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UFONY March 1991 Volume 1, Number 3
The Magazine of the Electronic Underground
Against Nonsense and in Support of Reason
UFONY is published by Ultrarad Software and is Copyright (C) 1990, All Rights
Reserved. Permission is hereby granted to republish this issue of UFONY on
computer Bulletin Board Systems (BBS's) and in computer-oriented newsletters
provided the issue is published intact and without added internal comments.
If you edit or publish a computer-oriented newsletter and you republish an
issue of UFONY in your newsletter, please send a copy of the newsletter to
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Û ì ë ÷ ÷ ÷ ÷ í Û
Û � é ì ë Û
Û ê ê ê ê Unholy Communion Issue Û
Û Û
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The Thundering Herd for the Liberation of Right Thinking has taken over
the offices of UFONY, shackled and gagged Mil Pogboddle, and done dastardly
things to Dr. Christine Brinkley (albeit with her permission). We herewith
and forevermore declare these said offices to be a nuclear-free zone. Ozone-
depleting products are no longer permitted. Ancient redwoods and other old-
growth trees are to remain inviolate. Yuppies are subject to arrest and
thought reorientation--and to castration, in particularly resistant cases.
Picture-neat children, immaculately coiffed and tailored to perfection,
especially if wearing sailor suits, are subject to recycling on the spot. And
never, never forget Rule One: Dr. Brinkley belongs to the Overseer. (Rank
hath its privileges--and our overseer, by all accounts, is about as rank as
they come.)
The Thundering Herd will be issuing a list of nonnegotiable demands
shortly. Demand One, you may be sure, will be for the immediate release of
all hostages everywhere (Dr. Brinkley excepted). Demand Two will be for part-
time clean-up jobs at Burger King for all able-bodied Shiite Moslems who are
able to wipe the foam off their mouths and mimic the sounds made by human
beings. (No, Dan, it's not pronounced like a common four-letter word with t-y
tacked onto the end.) Demand Three will be: Off with those stupid veils and
turbans, sphinctoid scum. Join the world. This is the age of jet planes and
man-made satellites and computers. Clean the camel dung off your hind feet
and git wit de program. You Shiite Moslem women, you can keep the shrubbery
under your arms if you like--hey, whatever gets you through the desert night,
right?-- but a good dunk or two and a comb to the mop on top wouldn't hurt
you. You don't wanna get a bad image over here where people wipe before
eating instead of while eating, do you?
Incidentally, in an effort to aid Middle-eastern women in bringing
themselves up to snuff in matters of grace and decorum, we reproduce here a
list of tips from Desert Flower: The Magazine of Glamour and Cutting-Edge
Etiquette for Upscale Middle-Eastern Hayseeds. The list is entitled "On
Becoming a Siren of Araby ... or, Have Ayatollah Lately that I Love You?" and
it's worth memorizing for its wisdom and its sweet sonorities.
(1) Do not blow your nose under your arm.
(2) If a Western devil smiles at you, do not giggle thunderously and
spray yellow-brown spittle.
(3) Do not serve broiled dung beetles or other delicacies to Westerners.
(4) Do not wave your hindquarters wildly about to dry the stink-spray
from your lingam and your yoni.
(5) Do not take a dump in a phone booth during the Feast of Ramadan.
(6) If a scorpion should take up residence in your garments, do not roll
about or unclothe yourself vigorously.
(7) Immediately cover with sand any moist piles left about the house by
your children.
(8) If a foul wind emit from you, do not bray and womp to mask the
sound, but simply say "Ta ta" in the fashion of a British woman of dignity and
briefly void yourself from the room.
(9) Do not use the same cloth for your duties of self-cleansing as for
pressing the remains of food paste off your dinner bones.
(10) Emulate Dorothy Lamour in The Road to Baghdad.
All in all, sort of a Middle-eastern version of "Go placidly amid the
noise and the haste ..."
Meanwhile, let us get back to preliminary matters.
The Electronic Underground--by which we mean, primarily, the world of
BBS's and BBS'ing--has in almost all respects served its inhabitants well. It
has failed, however, in one major sphere: it hasn't spread the word about the
dangers of mind pollution.
We will present for your consideration a few words that might strike some
people as vaguely nonsupportive of religion. We are obliged, before doing so,
to tell every reader of any such words that they represent the views of the
Thundering Herd and of nobody else. This proviso would be unnecessary if we
were to claim that Vice President Quayle is mentally ill, or that conspirators
in the CIA hired Castro or the Mafia or both to assassinate President John F.
Kennedy, or that Big Oil has suppressed the secret that a couple of Maalox
tablets mixed with Crystal Lite will power a Camarro better than any gasoline.
As reasonable and tolerant folks who support freedom, we tend to nurture free
speech, to hold it dear.
But we know, don't we, that the dedicated religionists--the Ayatollahs
and the gangs of frothing fundamentalists, televised or not--hate free speech
with a burning passion. Fundamentalists swoon when they suspect that
somewhere anti-religious views are in danger of being granted one-tenth of one
percent of the space the fundamentalists daily befoul. Those who wish to
become educated about the heart and soul of religion might do well to begin by
reading the hilarious and enlightening collection of essays entitled LETTERS
FROM THE EARTH, by America's greatest writer, Mark Twain, whose wonderfully
humane and powerful works are often censored in schools today by those who
would happily chain you and your children to their crypt if they dared.
At last count there were more than a thousand BBS's dedicated to round-
the-clock spreading of religion. And not simply religion, but almost always
fundamentalist, kill-your-enemies religion. (Many would disagree with this
characterization. Censorship of phonograph records, sure. And movies and
books, sure. And thought, definitely. Restrictions on gambling, sure.
Restrictions on rock concerts, sure. Yes, these defenders of the
fundamentalist agenda say, we will chain you if you let us, but we would
never disembowel you or drown you or torture you for disagreeing with us or
toast you over an open fire like chestnuts or hang you, by the neck or by your
thumbs, you heathen witches, you servants of the devil, we would never do that
to you, no, no, oh no. Don't believe those who pimp fundamentalism. The
beast keeps its jaws shut only out of fear--fear of your contempt, fear of
your ability to chain It. Religion is a curse and a shame; its history is a
volcano of blood. Mother Theresa's slop for the starving is not sufficient to
drown the screams of history or to wash away its horrors.
The essential damage done by the spirochetes of religion is that they
render minds soiled by them open to other forms of rot that are often more
immediately dangerous. A mind that can accept a gaseous vertebrate that gets
off on endless hollow praise--such a mind is truly defenseless. Let us
retrofit ourselves with incense-soaked cherry bombs and rocket heavenward and
ride golden roller coasters and sing quadrillions of hymns until our flies
disintegrate and our asses are milled to mirror-smooth flatness by our pews,
all for the Man in black who gets off on faux praise.
An aside. Isaac Asimov is an atheist. Carl Sagan is an atheist. Do
these brilliant writers and thinkers shout their quarrel with the garbage that
is religion? No. They mention it only rarely. They keep their voices soft,
almost detesticulate. Why do you suppose that is? Is it a matter of little
importance, whether or not a power-mad praise-sucking dictator rules the
universe, arbitrarily slaughtering those whose noses are not sufficiently
brown?
The limp-mindedness that breeds give-Him-another-fix-of-dat-ole-fake-
praise-religion BBS's, has also spawned BBS's that pimp more obvious forms of
mental illness: pretend witchcraft, pretend reincarnation, asstrology, and the
like.
SYSOP's who have kept a handle on their rationality might check the mail
conferences they carry. Amid all the technology and all the reasoned
discussion there are nematodes. There is psychosis within those conferences.
Mass murderers look for messages from the Great Beyond, and they find what
they look for. Is it okay to butcher pets--not to mention kidnaped children?
Hey, why not? In your next life you can come back as a bird of paradise, or
as Snoopy, or as a waffle. And maybe meet a cute Capricorn.
So why pick on religion? Hey, why not? Is religion a defenseless little
kid? Religion picks on everybody. It needs to be picked on. We all know the
shy, moon-faced girl who keeps her white bible under her head and her pillow
at half-mast and who says that ejaculating an occasional wad of fake praise
heavenward gives her joy. But maybe it's not religion that gives her joy;
maybe it's the pillow.
In one important area the Electronic Underground has failed utterly: it
has failed to spread the gospel of reason. It has failed to alert us to the
dangers of those nematodes. It has said, "What, me worry?" Young people are
taught that they are free to believe anything that strikes their fancy. As
indeed they are. But the consequences are dire: mind pollution kills.
There's a great difference between human food for the mind, and dog droppings.
This is your brain on astronomy; and this is your brain on astrology.
Brothers and sisters, it matters what you believe. It matters, whether
you know it or not, most of all to you.
Get a mental life while it's not too late. Follow the light shed by the
scientific method. All other roads lead to destruction.
So what about Unholy Communion? Hey, the people of the Thundering Herd
are a laid-back group. Give us time.
We need a show of hands. How many of you have heard of a pretty decent
science fiction book called THE WOLFEN, by Whitley Strieber? How many of you
have seen the movie, which was also pretty decent? How many of you have heard
of Strieber's next book, THE HUNGER, about vampires? How many of you have seen
the movie based on that one?
Between 1970 and 1977, according to Philip J. Klass in UFO-ABDUCTIONS: A
DANGEROUS GAME, Strieber wrote nine novels and couldn't get them published.
But on rare occasions a struggling writer bites into the Mother Lode. THE
WOLFEN was a huge success in 1977, and the straightforward movie adaptation in
1981 was also a success.
Strieber, who looks exactly like Jim Baker (see Klass, UFO-ABDUCTIONS: A
DANGEROUS GAME, Plate 22) has continued with success. His two books following
THE HUNGER, which were published in '82 and '83, dealt with invasion of Earth
by aliens.
In 1987 Strieber published COMMUNION, about his abduction by at least
four different races of aliens. He was given a cash advance of $1 million for
the story of his abduction, which reached the top position on the nonfiction
best-seller lists of the New York Times, the Washington Post, and Publishers
Weekly.
Nonfiction? Remember those nematodes, brothers and sisters. We of the
Thundering Herd think it's high time that all the balderdash about UFO's and
psi powers be identified for what it is: ullshitbay, brothers and sisters.
Piles and piles of it. Stick with us. We'll help you watch where you step.
When a female from the Great Beyond stuck a needle into Strieber's brain,
he told her, "You'll ruin a beautiful mind." She responded by asking him,
"What can we do to help you stop screaming?" Strieber, obviously quick to
grasp on which side his butt is breadered, told the alien woman (It would be
nice to know her name. Mothra? Rodan? Hannah?), "You could let me smell
you." (Don't fall for those lame earth lines, Moonola. Tell him the
Thundering Herd knows of an Iraqi maiden he can sniff, if he dares.) She had,
Strieber tells us, "a slight scent of cardboard" that "gave me
... an anchor in reality." Too bad Strieber came unglued from his anchor, say
we of the Thundering Herd.
If you want to know whether Strieber bedded Barbarella, you'll have to
stay tuned, 'cause we is runnin' low on Maalox.
Watch for the first Scratch 'N Sniff Issue of UFONY, comin' at you from
your favorite BBS. This time she really means business. (You ever smell
righteous methane, Strieber? We're talking uncut rock methane, pharmaceutical
grade. Don't kid yourself. You're Barbarella ain't got half the smell of our
Barbarella.)
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realitycheck Poindexter Fortran 415-567-7043
Lies Unlimited Mick Freen 415-583-4102
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