The Rights of Man

June 14, 2013 § Leave a comment


When you have to draw a line, things can be pretty difficult, emotionally. Unless you believe we should not draw a line, it will always be like this – where we draw the line there will be some people on both sides, some inside, some outside.

Okay, I’ll admit it. We’re at a bit of a standoff here. An Imp-asse. In just a few short weeks, what we have all waited for will come to pass. The alien love gods from Planet X will arrive. They will proceed to do terrible and destructive things to the Planet Earth.

None of us have much of a problem with this. It clearly needed doing. But it has become evident that some elements of the Church harbour certain irreconcilable differences regarding the fate of the humans of Planet Earth.

Without the Con to sustain them, any surviving hivemonkeys will be in serious trouble. Extinction seems certain. Leaving the X-ists and revengertainment-bent SubGenii to mop up the screaming remnants and finish the job seems pretty much like a kindness.

And yet, some us still have sentimental feelings with regard to total human extinction and the dismantling of the planet’s outer crust for recycling.

We all carry a little list in our pockets, or in our hearts, enumerating the pink scum who will need to suffer our wrath, possibly repeatedly. For that reason alone, we can’t just find a SubGenius stupid enough to let every leftover human onto its personal pleasure saucer – for one thing, it would be shot down right away by the vengeful hordes of yetis denied their rightful carnage. Also, some breeds and unique specimens are in particular demand. I mean, how thin can you possibly slice Donald Trump before there’s nothing useful or entertaining left?

It’s likely that massive cloning will take place, mixed in with some pretty radical alterations to integrate the humans into their new environment as pets for a race of godlike intergalactic marauder-hedonists. But all this won’t mean much to those billions who will be left behind to die.

And obviously, most Yetis have pets, cherished companions and various toys they’ll want to bring with them (the Holocaustal schism being the most prominent exception). So what about the rest?

We think it’s morally important that the humans are made to understand how things are, before the end. They need to know and accept that this was their fate all along, and that there was nothing they could have done differently.

Being human, it’s obvious that not all of them can live. All humans die in the end anyway. We don’t know anyone who thinks they can all just stay here. Only those useful to us, or so intensely hated that their usefulness consists of being consigned to an eternity of complicated deaths and sudden, traumatizing resurrections, can be kept on after the Rupture.

As the teleporter beams demolish their roofs and pigmonkey servants carve out their souls for bottling and sale to the Yacatisma painsmiths, their first instinct should be to nod their heads sagely in acceptance of the inevitable. When our hunting guitars sound and the Ozzie clones start howling for prey, they should give us a good run and then fall over from exhaustion in a sporting manner. And when the time comes to rip up their home country’s bedrock, they should be thankful they weren’t scraped off first.

But how to achieve this? We all know that humans are rather dense. Therefore, we here at the Exploding St. Judas Ministries have devised a scheme in which carefully selected human hives are surgically vapourized by orbital kinetic missiles. The missiles will strike seemingly at random, without warning. This will function as an example to the others, discouraging them from wanting to live too much, and teaching them to accept that death may come at any moment.

It has been suggested that we be more selective in our approach. And, yes, that might be mighty fun to do. But we must insist on restraint, in the form of complete disregard for any sentiment and iron adherence to the semi-randomness of the selection process. If the humans begin to see a pattern, they would try to exploit it, by sucking up to known SubGenii, found one of those ghastly cargo cults, turning pixie, hipster or mentally ill, and so on and so forth – you all know the kind of filthy stuff they’ll get up to given half a chance and a sandwich.

It is inevitable that every time a Target is declared, some clench somewhere will go “oh no, not THEM”. We all have our favourites – usually those closest to us, those whose big, wet, tasty baby seal eyes will most often trick us into imprinting on them. That’s why we will soon publish a complicated and impenetrable set of arbitrary rules, the violation of which qualifies a human and everyone around it for Examplehood, thus completely justifying the carnage.


April 26, 2013 § Leave a comment

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

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

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

December 20, 2012 § Leave a comment



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.


November 28, 2012 § Leave a comment

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

November 17, 2012 § Leave a comment

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

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

November 8, 2012 § Leave a comment

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.

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.

October 26, 2012 § Leave a comment

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