The Gospel According to Philo (Part 2)

Secrets of the Church Revealed!!

Excerpted from "Revelation X: The "Bob"Apocryphon", A Fireside Book Published by Simon & Shuster Copyright 1994 Reverend Ivan Stang and The SubGenius Foundation

He was always on some weird, harmless kick or another.

He phoned me a lot during these years regarding various side businesses of his, little oddball companies he'd started, and I was always initially interested; I'm glad I didn't invest, though, because none of these early attempts ever came to anything besides bankruptcy. But Dobbs could work the bankruptcy laws, and he was always the onlyone who came out ahead, even when his investors lost everything. He once told me, "There are no coincidences - not when there's money to be made."

In '57, he started something called The School of Nasocryptography, teaching people to divine fortunes from nose hair patterns. In L.A., they actually fell for it. He had all manner of health and therapy scams: Noosecubating and Phlegm Reading and so on. Some people swore by them. He was way ahead of his time... but he was always getting shut down by the health departments.

The pitch of his that finally got me involved was insurance brokerage. We did very well with that. I remember the night he set fire to the orphanage. It worked out perfectly for everyone. Dobbs and I got a huge percentage; the orphans got a new home, much nicer and safer than the old place; all of them became eligible for assistance; and "Bob" made the news, rescuing the orphans from the burning building. He was always making local news that way. Never national news; you never heard about him on the networks. But you did see him in magazines, in pipe and hat and tobacco ads and such; his modeling career was at its peak then. Not an issue of Better Homes and Gardens went by that didn't have some dopey ad in which Dobbs had modeled as "the regular guy." He loved modeling. He told me, "I sit. I smoke my pipe. They take a picture. I get a check. It's a living."

He invented the first hamburger franchise chain, almost identical to the later McDonald's formula. But despite all advice from his hired ad-boys he insisted on calling his chain, "BURGER GOD." He said he wanted Americans to "loosen up." But church groups were outraged. Seven or eight BURGER GOD outlets actually opened around Pittsburgh, Peoria, Cleveland, and Minneapolis, and they might have done well if not for the riots.7

Dobbs couldn't quit experimenting with the "Sacred Sauce" formula. He said he was working toward "the perfect population control method." Not that he was trying to limit the numbers of people; he wanted to control the population, no matter how big it got. He was sure that he could encode behavioral traits into the beef fat; the doctored fat molecule would go into storage in the body, and release over a long period of time, instilling a zombie-like trance in his burger customers. I said, "A zombie-like trance? I thought you were trying to wake people up!" But he was being kind, the way he saw it. To him, chemically induced Slack via hamburgers was a charitable gesture, considering how far gone most of the Pinks already were. The pharmaceutical companies and the psychiatry industry didn't see it his way, however, and the A.M.A. shut his chain down for good, at least in the U.S.8

He thought marital aids might be a growing market, and in California he briefly sold something called YETI-BRAND BODY OIL & COCOA BUTTER as a 'natural aphrodisiac.' On the label, underneath YETI BRAND, it said, "They Make It In the Woods," and the picture showed a nice wooded glade - but if you knew where to look, you could discern two Bigfoots copulating in the bushes. The idea was, the subliminal "porno" would stir up word-of-mouth among beatniks and misfits, and he'd make a fortune. It didn't happen; it was the one time he lost money. But he kept his patents on things like quantum foam rubber, packing foam ("ghost turds"), and all those novelty gimmicks like X-Ray Spex, powdered unicorn horn, glass eyes, plastic poop, latex prairie squids and pyroflatulation cushions... that was where a lot of his fortune came from.

Around '57, "Bob" started doing evangelical Christian preaching on weekends, strictly for the money. He had a big congregation of elderly Po'buckers in Tulsa hanging on his every word. He told me, straight-faced, that he'd successfully raised the dead, turned one Chicken Basket into enough fried chicken for hundreds of people, and transformed a little boy's guppy into a county fair fried fish cookout. He claimed he'd walked on water, survived bites by venomous serpents, turned artificial legs back into real legs, and other miraculous deeds. He also began "whiffreading" wallets about this time.

I thought he was looking for more trouble from the Feds, with that kind of talk. They had already interrogated me several times. J. Edgar Hoover was obsessed with Dobbs. I can't blame him; "Bob" was good looking. Of course, Hoover was just doing his job. Dobbs was subversive! But he was subversive only in that he was so perfectly all-American. He was the Spirit of America, unburdened by huge trusts, conglomerates, rational thought and so forth... the epitome of small business gone hog-wild. They had to love him, but they had to stop him; he was major competition for the Rockefellers and Morgans and Rothschilds and all those Illuminati bastards. He might have set up a domino effect. In fact he's still trying to do just that. But they couldn't touch him, because he had friends in high places as a result of his work for the Allies in WWII. Nobody, not even J. Edgar, was going to mess with the man who iced Hitler and froze his head.

Furthermore, he had the Pipe. I am pretty sure now that all the powers he attributes to the Pipe are real. It probably does do a lot of his thinking for him; it's the Xist input terminal. Without the Pipe, he'd still be lucky, but he might not be as active. He might just sit and drool. But, as Dobbs got richer, working with the Conspiracy on an increasingly intimate level, he was getting cynical and bitter. He became increasingly paranoid about his enemies, the list of whom grew to include his business rivals, his bosses, his customers, his mother-in-law, the IRS, the Communists and the Venusians. He certainly had some enemies, but how could they harm him? But then, Dobbs was never known for his logical thinking. He became a survivalist, constructing an elaborate bomb shelter under his backyard. One time when he was showing off his antipersonnel gear to me, he said, "Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day. Give a man a GUN, and OTHERS will feed him for a lifetime."

It was in this trough of negativity and despondency that "Bob" began his wanderings - what we call his Lost Years. He quit his Conspiracy jobs and dropped out of sight. Throughout the late '50s, he hitched boat-rides around Indonesia, "trying to discover himself," but ended up in a prison camp deep in Burma, run by some Japanese who had refused to quit fighting WWII. He insists that Aleister Crowley was also imprisoned there, and that he taught Crowley many card tricks while they squatted in a bamboo cage. Crowley is generally thought to have been long dead by this time, and some suspect that, perhaps due to poor diet and sensory deprivation, "Bob" was hallucinating him.

His captors sold him into white slavery, and he was used by a wizened old Sultan/Magician as an experimental sex toy. He has never gone into detail about that, except to say that he learned a lot about himself. After a year in captivity, he hustled enough money to buy his freedom. He then surfaced in Tibet, at a place called the Forbidden Plateau of Chang-Eng, where he fell in with the lamas of the Black Sect.

For awhile, "Bob" got his kicks from flaunting his amoral Western ways in the lama's faces. But their patience was rewarded, because he ended up swearing off his gamboling and sinning, and joined their monastery. He threw himself heart and soul into the discipline, developing callouses on his scalp from standing on his head for so long every day. He went for two years without bathing, wiping or changing his clothing, letting the rain, and the urine or spittle of his detractors, wash him. He wore barbed-wire shirts, put nails in his shoes, and rolled in thorn-bushes every time he had an 'impure thought' (which he defined as "the urge to sell shoddy goods just for the hell of it"). He rode through the villages backwards on an ass, wearing a 15-foot tall dunce cap on which all his sins were listed. He lived in caves and fasted for months. He wanted to levitate into the sky "to escape the stench of humans," but, because he was afraid of heights, stayed inside and let his head bump the cave roof instead.

Eventually, for "Bob" there was no longer any difference between meditating and not meditating; every single word, thought or act became a meditation, and thenceforth he was able to practice "infinite action" or "Not-Think." At this point he abandoned his severe asceticism, and more or less reverted to his old goatish ways. "One must be totally free from desire to achieve true Slack," he told me upon his return, "and that means acquiring everything you desire. I have become like unto a Handi-Wipe. A Handi-Wipe may clean everything it touches, but itself becomes soiled. Yet it can be replaced by another Handi-Wipe, exactly the same as the first one. The women that were too beautiful for the Normals have let me sleep with them, the hunchbacked and the cripples. And to me, each was the most beautiful woman on Earth. I have made love to ten thousand beings, but not once was the act defiled by lust. I loved all of them with all of my soul. Similarly, I loved all the animals. Animals have the Buddha nature, more so than humans, and if one feels affection for them, they will return it. Except for heat vent worms." After besting his so-called "spiritual masters" in a series of riddle games, Dobbs went home, the treasure of the High Lama jingling in his pockets. Connie, in the meantime, had been manipulating his career just as if he was still at home, so that when he returned, he found himself a high-standing member of the Council on Foreign Relations, the Trilateral Commission, and the Majestic 12. Guided by Connie, he exploited this status until 1963, when he suddenly turned against the entire Conspiracy and began telling everything he knew about Them to anyone who'd listen. Many misunderstand "Bob's" motives. In fighting the Conspiracy, he isn't being "noble." He doesn't really care about future generations; he's saving the planet only because doing so benefits him. By now Dobbs was a man of truly great appetites, and great expulsions. It seemed that no matter where my work took me, Dobbs had a whole family there and would invite me for dinner. What most surprised me was that he seemed to be successfully concealing from each wife and family the fact that he had other wives and children in every state. He was the ultimate polygynist, making the Mormon Elders and the Grand Sultan of the Turks seem like pikers. But it wasn't that he lied to his families; it was that they never thought to ask. They're all a bit like "Bob" himself in that respect; a lot goes right by them, and they're none the worse for it. Besides, most of his wives are devoted polyandrists.

Connie was the ringleader of a gigantic swinger's network, and "Bob" would wander through these beatnik orgies of hers in white robes, preaching free love and spouting poetry while playing bongos. He had a bunch of college-age "disciples," and I think he was toying with their minds, refining the SubGenius formula.

"Bob" called himself the Gate, the Twelfth I'mam through whom one is 'opened' to the Fifth Way, the Way of the Most Sly Man. Most people, "Bob" said, never do, they only have things done to them. This is because the mind is actually a series of different, incomplete personalities that endlessly bicker over which gets to run the body. The Most Sly isolates and exploits these disconnected states, and achieves the ability not only to truly "do," but to "do the HELL out of" whatever he or she is DOing. And, if that is impossible, the Most Sly manages to make everyone else believe that that is what is happening. For, in the false reality of the Pinks, believing is all that is necessary - and the Most Sly does only what is necessary, leaving the rest of the time for Slack.

For my part, I thought this was all a lot of high-sounding bullshit. But one day, that changed.

My conversion happened in 1970. I was crossing a country bridge with "Bob." There on that bridge, for no reason at all, I suddenly realized, as if in a flash of insight, that not only was "Bob" THE ONE, the SlackMaster, but also that this was my moment - my one chance to save the world from his presence. I knew, then, that I had to either kill him, or follow him blindly for the rest of my days. I could so easily have pushed him off of that bridge to his death in the gorge below! I had the chance!... but I chose instead to give over my life to him, and accept him as my Teacher, as long as he is on my side.

Around 1972, "Bob" felt ready to go public with the Church of the SubGenius, and recruited me as Assistant Overseer to organize and staff a front office. I serendipitously encountered a young unemployed filmmaker named Ivan Stang, who was desperate enough to accept the salary. Actually there was no salary discussed, only promises, but Stang literally had no choice; Dobbs made sure of that. Stang was willing to do almost anything to scrape by and support his new family, except work at a real job. "Bob" called Stang his 'lever,' meaning simple tool. It's too bad I was never able to take him with me to Dobbs' parties, but at least he didn't have to undergo the OverMan Transformation.

Many people ask me what it was like to become an OverMan. I can vouchsafe that I did it reluctantly. In 1978, "Bob" insisted that, in order to help launch the Church properly, I would have to go to Tibet for this "operation." Grudgingly, and with great trepidation, I complied. It took us almost three months to travel to the secret cave of the lamas, high in the Himalayas. When I saw and smelled the ritual "operating room," I almost backed down, but Dobbs promised to double my pay, and I agreed to go through with it.

On a certain night when the great constellations were properly aligned, the lamas started beating on drums and summoned down "Choronzon," a faceless, disembodied Xist force that telempathechanically sodo-glandscaped me. While this Sacred DeBuggering took place, the Secret Chiefs of Shambahala showed up: three classic Men in Black, with angular features, strange eyes and turbans, hauling a load of high-tech equipment. They smelled like they had been drinking, and kept laughing uproariously and speaking in a strange language. They used a cross between a C-clamp and a Möebius strip to squeeze my testicles so hard that my head swelled up enormously. An instant later, when the Xist "demon" suddenly yanked itself out of me, the suction made my face cave in. I wasn't supposed to end up looking like this; I was supposed to resemble a super-enhanced version of myself - kind of "Bob"-like. But "Bob" was drunk during the ceremony. They were all drunk.

They thought it was funny! Oh, my intelligence was enhanced, and that made the disfigurement worthwhile; like "Bob," I can enjoy overweening sexual pleasure merely by watching a butterfly. But it was like "Bob's" own resurrection in '84 after he was first killed - things didn't go perfectly. All my nodes swelled up, my footglands became inflamed, I developed uncontrollable behavioral twitches... I'm not exactly the perfect OverMan. But "Bob" promises they'll have the process fixed by X-Day.

After I recovered from the surgery, we returned to Dallas and started cranking up the Church's public outreach. By 1980, we had greased the right palms and were distributing the basic Membership documents. As an OverMan, I no longer saw any point in messing with the details; I made Stang take over the world ministry aspects, and rechanneled my energies into a career in entertainment with The Swinging Love Corpses and my new band, The Uighurs. I had become more like "Bob," and that's what "Bob" would have done. Let Stang be the nearsighted leader of the blind who are leading the bland.

As far as the actual operation of the Church goes, "Bob" has very little to do with it now. He's like Howard Hughes in that respect. I'm here running the front office, Stang is maintaining the Church empire, going around preaching, making up stories about "Harvest Mechanisms," and trying to keep tabs on the other Apostles who, he'd like to think, might plot to usurp his job as Scribe.

We usually don't know where "Bob" is. Some of his time is spent in secret, probably setting up his big deal for X-Day, or possibly justavoiding all the fans and "good SubGenii" eager to perform their token ritual "Bob" assassination. Sometimes he's in Tibet, getting his Xist rebuild completed; he was never re-erected quite right after the first assassination. He still smells a little funny. Other times he's just fishing, or maybe gambling in Bangkok, or learning sleight of hand tricks from some Master he met in a bar - the greatest card shark in the world, or the greatest magician, or pool hustler, or table football master, or video game master, or psychic surgeon.

He might shock us. For all we know, he could be snickering nastily with the fascists, plotting a new, even more specific retro virus release. But - as horrible as this may sound - if that is "Bob's" will, then so be it. We cannot question his ways. Not that we think that anything so repugnant to our SubGenius sensibilities would ever be his will. But if it were, we would still have to follow him blindly. Like St. Janor said, "You do what you do because you want to. I do what I do 'cause "Bob" told me to." That's what it comes down to. That, and your $30.

"The Lord tested the world and found it wanting." - Isaiah 5:10 "I tested the world and found it wanting New, Improved OZMO." - Dobbs 5:10

1 Certainly, Dobbs himself could tell us all we would want to know; but not even for this book could anyone talk him into sitting still long enough to tell his own story. Likewise, Connie Dobbs has had other things on her mind than sitting and reminiscing like a senile old movie star.
2 Perhaps Connie, or MWOWM.
3 Onan posits that the reason Philo and Gordon remember none of this is because they, too, were 'flowed back in time.'
4 If any of our readers have had encounters with Dobbs, we would like to know of them. Send your depositions along with $5 for filing costs to The SubGenius Foundation, P.O.Box 140306, Dallas, TX 75214.
5 "Bob" Dobbs never actually finished college, but he has a high school diploma and hundreds of study-at-home and honorary degrees.
6 Onassis and Kissinger later became bitter enemies of Dobbs.
7 Only a few bikers of that era were inclined to order a burger called "The Hunger Fucker."
8 Today, "BOB" hamburger franchises dot the face of Brazil like zits on a
young Bobbie.

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