Everything is becoming science fiction. From the margins of an almost
invisible literature has sprung the intact reality of the 20th
Livin' it up is a state of mind.
Moe Ron Hubbard on DiureticsWe feel as if we should atone somehow after our little game of hide the cyber-sausage with that eZines database site. As we suspected they might, the EGR Irregulars came through and blew the doors right offa that sucker. If you don't know what we're talking about, just count yourself lucky that you missed it.
Predictably, all of the people were not pleased all of the time. One subscriber called the whole charade pathetic, and while he was too kind to say it, suggested we should be ashamed of ourselves. Which we are. To try to make it up to you, we turn in this issue to a religious theme, as you will see below.
And a subscriber from CBS News wrote: "OK that's it. Please take me off your mailing list right now." Needless to say, we were stung, and immediately inquired whether we'd said anything that might have upset her. As her only reply was to subtly rephrase the request -- again being careful to say please -- we were forced to bid a sad adieu to our one subscriber from that once prestigious network.
But this got us thinking about what other Major Hoser Outfits might be sending spies over to EGR to try to cop a soupçon of cluefulness. Sure enough, deep analysis of the subscriber list yielded some very interesting results. It appears that we have moles in our midst from the likes of:ACM, Amazon, Amdahl, Apple, AT&T, Audible, Autodesk, Barrons, Boeing, Cadvision, CMP, Compaq, DEC, Dun & Bradstreet, Dow Jones, EDventure, EDS, Excite, Forbes, Fortune, Forrester, First Virtual, The Gap, GE, Harcourt Brace, Hoechst, Hotwired, HP, IBM, IDG, IEEE, IMF, Individual, JC Penney, Kodak, The Los Angeles Times, Lockheed Martin, MCI, Magellan, Microsoft, The Mining Company, MFS, Motorola, NASA, Net Perceptions, Netscape, NIH, NIST, The New York Times, Open Text, O'Reilly, Oracle, PSI, Qualcomm, Roche, Rodale Press, Rohr, Sega, Sequent, Storagetek, Sun, Texaco, TRW, Turner, Unisys, Wilmington Trust, Wired, and Xerox.You can check out a much prettier version of this list at:
The biggest eye-opener for us was not the National Institutes of Health -- that's pretty obvious; it's their job -- but rather, the International Monetary Fund. What, as the neologism would have it, is up with that shit? Of course, you have no way of knowing whether we're just lying again, which makes it difficult to convince you that the above litany is gospel truth. One way you can verify this -- sort of -- is to keep an eye on that web page and watch as these companies drop off the list, as we expect they shall. After all, now that their agents have been uncovered, they've clearly lost the critical element of surprise.
But enough about us.
We were recently privileged to meet with Moe Ron Hubbard, father of Diuretics and Sayonaralogy, which, if nothing else, is fucking-a hard to pronounce. Hubbard needs no introduction, being widely famed as the only 20th Century spiritual leader to have penned a best selling multi-volume space opera. The following exchange was taped at EGR World Headquarters in the darkest heart of the Yucatan Peninsula. We hope you will benefit as much as we did from the depth of the ideas presented by this profoundly sensitive and intelligent human being.
RageBoy®: Tell about the time your Momma tried to feed you to the Gila Monsters, Moe Ron.
Moe Ron: Now see here, I thought you said we wouldn't be getting into all that!
RB: OK, OK, keep your shirt on. We were just thinking it might have been, you know, a formative influence or something.
MRH: No, I am Clear of those traumas now. There are no further obstructions. Of course, it did come in handy as material for my books.
RB: Well now, let's explore that a little. Is there any connection between your science fiction and your more, shall we say, serious work on Diuretics?
MRH: Yes, actually. Everything I know about people I learned over 40 years ago from a Writer's Digest book called "How to Create Really Really Believable Characters That Sell." Reading it brought on my first numinous intimation of transcendent perspicuity.
RB: That being?
MRH: Well, that human beings are basically smooth sheep. And by that I mean simply non-woolly. But their thinking is woolly. Or, as we would say today, fuzzy.
RB: So are we talking fuzzy logic here? This isn't going to be like Jeff Goldblum doing Chaos Theory in Jurassic Park is it? Cripes, what do you suppose Crichton was smoking when he wrote that shit, huh? And speaking of dope, do you, like, shoot up or anything? Are you gay? Bisexual? Ooh, ooh, here's one: are you really a lesbian in drag?
MRH: You provide a perfect example of my thesis. It's obvious that you cannot focus your mind on any single thing, but instead are pulled this way and that by these... neurotic seizures.
RB: Why? What makes you say that?
MRH: You clearly have not read Diuretics. If you had, you would know that the human mind is 90% water admixed with trace amounts of Polysorbate 80. Thus that "floaty feeling" you were describing earlier.
RB: No, you're wrong. We did read some of it, and even tried some of the exercises, but it made us feel like we'd chowed on a box of cotton balls. Plus, we were running to the bathroom every two minutes, pissing something wicked. What good is that?
MRH: That's just the First Level. You get over that stage quite rapidly in our seminars where we show you how to urinate in your clothing with neither guilt nor shame. You see, most people are held back by their unexamined adherence to societal strictures that may have once been useful but become increasingly unnecessary to the evolving Alpha Betan.
RB: So these seminars must get a little messy, what with all that free-flowing evolution taking place. And people actually pay for this, don't they?
MRH: Quite handsomely. Wouldn't you pay something to reach a Higher Level of Being?
|"Leave your brain behind..."|
RB: We already have, to tell the truth. We are now operating on the Highestmost Possible Level of Past-All-Caring.
MRH: Or so you think in your deluded state. Sayonaralogy would help you to see that you are simply kidding yourself. In fact, you are little more than a brutish swine wallowing in your own offal.
RB: Oh really! And what makes you so sure about that, you fetid bungwipe?
MRH: You see? You are the victim of your own unconscious programming, hurling childish epithets in defense of whatever it is you think is capable of being threatened by mere words.
RB: That made you think, I'll bet.
RB: And how. So you're saying if we paid you we could, like, get over it? Hmmm... How much?
MRH: That depends on how Clear you're prepared to become. Not everyone is ready for the Total Sayonara of Complete Totality.
RB: But what if we worked at it really hard, renounced the psychotic zine writing and everything?
MRH: Then maybe there might be some hope for you. For ten grand you could get Clue One.
RB: And what is this Clue One, exactly, just for purposes of our little discussion here? You can tell us and we won't blab it around. Really.
MRH: Do you think I'm stupid? This is valuable intellectual property we're talking about. Receiving that transmission requires binding legal agreements that prevent it being passed on without the prerequisite training and accompanying fees.
RB: So, what... you like sue people if they tell, is that it?
MRH: No, we beat the living crap out of them.
RB: And you're sure the Gila Monsters don't figure in any of this? Seems to us you might want to look a little deeper into that, Moe Ron...
MRH: I have faced all my fears. All, that is, but one.
RB: Let us guess. You're afraid of fertile squid eggs that've been run over by a milk truck during the full moon in Sagittarius.
MRH: How did you know that? Who've you been talking to in my organization?
RB: Relax, no one told us. It's just too obvious. Ever read any Freud, Moe?
MRH: No, but I've read the complete collected works of Asimov, a far more penetrating intelligence in my estimation.
RB: Yeah, that figures. OK, well, since we're back to sci-fi, do you see anyone writing today who could take up your mantle, so to speak? Any emerging Moe Rons out there?
MRH: Oh plenty!
RB: Yeah, that's what we think too, though possibly for different reasons. Tell us this then, why did you go for the whole spiritual shtick if you were pulling down such big bucks with the off-planet stuff? Or was that it? Did you start believing your own material? Got a tad confused there for a second maybe...
MRH: There were two fundamental reasons for the shift of focus. The first was that we began to realize that the "fiction" was actually a Higher Modality of Perception. It was an allegorical kind of thing, but we didn't recognize it as that for quite some time.
RB: And the second?
MRH: The IRS.
RB: Ah hah. So, enter the whole money thing again, right? Why is it, do you suppose, that so many people have been willing to pay you all that dough for something that's, well... so dry? At least, we were pretty damn dry after that course of Diuretics.
MRH: Three things: they're scared of their own shadows, they have the approximate IQ of pygmy shrews, and they want to believe.
RB: And this was before X-Files, wasn't it? Amazing. But what are they looking for, precisely? Is there any pattern to it, in your experience?
MRH: Not really. Some want to get laid more often. Many are afraid of appearing silly in business meetings. Others want nothing more than a five-hour work week. It varies. In some ways, aspiring Alpha Betans share many characteristics typical of your own readers.
RB: Yeah? Well it sure doesn't have anything to do with forking over. We haven't figured a way to get ours to give us any money yet, though we are working on a political thriller cum science fiction epic called "Day of the Rotifer," which we hope will be a big seller. The basic premise entails what might have happened if Janet Reno had joined the Branch Davidians and married David Koresh who then somehow managed to land Steve Balmer's job at Microsoft. Meanwhile Bill and Hillary and Al and Tipper are living in a commune with the entire U.S. Senate, House of Representatives and a large number of Shriners somewhere outside Albuquerque after a nuclear war. The plot's a little complicated, but it'd make a great film. We're thinking Brad Pitt for McNealy -- the Brad Pitt of Twelve Monkeys, you know, with the hand thing -- and either Quentin Tarantino or Christopher Walken for Reno.
MRH: Well, it's a start. But why wait? Surely you can get something out of these subscribers of yours.
RB: No. You don't understand. Not possible. They're way too cheap. Plus, then we'd have to actually think before typing.
MRH: I never did.
RB: Really? Well, we'd love to shovel all this crap into a book, but how do you find a publisher willing to take a chance on something as crass and tasteless as EGR?
MRH: Been in any bookstores lately? It's all crap. Plus, publishers are dumber than shit to begin with. Venal, paranoid, vengeful, yes, but generally none too bright. Of course that can work against you, too, as they kind of like to play the winning streaks, if you know what I mean. Have you thought about doing a loveswept romance type thing, but maybe give it your own special gonzo spin? Now that could fly.
RB: You mean like: "His hot breath reeked of rancid eels and cardamom as he ripped at her ample, heaving bodice like a McCormick reaper that had thrown a cylinder..."? That sort of thing?
MRH: It lacks a certain polish, but yes, you've got the general idea. If only you were a little Clearer, you could probably make it really sing.
RB: Ten grand you say? We'll think about it. You don't suppose we could pull off a religion of our own, do you? EGR does deal with The Larger Issues, after all...
MRH: Look, it was hotter than a two-dollar pistol when I got Sayonaralogy off the ground, but it's just a margins game today. You got too goddamed many players in it is what it is, and Murdoch's buying em up fast as he can. There's a nasty shakeout coming in religion. I'd say steer clear of it.
RB: Then how about the Internet? All these analysts are saying there's going to be serious money in this World Wide Web thing one day soon. They don't say how, but...
MRH: The Internet!!! [Starts laughing, then sputtering, then choking. Falls down foaming at the mouth in full-bore apoplectic fit. Thrashes violently, tapering off to spasmodic twitches. Finally stops moving.]
RB: Moe Ron? Moe Ron! Wake up!
Manservant: No use, boss. Looks like he's croaked off.
RB: I expect you're right, Rupert. Very well then, clear away the body and bring out the tea things. There's a good fellow...
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