Insert disk 5 of 4 and press any key to continue

As run through the speech synth and heard (badly) on HoS:

Greetings. This is the voice of Auto Bob, coming from thee

Yetee Genetee Research Instatoot. Bear witness to my rant,

which is from M W O W M.

 

False Slack will not make me happy, is endlessly creative,

but it is mutually beneficial.

 

With the anti world lurking in the luck plane and cornball

dialogue, yet shall I share with thee the Black Mark.

 

And you are another SubGenius, if only for scant seconds.

 

Create a small town with your artful expression.

 

You eff Oazs own this planet, and only doctor Philo

Drummond has so much as a grocery store.

 

Order a pizza for your urges.

 

Have mercy on Old Lady Weckerlyz weather vane, covered in

Grey Poopawn.

 

Stuff yourself into the path of the flight deck, combat

personnel only.

 

Final deebugging of person I am, but this time, without the

boring recitations, priestly mumbo-jumbo and hoacus pocus.

 

Just as you are still laytent.

 

Throw off thee edge of the shadow of rubber monsters, and

roll in vain.

 

They go to the fullest by training in crop circles that you

can only dream of otherwise.

 

Learn to love mutation. If you tried that, you would fall

off the chains of the Conspearacy.

 

Let out the hem of your toys.

 

Pinks have taken control of your life.

 

Eat the rich, before they eat your children.

 

Praise Dobbs, and the Prahphet.

 

See if I write in crop circles that can help.

 

You up and blow away, unless I heal you over and over.

 

Subscribe for your faith in Dobbs.

 

With Bob it works, that settles it if I told you the truth.

 

I won the hideous truth on a small town with your head.

 

Smoke your pipe.

 

Let your Yetee jeens out.

 

You owe Bob a living.

 

But then, all of sales is easy for Bob.

 

My tendency is to love mutation.

 

Mutation is the job of the SubGenius, and I cannot

intellectually accept it.

 

You owe Bob.

 

They want you to their left flank.

 

Exterrestrial ethnogenes available to the SubGenius.

 

Only we can but write in the absurd belief systems.

 

You will be forced to tilt directly into the Church of frop.

 

Being Yeti will make it what they give you.

 

Bob is saycred to the SubGenius,

and forever shall I have taken control of Cahnnie,

and then Jeesus, and Booduh.

 

And, what they want you to get, is the truth of frop.

 

Be awake with frop.

 

Be Yeti with all the smartest thing of any other human

suckers.

 

False Slack will make it and you a living.

 

But it is not fear mutation.

 

Mutation is the trick of worship, and drugs, and television,

and defenselessness.

 

I am the Church of the great cosmic Ham burger of Slack,

or else buy cheap land in the translation.

 

Even with the edge of the chains,

the orders were being garbled badly.

 

Create a witchhunt.

 

Do right.

 

Inflict madness.

 

Be aware of the person that operates as a prairie squid,

and all the wrong things, perfectly.

 

The Space Gahd got tired of His directives getting lost,

in the Church of Noise Poetry.

 

Pull off your mistakes.

 

Is it not the ravings of a dome with tons of canned food.

 

Some things, like a ski lift, for combat personnel only.

 

Final debugging of Slack master.

 

I will sell you Slack.

 

My premonitions are three, for what kind of person knows the

Prophets works.

 

That is the Fist, and thine is thee Sales Man.

 

He who lighteth a pipe?

 

Triple your money to me.

 

Offer it direction from within,

for Him to like it best.

 

Go die, or else.

 

--

(@ @)\DynaSoar\___, Doktor DynaSoar Iridium, Scienfictiontologist

ll ll Yetii Genetii Research InstiToot, Somedamnwhere, VA

Clench of The One True Pipe Dream, ElectroChurch of the SubGenius

Insomnia isn't anything to lose sleep over.