Principia Entropius Book Two >>The Principia EntroHocusPocus
Part Twenty-two of 15
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"But you must know that we are all in agreement, whatever we say."
---Turba Philosophorum
The Fellowship of Froot loops:
If you know that YOU are in, in with the in crowd, the inner circle,
then you are actually fooling yourself, there is no in crowd or clique.
We accept almost everyone,except maybe a few people, but mainly those
that suck are not allowed to play reindeer games.
Everyone else, is pretty much in the fellowship, and that fellowship
involves sticking together, unless you know the other person is wrong,
but even then, you should just pretend like you agree, giving people
who are just tuning in, the illusion, that we infact have a unified idea
of what it is we are about.
Under no conditions should you reveal our sacred Passwords, unless we
are talking like 50 bucks or something.
Secret Cryptic Froot Loops Password:
"Aiieeee the Squid is no longer under Mind Control"
Countersign
"The sky is falling, quickly do the Hurney Gurney Dance"
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Those that read that, owe me 50 bucks!
(in American currency, Postage Stamps, or
severed body parts). --------------------------------------------
{Kappa-Epsilon-Phi-Alpha-Eta Beta}
THE CRY OF THE HAWK
Hoor hath a secret fourfold name: it is Do What
Thou Wilt.(3)
Four Words: Naught-One-Many-All.
Thou-Child!
Thy Name is holy.
Thy Kingdom is come.
Thy Will is done.
Here is the Bread.
Here is the Blood.
Bring us through Temptation!
Deliver us from Good and Evil!
That Mine as Thine be the Crown of the Kingdom,
even now.
ABRAHADABRA.
These ten words are four, the Name of the One.
----Alleister Crowley
Chapter Two, book of Lies.
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THE BOOK OF SHAG
Heed my words, oh miniscule and pulchritudinous ones. Hear and heed, you
who do not fellatiate, and you who know not the meaning of the great and
high remex. The end is near. You must heed and follow the things I will
speak unto you, the words of the great gods, the god of the windowshade,
the god of the distributor cap, the god of the blue bikini underwear and
most importantly the god of the dead japanese beetle somewhere on the
campus of rutgers university. By heeding these words, you will improve
the gas mileage of your car, enter into a new age of harmony, peace,
happiness, and belgian waffles. Bring things home each day and not pay
for them until next september, and make sure that your life is sanctioned
and guarded by the great race of aliens which will land any day now in
Starkville Mississippi and revolutionise the way you wash dishes. Be sure
to not be left out when all human males become obsolete as females flock
to the alien males and their new, improved, user-friendly genitalia mark
five systems! You must make your genitalia blue, anointing it with
indigo. Anoint also your ears, your nose, the back of your neck, and the
fourth toe of each foot, the most holy of all toes.
I speak to you of the coming of the greater race. You shall know them by
their stature, by their countenance, by their language, unlike any that
man has ever heard, and by their sexual prowess. Behold, they shall land
in a small town, Starkille, and shall walk the earth among the children,
and you shall not know them. Many will say in those days, "The gods are
walking the earth, the gods are walking the earth," but they shall be
scoffed upon and spit upon and fucked hard by prostitutes in cheap motels
then bankrupted by the media. But you will pay them no attention and
merely stop sending your donations. But then, the greater race will
reveal themselves in all their glory for all mankind to see. The truth
will be known, and the truth will be that mankind has not paid their lease
and is being evicted, a new race takes over the planet, please move the
furniture out and clean the carpeting before you leave. Behold a wonder:
your children and their children shall mate, producing a better race yet,
but you, the unbelievers, shall be sentenced to 40 time units of wandering
in the outer dust clouds of the andromeda sector aboard a tiny spaceship
called the minnow.
So, lo, woe, yo, repent while you still are young on an archaelogic scale.
The world must be saved by the horrors that are low-density disks, AM
radio, and non-FOX television. You must learn to live without processed
spinach products, to wean your children on their father's milk,. and to
accept that power strips and LSD are things of the past. Synthesise your
offspring carefully so that when the time of the great choosing comes,
your sons and daughters may be chosen by the greater race to participate
in furthering their race, in the strange ritual of the cosmic fuck, the
antithesis of the hells of knowledge, riches, and power, the fulfillment
of the postmodern dream of red lights, t-squares, and paint blotches.
Prepare yourselves for the day of the final inkblot judgement, wherein all
shall be tested for blot and blood type. In that day, some will say,
"verily, it is an aston-martin, in O positive." To those, the coming one
will say, "farewell, you were never a phlebotomist, just a prick, depart
from here into an eternity of dimness and cheap paperback novels and
genuine IBM computers." But in that fateful day, some will say, "truly,
it is two schnauzers chasing a naked woman, in AB negative." To those,
the coming one will say, "come, join me at the cosmic sock hop, you are
one of my own, you will live an eternity of free drinks and beautiful
tragically hip waifs."
For I have been spoken these things by the angels of light, hermetic
seals, and the small purple man painted on my wall, who read them from the
great platinum plates upon which they were inscribed from the supernatural
force of the great god of the cunny, who swallows all things for the
better of his followers. I have seen the light, I have been enlightened,
I speak the truth to you, heed it and save your lives and those of your
fellow neighbour's wife and your neighbour's ass, or do not hear my words,
and turn a deaf ear to them, and forever suffer in this meaningless
existance. The gods have spoken, I have written, and the pen, having
writ, runs out of ink, on this, the next to the last of the last days...
-The Book of Shag-
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Wes,
telnet://ricksbbs.synchro.net:23
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