HAVING A BLAST AT
KRAKATOA EAST OF DOBBSTOWN
The Atlanta Devival, May 10 at CRC
(ReSpew by IrReverend Friday Jones)
It was the Thursday before the Atlanta Devival that I decided I just had
to go. I didnıt have any plans; Iıd made no preparations; I just showed
up at the airport and went. Praise be to the Internet, for plane
schedules! Praise be to the Olympics, for giving Atlanta a public
transportation web site that led me right to the Devival door! I knew
everything would be all right when I noticed that the passenger in front
of me was covered with BUMPS and had one eye lower than the other. A good
omen. Bouncing merrily along, I got to Atlanta (nice airport, got its own
little train system), and thence to the subway, and the bus, and the large
and finely appointed CRC Bar and Eatery. Where I discovered - that I was
there before anyone else. Of course. Itıs always like that; practically
a Friday stereotype.
When the Devivalists finally walked in, they blithely paraded right past
me as they went to admire the stage, the fine effects lighting, the
projection video system and the many speakers. It was only as Jesus was
walking to flog on the Bobbies in unloading the equipment that he noticed
that Bobbie at the bar was, in fact, a Boobie - me. One by one, it
percolated through the Devivalists that Iıd flown from BOSTON just to lend
a helping hand.
³You came!² exclaimed Stang, with an expression that mingled glee, lust
and sheer astonishment. Well of course I did; Iım a SubGenius and I can
COME whenever I feel like it! Thatıs a good Church motto, ³Come Whenever
You Want With ³Bob².² One rich old man whose impotence drives him to try
ANY solution would give LOTS more money than any five impoverished
SubGenii can muster.
Soon the undulicious Rev. Susie the Floozie and I were exchanging mating
calls whilst she hung up her gleaming Dobbshead comet, to be joined by
dancing Dobbs skeletons in due course. The stage was soon ornamented to
look like a lush tropical jungle, befitting the Devivalıs Krakatoa theme.
Rev. Rock-In-Hand (a rock is the softest thing his hand has ever held,
believe me) and the soon-to-be-deflowered Dr. Legume inspected the edifice
and deemed it worthy. The fine CRC band Pee Dog Night was preparing their
instruments of mayhem, murder and music. Meanwhile I set up the sales
table right under the video screen, and was delighted to discover that the
esteemed Papa Joe Mama would also be selling his wares, the infamous Home
Study Tapes and the unnerving Icons, at the very same table. And this
time around Iıd be right next to the stage and could see all the action!
Well, I could if I leaned around the towering bank of speakers. And
ducked under the inflatable Godzilla looming at my shoulder. But anyway,
at least I could smell the preachers properly.
After the CRCıs fine cook tried his hand at an impromptu filet de Bobbie
(which came out quite nicely, thank you) and the Devivalists stoked their
internal fires, it was practically time to open the doors, admit the
ravening SubGenius flood - and let the sales begin!
And a fine lot of sales they were! Atlanta was practically starving for
³Bob²ıs outstretched hand to accept their money, because they bought
dozens of books, hundreds of buttons and tapes, tens upon tens of
T-shirts. We ran out of half of the swag, and could have used about THREE
TIMES as many Membership Packets! Papa Joe Mama was assembling his icons
as fast as the crowd bought them - some people bought a set of ALL SEVEN!
Praaaaise BE to the Saint of Sales! I literally could NOT CLOSE the cash
box at the end of the night, it was so full of money! I had to duct-tape
the blessed thing shut and then give it to Jesus - and try not to snicker
when he nearly collapsed from the weight.
As the Devival began, the projection video system fluttered the endless
³Bob²-orgasm of ARISE over my head as the noble Jesus Christ took the
stage to explain SubGenius 101 as only the Son of God can. I soon
realized that the frightening-looking man lurking about the sales table in
his leisure jumpsuit was none other than Dr. Dynasoar - I didnıt recognize
him without his dress! How embarrassing. And while the majestic tones of
Papa Joe Mama rolled over the crowded room, I was alas trying to tell two
earnest Christian girls that of course I believed in Jesus - wasnıt He
right up there in the sound booth, cussing the disobedient DAT equipment
to Hell and back? And in fact, He was looking for some groupies to share
that back-stage shower and waterbed with ... They scampered off. Too bad.
As Circus Apocalypse was unable to attend (saving themselves up for
Ydnaxıs GRADUATION PARTY) their freakshow function was filled by a party
of lively contortionists, Ensemble For Plastic, who had deft feet,
symbolic tattoos and very tight shiny leotards. And they hula-ed very
well late into the night. Perhaps their contortions were not up to the
level of a Shaolin monk or Buster Keaton. But then, Iıll forgive almost
anything of people wearing very tight shiny leotards.
The noble Dr. Legume strode forth to SMASH the very nuts of the Conspiracy
under his feet, even as he shattered the Earth itself with a single blow.
Let us all wish a long and FERTILE marriage to the Bad Doctor, and hope
that many children shall make golden his grey years.
The sin-tillating Susie took the stage, and it yielded utterly to the
grasp of her velvet tongue. The crowd went wide and Susie slipped right
in, planting that seed-word of ³Bob² firmly between their soft tender
ears. She was a cloudburst in a bustier, a thunderstorm on white white
thighs. Susie came and we all came too. Praise ³Bob.²
While Dyna was regaling the room with his musical repertoire, I was
suffering the anguish of whoever runs the sales table at Devivals - the
better the person on stage, the lower the form of Bobbie who comes to buy
and tithe. All of the interesting, tasty Bobbies are watching the good
rants and events while only the Pinkest, most brain-dead ones shuffle over
to the table, spending an hour picking out just the right button. And of
course, Iım not talking about YOU, naw, must mean somebody else.
The crowd was electrified when Stang revealed how he had spent his
previous evening after carousing with Legume at his bachelor party - he
had visited the unmarked grave of JONBENET RAMSEY and stolen letters that
people had left there for the poor dead little lass! Letters that he
proceeded to read on stage! Letters threatening the most intimate harms
to those who had snuffed the little blonde Barbie-babe, and protestations
of love - from GOD!
I was heartily impressed. Stang had done something that even offended
ME. Of course, I was the one who would later suggest (over breakfast no
less) that JonBenet should have been buried in a glass-covered coffin so
that people could dig down and watch her rot through the lid ...
The earth shook, the skies grew thick with sparks, and suddenly, the
VOLCANO ERUPTED! And the HEAD, the veritable BLEEDING HEAD OF ARNOLD
PALMER was cast aloft in a pillar of fire! You could smell the flesh
sizzling as the Head was laid upon the battered shell of the Earth for
Papa Joe Mama to launch. From my vantage point I could mainly see Papa
Joeıs gaily swiveling ass as he did his best golfer impression - not that
I minded, mind you. If only heıd been wearing the very tight shiny
leotards ... The Head was launched, the world still spun. Still more time
to save souls for ³Bob.²
Susie had warned me earlier about ³things flying around² and the
³antidote², but I didnıt quite realize what she was talking about until
Stang started talking on the stage about face-fucking bats. FFBs? Here?
In a crowded room? What sort of a monster would - ulp!
It was on me before I could set my teeth against it, wings fluttering
around my ears, huge barbed penis plunging into my tender mouth. In and
out it rasped, and blood and less wholesome emissions started trickling
down my throat. Screaming (well gurgling) in agony, I managed to hurl
myself from behind the table and desperately crawl towards the stage,
where Susie was a vision of healing with the tube of Face-Fucking Bat
Sperm Antidote Pudding nestled in her divine cleavage. As I felt the
scorching poisons of the bat-sperm soak into my flesh, burning it, searing
my nerves, suddenly Susie was astride me. With a few deft blows to the
chest, and a sip of the Pudding, I was purged. I crawled away to under
the table, and took a quick catnap amongst the T-shirts.
The residue of the sperm and Antidote coursed through my system for the
rest of the evening (now early morning) making everything strange and
vague. I remember a new pillar of fire arising from the volcano, and
speaking in the dulcet tones of Robby the Robot. I remember a pair of
large hairy testicles being cupped in Susieıs palm - and then severed! I
remember the skeletons on the wall proving that they had 208 bones in
their body - and one bone up the Conspiracyıs ass! I remember singing a
song with Stang, and bouncing him on my lap just like a lively little
tuxedo-clad puppy. I remember women with phone cables for hair, and
drunkards with no hair. I remember that which I want to forget. I forget
that which I want to remember ...
It was during breakdown of the vast stage set that Stangıs impassioned
lust for the inflatable Godzilla was finally consummated. I was trying to
deflate the dear thing, and just as I found the large, rigid air-release
nozzle, Stang found the cloaca. With one mind, we hurtled ourselves on
the slick green vinyl, forcing the air out of it, ravishing the King of
the Monsters over and over again. ³Oh Friday, itıs even better than IRC!²
Stang wailed. I was out of breath with panting. We humped and humped and
humped until Godzilla was shriveled down to nothing. Then I rolled it up
and shoved it into its own box while Stang moaned in relief. Hopefully
the various stains will have dried before Susie unrolls the Godzilla
again. Whew. What an experience. Iıll never look at a scaly tail the
same way again. Even Stangıs scaly tail.
After the eighteen-wheeler was packed, it was time to proceed to the
after-Devival Debauch. I had no real objection to being blindfolded on
the drive to Susieıs house; security you know. Making me drive while I
was blindfolded was a rather novel experience however. Jesus claimed it
was to test how well I surfed the Luck Plane. Following the shouted and
often contradictory instructions, I actually did make it to Susieıs! And
Iım sure that those things I ran over were just speed bumps. At least,
thatıs what the Devivalists said they were. But they were snickering an
awful lot ...
Susieıs house, nay PALACE, is a monument to the living idol of pulchritude
that is Susie herself and her fellow Bad Girls. Every wall seemed to
breathe beneath the weight of dazzling female flesh in paint, ink, photo
emulsion and brain-tanned skin. Reptiles of dubious extraction slithered
underfoot, and the basement was overflowing with records of every breed
and color. Artists you never heard of - artists you never wanted to hear
- ³artists² who were beyond ³art² - and Bernard Herrmann!
Naturally I was called upon to ³pamper² the sore flesh of the
Devivalists. Why, poor Jesusı hands were nearly raw from picking up and
carrying the heavy weight of that cash box. Really. Of course, I canıt
go into details ... Iım sure you wouldnıt be interested anyway.
Thereıs something very special about being held firm under a manıs weight
while watching Robert Tilton sputter and smile on TV. Just thought Iıd
mention that. A non sequitur.
And finally, the violent intimacies of saying good-bye. Over and over I
chanted the mantra ³See you in two months ... two months ...² Iım sure
that any Pinks looking on thought that we were the contortionists.
It was WORTH it damnit. It probably would have been worth it if Iıd had
to fly to TEXAS. Where else could I get such sheer good fun? And BAD fun
too, dirty fun, nasty fun .... heh heh heh, green straps ... Godzilla ...