SLACK IS: A minor rant

April 9, 2015 § Leave a comment

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.


On Subsistence in a world without Slack

April 8, 2014 § Leave a comment

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!

Only “Bob” can Juge me

June 17, 2013 § Leave a comment

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
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

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
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.

And I will chew your fucking face off!

Shut up.

January 5, 2013 § Leave a comment

Just 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

November 11, 2012 § Leave a comment

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:
it is not true.

Odd Børretzen, 1926-2012

Rant for the welcoming of a new Clenchmate

November 6, 2012 § Leave a comment

Hello Insert Name Here. I’m Bork and I’m a SubGenius, and a minister and undercover yeti. I am saved today by the grace of Dobbs, and that is the only way I know of, besides the Way of the Blood Vengeance, of course, but I gave up that one because it’s so hard to hide the bodies. Everything I’ve done got me here. I know that a lot of what got me here was also the grace of Dobbs ‘cause I couldn’t have found out the questions or the answers to’em these days, without the grace of Dobbs.

I first became aware of SubGeniusness back before they strip-mined Mars, while the Conspiracy was moving the pieces together and painting the sets for fake 1998. The Word of “Bob” coursed trough me like fire in them days! -“Bob” said it, I smoked it, and that SETTLED it” we used to chant when we went out on the hunt. Oh, how I was looking forward to that Glorious day, when I would join the ranks of righteous Yetis in a great fighting and fucking and fiery lasering of anything and everything and each other. Oh, I had my doubts, we all had, but we knew that in just a few years, our deal would come trough or we’d get Triple Our money back. You can imagine our horror when the great Calendrical Scam went down, and we stood by, powerless to stop it. But that is a tale for another time.

It was in the aftermath, while standing in a burning warehouse full of chunks of martian crystal palaces (They were grinding them up and jamming them up Their asses for the hallucinogenic effect) that I knew what I had to do – I had to go back and bear witness of the word of Dobbs, to gather the Prophits Flock in defence of his Good Books in preparation for the Day – the Day when the Men from Planet X would finally come.

And so I did. Despite mockers and pink boys and Conspiracy assassins. Despite the daily horror of dealing with the bug-eyed hive-building monkey servants of the Con. Despite the continuing lack of signs from the X-ist fleet, I stood firm, the Word close at hand and “Bob” in my heart. I can only pray that my witness can inspire others who are laying low, too slackless and frightened to call out to their fellow SubGenes, too beaten down by the Con to chance breaking their cover.

Epistle to the Exhausted

October 25, 2012 § Leave a comment

What’s the matter, Bunky?  You say life landed on you like a ton of bricks?  When didn’t it?  You say you left your Slack™ in the bottom of a long neck bottle in some scummy bar, and that fiendish bar back took it away while you weren’t looking?  You say you wanted to go fuck with someone or something, but someone had to mind the fort?

Too tired, too lazy, too busy blearily staring at the internet or the TV to say howdy?  Boy, it’s a good thing the whole country hasn’t turned into bad television, right?  Ho ho!  At least THAT can’t happen here!

It seems The CoN IS everywhere, because we INSISTED…Because The CoN isn’t some faceless corporation, the fucking CoN is in your head.  And because it’s in your head, it’s everywhere, and it’s even turned rebellion into a reason to become mostly comatose (See: Occupy).  I’ll do something about that when I can think of something to do.  I’ll get on it tomorrow.  It’s all hopeless anyway, so why get excited right this minute?

What’s that you say?  You’re busy?   Time for everything EXCEPT “Bob”?  Too busy to say anything, too busy to relax for 10 seconds or make a fucker laugh until his guts bleed, just for the hell of it?  Where have all the cheap yuks gone?  Was it finally actually too much?  Too much False Slack™, too much Horrormirth, too much bad signal on the TV?  Too many crooked politicians, the game is rigged, the fix is in, why bother?

Forgive me if I lose my shit here, but THIS IS WHATTHE CHURCH IS ALL ABOUT!  Just as the first amendment exists to protect unpopular speech (popular speech doesn’t need protecting), being a Subgenius is all about getting our cheap laughs in when things get bad!  ANY DAMN FOOL can laugh when things are merely funny!  It takes a special kind of idiot to giggle when the flood waters reach your bottom lip.  I am that kind of idiot, and I hope YOU are, too.

But tell Dirty Old Uncle Roger all about the reasons you can sit there all day, without LOSING YOUR SHIT.  Tell me why, tell me your stories of woe, and I shall hold your hand and dry your tears.  Tell me all about how they’ve sewn your mouth shut, how You Must Shit And Have No Ass.  Tell me also how you’ve become too discouraged to give a shit, how they finally shoved your face into the mud and you’re just too weary to lift it back out, and anyway this mud isn’t too bad, is it?

Well, I have news for you, kiddos…That’s the same mud that everyone else is slurping up, and it isn’t mud.  You are partaking of the shit sandwich that the rest of Western civilization has learned to love, and boy howdy, aren’t you glad you aren’t like them?  Aren’t you glad that it’s temporary in your case, that you’re just resting for a few days or months or years until you get your breath back?

Shut the fuck up.  EVERYONE says that.  Who do you think the yahoos are?  What do you think THEY say?  “I’ll be rich one day, I just know it.  But not today, because I have to wax the cat.”  They say this, because the only happiness THEY understand comes on little green rectangular paper once every two weeks, or WOULD, if there was more of it.  No matter how much they make.  They’re saying THE SAME THING you might be saying, only they’re using a different brass ring as a goal.

DO SOMETHING!  Prove to yourself that you’re really there, that you are still YOU.  Rant your fucking guts up.  Go have rabid monkey sex.  Dance in your fucking car.  I don’t care WHAT you do, but do it NOW.  It’s not just entertaining, it’s also the easiest way to STAY YOU.  Hell, give me a ration of shit for telling you what for!  You aren’t ranting at me, you’re ranting at the endless pile of horseshit and electronic toys that they’re trying to smother you in!

Or not.  You could just read this, and chuckle to yourself about what an excitable type that Roger is, how he’s always bitching about something.  Then you can go back to the riveting activity of “viewing” a forum or shitty porn or your own navel, while you’re supposed to be working…As if that makes you some kind of biped (hell, your BOSS does that shit).  If you can get mad at me for this – if you can even break your lassitude long enough to do that – be sure to include your excuse for why your face is missing, why you have that Goddamn feeding tube where your mouth used to be…And rest assured, I will read it and absolve you of your lack of sins.

Because I’m a nice guy that way.

-The Good Reverend Roger

Where Am I?

You are currently browsing the Rants category at the Exploding st. Judas Ministry to the Lemurs.

%d bloggers like this: