Chapter 19

CHAPTER

from THE BOOK

OF THE

SUBGENIUS

EXCERPT

DOCTORS FOR "Bob" will themselves explain what they are on one condition:

just send them some of those Oh-God-all-my-internal-organs-are-bring-ripped-

out-my-throat-one-by-one-Ers AND some no,-dear,-I-don't-think-I'll-be-going-

to-work-to-morrow-ers, AND some King-of-Norway-coming-all-the-way-to-Dallas-

just-for-the-opening-of-Norwegian-Day-at-the-Texas-Fair-ERS. That's right,

just take those pills and throw 'em in the mailbox; you don't need an

envelope, you don't even need a stamp; just toss 'em in that mailbox and

think North Little Rock, and they'll get 'em. AND HERE'S WHY: The King, the

King of Norway, most feared continent on the globe, is indeed coming to

Dallas; the very MONARCH of the land of WOTAN, he who serves the Northern

Fathers who slumber beneath the glaciers, The King is coming, the very sword

of Odin, the mighty Switchblade of WODEN; DOCTORS FOR "BOB" must be there on

that acre of land of the State Fair where the King of all Norway as some of

the most disgusting freaks of America, who are on display for money, we MUST

see that the King is not offended or assassinated while in Dallas, we will be

his personal servants and bodyguards, we will become like army ants which bite

onto each other's limbs to create a living SHROUD of bulletproofness around

the King, OH TAKE ME, Fierce Bullet, TAKE NOT the King whose sword serves

Odin, split My cranium and splatter my brains that he my live and that I may

not EVER have to "EXPLAIN" either Doctors for "Bob" or Puzzling Evidence or

LIES or any of the other quasi-SubGenius affiliated organizations which make

the inexplicable SubGenius World Conventions, and the Tape Network, what they

are, OH PLEASE, Brave Bullet, split MY left and right brains down the middle

that the great Sceptre of the King not be prevented from leaving his Seed of

Yetidom across the Northern Plains, sacrifice ME that he who is the crowned

leader of the land of Ymir the Hoar-Frost Giant not be shaken in his

meditations, OH KING, we have prepared The Hill of Foreskins, our widows

cry, they weep as they burn that great Pile of Sheaths we have given for

thee; OH PROUD AND BRAVE BULLET, find NOT your target the Liege, OH ODIN,

take literally my request to KILL ME, that I may never have to describe the

indescribable schedules of events at SubGenius Revivals; O Stout and Noble-

Hearted Bullet, reverse thy perfect Course, O Horizontally-ravelling, Pope-

hatted Messenger of Death, whose steel-shod testicles are potent with

History, O Bullet of Northern European Heritage which is destined to start

World War III no matter what the Runes Writ in the Skull's Eyes may say, we

will AID THEE in thy path of destruction, and urge ye to DO WHAT THOU WILT, so

long as ye harm not the King and not allow us to "pretend" to describe the

scene at the last Convention when the Patriarchy of the Church was physically

thrown off the stage by the women of the Church who grabbed the mikes and

forced men to strip and marry one another; O Pill-Taking Bullet, which no

drunkenness can divert from thy staid course, we shall encase our meager

bodies in coats lined with pill-bottles that they may deter thy thirsty Aim

and satify thee by thine entering of our carcasses; O Metal-Gonadded Slug,

whose trajectory can be tainted not by intoxication, STAY US from telling of

the unspeakable death of Sterno in the first ten minutes of the DOCTORS FOR

"BOB" concert and his subsequent resurrection by the Head by the Head by the

Dominatrixes, which preceded the Launching of said Head (and its false decoy

brother of latex), resulting in the False Head being ejaculated by the

radisson Hotel itself out the fire-escape and across the street onto the roof

of the building next door during a game of Golfer Head Disco Soccer, from

whence Buck rescued it by scaling the building with a rope in the dead of

night while the Doctors lay on the floor of their room and pondered how the

sacred PIE PIE film had been lost on the 13th floor of a hotel which had no

13th floor; OH KING help us to recover this sacred Super-8 film from the

heathens who have defiled it, this film whose scenes change magically from

showing to showing, perhaps, some day, to show THE TRUTH???!? OH KING of

Norway whose ancestors begat the Viking explorers who left broadaxes across

North America to puzzle the archaeologists, and who had the sense to leave

this land, from whom descended the blonde denture-creme smiling people of the

TV screen who act out the inane video hieroglyphs of the Gods, o ye great

Aryan Stud-Lord of Norway, ODIN, who hath been depicted in Thor Comics,

Tales of Asgard, o YE who cannot be defeated by Loki, O KING, ye who ARE

the hearty Bullet which would pierce thyself and ARE the Gun which

would shoot that selfsame Bullet FOR NO OTHER REASON than to relieve of us of

the hellish duty of describing the Mass held on November 22 at Dealy Plaza in

Dallas where the SubGeniuses crossed swords with assassination buffs of lesser

creeds and where the great Evidence of the demon Uberbrow was unleashed

against those who framed our friend Lee O., O Light-Hearted Bullet, O Wise and

Compassionate Bullet, O Bullet of Love which hath been used in all great

Assassinations, O Bullet of Understanding, O Bullet of the eternal orbital

plane around the planet which is called won by the yearnings of psychotics, O

SEED BULLET which brought good-bad life-death to Earth and shall remove it in

the end, O EGG BULLET who is the Mother of All Bullets, which with thine

iron-sheathed testicles did birth all the Race of Bullets, O Votive Bullet

whose bowels of gunpowder cannot be exploded except by the Pin of the Hammer

of Thor Himself, WE BESEECH THEE, divert thy path from the King and into MY

Heart, that he not be startled and that the intense 3-day "be-ins" and

"freak-outs" which are SubGenius World Parties not be defiled by impure

Description; happiness will depart from Earth forever if we are forced to do

such a terrible thing as to describe the Head-Launchings or the Healings, or

the paranormal dancing of ashtrays or the nameless force which jumps from one

participant to another, causing them to Spout in Tongues; O All-Knowing Bullet

who delivers the Final Answer to All Philosophies, whose wisdom is the only

Unquestionable Wisdom, o Hollowest of Hollow-Points, whose nothingness

encompasses the Universe, O Most Logical Bullet, rip MY flesh; torture ME in a

Guatemalan prison camp for TEN YEARS lest the air around the King be

disturbed, lay thine jolly Cattle Prod against my genitals that none of

these may happen, let my entire body be converted to a wall of membranous

nerve connected to a brain whose only function is to feel PAIN while a

flame-thrower is placed against that wall of membrane LEST a breeze of a

temperature even SLIGHTLY uncomfortable for the King exist anywhere on the

planet, Steel Pellet, pee not the King's ass, who can use Ymir the Hoar-

Frost Giant as an icecube in his Nestea, "BOB", the question isn't what

they are but how and why is DOCTORS FOR "BOB"? WHY did over 40 people

"become", uninvited, "Doktors for "Bob" " at each Convention? Was it because

`doktor' is a generic term for anyone who plays joyously that instrument which

he cannot play? If so, they are Doktors from "Bob" and of "Bob" but the

fact is, Doctors FOR "Bob" is really some kind of bodiless entity, some kind

of nameless FORCE that's beyond any of us... you could only ask IT, the Drs.

for "Bob" Force, what it is; you can't ask Janor or Sterno or Drelloid or

Snavely or Bill or Ringo or the others, because they have nothing to do with

the transmissions that are received through their vocal cords; Even the Bullet

knows not, even the King knows not. We call to thee, O Bullet, to give a two

hour speech to thineself in midair! O Steel-Clad Friend, strike US that we

never again speak of the unlabeled capsules with which Pastor Naked pelts the

crowd; O pointy-headed, O Speedy Pal, o Virtuous Dum-Dum of my bosom, O Flying

Penis, O Fertilizer and Ventilator of Great Men, O Great ER-Ridden, Wind-

Riding Steedless Flyer whose preordained trajectory we pray to change

anyway, O Brainless Warrior, O Farmer of Kings' Blood, O Driller of Flesh, O

Slug, if ye choppeth down the King in the middle of the State Fairgrounds

and only Helen Keller is there to hear it, was there a Doctors for "Bob"

concert? O Happy, Impudent, Lead-Wearing Nudist, O Barer of the Brains of

Presidents, O Manual Do-It-Yourself Exploratory Brain Surgeon, O Journeyman

into Thinking Organs, O Dauntless Projectile of Odin's Wrath, hear my plea,

that I might not discuss the Media Barrage tapes sold by the SubGenius

Foundation, and inspiredco-created with Puzzling Evidence and others, for the

spectatcularity thereof would only be sullied by any attempt to reproduce them

on paper; O He most smited upon by the gods though Clothed in Blood upon

Exiting the Heads of Presidents and Monarchs, O Ye Deity of Lead, O Ye Slug of

the Elder Gods which shatters the wrists of state governors, O whistling Pied

Piper, O Fluting Pan of Lead, sing not thy song unto the King but

instead unto Doctors for "Bob" that we not inadvertently taint the glory of

the over 80 songs about "Bob" and the other Space Bosses which exist on those

Media Barrage Tapes; O Robin Hood of 44-Magnums, let we poor Doctors be the

"Rich" ye rob of tissue and the King be the beggar ye award mercy, that the

reader realize the incomparability of the Tapes and Songs and the Divine

Wellmanization thereof EXCEPT to this very excuse not to compare them to

anything; O Spinning Missile Whose Kiss Is trampled in the 10-watt light of

our Quills; O Innocent Bullet, O Guilty Bullet, which art thou? How can we

presume to judge? We stand to receive thee, we who are of but flesh and

understand not the way of the Lead-Clad Ones, we of the inferior Flesh-

Encladded Clan, we are but gasses to thee, ye pass through us as we pass

through the stale vapours of fat Texans which befoul the air through which

will stride the Emperor of Odin-Land! Once can speak of "Bob", one can speak

of Slack, of The Conspiracy, for any fool knows they are beyond words, but

to even BEGIN to lower the Living Church to description would be to tempt

the reader to think he understood it without "seeing" it; this would be

FOLLY! "Bob" knew that to describe the Living Church would take 10,000 volumes

to be presented in truthful incoherency, to do less would be to invite the end

of all life on Earth, so we were shown the way, we were taught by default

that the Bullet, because it has no sex, is the Perfect Teacher. We were meant

to sidestep the issue until we realized the issue could ONLY be presented

through sidestepping, and THAT is the Way of the "Bob", or KILL US and HIM:

four guns surround the head of "Bob", they fire and the head implodes and the

four executioners are also killed simultaneously deep inside that cave-tomb;

the deaf-monk outside, who must not hear the shots, simply "knows" somehow

that the deed is done, and he gravely rolls the great stone over the cave

entrance and seals it forever: ANYTHING to avoid explaining, ANYTHING, even

killing "Bob", for after all is not "Bob" the gun anyway and YOU the Bullet,

slamming into ANYTHING at 186,000 inches per second, EVEN "Bob's" head, in

order to sanctify the fact that the Bullet IS the One God who cannot be

questioned more than once, the Gun is the One World Religion...

Perchance, Mighty Sir Bullet, I might make a suitable Target that I might

not have to defile the reality of the Church's living members? Perhaps my

humble flesh might make an acceptable umbrella for thy Rain of Lead? It's

the only logical way, it makes PERFECT sense, it's the only possible correct

substitute for explaining the unbelievably important but compex Time

Intersection which this Book is too short to do, YES! It is inescapable, it

was all meant to happen, fate decreed every step, every iota of activity by

all SubGeniuses has led to THIS MOMENT YOU ARE READING, and NOW - YOU MUST

DIE. Well, no, just kidding. But it was a lesson: when we quit seeking the

answer we found it; we have reached the Buddha Nature, we have Achieved The

Form, reality was inverted, we all became Bullets, HOW CAN YOU BE READING

THIS??? It erases all you have read in this Book so far, WAIT A MINUTE, MY

GOD, WE'VE BEEN FOOLS? It wasn't "Bob" that was the One True Lord, NO! It

was the Bullet! No, wait, that's not right... it was the Head, YES, THE

HEAD! - no that can't be right. "BOB", "BOB", TAKE MY MIND!!! Ah yes,

that's better, "Bob", you speak with TOTAL AUTHORITY, we will again follow you

nywhere, unquestioningly, for YE are the Bullet, O "Bob", ye ultimate lead

sexual organ, rape not thy Sister the Hem of the King's Robe, tarnish not

her virginity, instead force us to write the chapter by night without our

own knowledge, IT WRITES US, WE OURSELVES are sent spinning towards the

head of the King... whether we shall splatter it or not we shall find out in

the NEXT Book, it all builds to a horrendous knowledge of everything at once,

which equals nothing, which penetrates, slowly yet instantly, the skin of the

forehead, then cracks through the skull, drilling, then starts to spin as it

swims through the brain mush... YES, "Bob" is God's way of "coming", and the

real DOCTORS FOR "BOB" and all the other doktors and saints and popes and

ministers and even schizmites are the Seed which Spreads the Plasmate of

Information of Freedom, because the Doctors killed "Bob" first, and they saw

as very few do that "Bob's" grin, while innocent-looking, also implies a

hellish ultimate horror; it's the insane yet knowledgeable grin not unlike

that of a skull: WHY DO THEY GRIN LIKE THAT? Do they know something we

don't? Are they making up for lost time? Is it someone's sick idea of a JOKE?

Perhaps it is all of these, but it definitely is the Doorway to the perfect

Money-Making Formula, the one-image equation for eternal Slack, but more

important than even that, do you know where I could get me some of them

ANSW -ERS?

-- TYPED UP BY:

Arch-Epopt of the Exploding Head of John F. Kennedy and Luv Priest to the Gods!

My skull is bigger on the inside than the outside! J.R. "Bob" Dobbs is my load.

Ob-Bulldada: Send $1 to SubGenius Foundation, P.O. Box 140306, Dallas TX 75214