Tuesday, February 21, 2006First They Came For The Wiccans
So now, apparently, it's evil to be a SubGenius.
Yes, being involved in the telling of the most transcendent Jesus joke ever is now adequate reason to strip you of your rights. Ask poor Rachel Bevilacqua, who had her son taken from her -- "no contact... not even writing" -- because she attended an X-Day devival.
Obviously, it was a wild party -- I'm kinda sorry I missed it. I've been to a devival or two, but never one as off-the-hook as this rip-snorter. And obviously this is merely one element in a much larger issue -- something was clearly up well before Rachel flogged a god. But it was still the devival -- or, to be more accurate, the American Taliban judge who'd never heard of a devival before -- that finished the job.
And as the General points out, apparently it wasn't so much that she pretended to flog the Christ, is was that she did it naked wearing a goat's head. No accounting for taste, I guess. (That's why you should always go with the Evil Jew costume for these events... that, no doubt, would've been fine.)
Y'know, every teenager is "saved" by something -- some by music, some by books, some even by Jesus. I was saved by J.R. "Bob" Dobbs. "Bob" brought me to so many things that helped me define my nascent identity during those difficult years, I would be a far more tepid soul without him. I read Burroughs (and later Sartre, Jung, Ginsberg, and the rest) because of "Bob". I listened to better music because of "Bob". I questioned and doubted the world around me because of "Bob". I learned about tolerance and self-esteem through "Bob". And "Bob" taught me that the best thing in the world I could ever possibly be -- better than Beautiful, better than Powerful, better than Rich -- was to be Interesting. "Bob" told me I was weird but that that was way better than being normal -- and how much groovier would the world be if every adolescent spent a few years hearing that? I might be an awkward, ungainly, social misfit. I might be an eternal outsider, rejected by the cool kids and daily tortured by cheerleaders. I might be too clever for my own good and sitting by myself in the cafetorium... but by god, at least I'm not Pink.
I might not be here if it weren't for that.
I no longer have my card -- the one that gets me in the raffle to win a place in line to get on the spaceships on X-Day -- and returning to the sweet arms of the Church has long been on my To-Do list. But right now I'm thinking that the next time I've got $30 in my pocket with no claim upon it, I'll be sending it to the ACLU or Moms for "Bob" instead. And then the $30 after that, I'll send to "Bob".
PS: The Rev. Ivan Stang himself explains some back-story and underlines the unforgiveable awfulness of what's happened.