...A passage from the SubGenius litergy.......



It was December 23, and I was sitting in my 6th grade classroom with

the mother of all hangovers. Not the best way to start the day.

This was the last day of school for two weeks, and we were doing our best

piss off our teacher, Mrs. Rockgut, before the winter holidays commenced.


Jack was urinating in the corner of the room on the dunce cap, and Mary was

letting us play with her underwear under the desk. Billy was sitting at his

desk molesting a chipmunk, and boy, I never knew that chipmunks could scream

so loud! Most of the other kids were either jumping up and down on their

desks or setting them on fire. Mrs. Rockgut was wise to our little tricks

though. She was sitting with her feet up on her huge desk, her walkman

blaring her favorite gothic Death Metal tape into her ears, and her nose

firmly placed into a holiday Double issue of Playgirl. In other words, she

didn't give a damn what we were doing.


Surprisingly, I wasn't doing much of anything at that time. The night

before Dad and I had had a big Egg Nog and tequila contest (Dad won, by the

way), and I was feeling the aftereffects of it full force. I lost my weeks

supply of 'Frop to dear old Dad, and the lack of that particular narcoleptic

was making my misery even worse. The damn chipmunk screaming on the desk

next to me wasn't helping things much either.


Right about that time, Mrs. Rockgut sat up, put her beefcake mag back in

her locked drawer, pulled out a really nice Colt .45, and fired three shots

in the air. Everybody freezed. Mrs. Rockgut had learned early in her

career that firing a large gun was the only way to make kids spaced out on

too much cough syrup become somewhat manageable.


"Shut the Hell up!", she commanded from her desk. "It's almost 12, and

before I let you go for the day, I want to bring in a special guest I have

arranged for you! So sit down!" Mrs. Rockgut waved the gun menacingly, and

most of classmates complied with her wishes. That is, except for Rich. Rich

had eaten too many spiked jellybeans at recess, and was in no mood to sit

quietly for another of Mrs. Rockgut's "special guests", which usually were

either Hindu guru, Playgirl centerfolds, or guys with bigger guns than she

herself carried.


So there was Rich, thumbing his nose at Mrs. Rockgut, and chopping Suzie

into even smaller pieces. "Can it, apebreath!" he yelled back at her as his

machete plowed down into the still warm corpse beneath him, "I'm busy!"

She didn't even hesitate. With a fluid motion only seen on the best

70 mm film, Mrs. Rockgut swung the gun around, barely aimed, fired, and sent

Rich to his reward. The bullet penetrated his skull, and she snickered

softly as brains and bone chips flew in all directions, along with the best

spray of blood I'd ever seen. I wish Mary hadn't screamed so loud when the

remains of Rich fell lifelessly on her desk. My head was already ringing

from the gunshots.


"Who's next?" asked Mrs. Rockgut as she melodramaticly blew smoke from

the barrel of her .45. No one said a word for a moment, then we all broke

out with thunderous applause. Mrs. Rockgut stood, curtseyed nicely, and

sat back down.


"Now that the little interruption is over, let me bring in the special

guest!" She put down the still smoking gun on the desk, and rang a small

bell that sat next to it. "Boys and girls, please give a big round of

applause for today's special guest, Mr. J.R. "Bob" Dobbs!"

We sat stunned as the back door opened and a man entered the room. We

all turned around to see a man, about 5'10" or so, wearing a hot pink tuxedo,

complete with a top hat. His head seemed to be made of wax, because it

glowed like the brighest phospherent lichen. In his mouth was a pipe that

cosntantly blew smoke out of the bowl, even though he never seemed to blow

into the stem of it.


"Howdy boys and girls! Or should I say, 'Ho Ho Ho!'" said "Bob" as he

ran up the center isle of the classroom, high-fiving us as he passed by. We

cheered and screamed, and Billy even threw his chipmunk (now in an irrev-

sable coma) down on the floor. "Bob" got up to the front, smiled, and

removed his top hat. To my utter shock, his hair had not been in the

slightest bit messed up by the hat. It sat perfectly in place as if it had

been shellaced there.


"I'm really glad to be here!" he cried, winking broadly at Mrs. Rockgut.


"Your teacher has asked me to come down here and wet her wis -". Mrs. Rockgut

made a grunting noise, and planted her foot deftly into "Bob's" shin. He

groaned loudly, then continued, saying, "Er...that is, she asked me to come

down and speak to you about the true meaning of Christmas. So here I am."

"Bob" paused a moment, scratched his head, then said, "Well, to be

perfectly frank, I don't have the slightest clue as to what Christmas really

means. Hell, I mean, it was just another excuse for "Connie" and I to get

drunk and parade naked around the living room. I'm really not sure where to



Mrs. Rockgut made a little coughing noise, then said, "Well, "Bob", why

don't you talk about traditions, like the Christmas tree for instance. What

does the tree symbolize?"


"Ah yes, the Christmas tree!" cried "Bob" "Ya know kids, getting the

tree was always one of my favorite traditions. Me and pop would go down to

the nearby forest, pick out a tree, and cut it down. I used to pretend that

the tree was screaming in pain, and sometimes I would scream every time that

pop slammed the axe into the trunk of the tree. He would get really pissed

off and chase me around the forest for a while swinging wildly until he

succeded in imbedding the blade into another tree, which would just give me

another excuse to start screaming again, and -"


"Um....excuse me "Bob". I think you're getting a little off track with

your story." said Mrs. Rockgut, fingering the trigger of the .45 and doing

her little cough again.


"Ah...yeah," said "Bob", "Well, me and pop would get the tree home and

drag it in the house. Ma always complained about the tree, no matter what

it looked like. 'I'ts too big! It's too small! Blah blah blah...' You get

the idea kids. What a bitch. Anyway, we'd set the tree up in the living

room decorate it with a bunch of little plastic gizmos and lights which were

real crappy looking. Every day ma would put more water in the basin the tree

sat in, but she knew the damn thing was dying anyway. One day I asked her

why she was bothering to water it when she knew it was on it's last legs and

we were just going to throw it in the incinerator after Christmas and that

was about the time she had just had it with me and chased me around the

house with the new chainsaw she was going to give pop. She got tired out

before she could get me but she did manage to put a few new windows in the

place. Anyway, the next night we left the lights on tree on when we went

to bed, and the damn thing caught fire and burned down not only itself but

the whole house as well. So there we were homeless in the snow, and I just

mentioned to pa that it was really stupid to leave hot lights on a dead tree,

and if he had just listened to me the entire incident could have been avoided

and then he and ma took turns beating the sh -"


"Bob"!" yelled Mrs. Rockgut, "Please watch the language! And I think

the childdren would like to hear the positive aspects of the season. Why

don't you tell the children what you're giving your wife for Christmas and

why you think it will be so special for her?"


"Sure!" said "Bob". "Well, "Connie" just loves fur. I mean she goes ga

ga over any type of fur thing I bring her. She has fur hats, fur coats, fur

blouses, fur potholders, fur lingerie, fur everything! Well, I was at a loss

as what to get her this year, so me and a couple Yetis time travelled back

to the dinosaur age and indian wrestled a couple of Tyrannosaurus Rexes.


See, I figured that she had enough fur items, and I wanted to make get her a

real nice set of alligator skin luggage, but boy those prices were steep. I

guess that's because they don't make the damn things anymore since gators are

endangered species now. So then I figured I could time travel back to the

fifties and buy a set, but then one of the Yetis told me that would be

too easy, and if I really loved "Connie" I would duke it out with a couple of

dinosaurs. I think the jerk just wanted me to prove my virility or something,

but it sounded like fun so the three of went back to pre-caveman days and

beat the sh-....er..crap out of a couple of those overgrown Chia-pets. So

after we knocked 'em out we started talking about the best way to skin the

critters. I had forgoten my knife, so one of the Yetis ripped open a large

gash with his razor sharp claw and neatly pulled the skin right off that

savage beast. They started skining the other one, but I was looking at the

now skinned remains of the Tyrannosaurs and I got to thinking about how it

looked sort of like a prarie squid and that's when I got really hot , so I

pulled off my pants real quick and rammed -"


He was interrupted by Mrs. Rockgut, who let out a scream like a dying

mule, and yelled "That's it! I've had enough of this! I thought there was

some merit to this whole SubGenius thing! I thought perhaps your particular

sect would have some new insight on the holiday, but I can see you're nothing

but an idiotic overgrown moron! Get out!" She picked up the .45 and waved

it at "Bob", who stood dumbfounded.


"What the hell's your problem?" he asked, doning his top hat again.

"Too much brandy at the teacher's banquet last night, or is my stupifying

sexual presence too much for your little ol' female heart?"


Mrs. Rockgut went bananas. She began firing at "Bob" who, by either

divine providence or dumb luck managed to twist and turn just in time to

dodge each incoming bullet. He ran down the center isle, saying "Merry

Christmas kids! I hope she doesn't treat every special guest this way!"

He ran out the back door with Mrs. Rockgut in hot pursuit. "Class dismissed!"

she yelled as she bolted out the door, her fingers cramming a new set of

rounds into the gun's chamber. Then, they were gone.


We sat stupidied for a second, unsure what to do. Then, Billy and

Rick yelled in unison, "SCHOOLS OVER!" They then grabbed the girl closest

to each of them and began to neck violently.


I packed up my bag and walked out the door, not wanting at that time to

participate in the forthcoming orgy in the classroom. I walked out the

sacred doors of learning, and looked up at the covered sky to watch the

falling snow. In the distance I could still hear the sound of Mrs. Rockgut's

gun going off, and occasionaly a scream that could only be "Bob".


Was he right? I thought as I trudged back home. Is there really no

meaning to Christmas? Is existance just random? Am I really part Yeti?


No answers were coming, and my head was slamming, so, as I got to the gate

of my house and walked up to the door, I figured a little Nintendo, a few

cookies, and half of Dad's bottle of Jose Cuervo would cure my sorrows.


To my surprise, there was a wrapped present at the doorway. I bent down

and picked it up, and found a tag on it that said "To Sparky- From "Bob" ".

I unwrapped it quickly and found just what I wanted: a whole weeks supply

of 'Frop! How could he have known what I wanted most?


I happened to turn around and saw "Bob" run by my house with Mrs.

Rockgut right behind him. He looked at me, winked, and then they were both

gone with only the aftercloud of Mrs. Rockgut's "Jungle Rape" perfume to

remind me they had been there.


Shaking my head and laughing, I walked into the house to await yet

another tedious Christmas. Oh well, at least I had my 'Frop, and memories

of a strange man called "Bob" and his bizzare tales. I guessed suicide

wasn't on course for that evening, but then, hell, who knows?