Friday, July 29, 2005

Never Enough Brain-Throbbing TV Department

I've long thought Harvey Birdman was a sharp, insane mockery-cum-tribute to Hanna Barbara's crappy cartoon heritage, but the first episode of Season 3--which had premiered last Sunday--is perhaps the first one that put me in the mood to make sweet Foghorn-Leghorn weasel noises at Thea. Up until the point that Wally Gator testified while wearing the beer hat. But the scene just before that? YOWZA. That's some fine booty there. I'd throw the shrink-ray in reverse for THAT.

But then I follow it up with a video for Lisa Marie Prestley's cover of the Don Henley song "Dirty Laundry." Damn, she's got her daddy's eyelids--and the high-tops from Katrina and the Waves. Too bad she can't make a song about salaciousness... SALACIOUS. Not even with subliminals, either.

Just sayin'.

Never Enough SubGenius Beach Parties Department

August 21--2 PM til we stagger off blind

Golden Gardens Park
8498 Seaview Pl. NW
Seattle, WA


Never Enough Long March Bad News Department

In case it is not clear at this point, this year's Long March is a
wash. I strongly doubt that we'll even throw a Short Stroll, although
I still think we should throw a SubGenius Beach Party sometime next month.

For those who sincerely wanted to go, I will be announcing a date
later this year for next year's Long March. We'll have a date well in
advance and worry about logistics later, rather than going the other
way around. I realize that many SubGeniuses have a very rebellious
attitude when it comes to Conspiracy calendars. But Time Control is
not achieved by refusing to be controlled by time. You gotta grab time
by the horns and BLOW BAYBEE BLOW!

Thank you, "Bob," for the lesson, asshole.

Friday, July 08, 2005

Never Enough Patient Explanations of SubGenius Dogma Department

Many of those who stumble across the Church wind up saying, "Oh, it's funny, I guess, but why do they have to sell memberships? In fact, why do they sell so much useless crap anyway?!?" In their careless blasphemy against our holiest relics they miss a fundamental theological point: our prophet and object of idolization was, is, and will always be the Greatest Salesman Ever. It is our sacred duty to sell, and sell we shall. It brings us closer to "Bob" to hawk items that few would buy, seeing if we can develop the power to sell the unsellable.

(The Dogon, a West African tribe better known for their tales of amphibious intelligences from Sirius-B, is also said to have witnessed a slick-haired, pale-skinned man that belched smoke from a reed held in his teeth, who successfully traded a mound of elephant dung to a swarm of tse-tse flies in exhange for all their maggots. When asked by the Dogon why he would do such an incredible act, he reportedly said he had a wager to win, refusing to say any more, but winking and nudging for hours thereafter.)

One day, J. R. "Bob" Dobbs will eventually sell nothing to something, and everything to everything else, achieving universal symmetry in the Beforelife and beyond, and achieving the eternal Oozquirt we all crave so powerfully. And we Superior Mutants are dedicated to being there. In the meantime, like a cargo cult building model planes from crates to honor the flying gods that drop gifts from the heavens, we too must sell in order to bring Dobbs' sales-driven slack into our lives.

Alas, we suck at selling. Oh, we're doing better than expected by the average Normal, but ultimately we're still not exactly taking over the Conspiracy as fast as we hope. YOU HUMANS SHOULD BE SO LUCKY. At least we know and understand Slack, in some measure--and all we truly want is for a world of slack for all. All those who at least sent in a dollar, anyhow. [Updated 7/20/05]