From nothing@succeeds.com Wed Dec 30 08:46:45 1998

Newsgroups: alt.slack

Subject: Headbanging

From: nu-monet <nothing@succeeds.com>

Date: Wed, 30 Dec 1998 09:46:45 -0700

KILLING PINKS: IT'S NOT AN ADVENTURE, IT'S JUST A JOB

nu-monet

Over time, I've reached the conclusion that the best

one-on-one method of killing pinks is to make their

heads explode.

You know, "Scanner"-style.

Pop! There goes the Cerebral Cortex.

Splat! Mendulla Oblangata.

Squish! Spunk! The Cerebrum.

Or the ever-popular Ka-Blam!! of the Cerebellum.

The actual technique, if there is one, just sort of

*comes* to you, usually in the middle of a conversation.

I mean, without really "willing" it to happen, you just

mention something that causes that wonderful massive

neural overload, and Tzotz!, their head pops like an

overripe canteloupe under the wheels of a road grater.

What social stigma? The witnesses assume that it was

a stroke or something, unless you get a real zinger in,

and their head *physically* bursts open, spraying fatty

gray matter and blood over a five-foot radius. And even

then, they think it was a sniper or something.

Hell, the first time I "popped a kopf", I hadn't even

*mentioned* any SubGenius stuff, let alone any advanced

Dobbsian theory, when my 'subject' started to shake

uncontrollably. And, okay, I'll admit it was kind of a

"gimmee"--a really naive paranoid-U.F.O.-cultist guy who

was pretty far gone already.

I let him have his spew. He blamed the aliens on just

about every world, national, and personal problem there

was.

"They" were out to get him.

"They" were monitoring him.

"They" made him have fucking wet dreams, fer shit's sake!

Finally, and out of the blue, I lost my temper.

"DON'T YOU SEE IT, MAN!" I shouted in his face.

"*THEY* AREN'T OUT TO GET YOU BECAUSE THEY WANT TO

EXPERIMENT ON HUMANS!

*THEY* ONLY EXPERIMENT ON EACH OTHER!

*THEY* WANT YOU TO COME HOME!"

"Huh?" he said, obviously rattled.

"*YOU* ARE AN ALIEN!!"

"*YOU* ARE THE EVIL!!"

"IT IS ALL *YOUR* FAULT!"

His eyes were glazed and moist, he was shaking and some

spittle was running off his lower lip onto his shirt.

The veins on his forehead were bulging ominously, and I

could swear I saw a small puff of smoke come out of his

left ear.

A second passed, and his nose started to bleed. He looked

at me helplessly--a dying pink reaching out for normalcy,

for sanity, for help. Pitiful, really.

"J.R. "Bob" Dobbs!" was all I said to him, coldly.

Splat! Pop! Squish! Spunk! KA-BLAM!!

BOOM!!!

Holy fuck, what a mess.

Talk about hunting tomatoes with a 10-gauge.

Mess everywhere. He even got some in my coffee.

Well, for a while after that it was just a game to me.

I would wait until some glorp had stepped on my toes--and

I tried, I really did--to keep my temper; BUT THEY JUST

WOULDN'T STOP!

I would sit or stand there quietly, my insides filling

with that burning hatred and contempt, slowly gurgling into

the full-blown rage we all know so well.

And finally, well, you know the sound effects.

I guess I was truly surprised when I did my first double-

header. It was almost unintentional, but deserved: two

Jehovah's Witnesses.

But that made me make a personal rule to remember that I

should never 'do' any of them at the house. It must have

been hours later when I finished hoseing out the garage

(although I did get a big laugh when a big old neighborhood

tomcat made off with one of their eyeballs--the optic nerve

dangling out of it's mouth like a rat's tail! Haw!)

So I really *had* to find out how many I could 'do' at

once. But with each progressively larger group, I found

myself adding to the headburst philosophy:

1) Don't explode people's heads to attract women.

2) Although you might want to, with police it's usually

a better idea to suggest that, "This is not the SubGenius

we're looking for. Move along."

3) Avoid videotaped poppings. Remember Rodney King.

4) Don't overdo. You might give yourself a headache.

5) Exploding cybernetic control centers with your mind

is a lot harder than it looks. Usually, it's just a plot

device. Stick to organic tissue.

6) *AND MOST IMPORTANT OF ALL*: THERE ARE A LOT OF

PEOPLE OUT THERE WHO ARE JUST TOO DAMN DUMB FOR YOU TO

EXPLODE THEIR BRAIN. Deal with it.

Then the unexpected happened.

It was a warm and pleasant afternoon, but for some reason

I was out of sorts. In retrospect, I think it was all the

pinks sauntering about. The fat, middle-class family-types

with their nasty children, sneering at all they think are

'below' them, while engaging in tacky consumerism at the

local tourist traps.

And all I wanted to do was to enjoy my coffee and have a

pre-mini-devival/orgy conference with a clench member.

Without warning, a girl walked up to the table and

interrupted our conversation by talking to my friend.

She took a chair without an invitation, and after a brief

introduction by my associate, he excused himself to go get

a refill.

A pregnant silence ensued. My impression of her was that

she was a little too pretty, so was probably a future-slave-

girl-of-America type, and I took against her. Rudeness is

easy justification for homicide.

With cruel instinct, I started to talk about SubGenius

trivia, skirting around a major assault and just sticking

to excruciating migraine-inducing topics, not out of care

or concern for the female but out of deference to my friend,

who might be grooming her to be a sex toy.

But instead of shocked nervousness and skin pallor, she

continued to look attentive and bright-eyed, even smiling

in an almost contemptuous way at my finesse. This irritated

me further, so without contemplation, I escalated my attack.

Soon, I was in full rant, no longer satified with mearly

winging my prey. My diatribe was classic.

I proclaimed.

I raved.

And, boy howdy, did I *brag*!

Almost exhausted, I was amazed when, after all of that

work, all of a sudden she said, "Oh!", when she noticed

a little blood coming out of her left nostril.

"Oooo. How SLACKful!" she said.

I stood there in stunned silence, not knowing what had

gone wrong. The I noticed a wetness on my upper lip.

The bitch had given me a nosebleed!

A smile crossed our lips.

Soon, we were walking down the street, hand-in-hand,

chit-chatting about all things SubGenius, and indifferently

"popping kopfs" right, left and sideways. In our brief

journey together, we laid waste to dozens, or even

hundreds of humans, our Yeti love scorching the earth.

And we lived happily ever after for the next hour.

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