Troutwaxer's XXX-Day report

Troutwaxer's XXX-Day report

From: Boddhisatva Troutwaxer <tungtungNOtuSPAM@pacbell.net.invalid> Newsgroups: alt.slack Date: Tue, Jul 4, 2000 11:39 PM

XXX-Day Report:

By Boddhisatva Troutwaxer

If any of you see the need for any amendments or corrections to the following report, please send them to tungtung@pacbell.net.

Thanks

T.

Day One - Thursday June 29th

After a day of anti-slack at the hands of American Airlines, my wise and beautiful yeti life mate, Sri Devi Beledi-Ma and I arrived at Brushwood around 1:00 p.m. Thursday. For those of you who've never been there, Brushwood is just over the Pennsylvania border in Chataqua county, a lovely rural area where it seems that everything is green. There are red barns with white silos, cows, well tended fields, several pretty streams, and even the occasional Amish woman in a black shapeless dress driving her horse drawn carriage down the road. I know some are inclined to make fun of these rural folk, but I'm descended from them, and so am fairly relaxed where they're concerned. We signed in, met the Prophetess Lilith and Jesus, then volunteered to man the registration the next day.

After sign in, we drove down to the main field. We passed the kitchens and studio, drove past the trailer where the Church Hierarchy was staying, and went down the hill to the camping area. On the left a road went down between the trees and we saw some tents. We went past the pond and drove by the covered stage area, bowing briefly to the Dobbs Head rising above the stage, and made a right. There were several buildings nearby, a pool house, a café, and a couple of shacks. One of these shacks would sell swag later, and the other would be used as Nickie Deathchick's first aid station, then later as Papa Joe Mama's Hut of Hate. South of these building was a big Pagan sales tent. Later we examined the Pagan swag and discovered that it was pretty good, particularly the clothing (lots of good medieval costume stuff and fun ritual garb) and weapons sections, (swords, clawed gloves and several improbable Klingon style weapons.) They also had some cool bondage gear. Anyone who didn't at least examine Brushwood's merchandise missed out big time!! A couple hundred yards past the tent full of Pagan swag was their fire circle, which people currently worshipping "Bob" were supposed to stay out of. Southeast of the stage were more woods full of campers, some of whom had wonderful theme camps. Going west past the pool house and café were more green fields, some separated from us by rows of trees. People were camping all over.

We eventually decided to set the Troutwaxing Pavilion up across the dirt road from the main stage. There followed several hours of slackful work, during which we raised a 12 X 10 pavilion of red canvas while listening to Rev. Yukon Jack's mighty radio station and being serenaded by the "whump" of the potato cannons. We decorated it with purple plastic curtains, and oriental gewgaws purchased in China town. The ceiling area was filled with a big Chinese paper lantern, several plastic goldfish, a toy Godzilla, and some inflatable space ships. Our Mockery Ministry mainly involves making fun of the New Age, so we brought plenty of incense, some crystals, the miraculous spinning Dobbs Head, Virgin of Guadalupe (an incense) in a Can, and a grotesque sweetness and light attitude ("Only the pure of heart can scour the planet." "Visualize world destruction." "Don't try to do the hating yourself, let "Bob's" hate flow through you!!") The Pavilion was covered with glitter, and the gauzy curtains were tied into place with shiny ribbons. At the south side of the Pavilion we hung a banner that read "SEX" in three foot high letters. We inflated a big couch and two chairs, (many thanks to the camper next door who loaned us an air pump when our battery powered one died) and put up a table, then went off to change clothes. We had no sooner returned from our costume change than The Lord Jesus himself came and threw himself down in one of our chairs, declaring the Troutwaxing Pavilion to be good. Our theory was that if we created a comfortable, shady, and creative space that people would come to us and ask to hang out. It worked quite well, and we had many wonderful visitors, at least one of whom slept in the Pavilion.

That evening I took a walk and helped unload the sound truck. Beledi was in a lot of pain by then (she suffers from injuries sustained in a traffic accident years ago) so she stayed in bed and read. We went to sleep early and slept late.

Day Two - Friday June 30th

The next morning we got up and went to work registering people. Everyone signed away their body, their image (for video and photos) their sanity, and their legal rights to "Bob" then got an XXX armband with a number. We told registrants that this number would be used later in a lottery to choose those who would season the mixture if the Xists found the souls of the pinks insufficiently spicy and tangy. We took some of our crystals with us, and had the new members breathe their souls into the crystals. Later we would whiff these young, sweet souls with visitors to our Pavilion. (You new people didn't really think we were going to give them to "Bob," did you?) We met lots of wonderful people while working the registration table. The high point of the day for me was registering Patrick Volkerding, the inventor of Slackware Linux, (AKA "X-day for Microsoft.") and his entourage of beautiful women. Patrick is one of my Short Duration Personal Saviors and I had trouble restraining myself from licking his mighty boots. We also checked in the glorious, beautiful, utterly sexy Rev. Susie the Floozie. I cannot over rate her erotic presence, which stretches well beyond her in a sort of field that radiates for miles. Even after leaving Brushwood for good on July 2nd, both Sri Devi Beledi-Ma and I felt that we were within her erogenous zone until well after we had passed Erie on the way to Pittsburgh airport.

We missed the defiling of the ground and the blood wrestling to help register people. For reports on these events you must look to others. However, one terrible event that we didn't see bears mention. As we were registering the newcomers, Pastor Craig broke his collar bone during the blood wrestling. We heard bits and pieces of the crisis over the walkie-talkie Jesus had left us, then heard that an ambulance had been called. As it turned out, the injury wasn't too serious, and Pastor Craig had rejoined us by that evening. Many kudos to Ken Pastore (sp?) AKA Sosodata for helping Pastor Craig get packed up and driving him home.

We went to town for provisions, getting there just in time to watch Pastor Criag's ambulance leave its spot at the Sherman Volunteer Fire Department, then spent the rest of the day in our Pavilion. Late in the afternoon we got dressed for the Fetish Ball. I wore a latex maid's uniform, and Sri Devi Beledi-Ma dressed in a see through skirt and a corset, carrying with her a knotted cat of nine tails. There were a couple of more cross dressers, and several more women in some form of "mistress" garb, including Rev. Rabbi, who gave me a couple of lovely slaps with her cat. One man wore a yeti suit, complete with a nasal sexual organ, another had an alien where his cock should have been. The most bizarre costume I saw was the "Cheetos suit," worn by a tall man who had glued Cheetos to his pants, jacket, and hood.

Dr. Bizarro did a lovely magic act, then several contests of a disgusting nature, designed and presided over by Rev. Nickie Deathchick, were held. There was a "most believable" contest, where women were judged on how well they'd faked an orgasm, and a "best form" contest where men were judged by how well they masturbated a long balloon fastened to their crotch. I won this mainly by accident. The strap holding the balloon had broken and Rev. Stang was called up on stage by Rev. Nickie to help hold the strap together. When I "came" I made a point of holding the end of the balloon up to Stang's face and pretending to shower him with my jizz. This disrespect for the Church's mighty sacred scribe proved quite popular, and I received more applause than anyone. There followed a "Suck Sister Decadence's Cock" contest, where Jesus proved his ability to work a dick. He was followed by Babushka, Rev. Evangela, and the Prophetess Lilith. Evangela won this contest, but my personal opinion favored the mighty Lilith. After that there was a "Most Believable Fetish" contest, won (as it should have been) by the guy wearing the Cheetos suit.

There followed The Spanking of Nickie Deathchick. Dr. Legume and St. Andreux worked her round firm ass over for awhile, then Rev. Susie the Floozie finished her off with a graceful and lovely combination of spanks and caresses. At that point, after several erotic contests and a spanking, the ice was nicely broken. I looked forward to dancing the night away with my lovely Sri Devi Beledi-Ma, and as the sexual energy continued to grow, perhaps even finding a third person for us to play withS but instead of bringing a band people could dance to on immediately, or convincing one of the radio guys to DJ some erotic songs for awhile, everything just sort of stopped. No one had thought out what to do beyond the ice breaker, and the party just dissipated. This was characteristic of the weekend. It seemed that some great (or at least well conceived) ice-breaker would take place, then nothing would follow it upS This is not, of course, to say the weekend was a dud - far from it, I had a great time and will definitely go back next year. Its just that some thought should have been given to keeping the energy moving once it got goingS

After the Fetish Ball, we had dinner and sat in the hot-tub with Critter and her boyfriend Michael, then Beledi went to rest and I watched HellPope Huey's brilliant rant, heard a performance of Cardinal Sin's well written "I Fucked Connie" story, listened to Jehovah Hates Phred's mighty music, and enjoyed the Bulldada auction, which raised around $150.00 for the Sherman Volunteer Fire Department.

Day Three - Saturday July 1st

We woke up and got breakfast, then went to the Troutwaxing Pavilion. Events started early, and we were soon called to the sales blessing of the Connie-ite Calendar, a wonderful document that covers the SubGenius year (July 5th through July 4th) with twelve beautiful pictures of Connie's anti-virginal priestesses. The calendars were signed and passed out. Were we ever happy to have such lovely pictures of the slut goddesses of our mighty Church!! We even vowed to hold it up for each other so we could each use two hands!! Praise Connie!!

There followed the "Flesh Cream Social," wherein volunteers were called forth to have themselves covered with ice cream toppings and then licked off. When I got there, Sikki Nix was just being covered with whipped cream and sprinkles. It was obvious, however, that she wasn't too interested in having the stuff licked off, as she kept asking for a towel. At the request of the audience, (what there was of it) I volunteered to be covered with toppings. I didn't realize it at the time, but most of the Connie-ites were still busy signing calendars, so I ended up with Sri Devi Beledi-Ma eating the cherry in my belly button and a bunch of guys standing around looking at each other with the (recognizable to any man) "I don't want to look like a faggot" expressions on their faces as none of these pink dickheads would even attempt to break the male/male taboo with the Xist landing less than twenty four hours awayS At that point I began to despair of the saucers ever coming. Obviously our sin offerings would be unworthy. I gave Jesus, who was running this event a big, creamy hug and went to clean off. Apparently they tried to re-start The Flesh Cream Social after the Connie-ites were done with the Calendar signing, but by then the thoroughly bored Sri Devi Beledi-Ma and I were back in our Pavilion complaining about the poor handling of the ice-breaker events and I was feeling unwilling to get sticky again without some kind of guarantee that there would be someone to lick the sticky stuff from my bod!!

The next event was the thoroughly successful "Naked Bobtism," run, as usual, by the mighty Dr. Legume and his able assistant, Jesus. Dr. Legume was cleansed by the females present, then he, in turn, bobtised them, then we were all bobtised, having our Conspiracy sins (such as work) washed from us, so that we would be worthy of Xist attention. We then created the mighty Vortex of Slack, all of us running around the pool in a circle as we created a mighty whirlpool.

That night we gathered to hear more bands. The Duke of Uke was first, (unfortunately, I didn't finish dinner in time to hear him close up, but I hear his set was incredible) followed by some ranters. Babushka did a short, but lovely solo set, then the amazing HellPope Huey (our Church's Bach) took the stage, and ripped off the top of my skull with a mighty set full of twisted harmonies and bizarre rhythms. I was disappointed by the turn-out this mighty instrumentalist generated. I later learned that the Quijibo Cartel was holding a cocktail party at the same time as the HellPope was on stage. Naturally, some chose to worship the alcohol demons rather than listen to the Hellpapal music. Both the Quijibo Cartel and those hard drinking types who dissed the mighty Huey have been entered in the Troutwaxing Book of Hate, from which they will be removed only after paying a huge sin-offering to the Troutwaxing Schism. When will the HellPope put out a CD!!

After the HellPope played, I ranted, and was well received. There followed a couple more ranters then Little Fyodor and Babushka got up on stage and ate what was left of my brain. For those of you fools who have never heard his anti-musik, I would describe Little Fyodor as "Woody Allen playing hot guitar on lots of really good acid!" Just dancing to his hellmusak was a glorious, incredible exorcise in pain and hate. Those of you who have not heard Little Fyodor are missing out on huge amounts of slack and hate and pain and more slack and more hate and more pain andmoreslackandmorepainand - JUST GO TO HIS WEBSITE AND BUY THE FUCKING ALBUM!!

http://www.grantrproductions.com/pages/fyodor.html

After Little Fyodor ate my brain, there were more ranters, then Einstein's Secret Orchestra came on. They are, simply put, incredible. We had dragged our inflatable couch over to the stage area, and the lovely and brilliant Prophetess Lilith came and sat down next to meS what joy!! Later, to keep from getting sleepy, I got up and danced to ESO's lovely, incredible sounds. Others did as well, and many beautifully costumed, or sexy, scantily dressed bodies moved wildly through the night.

In a sane world, the line up of the Duke of Uke, HellPope Huey, Little Fyodor and Babushka, with the climactic set played by Einstein's Secret Orchestra would fill a stadium. Sadly, there were never more than seventy five people in the stage area at any one time. For this alone, the Earth deserves to be scoured.

After the first ESO set, they laid back and backed Stang up as he blasted the roof off with a brilliant rant. I've seen some criticism on alt.slack that said his rant was eighty percent old material. So what. His old material is better than the best stuff generated by eighty percent of the complainers, eighty percent of whom don't have an hour of rantable material!! Also, a little respect please. The man was doing this before some of us were born. Do any of us have a rant that doesn't owe something to an idea of Stang's? I probably would have defended that baby murdering, puppy wound buggerer Stang with words such as those on Saturday night. But by Sunday at noonS

Day Four - Sunday, July 2nd

At seven o'clock we were down by the stage To ravage the earth, or vent our sick rage But Stang and The Lord, they drowsed in their beds Neither leading our jihad, nor healing our dread.

That's right folks, not a single member of the hierarchy was up at 7 a.m. Sunday morning. I woke up just before the mighty Modemac, noting that seven o'clock had happened Stanglessly, led a raid on the Hierarchal trailer. Some of us actually hoped to be ruptured, while others merely wanted to throw Jesus into the pond, but only Rocknar actually got out of the hierarch's trailer and joined us. I can understand that after four days of working hard to make XXX-Day go they were all tired and worn, (except for The Prophetess Lilith, who joined us around 7:30,) but there were a few dependable people who weren't used up, people such as the HellPope or myself who could have said a few words or followed a script if only someone had clued us into the fact that all the organizers had crashed and one of us needed to DO SOMETHING!!

There followed the most important event of my life - A beautiful LongDurMar ceremony by the Prophetess Lilith, who hitched me to my yeti lifemate, the lovely and talented Sri Devi Beledi-Ma. We held the ceremony at a little after ten o'clock on the bridge near the stage. The only unhappy moment was due to the absence of that jellyfish slime snorting roach fucker Stang, who had agreed to rant on behalf of all yeti males who were about to accept the blondage of unholy mate-rimming-moany. Sri Devi Beledi-Ma had really been looking forward to the Sacred Scribe's presence at her wedding. She did her best to look happy while in the presence of others, but once we left Brushwood, she broke into tears and cried all the way back to the Pittsburgh airport about how he'd ruined her wedding.

(-note- This is Beledi here. I did no such thing. Please, can you really believe a man who blatantly waxes his trout? SDB-M).

Anyway, I asked the uber-mensch HellPope Huey to be my best man, and he agreed. The mighty Critter was chosen as Beledi's maid of honor, and the divine Prophetess Lilith preached a short but lovely sermon, had us shake hands on the deal and kiss one another, while she reached out with her mighty psyche and fused our nental ives together, making us one!! We then dined on the lovely cake provided by Rev. Eris Pagana and OverDJ Rev. Yukon Jack, briefly met the wonderful SubGenius Spice, and gave some gifts to those who had helped us get married. (That's right Stang, all you would have had to do was show up and you would have gotten the Virgin of Guadalupe in a can, or maybe the thrice dead Dobbs Head incense burner.) After a few minutes of celebration we hurriedly broke down the Troutwaxing Pavilion, said our good-byes, and headed for the Pittsburgh airport, where we once again suffered much anti-slack at the hands of American Airlines, arriving back in Los Angeles two hours late after much stupidity!!

The one cool thing about the trip back was passing the huge thunderstorm somewhere over Kansas. I spent fifteen or twenty minutes just watching the huge bank of clouds light up. I tried for just a moment to believe that the bank of clouds hid space ships and that the flashing lights were Xist particle beams, but I couldn't sustain the fantasy. It was just lightning. Then I had a lovely thought. There might be a tornado down there, or maybe some pobucker was getting hit by lightning, or perhaps there was an orphanage full of pink babies getting washed away by the storm - its always X-Day for some slimy normal son-of-a-bitch, and every once in awhile "Bob" lets you dish it to those who deserve it. What yeti can truly ask for more? Fuck building my own space ship. I'm gonna stay here and lay a little hurt on some pink bastard!!

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