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Yael R.

Dragwyla First North American rights

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The Book of the OUTlaw

[technically called
(AKA Liber “AL,” or sometimes “FRED”*)
Sub Figura
(Cross-referenced in the Library of Congress as
As delivered by
A ⊆ {A}

An ixii Sol in Pisces February 20,

Aries April 1, et Scorpio October 31, 1980 o.o.

by the Very Left Reverend Doktor Magistra Batrix, 8® = 3™,

Το Μικρον Θειον \cw ]xh
the Infra-Red Woman of the Church of the SubGenius,
Pope of a Great Deal of Broadview District of Seattle
and the Wrong Half of the 3900 Block of Aurora Avenue North

*There is no truth to the rumor that this book was originally titled “Das Slack.”

The Book of the OUTlaw

By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 1 of 32
To all Dobbs’ children . . .
as the world burns.

“And if you believe this, have I got a bridge for you!”

– Dobbs, or somebody

The Book of the OUTlaw

By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 2 of 32


1. This book was dictated in Ano Vista, California, between noon and 1 p.m. on three otherwise
unrelated days, February 29th, April 1st, and October 31st in the year 1980 (errata vulgaris).
The Author called himself Nuumaan, and claimed to be “the minister of Jehovah-One”; that is, a
messenger from the Hideous Forces ruling this earth at present, as will be explained later on.
How could he prove that he was in fact a being of a kind superior to any of the human race, and so
entitled to speak with authority?
– He couldn’t. He isn’t.
– Therefore he had to Fake It by using Underhandedness and Chutzpah such as no man has ever been
known to possess.
– This he did by proper application of Savvy, Guts, and a tired old Ouija Board he had lying around
in the attic from another Project of some years previous.

2. He showed his Divine Foxiness chiefly by the use of cipher – that’s “code,” for all you illiterates 1
–in certain passages to cover up the fact that quite often he didn’t know what the fuck he was talking
about, including mentions of certain events that were probably fictitious, creations of certain Spirits of
the Grain which may or may not have been his familiars, but which on the other hand could maybe have
happened, probably somewhere south of Cucamonga, California, or maybe will happen someday –
anyway, nobody but he could have known about them at the time; thus the proof of his claim, which is
about 80, exists in the manuscript itself. It is independent of any human witness – at least, anybody with
sufficient wits to plead the Fifth . . . or, at least, to avoid pleading the Fifth a few too many times for
The study of these pages necessarily demands supreme superhuman scholarship to interpret – it
needs years of intense application, and anyway, it’s a nay-nay in the first place, forbidden by all the laws
of God, man, and fourteen counties in Oklahoma. A great deal still has to be worked out, as the
constipated mathematician said as he reached for his slide-rule and the KY jelly. But enough has been
discovered to confuse the issue even more thoroughly than it already was to begin with; even the densest
twitterbrain should have enough sense to give the whole thing up as a bad job and have NOTHING.
This matter is best studied under the Slack-Master Dobbs, whose years of arduous research led him
to a most productive befuddlement.
On the other hand, the language of the Book is wonderfully labyrinthine, occult, and precious. No
one can read it without a frightful urge to ralph his or her guts up.

3. The more than human Chutzpah of Nuumaan is shown by the influence of his Master, and of the
Book, upon actual events: history has little more than a nodding acquaintance with his claim. These
facts are appreciable by all, but most choose not to care; still, the few stupid enough to retain an interest
in the subject can, for the investment of a mere $3,500 or so (the E-meter is optional and costs extra), can
learn the tremendous Secrets of this Book, which include how to get rid of bad breath, cure baldness, get
laid regularly, and get paid for doing Nothing with the aid of the Slack-Master Dobbs. (Checks payable
to SubGenius University Extension, University of SubGenius, Dobbstown, Sarawak Province, Malaysia.)
4. The full, detailed accounts of the events leading up to the dictation of this Book, with facsimile
reproduction of the Manuscript and an essay by the Master Dobbs, is published in The Book of the
SubGenius ($15 or whatever it is now in the science-fiction section of your local bookstores).


This Book explains the Universe.

The elements are Nunu – Slack – that is, the total of possibilities of every kind – and Jehovah-One,
any point which has experience of these possibilities. (This idea is for literary convenience symbolized
by the proto-Babalonian Goddess Nunu standing around like an over-inflated sex-toy with a beehive
where Her head ought to be, doing absolutely nothing, and looking unbearably smug about it, not to
mention looking as if She badly needed a good weight-loss program or a good 3 endocrinologist. Jehovah-
The Book of the OUTlaw
By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 3 of 32
One is symbolized as a nasty old man doing something to Nunu He ought not to be doing, at least not on
prime-time commercial television!)
Every event is a uniting of some one monad with one of the experiences possible to it, which is not,
however, a description of whatever it was that will get your insurance company to cough up.

*See also “Life” and “Everything,” cf. pp. 271828-314519.

“Every man and every woman is a star,” as one famous Hollywood studio once proclaimed – an
aggregate of such experiences, constantly changing with each fresh event, which affects him or her
consciously or unconsciously. All except my Aunt Mabel, who hasn’t changed a hair in twenty years,
and isn’t likely to in the foreseeable future, damn her; the old bitch is certain to outlive all of us!4
Each one of us has thus an universe of his own, if it be only a tract home like all its neighbors in a
tacky little housing development outside of Oakland; but it is the same universe for each one as soon as
it includes all possible experience, and that cheap bit of pseudo-profundity and 69¢5 (plus tax) will get
you a cup of coffee at the local fast-food joint.
In our present stage, the object that you see is never the same as the one that I see; we infer that it is
the same because to do otherwise is to risk offending the Status Quo and getting hauled off in a lovely
jacket that ties in back to the local Silly Spa. For instance, if a friend is walking between us, you see
only his left side, I his right, which is a little weird when you stop to consider that you are walking on his
right side, I on his left. But we agree that it is the same man, in spite of his strong, catastrophic tendency
to personality dissociation. This conclusion of identity grows stronger as we see him more often and get
to know him better, and see that no matter which of his personalities is to the fore, all of them pick his
nose in public. Yet all the time neither of us is really sure just what’s going on with him, or anything
else, for that matter.
The above is an extremely crude attempt to dodge the question, or maybe just keep you guessing
exactly which shell the pea is under.


This Book lays down a simple Code of Conduct**: 6

“Do whatever gives thee more Slack shall be the whole of the Law.”
“Slack is the law, Slack and more Slack.”
“There is no law beyond Grab all the Slack you can.”

*”SubGenius” is the Yetian for “Won’t!” and has the same numerological value as “Slaackk,” the Yetian
for “‘frop.” Now, do you know any more / Than you did before? / Those who don’t know the Skor /
Will be shown the Door.
**Dress-code optional.

This means that each of us Super-stars is to move in our true orbit, even when traffic laws indicate
otherwise, except to avoid getting run over by a truck or some other unSlackful experience. All events
are equally Slackful 7 – and every one necessary, in the long run – for all of us, in theory; but in practice,
only one act is Slackful for each one of us at any given moment. Therefore Duty consists in determining
to experience the Slackful event from one moment of consciousness to another.
Each action or motion is an act of Slack, the uniting with one or another part of “Nunu”; each such
act must be “under Slack,” chosen so as to fulfill and not to thwart the true nature of the being concerned.
The technical methods of achieving this are to be studied in “SubGenius,” or acquired by personal
instruction from the Slack-Master, J. R. “Bob” Dobbs, and his Chosen Ones at Dobbstown, Malaysia.
Confused? You should be.


The Book of the OUTlaw

By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 4 of 32
The third chapter of this Book is difficult to understand. The second is damned near
incomprehensible, and the first is totally demented. For this reason, the whole thing is liable to be
dismissed out of hand as worthless by most people born before the date of the book (well, anyway, a
hefty chunk of 1980, take your pick). Also, by most born during or after that date. And rightly so.
The third chapter tells us the characteristics of the Period on which we are now entered, which is
probably Early Middle Condominium, if not Late Early Warhol, unless Nunu is going through
menopause, in which case we all will go directly to our respective Valhalla, we will not pass Go, we will
not collect $200. Superficially this New Aeon appears appalling, but then, what did you expect? We see
some of its characteristics already with terrifying clarity, which, however, a good shot of whatever we all
drank so damned much of last night ought to fix us up right away, and while you’re at it, would you
please pass the aspirin? But fear not!
The third chapter explains that certain “vast Stars,” probably Gleason, but just possibly Divine,
thought definitely not Arbuckle, 8 which can also be understood as “aggregates of experience” (you
wouldn’t believe what ghost-writers get paid for setting down some o’ them “experiences” on behalf of
those over-salaried, swell-headed, top-billing showbiz types!), may be described as Central Relatively
Short-Duration Saviors, or CenRelShorDurSavs (i.e., as Gods). If you don’t think so, just ask, oh, say,
Madonna or Michael Jackson or like that – they’ll tell you so, themselves, any day!). One of these
CenRelShorDurSavs is in charge of the destinies of this planet for periods of about eleventy Ghidrillion
nanoseconds each, which explains why everything generally is so fucked up. In the history of the world,
as far as we know with any accuracy, there are three such CenRelShorDurSavs.
The first is Nunu, Yo’ Mama (and everyone else’s!), a real Muthuh, an incredibly ancient fertility
CenRelShorDurSavess, Who ruled when the Universe was conceived of as simple nourishment drawn
directly from Her; this period is marked by matriarchal government, a lot of orgies, and a taste for booze
(as one anthropologist rather pithily put it: “Beer, Mama, and the radio”).
Next, beginning sometime last Wednesday, or maybe it was several weeks ago, anyway, we have
Jehovah-One, the Fathuh, A. K. A. “Wotan,” “Ra,” “The Old Man,” etc. During His reign the Universe
was imagined as catastrophic in nature; love, death, and resurrection as the methods by which experience
was built up; and patriarchy as the “proper” form of government. This epoch was also characterized by
a taste for booze and the establishment of the IRS as co-evil with Death and the God of the Beard.
Now, G’Broag’fran, the Child, in which we come to perceive events as a continual growth process
partaking in its elements of both the foregoing ingredients plus a soupcon of Radical Bozoism, and not to
be overcome by circumstances, tenure, or even Aunt Lena and her always handy, heavily and deftly
applied grey umbrella, probably due to too much LSD and too little laetrile. This present period involves
the recognition of the individual as a romantic fiction invented by antibathetic latter-day Randroids and
designed primarily to give the Social Darwinists a good excuse for cozying up with the Radical Neo-
Bakuninists and the Muthuhs Against Damned Near Everything 9; only they ought to be careful what they
pay for: they may get it! In the neck. 10
We realize ourselves as explained in the first paragraphs of this essay . . . now, where did I put that
page?! – Oh, yes, here we go. Anyway, every event, including death, and even sea-sickness, is only one
more accretion to our experience, as dog-shit attacheth to thine shoe early of a morning in the city if thee
be unwise enough to walketh to work therein, freely willed by ourselves from the beginning, and loudly
regretted from somewhere about the middle on, and therefore a royal con-job by somebody.
This “CenRelShorDurSav,” G’Broag’fran, has a technical title: Ta-Ra-Ra-Buumdiiayyy, a
combination of twin RelShorDurSavs, Ra-Hoor-Hawwss and Jaackk-Paarr-Kptui. The meaning of this
doctrine must be studied in “SubGenius.” (He is symbolized as a Bird-Brained God Flat on His Ass.)
He rules the present period of about two googolzillion gigaparsecs, beginning in 1980. Everywhere
His government is taking root . . . stem, branch, and your gold watch. Observe for yourselves the decay
of the sense of moral turpitude, the growth of innocuousness and ingenuity, the strange modification of
the arithmetic instinct producing a tendency to divide and conquer, the childlike confidence in Murphy’s
Law combined with nightmare fear of an audit by the IRS, about which we really couldn’t care less.
Consider the outcrop of dictatorships, possible only where moral growth is not immediately
countered by radiocobalt treatments and ozone therapy, and the prevalence of infantile cults such as
Collectivism, Radical Libertarianism, Randism, Pacifism, Ramboism, Bozoism, Scientology, the Mental
Hygiene Movement, Transactional Analysis, T. M., Sun-Worship, the Nautilus Thing, the Thompson
Seedless Grape and the Negative Calories Bacon-and-Banana Diets, the Mini-Skirt, the Hula Hoop, the
Howdy-Doody Fan Club, Trekkies, the Madonna Look, Occultism in nearly all its forms including crash-
courses for M.D.s aspiring to learn how to write absolutely illegible prescriptions that can only be

The Book of the OUTlaw

By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 5 of 32
deciphered by a trained pharmacist, religions sentimentalized to the point of a billion-dollar-a-year
business for greeting-card companies.
Consider the popularity of the Boob-Tube, the video-cassette, Lotto, Wednesday-night church Bingo
games and illegal Parcheesi-pools, the Saturday-night Neighborhood Knife and Gun Moving Target
Competition festivals, marathon two-week Double Canfield Solitaire tournaments, CNN News, and the
Annual Betty Crocker Bake-Off Booby-Prize Award Ceremonies, all devices for soothing bratty children,
no seed of purpose in them save to gross billions for monolithic and “private” entertainment and
gambling industries.
Consider “sport,” the puerile enthusiasms and tantrums which it excites, the masochistic appeal of
broken bones and concussed brains and squashed pancreases and badly sprained reputations that leads
supposedly grown men and the rare warped females into destroying one another in carefully orchestrated
tourneys to feed the bottomless appetite for gore of millions of screaming, bloodthirsty idiots who shell
out their last pazoolas to watch such insanity, whole nations rioting over a fucking cricket match!
Consider war. – On second, though, don’t. I don’t need to have a bunch of you doing the
Technicolor yawn all over my rug.11
We are children.
Isn’t it fucking well time we all grew up?!
How this new Aeon of G’Broag’fran 12 will develop, how the Child will mature – indeed, if it will
love long enough to mature, given the nice glow-in-the-dark nursery toys, microbiological petting-zoos,
and interesting chemical sweetmeats it has such a penchant for! – these are for us to determine, growing
up ourselves in the way of the Law of Slack under the enlightened 13 guidance of the Master Dobbs.


Democracy dribbles.
Furshlugginner Fascism, carbuncled Communism, simplistic Scientology, equally frauds, dance
deliriously all over the globe. God help us all if they ever decided to take up Break-Dancing!
They are fencing us in on the Lone Prairie.
They are abortive births of the Child, the New Aeon of G’Broag’fran.
Liberty stirs once more in the Womb of Time. Time throws up a lot in the morning, is putting panels
in her dresses, and has to wear flat shoes. Ever seen a digital clock get this irresistible, wild craving for
pickles and pistachio ice-cream on toast?!
Evolution makes its changes by anti-social means . . . mostly by throwing tantrums, stealing
hubcaps, picking its nose, and generally behaving like a boor. The “abnormal” man who foresees the
trend of the times and adapts intelligently to circumstances . . . just doesn’t understand the situation.
Man, does Murphy have a surprise for him!
Above us today hangs a danger so far unparalleled in history. We suppress the individual in more
and more ways. We think in terms of the herd. – Little do we know how the herd thinks of us – except
maybe for St. Larson. War no longer kills soldiers; it kills all – indiscriminately . . . except with respect
to those planning decisions at the Highest Levels geared to maximizing the Neilson Ratings for The Six
O’clock News. Every new measure of the most Libertoonian governments is Obfuscunistic – in essence –
and the name of that essence is “The public be damned.” It is always restriction. We are all treated as
imbecile children. Price supports, featherbedding, traffic laws, drug criminalization – they don’t even
trust us to cross the street by ourselves. Which prompts one to ask, “So what? Why are we letting them
restrict us?!” (And the wind answereth, “Duuhh!”)
The Left is just like the Right, except when it is Wrong, which is usually, only it lies a lot more,
which is going some. The dictators and media mavins suppress all art, literature, theatre, music, news
that does not meet their requirements – and delude us all into believing we still have free speech and a
free press into the bargain. Yet the world, which seems to lie before us like a land of dreams, so various,
so beautiful, so new, hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for
pain; and the bozos will be vaporized, yea, in an instant, smashed to plasma in one giant, homogeneous,
struggling clot of single-minded imbecility having but one thought: BUY! It was genius, indeed, that was
able somehow to shoehorn that one thought into that pin-point collective zombie “mentality,” no matter
how many Godzillion gallons of K-Y jelly it had to help!
The establishment of the Law of SubGenius is the only way to preserve individual Slack and assure
the future of the Race . . . the Rat, or possibly the Harness, we’re not sure which.
In the words of the famous paradox of Le Comte du Stang: “The absolute rule of the Church shall be
a function of the absolute Slack of each individual.”

The Book of the OUTlaw

By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 6 of 32
All men and women and faggots and creeps and dorks and jerk-offs and weirdos and freaks and
things, of whatever ethnic background, even E.T.s, I don’t care, are invited to cooperate with the Master
Dobbs in this, the Great work.

– Magistra Batrix, 8® = 3™ for

[Facsimile of signature of the Master here]

J. R. “Bob” Dobbs

The Book of the OUTlaw

By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 7 of 32
Notes and Commentaries on Introduction

1. The rest of you can look it up when you get home.

2. EVER.

3. “Redundancy,” my ass – you just don’t know good obfuscatory esoteric prose when you see it!

4. And, what’s more, probably will.

5. 1980 – a very good year . . .

6. Charges like hell for it, though. And I’d wear a Trojan, if I were you.

7. See Cliff’s Notes for George Orwell’s Animal Farm. On the other hand, you can always rent a
videocassette of Animal House for $1.69 at Crazy Eddie’s.

8. Though we cannot rule out Hardy.

9. Or at least busywork.

10. And now, let us prey.

11. Cf. obscure reference to the mythological character “Ralff,” who was always begging for a
message on something called a “poopaphone” while engaged at his chosen profession, which consisted of
driving a bus made out of some sort of ceramic material. (Or was that the equally numinous “E. T.,” who
was forever being admonished to “get stuffed”?)


When asbestos dust

Has filled the entire house
And Mercury
Permeates the tuna,
Then venality
Will guide politics,
And Pluto
Will laugh his coffins off! Oh . . .
It is the dawning of the
Age of G’Broag’fran,
The Age of G’Broag’fran,
G’Broag’fran . . .

13. About 40 megatons worth.

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By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 8 of 32

S∴G∴in Class “B∴O∴B”

[Image of flying pocket-watch transfixed by dagger]

[Image of Dobbshead-in-Triangle of the Church of the SubGenius]

The Book of the OUTlaw

By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 9 of 32
Chapter I: The Book of Nunu

1. Hunh! The Manifestation of Nunu.

2. The disrobing of the company of the Beforelife.

3. Every man and every woman and every weasel and every turtle and every skink and every
crabapple and ever amoeba is a star, particularly in Hollywood.

4. Every number is infinite, or at least it seems that way when you look over the current political
administration’s proposed budget for the coming fiscal year.

5. Help Me, o warrior lord of Los Angeles, in My strip-tease for the somewhat retarded Children of

6. Be thou Wotan, My secret center, My heart & my Tongue (and occasionally My Sweetbreads,
not to mention also My Liver and My Lights)!

7. Behold! It is revealed by Nuumaan the minister of Jaackk-Paarr-Kptui.

8. The Doktor-Band is in the Garage, not the Garage in the Band!

9. Worship then the Doktors, and behold My Noise shall comfort you (or at least make you too
deaf to be bothered by cacophony again)!

10. Let My Doktors be few & secret: they shall rule the many and the known. They shan’t
necessarily get rich that way, though.

11. These are fools that men adore; both their CenRelShorDurSavs & their men are fools. I told
them they should have married real Doktors!

12. Come forth, o children, under the stars, & take your fill of Slack!

13. I am above you and in you – and sometimes before you and below you and beside you and the
other day I was behind you, and you had such a rip in your collar, did you know that? My ecstasy is
yours, My joy is to see your joy. Go on. Go on to your orgy. Forget your old Mother at home, with
nobody to watch after Her, while you wallow in your pleasures. Don’t worry about Me, I’ll be just fine.
I have My heart-medicine, the phone in case I should need to call the paramedics – see? I’m fine. Now
go on your date. Enjoy! You don’t want I should be unhappy, do you?

Below, the zirconned lemon was
The overdressed eyesore of Nunu;
She rose in nausea to fuss
At the pubic shyness of Jehu.
The befinned cube, the cloudy rust,
Are yours, O Ra-Hoor-Hawwss!

15. Now ye shall know that the chosen priest and apostle of Infinite Slack is the prince-priest the
“Bob”; and in his woman called the Infra-Red Woman is all power given. They shall gather My children
into their field; they shall bring the glory of the Super-stars into the hearts of Yetinsyny.

16. For he is ever a sun, and she a moon, and I talk to the walls. To him is the light of ten thousand
suns, and to her the blazing supernovae.

17. But ye are not so chosen, ye finks!

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By Yael R. Dragwyla
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18. Smolder over their eyebrows, o arrogant asp!

19. O red-ochered woman, envelop them!

20. They Key of the rituals is the secret word which I have given h- – or did I? Now where the fuck
is that thing, anyway?! It was here just a minute ago, I swear it . . . Hey, honey, did you see where I left
My Keys? – Be right back, folks . . .

21. With the ShorDurPerSav and the Bobby I am nothing: they do not see Me – let alone anything a
little juicier. They are as among the Conspiracy; I am the Beforelife, and there is no other Central Short
Duration Savix before Me, and My Lord Jehovah-One is behind Me, doing you wouldn’t believe what
very naughty things to Me!

22. Now, therefore, I am known to ye by My Name Nunu, and to him by a secret Name which I will
give him when at last he doeth nay-nays with Me, and for which I will giveth him a good course of
therapeutic acubeating if he ever says it in public. Since I am Infinite Slack (except where it’s supposed
to be tight), and the Infinite Nental Ifes thereof, do ye thus! Grind Nothing, and add two Critical Masses
– bake at 4.5º x 105 C; serve with a pinch parsley. Let there be made no difference among you between
any one thing and any other; for thereby cometh hurt, and a city in radiant vapors and black ash.

23. But whoso availeth in this, let him be Commander-in-Chief, and a quandary to the historians!

24. I am Nunu, and My word is Two and Ten and One Hundred, but you can call Me “Six and Fifty”
if you want, handsome!

25. Subtract, multiply, exponentiate, logical complement, nand, and exclusive or, and become
totally confused.

26. Thus saith the profit and slave of the beauteous one: “Why me? And prove it, bitch!” So she
answered him, bending down, an eye-searing burst of Cherenkov glow, all-touching, all-penetrant, better
get your rad-badges checked, her dishpan-hands upon the scorched earth, and her opulent, pregnancy-
swollen body reader for the first taker, and her little feet smashing the tulips flat in all directions: “Fuck
you! And the proof is the pudding, baby, ain’t it always, everywhere?”

27. Then the priest answered & said unto the Queen of Slack, kissing Her in a place we can’t
mention here, where just anybody could read it, and the fallout of Her radiance bathing his whole body in
a fog smelling of ozone: O Nunu, Continuous One of the Beforelife, let it be even thus, that men speak
not of Thee as Thirteen, but as One-and-Sixty; and let them speak not of Thee at all, lest they get their
dirty mouths washed out with soap!

28. One-and-Sixty, breathed the blackness, limp-wristed and fagelleh, of the cast, and Ten.

29. Out of the First War comes the best Piece.

30. Thus goeth the world around: the Wound that Healeth Not Ever Hungereth for the Sword, and
all seek immortality in the Death That Dare Not Speak Its Name.

31. With these Pinks and their analytic transactions have nothing to do! When they are not dead,
they are moribund. I choose only those who choose life!

32. Follow My Slack-Master in all things – being always sure to ask, “Dobbsie, may I?” first!
wallow in Sex-Hurt! indulge all your appetites until satisfied! keep plenty Pepto-Bismol around! have
no other Goddesses before Me! Then bliss shall be your reward eternal, and also I give Green Stamps.
Do all this, and I swear by the Nine Million Golds and Two Trillion Pores of My Sacred Labia, by My
Aforementioned Liver and Lights, even by everything I have, by everything you have! – Just what I’m
swearing to, we haven’t quite worked out the details of, yet, just hold on here a minute . . .

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By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 11 of 32
33. Then the priest passed out and began trance-spouting unto the Queen of the Beforelife: Write
out the ordeals; write out for us the rituals; write out for us the law!

34. But She said: Do it yourself, asshole. – But if you must know, Bhubie, the ordeals you play by
ear; the rituals are in the nearest public library, if you’ll just open your stupid eyes; the Law is for all.

35. This, in case you don’t know it, Mr. Know-It-All, this thing you’ve been scribbling away at for
the past 40 minutes, turkey, this is the threefold book of Law: one for My Lord, one for My Dame, one
for the Little Boy Who Lives Down the Lane.

36. My Scribe, Meisterdieb Pferde, the Saint of Sales, shall not in one letter or even a quick memo
change this book; the punctuation he can do with as he damn pleaseth. But to avoid even more
confusion than this thing is going to cause, anyway, I want he should make an extensive analysis thereof
according to the wisdom of Ra-Hoor-Hawwss, even unto Its First Priestette, Polly Adler.

37. Also, the mantras and the spells; the obeah and the wanga; the boogie and the woogie; the
huggah and the buggah; the hoo and the hah; the rock and the roll; the work of the nitty and the work of
the gritty; these he shall get down and boogie to, yea and verily, and seduce even the innocent into doing
the same.

38. If he knows what’s good for him, he will damn well entice them thus; but he doesn’t have to
make it easy for the little bastards!

39. The word of the Law is Σλακ.

40. Who calls us $lack-Freaks is right on: check out the word. For there are therein Three Grades:
Solitary Vice, Mutual Vice, and Terminal Satyriasis. Seek Slack, nothing else is asked of you.

41. The love of Anti-Slack iseth the Rooteth of All Evil! O man! If your wife be Horny, give her
Some, or beliketh the neighbor will. But when it’s time to put on your pants and go home, heed it well.
Sex ain’t nothin’ but Love misspelled: all else is Assault with Intent, and of Nhee-Ghee. Yacatisma!
Yacatisma unto the Aeons! Anti-Slack.

42. Let it be that Conspiracy nausea unto thee. So it is with thee: that which is not Slackful is
strictly forbidden.

43. Thy right to Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Slack is inalienable; only an horse’s ass would
argue otherwise.

44. For pure, unalloyed, ungirdled Slack is every way Yacatizma.

45. Yacatizma and Yacatizma are one Yacatizma, not Yacatisma; nay-nay, are Affathaughth!

46. Nosallack is a secret key of this law. Two hundred seventy and six the Arabs call it; I call it the
Charioteer and the Tower, the World, the Flake, and the Superhero. But then, I’m weird. (On the other
hand, check out the Ayatollah Khomeini.)

47. The Arabs are half-safe; get Left-Guard, and crush out the opposition!

48. My Slack-Master is a fool for Slack; is this not the Mark of an Ass, and No Slack by the Book?

49. All rituals, words, and signs are Void Where Prohibited by Law. Ra-Hoor-Hawwss took over
the House of the Rising Sun at the Dawn of the ShorDurPerSavs; and let Kal-El be with Clark, who are
also one. But they are not of Me. Let Kal-El be the adorant, Clark the Sufferer; Supe in his secret name
and splendor is the Fightin’ Jesus.

50. There is a Word to say about being a group-leader; and be sure you wash out your mouth with
Doktor Bronner’s Best after saying it! Now pay attention: you get three for the price of one, with a

The Book of the OUTlaw

By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 12 of 32
choice of three different, attractive packages! There are firemen, lawyers, and astronauts, and each one
thinks he’s the only one up here! What rocks?

51. There are four doors into Ceasar’s Palace; it is filled with much silver and gold – and even more
paper, the worth of which far exceeds the metals; diamonds are a girl’s best friend, but rice is nice, too;
the upstairs rooms are available for a price to Whomever is in the Mood. Welcome to the house! Enter
freely and of your own Will! Come freely! Go safely, and leave something of the happiness you bring!
Ra! Ra! Ra! Sis! Boom! Bah! Yaaaaaay GOD! Enter wherever you Will, but standing room on the
floor only, as the ceilings are occupied entirely by prices. Will he not sink? Hunh! Only in the Kitchen.
He say, Hunh! Sailor, if thy Pink sink? But there are means and means, means and ends, and ways and
means, and means and lices, but never mices. If you got it, flaunt it: really put on the God; pig out at
the snack bar, and try the port and the champagne and the Boone farm and the Mad Dog and maybe a
little Alka Seltzer, you’ll need it. And if it feels good Do your Thing with whomever’s Willing! – But
remember, baby, the House always collects . . .

52. Just don’t fuck it up! Space out and forget Who is footing the Bills, and Big Ra will waste your

53. All the world loves a lover! And you, o Slack-Master, Royal S. O. B. though thou Beest, you’ll
never get away with it! On the other hand, Slack shall be thine, always – as long as you don’t forget Me
on Muthuh’s Day . . .

54. After you write all this down, run over like a nice boy to Archives and have them xerox it. – Oh,
and get a copy or two on microfiche. Handwriting analysts will have a ball figuring out what you were
high on when you wrote all this shit down, long after you and all your stupid friends are worm-food!

55. One of your own shit-for-brains bastards will figure out what all this nonsense means.

56. He won’t come from any place in the Northern Hemisphere, and you can forget about having a
lookout posted for him in the Augustan Society. And he won’t be the brat of any of your professional
fancy ladies, either. – On the other hand, I could be lying through my teeth about this. Censorship is a
nay-nay; be perfectly democratic in your iconoclasm. But while all trance-spouters each have a piece of
the action, in every case it’s only a little piece. You can have “E,” but leave “mc” strictly alone. Even
the Dark Side of the Force uses a 200-watt bulb.

57. The best praying is done horizontally, preferably with the aid of one of My Saints. Stay away
from the Bobbies; let them make it with their own kind –you stick with the Good Stuff! It is not
necessarily better to marry than to burn. Take your pick. He, my Slack-Master, hath picked, both his
friends and his nose, being sure not to eat his friends, except those of the female persuasion.
You got the tune, baby, but you don’t quite got the rhythm: if you voted for Ronnie, you missed it.
And when My Slack-Master sobers up, maybe he can explain that last one – Jehovah-One knows, I can’t!


Give Me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to Me:
I lift My lamp beside the Golden Door.

59. Smoke ‘frap, not people! Napalm doesn’t cut it with Me. All you need is love.

60. He say, Yea-yea, who be of me! Be a good boy and Mama will give you a Gold Star with a red
center. Open your Third Nostril and you’ll see Me; I’m the third one from the left, the Lady with the X-
ray-and-VHF carnation in Her hair. Also, if you’re nice to Me, I’ll show you Something you’ll really
like later on, after the Party . . .

The Book of the OUTlaw

By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 13 of 32
61. Dream a little wet-dream of Me, and you’ll never settle for second-best again. Kiss me, you
Fool! – Congratulations! You’ve just been screwed by Grandma! Anything you want, you can have, but
he who dances to My tune pays the Piper. Come up and see me sometime, big boy! I’ll be your Private
Dancer, do any dance you want Me to, any time. I got brand-new roller-skates for your brand-new Key!

62. Remember: Goddess has a very big heart, but there is one Sin She will not forgive: when a
woman calls you to her bed, and you will not go! To do so is to put Me down – and baby, I got a
looooooong memory, and Muscle that won’t quit!

63. Bay at the Moon! Dump Brüt over your head, put a zircon in your belly-button, get high on
‘frap and drink on your ass with Me – you’re beautiful, Sweetbuns!


Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at your sea-washed, sunset gates I stand,
A Mighty Woman with a Torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned Lightning, and My Name
Mother of Exiles. From My beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome, Mine eyes command
Whatever the fuck I want.

65. Y’all cum!

66. I’m going to put on My Pants and go home, I am.

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By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 14 of 32
Chapter 2: The Book of Jehovah-One

1. Nay-nay! The Watergate of Jehovah-One!

2. Get your rocks off in one juicy squirt. I, Jehovah-One, am the complement of Nunu, My bride.
I can eat no fat, and She can eat no lean, and We’re members in good standing of Doktors for Wotan.

3. Aquinas had it right, but you’re surrounded: there’s a whole two of Us out here!

4. I’m impregnable and She’s knocked up a lot.

5. I’m introducing a new, sensaysh entertainment extravaganza: the Pogrom. To Nhee-Ghee with
the Conspiracy, and My Slack-Master will drive the Pinkness out of My Yetinsyny. Then their heads will
be clear and they can get their shit together right.

6. Sunlight by another name is Nuclear Winter: behold, I am both.

7. I run this show, and anybody I don’t want around here gets bounced. And you can watch it all,
absolutely FREE, in the privacy of your own home, for just pennies a day!

8. If you worship G’Broag’fran, just remember that half of what you’re worshipping is Me. On the
other hand, Narcissus and I have a lot in common . . . and Nunu is My Mirror.

9. No matter how bad it gets, SMILE! And remember:

Those April showers,

They pass away;
And bring the flowers
That bloom in May . . .

10. – All right, Dobbs, shut up and quit bitching! You’re getting paid enough for this job to scare a
defense contractor!

11. . . . And besides, Dobbs, I’m bigger than you.

12. And anyway, I’m your Altar-Ego, even if you don’t know it.

13. Say where? Somewhere, over the rainbow –that’s where!

14. Cover this thing up for now; later, We’ll set it off and see what 20 kilotons or so does to the old

15. Nobody’s perfect – but then, I am Nobody. Some people think I’m about to go off My head
from all this solitary vice; but they’re just assholes, don’t listen to them. I sing good, too: “Born Free,”
or “Autumn Leaves,” whatever you’re in the mood for. But that’s the other guy doing all that – I’m
Yehudi, living on the stairs, and I won’t go away. I haven’t had to go to a whore yet, and I don’t hold
with fixing animals; I’ll tell you about that some other time.

16. Also, I don’t count very good, and my memory’s shot.

Smell me, ye wastrels of snorting!
The giggles of itch and delight
Are left to the rude and the farting,
The clods that ignore me tonight.

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By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 15 of 32
18. These are hopeless, these Fen; they don’t know where it’s at and never will. We are not for the
Bobbies; the Overmen are Our kinfolk.

19. Is Godzilla to live in a Doug? Nay-nay! But the most ‘frapped-out are of Us. They shall party,
our Doktors: who poopeth is not one of Ours.

20. Come fly with me. – Also, we give trading stamps. (Offer void where prohibited by all.)

21. You came to Dobbstown expecting the streets to be paved with gold? Let me tell you
something: First, the streets are not paved with gold. Second, they aren’t even paved. And third, you get
to pave them! Isn’t that nice? On the other hand, the fucking’s great . . . Masochism is for the Pinks, o
Sub-Warrior; what you don’t get here you can have in the Orgasm of the Beforelife. Nunu! Jehovah-
One! G’Broag’fran! Summertime . . . an’ the livin’ is easy . . . but Old Man River, he jes’ keeps rollin’

22. Go at life with a hard-on and you’ll have it all – get down and boogie with sex, drugs, an’
rock-’n’-roll! ‘Cause bad breath’s better than no breath at all, and Clearisil. clears up all your problems.
We have nothing to fear but fear itself. Calvin by any other name is Nhee-Ghee, Wesley is a Pink Wimp,
and Knox sucks. – Or rather, he doesn’t suck, which is the problem.

23. I am the I of the Himmicane.

24. Here’s a riddle for you: it’s nice to be a stranger in a crowd . . . when it’s the right crowd! But
fans aren’t worth a damn, except for the Slack in their pockets.

25. Screw the Pinks – and don’t even bother with vaseline, they like pain. That’s what they’re there
for, baby!

26. Worship in the bed of your choice – and remember: the family that plays together, slays

27. Excuses, excuses! That’s all I ever hear!

28. I don’t want to hear any more of your asinine excuses ever again, do you hear Me?

29. Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much.

30. Where there’s a Will, there’s a Won’t.

31. If you’re so fucking smart, why aren’t you rich?

32. No, no, asshole, pie are not square – pie are round! Corn-bread are square!

33. You show Me your psychoneurotic complex and I’ll show you – the door.

34. A body at rest tends to remain at rest – until kicked out of bed by his Father.

35. It’s PARTY-TIME!!!

36. Any old time is party-time!

37. A Polish wedding reception! A shivaree for “Bob” and Connie!

38. And after I’m done writing this thing, I’m gonna party!

39. And there’s always CalTech Hell-Week!

40. And of course we can always knock back a few and smoke some ‘frappie and get it on!

The Book of the OUTlaw

By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 16 of 32
41. Have a party when your house burns down! Have a party when your boat sinks! Your sister’s
having a kid? Hold a baby-shower! Your old fart of an uncle, Ted, translate into the Beforelife? Hold a

42. Party! Party! Party! Let’s have a party!

43. Hold an orgy! Get Slacked-Out any ol’ way you can!

44. Hell is just life without a good party or two. And a great party is SubGenius Heaven!

45. Throw out the party-poopers! Don’t want ‘em around!

46. What’sa matter, asshole? Don’t you dig havin’ a good time?

47. Well, fuck you, then – who needs you?!!

48. If you’re gonna pass out, do it inna bedroom, ‘cause (hic!) if you pass out onna floor somebody’s
(hic!) likely ta step on ya onna way t’ th’ head.

49. Hey – watch Me! I can dance better’n Fred Ashtaire! Hey, Gene – han’ me that lamp-shade,
willya? Here, ever’body – (hic!) watch Me! – You don’ like My dance, hunh? Well, fuck you, too,
Charlie! – Hey, you think I can danshe good onna floor, jush’ (hic!) wa’sh Me on toppa thish piano!
(Hic!) Yeah, I’m jush’ a nasheral-born dansher . . .

50. I’ve got one fuck of a great bunch closzhe, too! Betcha never sheen a tie like thish one b’fore,
didzha? Tell Me, now, jush’ how many tieszh y’ever shee shix inshesh wide, ‘n’ purple with green,
yellow, an’ orangzhe camouflaszhe markingszh? – Tha’sh what I thought . . .

51. Tell ya a li’l shecret: ya put thish thing unner a black-light, it really looksh great!

52. Waddaya mean, “Turn out the lightsh”?! I wanna look at You when We fuck! – Aw, c’mon,
Honey, leave it on . . . if You do, I’ll do it that shpeshul way (hic!) You like . . .

51. Look, don’ worry ’bout it! I got thish great hangover cure, fixsh you right up, right as rain!

52. Oh, fuck him! What doeszh he know?! Look, I know you’re right, an’ you know you’re right,
so shcrew ’im! He doeszhn’t know what the fuck he’szh shayin’! – Naw, it’sh jush’ perfect the way it
iszh! Don’t change nothin’! . . . Well, maybe that comma should be a shemi-colon, an’ like maybe you
need to shtart a new (hic!) paragraph there. But honeshtly, otherwiszhe, I think it’sh the besht thing
you’ve ever written! Don’t touch it at all, lisshen to Me, now!

55. Didja ever notice how they store stuff in a computer? It’sh all numberszh. Even the Goddamn’
letterszh ’re numberszh, f’r Chrisshake! Even the commaszh ‘n’ periodszh ‘n’ bracketsh ‘n’ plusheszh ‘n’
minusheszh ‘n’ all that other stupid shit – they’re all numberszh!

56. – You’re laughin’ at Me! Yesh, you are! You don’ believe Me, you shorry son-’f-a-bi’sh!
Well, you’ll be laughin’ outta the other shide of yer fashe if you keep it up long enough, you unfucking
Pink bastard . . . An’ all you Bobbieszh c’n go to Pink Hell with him – you, an’ all the horsheszh you
rode in on!

57. I mean, right’s right, ‘n’ wrong’s wrong, know what I mean?

58. An’ never forget: there’s a sucker born ever’ minute!

59. I mean, like, “angelszh unawareshz” an’ all that shit, right?

60. Right!

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By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 17 of 32
61. . . . Bet I know what you want . . .

62. Now ain’t I jush’ the mosht gorgeoush thing you ever seen in your life, baby? – I’ll bet you like
thish . . .

63. . . . an’ thish . . .

64. . . . oh! Oh! Oh, baby, that feels so good – oh, Nunu! Oh, Jehovah-One, oh, G’broag’fran, I’m
coming, I’m coming, oh, Gods, do it, do it – yes, that, oh, do – it – now – oh, God, please, baby, talk
dirty some more – oh! Yes! Yes! Yes! Ohh . . . Oh, sweetheart, you are one good lay . . .

65. Hey, I know what: Why don’t you put on this little black cap and this little apron with the
ruffles, and this little garter-belt with the stockings . . . right . . . and now the high heels . . . and the
cuffs . . . now, kneel on this . . . bend over . . . okay, let me put on this chain, like this . . . right, and now,
I’ll just go get that little riding-crop . . .

66. I know what: Let’s do a snuff-film! You, Joe, you write the script, and lessee, let’s have Linda,
here, be our Star – and, oh, yeah, Griselda, here, can be our little victim . . . Gods, I can see it now: a
runaway smash hit! Okay, baby, now I’ll be the Big Stud who’s gonna show you the Great Cosmic
Rapture, and you come to Daddy, now, and let’s get on the bed over there, in front of Jack and his
camcorder . . . Oh. Oh! Oh, baby, yes . . .

67. Oh, honey, yeah! Now, do it that way . . . yeah, get down on your knees, and take It in your
mouth . . . oh, yeah . . .

68. Now, Sonny, you lay down here, behind Me, and slip It in Me while I put It to her – oh, yeah!
Oh, Gods, yeah, ‘s soooooo goooood . . .

69. Oh, man, if I come one more time I swear it’ll kill Me . . .

70. Maybe if I put this cock-ring on, I can keep It up a little while longer. – And I think we’d better
get out the lubricator gel . . . yeah, that’s the stuff, the one that tastes just like Beefeater Gin . . . No,
dammit, I don’t give a shit if you don’t like vermouth! You realize how sore you’re gonna be if This is

71. Come on, baby, one more time for Daddy, c’mon, please?

72. Oh, yeah, like that, tighter, tighter! Keep moving, just – like that . . . oh, yeah, feels so good . . .

73. Oh, Gods, please make Me come – I’ll die if you keep teasing Me like that!

74. Oh – I’m gonna explode – Gods, I’m seeing Stars – oh, Shit, baby, I’m gonna come like an A-
bomb – oh! Oh! Ohhh . . . Oh, Gods, I swear I died and We went to Yacatizma and came back again . . .

75. Yeah, go ahead and turn on the VCR. I’m pretty much fucked out for a while, anyway, so might
as well watch a movie or something.

76. Must be a spy movie Fred had on there – see, they’re passing a message in code:

ZYP – 231

The Book of the OUTlaw

By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 18 of 32
Wonder what it means? We’ll have to go back and watch this dumb thing from the beginning and
find out. – Oh, well, later. . . . Screw it. Turn that thing off and let’s fuck some more . . .

77. Sonny, you mean you can get It up again?! Man, you got a lotta balls! Wish I could keep up
with you!

78. Hey, man, this is great . . . “Oh, I believe / In You . . .” Man, I am so great, I make Myself sick!
“Oh . . . I got an itch . . . / I can’t scratch . . . / No matter how hard I try . . .”

79. Hell with it, people, let’s call it a night and turn in, why don’t We? – Baby, come to Daddy, and
let’s cuddle! . . . Sonny, hit that light. – Yeah, that’s good . . . Night, folks . . .

[Printer’s notes: One or two of the pages of this chapter are obligatorily
splotched, doodled on, with big, jet-black ink-blots in the middle of the
page, etc.; another of them should be upside-down relative to headers
and footers, preferably page 23, if that’s possible.]

The Book of the OUTlaw

By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 19 of 32
Chapter III: The Book of G’Broag’fran

1. Bibbiddi”Bob”iddiboo: the reward of Ra-Hoor-Hawwss.

2. There is homework in arithmetic to be done this evening, and I think We’d better work on
vocabulary and spelling, too, Ra-Hoor . . . a lot. Shame on You! What do You think I’m paying out all
My hard-earned money on You for, so You can grow up to be a dumbshit? Now get Your Buns upstairs
and do Your homework!

3. Do it, or You’ll get What-For!

4. I mean, how the Yacatisma do You expect to get a job worth a damn in today’s market-place
without an education?!

5. You simply can’t compete without a Ph.D. any more!

6. And you can’t get that without a decent G. P. A. from Your high-school.

7. I’ll tell you what? if You bring home a report-card this semester with a B-average or better, I’ll
get You that new car You’ve been wanting so badly . . . and if you get a B+-average, I’ll even throw in
that 686-DX You’ve been moaning about getting!

8. With a 686 and a modem – and I’ll get that to go with it if your grades are high enough – You
can hack all you want, and practice Your virtual-reality D & D games at home, free, all the time! Why,
You’ll whip their asses when it comes to video-games! And You won’t have to wait around all the time
at the school computer-labs to run Your stuff!

9. How about it? Let’s give it the Old College Try, heh-heh-heh! –Look, kid, I may not be funny,
but this is My house, dammit! So either You do Your schoolwork, and do it right, or get a job, or You
can move the fuck out of here, do You understand me? And I don’t care what Your Mother says about it!

10. Now haul Your Ass upstairs and crack those books! – And like I said, if you start pulling good
Grades by the end of the semester, I’ll at least get You that Pentium – and that fax-modem to go with it –
and all the software You want for it.

11. Hell, boy, I’ll get You that at mid-terms if You do all right then – but the car’ll have to wait until
I see Your semester Grades. –Don’t argue with Me, dammit!! Now get upstairs and start in on Your
homework. – Yeah, I’ll tell Your kid Brother to go make His rumpus in the rumpus-room. I guess it is
kinda hard trying to study with all of that racket of His going on. – In fact, You can tell Him I told You
so, if You want. If He gives You any static, You just tell Him Ra-Hoor Senior will back it up. Like,
Daddio, y’know? Heh-heh-heh . . . Dammit, Son, You can hate My guts, You can call Me any Name
You like, but You will do Your homework! – Do I have to rope Your Mother in on this? You know what
kind of a row that always causes! Look, Son, You aren’t stupid, You’re My Son, after all! Are You
gonna let a few lousy algebra problems or maybe a couple of pages in English composition throw You? –
Of course not! You’re My Son – You gotta be good, heh-heh-heh! Now go up there and mow ‘em down,

12. And later on, I’ll take You out for a pizza and whatever You want on it.

13. But You do Your homework first.

14. Why, before You know it, You’ll have it all done! . . . You’ll even have time to call that cute
little girl I seen You eyeballin’ over there at the basketball game the other night, heh-heh-heh . . .

15. Hell, once You’ve done it, it’ll seem too easy, You’ll be lookin’ around for more to do!

The Book of the OUTlaw

By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 20 of 32
16. Whaddaya mean, “Bill said you can get a job easy, you don’t need college”?! – Oh, he did.
“Four-eyes,” hunh? What does he know?

17. Yeah? Look, that guy’s a wimp. He’s all talk! He couldn’t fight his way out of a pack of
panicked chickens with an AK-47 if his Goddamn’ life depended on it! – No, You can’t get a decent job
anywhere without a Degree, I don’t care what anybody says! – Look, both Your Mother and I’ll back You
up all the way, You know that!

18. Well, the hell with ‘em! – Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke. – And You can quote Me on that,
Son . . .

19. – What’s that racket? – Oh, hello, Seth . . . Your Brother Ra and I were just – what “pile of
crap” on Highway 14? – That? Oh, that’s something the City Council commissioned. A local Artist.
Just unveiled it a couple of days ago. Called it, uh, “Untitled Number 718.” I should think “untitled,” it
doesn’t deserve a name, heh-heh-heh!

20. Hunh? – Because I said so, that’s why! Besides, John isn’t home, anyway. Now go down to the
rec’-room and wreck something – never mind, cancel that. Just go somewhere and so something and stay
the hell out of Your Brother’s and everybody else’s hair for a while, will ya? And another th- –

21. We will return you to “one CenRelShorDurSav’s Family” in just a moment. But first, a word
from our Sponsor:

Oh, I don’ wan’ any more o’ yer pissin’ an’ moanin’,

I just got my Plastique G’Broag’fran,
Got it right here on top the TV set;

All it costs is two-nine’y five,

No movin’ parts to wear out or any o’ that jive,
A plastique G’Broag’fran is just what you always wanted ta get
Ta blow up the neighborhood!!

– Yes, folks, this beautiful little glow-in-the-dark statuette of G’Broag’fran, weeps real tears, made
out of genuine real artificial fake plastique just like our other fine products (Plastique Nunu, Big Daddy
Jay-Aitch-Vee-Aitch-Wun, an’ all the others), can be yours, now for the low, low price of a mere two-
point- nine’y-five credits! Won’t you be the envy of all your friends when they see G’Broag’fran,
Crowned an’ Conquering, striding off to do battle with the Forces of Evil, standing on your little altar
that’s set at the Eastern end of your livin’-room!

22. An’ of course you’ll want to flank Him with Muthuh Nunu and Poppa Wotan, all in brilliant
neon Day-Glo™ color, for a mere two-point-eighty-five credits each! Even better, you can get Nunu an’
Wotan in black-light color, for just two-point-ninety credits apiece, so They can only be seen at those
special times of worship, when the Uninitiated have been put to bed with their franklin-bulls an’ the
fam’ly gathers ‘round to smoke ‘frop an’ listen to Doktormuzak an’ turn on the black-light an’ get down
an’ boogie! An’ you can have the whole Celestial Fam’ly – Nunu, JHVH-1 an’ G’Broag’fran – for a
mere nine-point-five credits! An’ we’ll even throw in a poster of the 506 previous all-time winners of the
‘frop-Smokin’ World-Cup Competition . . . includin’ the ones who subsequently passed away of lung-
cancer, emphysema, or anoxia on the spot!
Yes –

23. Click. – and thyme.

Now take corn-meal, honey, and a nice California rose – about a cup of the meal, three tablespoons
of honey, and half a cup of wine. Mix thoroughly.
Now, add four drops of Abramelin Oil and a tablespoon of olive oil. Stir vigorously, then blend in
the blood. Let stand for one hour, and then it will be just perfect for addition to the lamp-oil for your
votive lamps.

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By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 21 of 32
24. As for the blood, we recommend Manischewitz Supreme. If, however, this is not available, any
of the fine, light bloods available from Manischewitz will do. (Manischewitz also makes many other fine
products, all of which we recommend highly to the experienced chef or homemaker as well as the
professional ritualist, alchymist, or sanitation engineer.)

25. Now bake for 25 minutes at 300º = -3.14159 , remove from oven and cool for about an hour.
Add a scoop of Tantra cream to each serving and – voila! A dish fit for a Magus!
– Also, you can make effigies out of the dough, did you know that?

26. Make a doll out of the dough to look just like your enemy. Bake it in a hot oven for about half
an hour. Give the freshly-baked cookie-effigy your enemy’s name. Now: hand it to your kid to eat, and
as he or she bites off its little head, chant, “Bald no more! Bald no more!”

27. Or you can add Spanish Fly to the dough, and serve the finished dish to your sweetheart – a
perfect way to say “I love you” on Valentine’s Day!

28. And of course be sure to use Crowleysbury™ Enriched Flour and Regardie Brand Herbal-
Product Spices. when making these delicious treats, to ensure top-quality nutritional value, to give you
that extra ZING! you need for waging the Wor on the Pinks!

29. And folks, did you know that unlike most goodies, the longer you keep these, the better they
get? The perfect accompaniment to a glass of Manischewitz Elixir Vitae, which also improves with age:

Doesn’t yell,
Doesn’t tell,
With My Force doth swell –
And is grateful as Hell!

. . . But enough of thish shmall talk, m’friendszh . . . let’sh go upshtairszh . . . ‘n’ rape the cat!!

30. And remember: a lot of brass is needed to acquire real gold!

31. Or so sayeth the Anonymou$ Fort Worth Millionaire, who yea & verily shall footeth thine bills!

32. With his aid, ye shall be enabled to win the Wor and Make the Inner Planes Safe for

33. Or, you could take the money and run. Whatever puts the Slack in your genes . . .

34. Dobbstown is all in the mind, anyway. Win or lose the Wor, it won’t matter: though the Pinks
shall inherit Malaysia, though they yea and verily build a HojoHilton on the very site of Dobbs’ own
Holy Bedroom, the Temple shall stand inviolate through the centuries until the coming of Olwenomes,
the Two-Faces, Who will kick My Ass out and take over. Another (net) profit shall He make and take
old grunions to a snake; another filly shall grow coarse screaming at a purple Horse; another split
personality shall take the stage as Walter Mitty; another bare-foot boy on deck will show all this to be
mere dreck; and rotgut shall always be swilled in the name of the Pig-Beater’s Guild!

35. The half of the Word of G’Broag’fran, called Jaackk-Paarr-Kptui and Ra-Hoor-Hawwss:

36. And that Word is VANITY!

37. O, I believe in you! After all –

I am a Captain in the Queen’s Navy,

The Verplotzen voyeur of Merde;
For me hiccups the sober sea,
The manustuprating Meisterdieb Pferde
Who always lies. Who is the spouse,

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By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 22 of 32
O Great Lord, Ra-Hoor-Hawwss?

Schizoid Tendency above!

I flinch from Thy . . . er, mighty Breath,
O long-unwashed CenRelShorDurSav,
A trust with Whom would make even death
Seem a desirable alternative: –
O nasty CenRelShorDurSav!

Unlock the instrument chest!

Someone unlock the Garage!
Put on your Day-Glo. Green vest,
Great Punk CenRelShorDurSav
To overload my senses!
Feh! The hell with my senses!

38. For the thrill of your life, honey, you can’t beat a proctological exam done with a real laser! If
you want to try it, come with me and Harry tonight when we go over to the Green Door on Market Street
(it’s the very latest thing since fist-fucking!):

The Skor is his; its lanes englobe

Us: We have flown our larks
Out of the tENT of Ray and Bob,
Of Karl and of Groucho Marx.
I am thy Fort Knox, O Merde,
The Profit Meisterdieb Pferde!

By the old Moulmein Pagoda my nails I chew;

By weird technique I unravel Lies.
Show us Thy big Boobs, O Nunu!
Allow me Thine House to patronize!
Ophidian lurker in the grass, Great Wotan!
Abide with me, Unspeakable G’Broag’fran!

39. A loaf of bread, and this book to say, I doesn’t really matter, anyway, and Bedlam were Sanity
enow! Put the whole thing in microfiche in a nitrogen environment on the back of the Moon, where it’ll
keep forever . . . and nobody can check the original to see if the reproductions conform to it very well,
and we’ll do the reproductions in lovely trade paperbacks, with glossy scarlet covers, so they attract the
potential mar- – er, customer’s eye, and all sorts of book-promo deals, the Book-of-the-Month Club will
get down on their knees and beg to distribute for us, and we’ll make a fucking fortune! (And we’ll give
away lots of cheapie copies done on rice-paper as come-ons, but they gotta shell out the gonzola if they
want the nice ones for the coffee-table.)

40. Then we can get some hack to do the psychoanalysis of the author, and some PC sophomore
who doesn’t have anything better to do with her time to do the sociopolitical analysis of the text in terms
of gender-feminist theory, and we can sub-contract the tee-shirts out to Bad Jim., and the stuffed animals
to Mango Republic., and then there’s the TV show – oh, we’ll make millions on this!

41. What’s the name of that tame accountant Louie the Lip had? We’d better hire him, too – we’re
gonna need him! And how’s the software we got for the Mac?

42. You get to organize the cocktail parties for this – just make sure you don’t invite any of the real
lushes, we don’t need that. – Well, hell, if they come, they come, but the first time anybody gives
trouble, just give ‘em the bum’s rush, right out the back! – Who’m I, to be giving the orders around here?
I, Johnny, am G’Broag’fran, and your Boss, that’s fucking Who! – Look, don’t worry! Anybody gives
you any static, just let Me know, it’ll be all taken care of, no fuss, no muss. You know? – Oh, bullshit!
If it works, don’t fucking try to fix it! And tell that asshole that if he thinks psychoanalysis is so hot, the
next time he has a fire, he should call a shrink to come put it out! – Really? Have I got news for you:

The Book of the OUTlaw

By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 23 of 32
psychiatrists are just like everybody else, they put their pants on one leg at a time like you ‘n’ me, and
everybody’s got something in their past they don’t want anybody to know! That pipsqueak starts talking
“commitment” again, all your family has to do is start talking, oh, say, “malpractice,” “unlawful
possession, dispensing and use of drugs,” “sexual assault on patients” . . . you know, like that. See, John,
the trouble with people like shrinks and social workers is that they think that power is all talk: whoever
threatens biggest, wins. Well, like the old saying goes: “A Smith & Wesson beats four Aces.” With Me,
you got muscle, and all that fughead has is mouth. So just tell him to stick it where our Father Sol don’t
shine, and don’t worry about it.

43. Let O’Hara beware! If she follows the Edge of Night, All Her Children shall be banished unto
Dark Shadows, and her World Shall Turn cold and heartless.

44. But if she follows the Golden Mean, she shall never encounter Golden Showers, and all shall be
well, and all shall be well, and all shall be very well!

45. Her books then shall be Rhett and her birthright shall be a mess of Potomac! Two Inaugural
Balls shall be known as hers, and from her, yea, New Agers shall run screaming.

46. I am the Warrior Clown of SubGenius; the Time of PeE runneth now down My Third Leg.
With My SubRoutines, you’ll have ‘em rolling in the aisles, bhubie! I’m why vaudeville got Born Again
in “Bob”!

47. Y’know –I wrote this thing, and even I can’t figure it out! Why don’t you throw it into the Mac
and see what the little fucker turns it into in Lower Urdu? – Well, Spanish, anyway. – Yeah, try ‘em all.
Then we can pass the print-outs around with a xerox of this thing and see what people get out of it.
Maybe somebody out there can figure it out – God knows I sure the fuck can’t! You’re damn straight you
keep those “marginal doodles” in there! Hell, one of those “scribbles,” as you so unkindly call them,
could make sense out of this whole stupid mess . . . Yeah, “Bibbiddi”Bob”iddiboo.” That’s the user-
code for the Unix system. (You think that’s something, you should see our email address on Internet –
not to mention the address of our web-site!) I originally ran all this stuff on the Unix. – Yeah, put My
Name on it as Author, not his. – Yeah, I know we both wrote it, but he doesn’t want the public attaching
his name to it . . . No, both of us get the royalties on it. Fifty-fifty split. – Yeah.

48. Oh, fuck it! Fuck everything!

50. Fuck this job, fuck this whole fucking company, fuck the fucking stockholders, and fuck the
God-damned Board of Directors! I QUIT!!

51. Fuck the company vice-president!

52. Fuck the president of the union!

53. Fuck all the fucking mediators!

54. Fuck all of you! Fuck work, moralism, and money – it all sucks!


[deleted because of printer’s strike]


57. I had one grunch but the eggplant over there. – ‘Twas the Grunch stole Crowleymas.

58. Ain’t We a great bunch of guys?!!

59. Daddy, He took My marbles – make Him give Me back My marbles!

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By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 24 of 32
60. Can’t You fight your own damn fights, Kids?!!

61. A good fart never hurt anybody.

62. Kiss my ass!

63. – And if you do, I have this great bridge for sale . . .

64. I mean, you gotta be an idiot to have shelled out as much mazoola as you did for the First
Course on this stuff!

65. And, as if that weren’t bad enough, you beggared yourself on the Second Course.

66. Now you’re trying to rope other idiots into it, as an “Initiator,” to make the bread you need to
pay for still more of this bullshit!

67. – And you still haven’t gotten laid! So what’s it all worth? – You need help from a brain-abuse
program – you got a real habit going, here, kid . . .

68. Like I said, there’s one born every minute . . .

69. – I know they taste like rabbit shit! See? That proves you’re getting smarter!

70. I may be a Bird-Brain, but I’m the Strong, Silent Type, and for a few dollars more, I’ll clear this
town of the good, the bad, and the ugly.

71. I’m also a Stud.

72. There aren’t enough Studesses to go around, though, so I jack off a lot. . . . Which is why
I’ve been looking so peaked lately.

73. Come until the sheets are glued together! It makes great origami!

74. Say the Secret Word, and divide a hundred dollars.

75. The way to the Egress is through the doorway marked “Bibbiddi”BOB”iddiboo.”

The Book of the OUTlaw

is now encrypted with PGP on locked disk.
Yo-Ho-Ho and a bottle of rum!

The Book of the OUTlaw

By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 25 of 32
The Comment

Do whatever gives thee more $lack shall be the whole of the Law.
Steal this book!
– Or kill me.
If you’re stupid enough to make a religion out of this shit, you deserve everything that happens to
Decide for yourself what, if anything, all this dreck means.
There is no law beyond Grab all the $lack you can.
$lack is the law, $lack and more $lack.

The Saint of Sales,

Meisterdieb Pferde, A.K.A. J. R. “Bob” Dobbs

[facsimile of Dobbs’s signature here]

(ρωρ = rwr)

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By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 26 of 32
The Book of the OUTlaw: The Commentaries of AL
(or Sometimes Fred)
by the Very Left Reverend Doktor Magistra Batrix, 8® = 3™,
Το Μικρον Θειον \cw ]xh*
the Infra-Red Woman of the Church of the SubGenius,
Pope of a Great Deal of Broadview District of Seattle
and the Wrong Half of the 3900 Block of Aurora Avenue North

and Mumbles

with a supporting cast of thousands!!

“If you gotta ask – you can’t afford it!”

“A rant a day keeps the Conspiracy at Bay!”
“Fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke!”

*But for you, bhubie, today only – just 498!!!

Nota bene: The numbers of the entries in each section of the following refer to the numbers of the
corresponding verse in the corresponding chapter of Liber Al vel Ludens

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By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 27 of 32
Section 1. Commentary to Chapter I of Liber Al vel Ludens
5. But then, what did you expect, between all that radiation-damage, Love Canal, and your typical
television programming?!1

7. On the other hand, it might have been Louella Parsons.1

8. What is in the Band, we refuse to comment on. And they are full of it!1

12. Slack, i.e., $lack: The constant reference to this term (or to words derived from the root thereof)
in Verses 12, 32, 40, 41, 42, 44, 48, 57, et al (and sometimes fred) does not refer to one leg of a pair of
pants, nor does it imply Bill Slack, whoever he might be, or then, it might. 2

20. Ducks are available for $100.1

22. It has been recently discovered that an important line of text had been unaccountably dropped
from the end of the recipe given in this verse: “– and then run like a sonuvabitch!!” Why this line of text
had been omitted, we have no indications, save that the entire document had been stamped “Top Secret”
by the AEC – the Association of Emetic Cooks – and filed away in two parts in two different drawers by
some file-clerk who may or may not have got Any the night before. On the other hand, considering that
this is a rather high-Calorie dish, there may have been a lack of paprika. 1

24. Or is that just a gun in your pocket, you lame dweeb?1

25. As the great Harry Lepu, AKA “Buckteeth Lago,” once said, “Multiply and conquer!”1

26. SubGenius Hell hath no fury like a CenRelShorDurSavess Who, having been petitioned of,
tryeth to giveth and hath no takers. This verse may also be partial confirmation of the otherwise
unfounded and malicious rumor than an early and earthly lover – or wannabe lover, at any rate – of Nunu
was Tiny Tim who, having spied upon the obscenely corpulent and overripe CenRelShorDurSavess at
Her bath with hopes of seducing said RelDivPer* as She stepped out of Her glorious radiation bath, was
turned by the irate Nunu into a compleat Normal who thereupon moved to Levittown, married one Sarah
Lipschitz, by whom he had four extremely unattractive children, and lived happily ever after as a Yuppie
Microsoft provider (Nunu always was sensitive about Her looks!). – The closing quote of this verse may
also refer to the proverbial horse.1

*Relatively Divine Person.

27. Maybe this has something to do with ozone therapy? Porquoi, you naughty, naughty boy?1

32. Too much is better than not enough, except that even moderation should be taken in overdoses at
times. When carnal ignorance is Bliss, ‘tis Joy to be wise . . .1

37. O where is Wonder Wart-Hog, now that we need him?! (And the still, small voice of Captain
Cockroach answereth not.)1

41. I.e., the essence of Sin is Lack of Slack. 2

51. This is totally confused.1

56. Probably St. G** D***, or just possibly G. Gordon Gordon, Mercenary of Mercy. On the other
hand, judicious editing never hurt anybody. So where does Janor get off?!! The Irresistible Object is
quite proper; the Immovable Force is kapu. Glow-in-the-Dark Helmets are standard.1

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By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 28 of 32
61. This is obviously the febrile sex-fantasy of a complete Zero. – The Tune referred to here once
was Top of the Charts, a bitchin’ little ditty called “Mother-in-Law” (the sequel, “Son-in-Law,” was put
on the Index Ridiculens as being obviously blasphemous in intent). – The major Dance so far called for
here seems to be the fabled Mystery Dance, A.K.A. the Horizontal Bop, learned in early adolescence by
almost everybody as a matter of spontaneous unfolding of the instinct to grow hair on the palm. It is also
one of the few dances that Fred Astaire Dancing Studios do not claim to teach – or even to have heard of.
– A variation on the old, sweet song, “Key for Two.”1

62. So Emma Lazarus I’m not. 1

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By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 29 of 32
Section 2: Commentary to Chapter II of Liber Al vel Ludens
9. Which therefore have nothing to do with the case. See Gilbert and Sullivan’s HMS Pinafore –
likewise. 1

13. See Aleister Crowley and the Hidden God, by Kenneth Grant (London: Frederick Muller, 1973),

19. Pee-Dog Night was first conceived as an antidote to poopery, by which even the veriest Bobbie
might be cured forever of Pinkness. Generally speaking, it didn’t work. 1

23. Skiddoo. See media reports of Hurricane “Bob,” early in the himmicane season of 1985. 1

27. Probably.1

29. This passage refers to groups such as the SDS and later SLA BBQ (see late 1960s) and unholy
books such as The Strawberry Statement and their Conspiracy-fed “authors.”2


(a) xn + yn = zn, except where prohibited by law.1

(b) Ah, but corn-bread pie is round, you square asshole! (This may, or may not, elucidate the
previous commentary.)2

36. Even unto the Time of PeE.1

41. On the other hand, Ecclesiastes 3: 1-9. Of course, too much is better than not enough, but who’s

42. This may refer, though, to Dobbs’ youthful fling in secular politics and his temporary
associations, one after the other, with everything from the Republicans to the Libertarians to Ex-
Democrats for Wanda Farthingale. If so, we must conclude that Jehovah-One is very sarcastic. Or
something. 1

50. Re: Shitite or Shitight, also: “Angels, you shit yourselves unawares, right? I mean . . .”2

56. And stay there!1

60. Right again!2

71. One more small squirt for a Guy – one giant Squirt for an Aeon!1

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By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 30 of 32
Section 3: Commentary to Chapter III of Liber Al vel Ludens
2. The phrase “get Your Buns upstairs,” especially in conjunction with the overused term
“homework” suggests pleasures of the flesh (or the promise thereof) coupled with
commerce/in/the/Home, i.e., a “cottage industry” or the prostitution of marriage, re: Husband/Pimp;
Wife/Prostitute, per: “This Diamond Ring Doesn’t Shine for Me Anymore.” So throw it in the toilet,
and flush your troubles away.2

7. These letters – B. B+, etc. – are of course code for the more familiar 8 ® (Magister), 1® (Zelator),
0® (Peterbeator), 3.14159® (Suckor), and so forth.1

9. Aw, Stang, come off it!!1


(a) “Mid-terms” possibly refers to that time mid-way between changes of Aeon, or Pistola, also
known as “Lucky Pierre,” which is celebrated as a year-long holiday known as the “Ides of
Murphy.” Looong vacations elsewhere are advised.1

(b) “Kid Brother”: Jaackk-Paarr-Kptui,” Who is also at the same time twin to G’Broag’fran, don’t
ask how. One of the innumerable nicknames of this sibling is “Seth” or “Set,” which may refer
to the fact that on top of being a nasty royal little pain in the tuchis, he is as lazy as the day is
long, and otherwise a trial to his poor Parents, as they will tell you by the hour if you are Fool
enough to listen. 1

21. No comment. 1

22. Ditto.1

25. The most commonly prepared of these effigies wear the faces of certain US Presidents on them.
This is also referred to as being of the Qlippoth of Chokmah (= Neptune), i.e., the sin of idolatry (hence
the technical term “doll,” as in “voodoo,” “living,” and so on). Many profits have arisen because of this
– none to condemn it. See also “lust of result,” “cupidity,” “venality,” “business as usual,” etc.1

29. – with a round of hearty applause for our lovely hostess, Miss Julia Horus.1


(a) “Snake” may refer to a well-known Union, one possibly permeated with perfidious Pink

(b) “another filly shall . . . purple horse”: This is probably a description of one of the countless
manifestations of the endless arguments between Jove and his hoydenish offspring Minerva
concerning what the Hell to do about all the glitches that will keep cropping up in this most
recent – and ridiculous of Bill Wotan’s creations, Yetimanity. 1

(c) “ . . . in the name of the Pig-Beater’s Guild”: a possible reference to Zumbijamboday, a holiday
celebrating Wotan’s ninja-whammy maneuver by which the Arch-Pink, Slick (“Pig-Farmer”)
Willie, was exploited to advantage by the Forces of Yetinsyny and then crowned with
humiliation. Suggestions were made, when it was asked what to do about Willie, that “maybe
we could “Bob”itt?” Since, however, this would have involved a total cephalectomy, and it was
not feasible at the time to perform such an operation, the project was shelved. Shortly
thereafter, plans were being made for a “roast” in Slick Willie’s honor on the occasion of the
next anniversary of the fiery translation into the Beforelife at the hands of agents of the
Conspiracy of the Waco 87, SubGenial Saints whose last-stand dedication to the principles of
patriopsychotoanarchism reached above and beyond all possible conception of duty,* by some
of those inadvertantly nearly caught up and Done For during Wotan’s Zumbijamboday Triumph,
such as Saint “Why Not the Best?” “Good Jim” and one Clay “Clayton” Powell (A.K.A. Dr.
The Book of the OUTlaw
By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 31 of 32
Who, of Dr. Who & the Daleks, a superb Washington, DC garage-band). So far, however, we
have heard nothing more on that Skor, and are still waiting on new data. 1

*I.e., Branch-Day, on which it is customary to hoist a few good belts of Branch-Water in memory of
these glorious Martyrs of the One True Muthuh Church.

38. “By weird technique I unravel Lies”: perhaps a reference to Gemeshugge, the Great Yetinsyny
Art of decoding text or even graphics by means to a decoder’s key-ring found in a box of Fruit Loops to
uncover hidden meanings therein. 1


(a) A description of a most exalted rite of High Magick, performed per vas nefandum.1

(b) May refer to the popular game of Tarot Whist, wherein Trump XX (the Aeon), trumps any one
or combination of the Aces.1

45. And if you believe that, dearie, I have this exquisite little gem of a piece of property in the
Florida Everglades that would be perfect for your retirement home, for a ridiculously low price – payable
in small, unmarked bills, of course . . . (On the other hand, this passage may refer to the infamous
“Revolt of the Harlequins,” an abortive, Pink attempt at revolution led by one H*ll*r* Cl*nt*n (?), aided
and abetted by someone who may or may not have been named J*n* F*nd*, which, if it had succeeded,
would have forever castrated the virile Patriopsychotoanarchistic ideals of the true, then-nascent
SubGenial mutant culture, leaving the world to be run entirely by Pink creampuff wimps and their
Uberladies. Fortunately, this revolt was nipped with the aid of a lot of ’frap-bud at its very inception by
the courageous antics of the Hypercleats and his sidekick, one tENTacON, who performed the arcane rite
of PeEing on the Head o’ Willie for the little ladies, and so bewildered the would-be revolutionaries that
they ran off to Poughkeepsie, joined a Nautilus club, and exercised their brains out, leaving them
permanently totally unable to run a revolution or indeed anything else more complicated than a
dishwasher or vacuum cleaner!)1


(a) Cf. “The New Urdu-Language Qaballah,” in Lamp of G’Broag’fran, Vol. XII, No. 40 (published
by the Slackmaster’s Apprentice, 3-10 Coven of $lack Road, Fellows MT7 2RQ, New
Yorkshires, DT).1

(b) Cf. United States copyright laws et alia.1

74. Said the duck. 1

Credit for the preceding are assigned as noted above:

1. Magistra Batrix (pseudonym of Yael R. Dragwyla)

2. Mumbles (pseudonym of John Eberly)

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By Yael R. Dragwyla
Page 32 of 32