, rather than with your immediate person, a kind of intimacy will occur between you and all present.

As you admit to yet again having been conned by “Bob”, you will all feel that you have been brought closer in devolution.

Only “Bob” can Juge me

Reverend Tao Joannes

I have been the butt
of your low-hanging jokes,
for as far back as I can remember.

But I gotta admit that ain’t too far.

Between the k2, booze, and blunt force trauma
bout the only thing that sticks, anymore,
is the pillow
and some
macaroni and cheese
sometimes
when I’m stabbing my brother.

When beer is your coffee,
life takes on dimensions
mere muggles can’t begin to grok.

When the zombies attack,
you gotta throw bricks,
or raw chunks of crumpled concrete,
whatever you got on hand, really.

And when you live like me,
it’s better to forget
that your wife collected money
for your dead sons
while they were still alive,
and tried to bite your dick off
when you was too tired
for relations.

I got seven friends a day
dying from prescription overdose.
I got a hundred thousand brothers
rotting right now in prison.

I stabbed a Bears fan in the spur of the moment,
and shot my own damn self bowling on a Tuesday night.

I got caught masturbating on a public boat ramp.

What I’m trying to say
is that if you been through what I been through
you’d get a beer while fleeing police too.
Cuz you’d know it’d be a while before your next one.

and if you ever let the booze wear off
and the memories catch up
you’ll catch a hangover that could kill that skunk ape,
that I saw that night
trying to rape
that alligator
out behind my toolshed.

You can’t hear about me without smirking,
and your silent “there but for the grace of God go I”
I don’t blame you for feeling superior.
We’re each just as we was created.
But don’t act like you don’t envy me.

My name brings them to their knees,
killing from Glengarry to Schnechdachie,
St Paul to San Tropez.
I got 400 million hits on google,
and 108 thousand followers on twitter
watch me come up
I’ll be bigger than anonymous,
but I want you to know my name.
I am Florida Man.

I will get a blowjob from a hooker with my toddler in the car.
I will throw eggs at the courthouse.
I will sometimes be attacked by alligators.
I will often be found butt naked,
in the wrong person’s house or apartment,
or on the side of the road,
proposing to a dead pit bull,
or making love to it.

I love my little cock-shaped state
and you just can’t take your greedy little eyes off it.

born in the fountain of youth
washed in the blood of conquest
trained by mad raving pirates
stolen from the seminole
plundered by capitalist greed
shaped by drug cartels and the space race

this is a land of endless freedom
strapped down by dickhead cops
*spits*

And if you’re too scared to push it to the edge
how can you feel superior when I fall?
You rely on God’s grace to keep you out of danger
because you can’t handle this heat.
Like a caged canary laughing at raging wild turkey
you hold your manhood
cheep
while I speak.

And I’ll leave you with the words
tattooed across my neck,
“Only God can juge this soul”
and YES, I know I spelled judge wrong
see above for the disposition of that thought.

I am FLORIDA MAN!
And I will chew your fucking face off!