WHAT I KNOW

It Took A Genius to Invent It

It took a genius to invent it, but it only takes a monkey to detonate it. Boom, boom, boom! Retrograde Evolution, winding down, down, down!

In a world in which fear is man's dominant emotion-fear of insecurity, loneliness, inferiority, love, sickness, death-what can one do to relieve the bad-tasting jokes of impending doom-and-ultra-gloom?

Just in case there was no war, the trigger was set to go off forty years in the future anyhowl No one at the lab knew that; just the quiet little henpecked guy that everyone made fun of, the only person who had access to the long delay mode on the seemingly benign timer that was directly connected to the Atomika trigger.

"Monkeys have better orgasms than humans," according to one hardworking and detail-oriented animal husbandry expert.

Man O Man a Shove Its

Dissertation from an F Student

What a day. Trouble in the Middle East, tension in the Eastern Bloc, problems here at home, boy. Do you know what it's like to try and monitor a planetful of wild, out-of-control Pink Boys, Wankers, Jips, Mediocretins and other human types? It's like trying to corral ants with a wet spaghetti strand. Everybody seems to have something to blow some steam about. Up here, over that-a-ways, down there too. Man O Man? You know, "Bob," it ain't easy just trying to listen in about it; I sure as hell-o don't know how they all manage to keep so activel "Channel 2 News," "Alive at Five," "World Lowdown Report," radio, citizens bands, police frequencies; Marine, Air Force and satellite transmissions . . . not to mention newspapersl Hundreds of them, in a hundred languagesl Where do these people find time to leam how to fire a smart cannon and keep up on politics at the same time? The Stark Fist? HA! All I know is, if we all get blown up by a RadioDrone A-bomb someday, will I get to see me melt down on my TV, or will I have to wait for Time magazine to stick a rolled-up copy up my butt, light it, and stuff the "free with your subscription" handy "Lighted Bed Fone" in my mouth? Send help soon, "Bob."

It was a fucking fantastic voyage, and we were traveling through a most disturbing part of the universe, a section where the ribbon of time was twisted all around, folding back on itself, wrapping and knotting; you would be traveling along on July sth, and all of a sudden it was midnight July 4th, and you were counting hours backwards, and maybe you could remember fast enough what was coming up, and maybe you would jump up into June a year later, and then skip-hop across to the preceding May; you might find out that you were experiencing certain pads of your own past for the first time. Where was this place?... Fucked-Upville, of course. This guy here was a litigation lawyer IFom Houston who just happened to get on the wrong People Mover at the Little Rock airport on an innocent trip to 17 Flags over America for a court case, when all of a sudden he's the big baby his mother could never change diapers fast enough for, and he's still carrying his brief- case, but he's got the same pacifier he spent twenty years trying to duplicate with stink-cigars and lard-infested foods. Cracks me up think- ing about it. Guy on the right just took a turn for the worst into his own animal-husbandried future, where his Swatch don't tell time so good. "Bob" did his job, all right; maybe did it too well!

Crude Behavior

Or - Doggone It, Stop, Mister!

There is a part of the brain that harks back to primordial times. In the female, it is the ostrich, a strange bird that hides its head in the sand and mns as fast as the day is long. Sometimes, when the ostrich brain kicks in, a "Connie" can keep a "Bob" begging and twitching for years, even lifetimes. In the "Bob," the primordial part of the brain is reptilian. It's the part of the brain that gives him an instant doggie-dick erection at the sight of a pretty girl, or makes him want to wallow in his sexiness like a pig with five hundred pounds of rock-hard, brick-colored shit stuck up his ass. It's the part of the brain that says, "Tell her anything, but stick your penis into her body."

There's no reason to fight it; anyone who is really honest will admit this fact of life is the Euclidean Truth and nothing butt. . . . Anyhow, the mind-set of the "Connie" is to repel this repugnant reptile, and for a good reason: If she didn't, all humans would spend their time doggie style, and never get anything done! Or so says one bigoted asshole with a Ph.D tacked above his desk at a local think tank!

A Close Shot at Slack

"I don't know who Art is, but I know what I like," boasts a rookie right-hander from the Salt Lake City Tarpturds as he takes a stroll through the recently erected Tai He Men art gallery in downtown Utah. A lot of first-timers would be afraid to admit to a lack of knowledge on the subject, but not our rookie. "Y'know, when I first heard that there was people gettin' blowed up in Central America and the Middle East, and little bitty kids with fat bellies and skinny arms 'n' legs moaning and starving in Africa and India, I said to myself, '"Bob," why does Utah have so much moolah to spend on another art gallery when these hideous Frankenstein nightmares are simultaneously going on all over the world?' And then my team's manager explained it to me, that in a world that ain't so purty to look at sometimes, rich people need things to comfort themselves and protect their eyeballs from the dirt they live in, and so I says, 'Yeah, let's get on with this art stuff, pronto. We gotta fight for our right to potty, and save the rich!'"

Kids 'n' Sex

Where do kids get their ideas about sex? what elements contribute to the misconceptions we have in our pre-sex ages?

I remember at the age of twelve, thinking that a woman's private pads must resemble the blowhole on a whale: smooth, with a round hole, not unlike the hole on a gblf green. The female receptacle must be built to fit the job of accepting penile injections that-I wasn't sure why, but I knew-it was my duty as a red-blooded member of the species to perform. Something attracted me like a twelve-ton magnet with fifty pounds of iron in my boots. I taped mirrors to my shoes as was explained to me on those Boy Scout camp-outs I used to go to, where we all sat around the fire alter the adults passed out, and the older boys filled us younger boys in on the realities of the world of sex. I had a friend who used to wrap himself like a mummy with toilet paper before he could masturbate. I knew another guy who liked to stick bobby pins down his urethra while his wiener was hard, so that during ejaculation he would shoot the bobby pins into the soft glass wool ceiling. Still another guy would go through the trash can in his parents' bedroom, and pull his dad's used mbbers out of the can and sniff his mother's essence on the outside and his father's on the inside, and use his father's sperm as a lubricant as he jacked off inside those rubbery things. All three of these people went on to hold positions of authority in the Conspiracy.

This article, along with Mothersbaugh's original artwork found above, appeared in Three-Fisted Tales of "Bob"; Short Stories in Subgenius Mythos, released by The Church of the Subgenius.