[from Chapter 19, "The Book of the SubGenius"]

  DOCTORS FOR "Bob" will themselves explain what they are on one condition:
just send them some of those Oh-God-all-my-internal-organs-are-bring-ripped-
out-my-throat-one-by-one-Ers AND some no,-dear,-I-don't-think-I'll-be-going-
to-work-to-morrow-ers, AND some King-of-Norway-coming-all-the-way-to-Dallas-
just-for-the-opening-of-Norwegian-Day-at-the-Texas-Fair-ERS. That's right,
just take those pills and throw 'em in the mailbox; you don't need an
envelope, you don't even need a stamp; just toss 'em in that mailbox and
*think* North Little Rock, and they'll get 'em. AND HERE'S WHY: The King, the
King of Norway, most feared continent on the globe, is indeed coming to
Dallas; the very MONARCH of the land of WOTAN, he who serves the Northern
Fathers who slumber beneath the glaciers, *The King* is coming, the very sword
of Odin, the mighty Switchblade of WODEN; DOCTORS FOR "BOB" must be *there* on
that acre of land of the State Fair where the King of all Norawy as some of
the most disgusting freaks of America, who are on display for *money*, we MUST
see that the King is not offended or assassinated while in Dallas, we will be
his personal servants and bodyguards, we will become like army ants which bite
onto each other's limbs to create a living SHROUD of bulletproofness *around*
the King, OH TAKE ME, Fierce Bullet, TAKE NOT the King whose sword serves
Odin, split My cranium and splatter my brains that he my live /and that I may
not EVER have to "EXPLAIN"/ either Doctors for "Bob" or Puzzling Evidence or
LIES or any of the other quasi-SubGenius affiliated organizations which make
the inexplicable SubGenius World Conventions, and the Tape Network, what they
are, OH PLEASE, Brave Bullet, split MY left and right brains down the middle
that the great Sceptre of the King not be prevented from leaving his Seed of
Yetidom across the Northern Plains, sacrifice ME that he who is the crowned
leader of the land of Ymir the Hoar-Frost Giant not be *shaken* in his
meditations, OH KING, we have prepared *The Hill of Foreskins*, our widows
cry, they weep as they burn that great Pile of Sheaths we have given *for
thee*; OH PROUD AND BRAVE BULLET, find NOT your target the Liege, OH ODIN,
take literally my request to KILL ME, /that I may never have to describe the
indescribable schedules of events at SubGenius Revivals;/ O Stout and Noble-
Hearted Bullet, reverse thy perfect Course, O Horizontally-ravelling, Pope-
hatted Messenger of Death, whose *steel-shod testicles* are *potent* with
History, O Bullet of Northern European Heritage which is *destined* to start
World War III no matter what the Runes Writ in the Skull's Eyes may say, we
will AID THEE in thy path of destruction, and urge ye to DO WHAT THOU WILT, so
long as ye harm *not* the King and not *allow* us to "pretend" to describe the
scene at the last Convention when the Patriarchy of the Church was physically
thrown off the stage by the women of the Church who grabbed the mikes and
forced men to strip and marry one another; O Pill-Taking Bullet, which no
drunkenness can divert from thy staid course, we shall encase our meager
bodies in coats lined with pill-bottles that they may deter thy thirsty Aim
and satify thee by thine entering of our carcasses; O Metal-Gonadded Slug,
whose trajectory can be tainted not by intoxication, STAY US from telling of
the unspeakable death of Sterno in the first ten minutes of the DOCTORS FOR
"BOB" concert and his subsequent resurrection by the Head by the Head by the
Dominatrixes, which preceded the /Launching/ of said Head (and its false decoy
brother of latex), resulting in the False Head being ejaculated by the
radisson Hotel itself out the fire-escape and across the street onto the roof
of the building next door during a game of Golfer Head Disco Soccer, from
whence Buck rescued it by scaling the building with a rope in the dead of
night while the Doctors lay on the floor of their room and pondered how the
sacred PIE PIE film had been lost on the 13th floor of a hotel /which had no
13th floor;/ OH KING help us to recover this sacred Super-8 film from the
heathens who have defiled it, this film whose scenes *change magically* from
showing to showing, perhaps, some day, to show /THE TRUTH???!?/ OH KING of
Norawy whose ancestors begat the Viking explorers who left broadaxes across
North America to puzzle the archaeologists, and who had the sense to leave
this land, from whom descended the blonde denture-creme smiling people of the
TV screen who act out the inane video hieroglyphs of the Gods, o ye great
Aryan Stud-Lord of Norway, ODIN, who hath been depicted in *Thor Comics*,
*Tales of Asgard*, o YE who cannot be defeated by Loki, O KING, ye who /ARE
the hearty Bullet/ which would pierce *thyself* and /ARE the *Gun*/ which
would shoot that selfsame Bullet FOR NO OTHER REASON than to relieve of us of
the hellish duty of describing the Mass held on November 22 at Dealy Plaza in
Dallas where the SubGeniuses crossed swords with assassination buffs of lesser
creeds and where the great Evidence of the demon Uberbrow was unleashed
against those who framed our friend Lee O., O Light-Hearted Bullet, O Wise and
Compassionate Bullet, O Bullet of Love which hath been used in all great
Assassinations, O Bullet of Understanding, O Bullet of the eternal orbital
plane around the planet which is called won by the yearnings of psychotics, /O
SEED BULLET/ which brought good-bad life-death to Earth and shall remove it in
the end, /O EGG BULLET/ who is the Mother of All Bullets, which with thine
iron-sheathed testicles did birth all the Race of Bullets, O Votive Bullet
whose bowels of gunpowder cannot be exploded except by the Pin of the Hammer
of Thor Himself, WE BESEECH THEE, divert thy path from the King and into MY
Heart, that he *not be startled* and that the intense 3-day "be-ins" and
"freak-outs" which are SubGenius World Parties not be defiled by impure
Description; happiness will depart from Earth forever if we are forced to do
such a terrible thing as to describe the Head-Launchings or the Healings, or
the paranormal dancing of ashtrays or the nameless force which jumps from one
participant to another, causing them to Spout in Tongues; O All-Knowing Bullet
who delivers the Final Answer to All Philosophies, whose wisdom is the only
Unquestionable Wisdom, o Hollowest of Hollow-Points, whose nothingness
encompasses the Universe, O Most /Logical/ Bullet, rip MY /\/; torture ME in a
Guatemalan prison camp for TEN YEARSlest the air around the King be
*disturbed*, lay thine jolly Cattle Prod against *my* genitals that none of
these may happen, let my *entire body* be converted to a wall of membranous
/nerve/ connected to a brain whose only function is to /feel PAIN/ while a
/flame-thrower/ is placed against that wall of membrane LEST a breeze of a
temperature even SLIGHTLY uncomfortable for the King exist *anywhere* on the
planet, Steel Pellet, *pee not the King's ass*, who can use /Ymir the Hoar-
Frost Giant/ as an /icecube/ in his /Nestea/, "BOB", the question isn't *what*
they are but *how* and *why* is DOCTORS FOR "BOB"? WHY did over 40 people
"become", uninvited, "Doktors for "Bob" " at each Convention? Was it because
`doktor' is a generic term for anyone who plays joyously that instrument which
he *cannot* play? If so, they are Doktors *from* "Bob" and *of* "Bob" but the
fact is, Doctors FOR "Bob" is really some kind of bodiless entity, some kind
of nameless FORCE that's beyond any of us... you could only ask *IT*, the Drs.
for "Bob" *Force*, what it is; you can't ask Janor or Sterno or Drelloid or
Snavely or Bill or Ringo or the others, because they have nothing to do with
the transmissions that are received through their vocal cords; Even the Bullet
knows not, even the King knows not. We call to thee, O Bullet, to give a two
hour speech to thineself in midair!O Steel-Clad Friend, strike US that /we
never again speak/ of the unlabeled capsules with which Pastor Naked pelts the
crowd; O pointy-headed, O Speedy Pal, o Virtuous Dum-Dum of my bosom, O Flying
Penis, O Fertilizer and Ventilator of Great Men, O Great ER-Ridden, Wind-
Riding *Steedless Flyer* whose preordained trajectory we pray to change
*anyway*, O Brainless Warrior, O Farmer of Kings' Blood, O Driller of Flesh, O
/Slug/, if ye choppeth down the King in the middle of the State Fairgrounds
and only Helen Keller is there to hear it, *was* there a Doctors for "Bob"
concert? O Happy, Impudent, Lead-Wearing Nudist, O Barer of the Brains of
Presidents, O Manual Do-It-Yourself Exploratory Brain Surgeon, O Journeyman
into Thinking Organs, O Dauntless Projectile of Odin's Wrath, hear my plea,
that I might not discuss the Media Barrage tapes sold by the SubGenius
Foundation, and inspired/co-created with Puzzling Evidence and others, for the
spectatcularity thereof would only be sullied by any attempt to reproduce them
on paper; O He most smited upon by the gods though Clothed in Blood upon
Exiting the Heads of Presidents and Monarchs, O Ye Deity of Lead, O Ye Slug of
the Elder Gods which shatters the wrists of state governors, O whistling Pied
Piper, O Fluting *Pan* of Lead, /sing not thy song/ unto the King but
/instead/ unto Doctors for "Bob" that we not inadvertently taint the glory of
the over 80 songs about "Bob" and the other Space Bosses which exist on those
Media Barrage Tapes; O Robin Hood of 44-Magnums, let we poor Doctors be the
"Rich" ye rob of tissue and the King be the beggar ye award mercy, that the
reader realize the incomparability of the Tapes and Songs and the Divine
Wellmanization thereof EXCEPT to this very excuse not to compare them to
anything; O Spinning Missile Whose Kiss Is trampled in the 10-watt light of
our Quills; O /Innocent/ Bullet, O /Guilty/ Bullet, which art thou? How can we
presume to judge? We stand to receive thee, we who are of but flesh and
understand not the way of the /Lead-Clad Ones,/ we of the inferior Flesh-
Encladded Clan, we are but *gasses* to thee, ye pass through us as we pass
through the stale vapours of fat Texans which befoul the air through which
will stride the Emperor of Odin-Land! Once can speak of "Bob", one can speak
of Slack, of The Conspiracy, for any fool *knows* they are beyond words, but
to even BEGIN to lower /the Living Church/ to /description/ would be to tempt
the reader to think he *understood* it without "seeing" it; this would be
FOLLY! "Bob" knew that to describe the Living Church would take 10,000 volumes
to be presented in truthful incoherency, to do less would be to invite the end
of all life on Earth, so we were *shown* the way, we were taught by default
that the Bullet, because it has no sex, is the Perfect Teacher. We were meant
to sidestep the issue until we realized the issue could ONLY be presented
*through* sidestepping, and THAT is the Way of the "Bob", or KILL US and HIM:
four guns surround the head of "Bob", they fire and the head implodes and the
four executioners are also killed simultaneously deep inside that cave-tomb;
the deaf-monk outside, *who must not hear the shots*, simply /"knows"/ somehow
that the deed is done, and he gravely rolls the great stone over the cave
entrance and seals it forever: ANYTHING to avoid /explaining/, ANYTHING, even
/killing "Bob",/ for after all is not "Bob" the gun anyway and YOU the Bullet,
slamming into ANYTHING at 186,000 inches per second, EVEN "Bob's" head, in
order to sanctify the fact that the Bullet IS the One God who cannot be
questioned *more than once*, /the Gun is the One World Religion/...
*Perchance*, Mighty Sir Bullet, I might make a suitable *Target* that I might
not have to defile the reality of the Church's living members? Perhaps my
humble flesh might make an acceptable *umbrella* for thy Rain of Lead? It's
the only logical way, it makes PERFECT sense, it's the only possible correct
substitute for explaining the unbelievably important but compex /Time
Intersection/ which this Book is too short to do, /YES!/ It is inescapable, it
was all *meant* to happen, fate decreed every step, every iota of activity by
all SubGeniuses has led to THIS MOMENT YOU ARE READING, and /NOW/ - /*YOU MUST
DIE*/. Well, no, just kidding. But it was a lesson: when we quit seeking the
answer we found it; we have reached the Buddha Nature, we have Achieved The
Form, reality was inverted, we all became Bullets, /HOW CAN YOU BE READING
THIS???/ It erases all you have read in this Book so far, WAIT A MINUTE, /MY
GOD, WE'VE BEEN FOOLS?/ It *wasn't* "Bob" that was the One True Lord, NO! /It
was the Bullet!/ No, wait, that's not right... it was the /Head, YES, THE
HEAD!/ - no that can't be right. /"BOB", "BOB", TAKE MY MIND!!!/ Ah yes,
that's better, "Bob", you speak with TOTAL AUTHORITY, we will again follow you
nywhere, unquestioningly, for /YE/ are the Bullet, O "Bob", ye ultimate /lead
sexual organ/, *raoe* not thy Sister the Hem of the King's Robe, tarnish not
her virginity, instead force *us* to write the chapter by night *without our
own knowledge*, /IT WRITES US/, WE OURSELVES are sent spinning towards the
head of the King... whether we shall splatter it or not we shall find out in
the NEXT Book, it all builds to a horrendous knowledge of everything at once,
which equals nothing, which penetrates, slowly yet instantly, the skin of the
forehead, then cracks through the skull, drilling, then starts to spin as it
swims through the brain mush... YES, "Bob" is God's way of "coming", and the
real DOCTORS FOR "BOB" and all the other doktors and saints and popes and
ministers and even schizmites are the Seed which Spreads the Plasmate of
Information of Freedom, because the Doctors killed "Bob" *first*, and they saw
as very few do that "Bob's" grin, while innocent-looking, /also implies a
hellish ultimate horror;/ it's the insane yet *knowledgeable* grin not unlike
that of a /skull/: WHY DO THEY GRIN LIKE THAT? *Do they know something we
don't?* Are they making up for lost time? Is it someone's sick idea of a JOKE?
Perhaps it is all of these, but it *definitely is* the Doorway to the perfect
Money-Making Formula, the one-image equation for eternal /Slack/, but more
important than even *that*, do you know where I could get me some of them
ANSW
    -ERS?