PROMOTIONAL RANT

Oh wondrous and strange, hideous and convoluted are the paths to

"Bob"'s secret hideout, his unobtrusive tract house in the

neighborhood of DIVINE TRANSCENDENCE. Dare you tread that ancient Way

where shreds of flesh and gnawed bones hint of unspeakable rites and

unpalatable half-truths??

 

There are no SHORT-CUTS to "Bob": like a blast of hot wind thorough

the very BOWELS OF THE EARTH you must pass through the sphinctre of

the Conspiracy's mental and emotional constriction into the

disciplined dissipation of TRUE SLACK, where you can sit midst the

rage and fusion of Nature's most elemental powers WITHOUT A WORRY IN

THE WORLD! What have you got to lose??

 

As it is you may be fooling yourself -- and others you care about --

with smug assumptions that all those "things" you see and hear around

you every day are SOLID OBJECTS and that the world is run by people

who give a fuck about the future. Or that it is run by people at all.

RIGHT!! You may as well put yourself in the hands of some smiling,

pipe-smoking bland face innocuosity whose seductive promises of

satisfying sex and ill-gotten gains seem suddenly IRRESISTABLY

ATTRACTIVE!!

 

Give yourself to "Bob" -- freely, joyously, without an atom of

restraint --NOW -- and your worries are over.

 

Don't laugh....

 

Even as we sit here quietly persuing our own ends, or Ends, alien

forces of annihilation powered by dreams too hideous to contemplate

gather in a frenzy of Normmalcy just outside your door, over your

shoulder, in the very stars overhead. Drunk with boredom and

abstraction they cluster around graphs and charts and maps which

target with cool scientific precision any center of LUNATIC

RESISTANCE. Only "Bob"'s embrace, only the refreshing and intoxicating

cloak of his burning 'frop' can transmute this coarse material

substance of our flesh into the glorious invisible leisure of

nothingness itself! They won't even be able to see you, much less

crush out the light of your "Bob"-soul in the dull routine of their

monstrous Design. Trade in hours and weeks and years of tedium for an

Eternity of Controlled Abandon!! So...

 

Claim once again your ancient genetic heritage, your bludgeon of

prophetic -- and profitable!! -- irreverence, your RIGHT TO SMITE!!

 

And when that Stark Fist swoops low and makes such a mess of things

during the Final Days, squeezing a fine vintage wine from the Harevest

of Believers and Un-believers alike, you can sip that heady brew and

toast the Master of Ceremony whose beneficent grin spared you that

senseless demise: Praise "Bob." Kill "Bob.":

 

"For in that grin, the Secret lies,

within that grin lie secret lies,

For when "Bob" shines and nothing be

Where are you and where am me?

--- (pictographic children's song etched in Tibetan cave, circa 27000

B.C.)