Official Report from Popess Lilith

ATTENDEES:

[ ] Stang (excused)
[ ] Sterno (exsanguinated)
[X] Dr. Hal (exciting)
[ ] Nenslo (expected)
[X] Popess Lilith (exhausted)
[X] Priestess Pisces (expurged)
[X] Andre Brothel (exceeding)
[X] SpinalCrusher (exhilarating)
[X] Scalpod and NormalJean (extolled)
[ ] Kali de Rouge (inexplicable)
[X] Marcus Evenstar (expert)
[X] DJ Sloth (excellent)
[X] Bro. DJ JessBone (excelled)
[ ] Hemmorhoy Rogers (excruciating)
[X] ChickenHed (exemplar)
[ ] ShinPath (expatriated)
[ ] Swag (inexcusable)

You could call it a no-show devival.

EXCEPT FOR EVERYONE ELSE WHO DID.

At last count, tossing out a couple of no-shows on the will-call list, we had 166 paying devival-goers, not quite exceeding the 1998 record of 185 but damned nice to see. DAMNED NICE--when I had a chance to see it.

I'm quoting from an explanation I sent to one of the dozen or so people I saw that night for the first time in years:

==========

I'm really sorry I did not get much of a chance to talk, but considering that, when I was not ranting, I was typically trying to find someone, putting out a fire, making sure we remained on schedule, revising the schedule, insuring we're following everyone's requirements, switching out volunteers in order to ensure everyone had some fun, answering questions and receiving praise from the drunk, and running into old friends and acquaintances and saying, "Oh hi! I'm really glad you could make it! Wonderful to see you again! Get in touch with me! But please excuse me, I gotta go...."

...Well, you can see I didn't have time to chat longer.

==========

Or, as I put it in one of the comments for a devival picture on Flickr:

"I was busy explaining to someone who was already well devived that all the dots he kept asking about were part of a picture of J.R. "Bob" Dobbs, and that he was the founder of our religion--and then would have to re-explain the dots again."

You could kinda tell which of the devival-goers were first-timers and had no idea what they were getting into.

I hope they got into it GOOD. Judging from some of my admittedly hazy memories, it sure seemed like it. Pisces was right to complain about the bathrooms being used as honeymoon suites by those hitched up for 24 hours, but hey, there were X-Day Drills where there seemed to be fewer people AND less obvious bonobo frenzies, shocking as that may seem.

Speaking of hazy memories: Yes, it is true, for all the hawtness that was being smeared around the place, if there was a Ms. Connie contest, the winner would've been my dear, sweet friend, Rev. ElectriKali, the Bifocal Babe, who you might've seen at X-Day previously. In her square-dancing gingham and cowboy boots, hair in that curly poufy ball that reminds me so of back home, and impeccable makeup, she was the clearest and most devastating manifestation of Connie that evening. I'm surprised I have knuckles left, from all that chewing!

And while I did not personally see it firsthand, there's photographic evidence to back the stories I've heard. Despite having told many, many people to bring watches for the wristwatch smashing, not one soul dared to offer up a wristwatch! I was shocked and horrified, until I was told that some brave soul had something even better to offer up--an iPod, which Dr. Hal promptly smashed with a hammer, parts scattered all over the dance floor, while the audience squealed and shouted with rapture. While it means the point of Time Control was not driven home (although Scalpod covered it ably in his own rant, I understand) I must say that it was quite classy.

I was pleasantly surprised that the debut sermon by Elder Episkopos Caterer Marcus Evenstar went over so well! I mean, I know I like it when he gets on a tear, but to hear a paying audience shouting hosanna and splitting butts over it was a revelation. Trust me, he shall return. While he, the eldest of the clench elders, was making his ranting debut, so was our youngest, Rev. Andre Brothel, who was in that group of young SubGeniuses who were too young for the liquor board the first time around. (He helped out on the third one, if I recall correctly.) But I must say, judging from the reactions he elicited--bolstered by a heavy use of German and free beer, admittedly--the boy has promise as one of Dobbs' own troublemakers and heartbreakers, and it was great to have him as a devival partner.

Dr. Hal, I so wish I had the time to properly savor your ranting. Yours too, Pisces, even though we had discussed what you were going to say. I told you that you'd get "that call", though. I'm sure that the returned, unreleased "documentation" helps soothe that pain, though.

It was impossible to miss SpinalCracker, however. For a young bunch of punks with a SubGenius bass player, they're pretty fun onstage! And LOUD, too. And while Scalpod and NormalJean, singing and playing acoustic guitar and melodium, might not have been loud, their SubGenius drinking songs came at just the right time of the evening for jiggin' and reelin' and OOBIN' and GREENGIN'.

And, it was impossible NOT to miss Hemorrhoy Rogers, who seems to be in the tradition of Janor Hypercletes or Lonesome Cowboy Dave, possessing the spirit of transcendent haplessness. I honestly suspect that he's still knocking on doors in Seattle, asking if the devival's started yet, and turning away puzzled at the puzzlement he himself engendered. Ah, but perhaps with the right chauffer/minder, one day he'll redeem himself and leave us all slap-frap-happy.

The Bucket of Pils was dispensed, in great big fistfuls, while the audience greedily attempted to commune with the Void between "Bob"'s own ears. For those who ever got to feed carp at a carp pond, you know exactly how I felt, and it felt GOOD. Andre and I then tag-teamed our way through a Short Duration Marriage of epic proportions, followed by my ShorDurMar'ing Andre to his girlfriend for the evening, and then followed by a SHORT DURATION DIVORCE of Scalpod and NormalJean, for five minutes, executed with a chop of Andre's kung-fu grip!

And so when Hemorrhoy Rogers did not magically appear, I cleared the stage so that the DJs--ours and ChickenHed's alike--could spin and everyone could dance and grope and what-all, but not before a bit of advice I wish to share with you all in closing:

NEVER get into a staring contest with a Dobbshead. Not only will you lose, you'll swear for years that it WINKED BACK.