Newsgroups: alt.slack

Subject: Retribution, mine!

From: revjack@nospam.vabch.com (Rev. Dr. Jack MeHoff)

Date: 2 Dec 1997 06:10:44 GMT

 

+-------+

"Bob, why has thou forsaken me!" I screamed, as the full realization of

the scene before me sunk deeper into my consciousness. Anger, betrayl,

confusion, frustration - these were but translations - pink, human translations

of the reawakened yeti impulses now coming to bear in my mind and my soul.

How could they, no, how dare they smite me so! Patient, I had been, even

magnanimous, but to no avail. Bob had said it, and kill me, I had let the

words pass by as so much useless dogma, a platitude to the intelligencia.

Never would I have that luxury again...

 

"You know how dumb the average person is? Well, by definition, half of

Ďem are dumber than that."

- J. R. "Bob" Dobbs

 

Staring at the monstrosity before me, words slipped from my grasp as

smoke in the fist. A feeling of hatred, none like I had ever experienced

before, rose against the confines of my chest, stretching organ and bone as

its pressure increased. The machine, in all its glory, stood silent, mocking,

as if knowing my pain and basking in the glow of its triumph. Its exit tube,

lying limp against the tile, only added to my rage. Even in its impotence, it

knew it had won. But not alone - no, I, too had contributed to its victory.

Even as I stood before it, shaking, my mind hardly comprehending the folly,

the tragedy of it all, my heart ached, for I knew the monster was of my own

creation - a beast I had brought before me with my own hands, in all its

cursed splendor, and had willingly accepted, with but a whim of agreement.

My own stupidity, for trust in the unworthy can be called nothing else, had

brought this...this parody before me. A parody of the simple, yet effective

machine whose presence had provided me with such Slack in the past, before

its untimely demise.

 

Apprehensively, yet lovingly, I would approach it, my damp and diseveled

offerings held limply in my arms. It would take these imperfect trappings,

one and all, transforming them into finery of no compare, their newfound

warmth and comfort imparting a feeling of serenity unto me as if of the womb.

I would reverently take of this divine wealth only what I needed for the time,

leaving the remainder for the altar to watch over and protect in my absence,

not a word of protest ever to pass between us. Time would pass, and the

ritual would repeat, often in peacefull tranquility, sometimes in tense

anticipation. Never would the grand machine falter in its abilities - always

the result was the same. At times, when the demands of its loyal follower

were high, much time would pass before the completion of its holy mission,

yet never would it fail to complete its task. Such reciprocation - could

anyone ask more from their savior?

 

Still, comes a time in all things when the mantle must be passed. Tasks

must be given unto those who would come after, lest the divine mission fail

to persevere, and be forgotten. But how to choose, what tasks must they

perform, what tests must they pass to be worthy of this, the most holy of

mantles. It is left to the body of worship, so blessed they have been to

reside in the light of their savior, only one such as this can be trusted to

carry on the sacred task of choosing a worthy successor. It can only be

hoped the choice is a wise and thoughtful one...

 

"Pull off your pants and roll in your mistakes."

- J. R. "Bob" Dobbs

 

Given to fits of False Slack, so befuddled of the Conspiracy was I, the

sacred task was passed unto swine, Pink swine, whose thought on it I could

never come to truly know, whose heart on it I would come to fear. Blasphemy!

Smitten I would be, with entrails flung asunder, mine eyes put out with a

sharp stick - all this I deserved and more. All this I would have gladly

taken, with a "Praise Bob" to escape my lips as my Nental Ife passed forth

to find a more pleasing Astral meadow. All this I would have gladly embraced,

but to escape the vision which now haunted my very soul. Given to drink,

I would escape to my cups, I thought, and drive the simulacrum from my mind

for a while. Perhaps so, if time and the patrols permitted, but, lo, this

was not to be. Dread filled my mind as I returned to the temple, the parody

of the savior still etched upon my brain, when a thought crossed my tortured

mind. A simple idea, I thought at first, but one now I can recognize only as

divine providence. As I approached the doors to the place of worship, I took

a small detour to see what news from abroad had arrived this day. Much in

the way of idle gossip had found its way to my stoop, but there, amongst the

mayhem and bustle of ordinary sludge, a gem of infinite beauty and value did

lie. So taken with its unexpected arrival I was, I found myself given pause

for what seemed hours, when only seconds could reasonably have passed. Its

simple white veneer, so pure in its innocence, gave me such rapture all

frustrated thoughts of the beast and its desecration left me with but a sigh

of the wind. A new rage filled my essence, one of retribution, and one

which would not be so impotently tolerated as my weakness had permitted

before. No, there would be blood for this sacrilege - the pretender would

be destroyed, and his followers, nay, his deliverers, would pay for their

folly...

+--------+

 

A bit much for a broken dryer, granted, but you donít - you canít -

know what trials I have faced this year, only to have idiots mock me

with their ineptitude. Had it not been for the delivery of the new

Stark Fist, and the Churchís plea for more funds, I may not have seen

the light in time. My life has been cursed, not because I have not

believed, but because I have not given...such sloth on my part can

only be remedied with holy tithing. Only this way will this parody

of dryer replacements be removed from my sight, and the rental agents

responsible punished for their ignorance. Ignore my advice? Act

outside of my teachings? Bobís wrath is a mighty fist, and they will

feel his anger at the hands of but a lowly disciple, which will bring

them to their trembling knees, for even the diluted, impotent anger of

Bob will be as the bloody judgement of Hell unto their feeble minds!

I sleep now, to dream the warrior dreams of Asgard, its fields

sanctified in the blood of noble Yeti...

 

---

Rev. Dr. Jack MeHoff | revjack@nospam.vabch.com

Ever Slackful Pastor Malcontent, | Junior Researcher

First Church of Total Relaxology | SlakLabs, Inc.

"Its hard to act superior when covered in your own sick..."