<The rant machine can not be stopped. Not even with tequila in dangerous amounts mixed with sedatives of various shapes and sizes.>
Friends, Romans, Discordians, lend me your eyes! Read upon this with growing horror as the news flash starts to sink in. Forget about fluffy bunny Neo-Pagans who are trying to call themselves Erisians. Forget about Robert Anton Wilson's Bavarian Illuminati prank. Forget about the demons and the Bushite fascists of the (Mad Prophet and Human Snafu)
Good Reverend Roger's paranoid America (Fat City). Forget about the creeping sense of fear as you read about more and more suicide bomber attacks. Forget about the nameless anarchist hordes burning down the retail chains. Forget about the ever present threat of being eaten by either Cthulhu or the memory holes. Forget about the various permutations of escaped laboratory experiments. Forget about the stylish leaders of North Korea starting new fashion trends on the beaches of Southern California. Forget about the fact of the Harry Potter series being the Trojan Horse of witchcraft that threatens Christianity. Forget about even the fact that some evil genius has stolen all of Bob's frop.
No.
Even though those are valid concerns. There is a problem that is more pressing than even holes forming in our socks. It is worse than even the rise of the Goat with a thousand young. It is even worse than the ceremonial magicians opening the gates by finishing off the Enochian keys and letting Senior Choronzon and all of his crew into the world. Even all of these together do not even come close to the threat which I am about to tell you of now. Are you ready? (Sit down and drink something strong.)
My fellow Discordians and Erisians, we are being inundated by the hundreds of illegitimate bastard children of Aleister Crowley. What's that? Shock? You have nothing to say? It's true. The O.T.O. have decided that we have been having a little bit too much fun and they're not standing for it any longer. No. Not on their watch. But since we were impervious to their little magic tricks and the bombardment of their occult-lite Kabbalah, they have decide to infiltrate us with the numerous spawn of the Great Beast himself. (Who, truth be told, spread his seed far and wide on this earth. You thought rabbits could reproduce?) How do we identify this threat and neutralize it, you ask?
To start with, they like to wear silly hats and they talk in flowery late-romantic style tones of voice. They also can not stand beer, especially cheap swill. And when interrogated with the question "Are you a human being and not a cabbage or something?" they just sit there with a silly grin and chuckle as the drool runs down the sides of their faces. Because they appear to be so funny, we have let them into our ranks with open arms, not realizing the grayness that they would bring. (The fact that they were all avid fans of the Beast himself but yet could not quote anything Eris ever said should have been the most glaring clue, but you know we Discordians never do pay attention to details like that.) We even said nothing when they started getting rid of the clowns and the hippies. And now, these lying scheming children from the discarded parts of a Robert Anton Wilson draft are threatening the very heart of Discordianism: Bowling while drunk. ("It's not right to bowl while drunk," they say.)
What can we do about this threat? All we can do is to drink tequila. Yeah. That's right. Read that again. Tequila makes us impervious to this bastard menace. Crowley pretended to hate Tequila, thus these little creepers are violently repulsed by even the merest hint of a smell of the substance. Key words of banishment include "Hey you! Get off of my cloud!" and "Run mother fucker!" (best to use while brandishing a chain saw) or even "Cthulhu fhtagn where the sun don't shine, punk!" or even "Get O before U and T out of here!" You can call upon Eris, but She is just laughing Her ass off right now. Sure, you think I am kidding. But when you are trapped on some altar being forced to listen to tone deaf middle class English kids chanting in a horrible hodge podge of Greek, Egyptian, and Hebrew while they spill chicken or goat blood all over you as they dance in that idiotic spastic that white people call dancing, don't say you weren't warned, sicko.
If I have to force feed every little one of them Tequila myself to straighten them out, you can bet your glowing hashish stash, I will.
Thank you for your time.
This has been a public service announcement brought to you by the Committee for the Armed Defense of Certain Committees Against Certain Other Committees.
No animals or appliances were hurt in any way during the filming of this rant.
-Irreverend Hugh, KSC
(Driving while under the influence of "The Book of Lies")
July 27th, 2005