☀The book will be brought forth,

In which is contained,

Hence, the world is judged.

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Three-Fisted Tales of "Bob" cover

Three-Fisted Tales of "Bob" cover

Three-Fisted Tales of "Bob" is the most obscure book written by the Church of the SubGenius. It consists of several short stories by various SubGenii, compiled and edited by Rev. Ivan Stang. It has been out of print for many years, but you can read it for free at or buy a used copy from someone else. Here is a video by YouTube SubGenius MetaBob where he shows off his copies of both of the out-of-print SubGenius books, Three-Fisted Tales of "Bob" AND High Weirdness by Mail:

Subgenius The Breatharian

Subgenius The Breatharian



"Even if he'd had nothing to do with publishing our books, he'd have been "SubGenius Hierarchy" through and through."

More than a hundred publishers had rejected the proposals for The Book of the SubGenius before Tim suddenly, in their darkest days, appeared as if by magic and ramrodded it into print against all odds. He never saw the pamphlet/proposal I'd originally sent to his then-employer, McGraw-Hill; it'd been trashcanned by some secretary. Instead, during a picnic, my friend Leslie Gaspar showed him a beat-up copy she'd found lying in the back seat of my sister-in-law's car. Alone among those hundred-plus editors, he saw the potential and made us an offer the very next day. (In publishing, an offer leads to an agent, which leads to other offers, which leads to a track record. It isn't what you know, but who; we were very lucky to know Tim McGinnis.)

"Speaking for myself alone, were it not for Tim I'd probably, at best, be slaving away in some Conspiracy job instead of enjoying the luxury of working on my true calling at home, with the sounds of my children playing in the next room. At worst, I'd be be dead of hopelessness."


"I postulate that the function of art and all creative thought is to make us aware of what we know and don't know and don't know that we know. You can't tell anybody anything he doesn't know already."

If the function of art is to make us aware of what we know and don't know we know, the function of the Christian Church and all its metastases has been and still is to keep us in ignorance of what we know. People living on the sea coast knew the earth was round. They believed it was flat because the Church said so. And hard-core Synanon members still believe the media put that rattlesnake in Paul Morantz' mail box to discredit Synanon. Is there any limit to brainwashing? Apparently not. Such cults as Synanon, Scientology, the Peoples Temple derive from the same infected source as Christianity. In fact they recapitulate the story of Christianity word for word, like the inevitable course of some unsightly disease: criminal ignorance, brutish stupidity, self-righteous bigotry, paranoid fear of outsiders. For the cultist, psychiatrists, the media, Government agencies have become Satan incarnate. Like the fundamental Christians, they have to be right.

Now Christianity sounded good at first to the naive convert. Love, peace and charity-what's wrong with that? I'll tell you what's wrong-a series of unprecedented horrors perpetrated by so-called Christians: the Inquisition, the Conquistadores, the American Indian wars, slavery, Hiroshima and the present-day Bible Belt. That poisonous old-time religion they brew up down there constitutes a menace to all passengers on spacecraft Earth. Why did this happen, and why does it happen with the sects that stem from Christianity? What was so wrong with Christianity in the beginning? In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was God.

There's an interesting book entitled The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown ofthe Bicameral Mind. The author, Julian Jaynes, postulates that the awe in which the ancient priest-king was held derived from his ability to produce his voice in the brains of his loyal subjects. This is the voice of God, which funnels through the non-dominant brain hemisphere. Jaynes cites clinical evidence; stimulation of the nondominant hemisphere causes experimental subjects to hear voices. An attempted suicide who was rescued from drowning stated that a voice in his head told him to kill himself, and that for some reason he had to obey that voice. Ifyou want to start a cult, the first step is to get your voice into the non-dominant brain hemisphere of your soon-to-be devoted followers. The Scientology course involves listening to hours off. Ron Hubbard's voice on tape. The voice ofDederich, founder ofsynanon, was said to drift from the air conditioning system, and Reverend Jim Jones had tapes ofhis voice continually broadcast over loudspeakers at Jonestown.

The second step: make enemies. If there is one thing a cult leader needs, it is enemie-real or imagined-from which to deliver his flock. Having postulated fiendish enemies, the leader then sets up commando squads to deal with this self-created emergency: the Sea Org of Scientology, the Imperial Marines of Synanon, the armed guards of the Peoples Temple. Aggressive acts by these protectors then produce counter-actions from outside. After all, what can you expect when you break into Govemment offices, put rattlesnakes in people's mail boxes, and murder a Congressman? These counterattacks, which the cultists bring on themselves, lead to escalating paranoia and more and more extreme measures.

Given the ability to project your voice into others' minds, here is a how-to blueprint:

Richard Nixon exploded the Presidential image at Watergate. I think he will go down in history as a folk hero. The Reverend Jones has, by his example, called into question the leadership principle which is the very basis of authority. What else are churches, armies, nations built upon but leaders and the belief that these leaders know what they are doing and that the citizen owes them unquestioning obedience?

Anyone who believes he owns all the answers is a lunatic. And lunatics are dangerous to themselves and others. Spacecraft Earth is too small and too overcrowded to accommodate lunatic sects. The answer is very simple: instead of being tax-free, churches should be taxed double. They should be taxed right out of existence.


9yr old Little Connie Depthcharge was standing in 1996 in Northern California, not quite alone. And she begins to realize that the world had no center, or at least no visable one.

The year 1996 was a place, Connie thought,  This time is a place. Not all times are places, not so you'd notice, but this one was.

She contimplated her mother, and the Dream Plauges... Her mind so distracted thinking about a lizard and not the quality of the buildings around her... She failed to notice that they had began moving as they spring to life. Berefting a metallic screechy howl. The windows shattered.  The walls became gears, pulsing with life.  Robotic parts self-assimilating and assembling.

"Right this was, Little Connie! Big sale on small favors!"

A false reality of machines surrounded her as she crawled to the only exit she could see.  She was stopped by a cardboard cut out realized in Three Dimensions. A grinning idiot with a pipe in his teeth.  A tall man in a timeless suit.

He encouraged her to join him.  As they moved forward to the exit the machine reality formed around them.  Conscious of their movements.  Two segments hurled at each other and instead of coliding fused, meshing together perfectly.  Sparks, whips, chains, flew around them randomly.  They came inches from death. The tall man buffoonishly avoiding his own imminent destructions. The luck of the very stupid.

The man reveals himself to be none other than J.R. "Bob" Dobbs! You could hear the quotation marks around his name!

"Bob" leads connie off the conveyor belt onto a roof of a building where he injects large floating crystals into pitfalls blocking their path.

"Bob" reveals Proto-time to Connie.  The holographic universe outside of human perception. Mcdonalds, Stucky's, 7-11, Gas Sations, etc... They were moving together like functioning parts.  Shooting people like electrons from one outlet to another.  The inteptitude of this world purposfully designed to fit together into one normal machine.

"Bob" informs Connie that there is going to be an X-day, where the Conspiracy traps all the normals in a living... Conspiracy Concentration camp. A camp without gaurds, because it was a living prison And that there was an alien Smog Monster name G'BROAGFRAN that had blanketed the planet and turned everyone complactent and pink!!

"Bob" of course challeges this monster to a fist fight and G'BROAGFRAN's mighty fist knocks "Bob" and Connie backwards off the roof down to Earth.

They land harmlessly, looking up at an upsidedown city.  Gradually the skin of perceieved reality peels away and the walls revealing its true interior.  Organs. Pulsing.  Bleeding.

The Smog Monster was gone, hundreds of miles away. Connie's eyes adjusted and began to view the people milling around her. But before she could think "Bob"'s pipe smoke that pulled them up into the cloud. She was seeing with new clarity.  So fine a perception that she could see the future's of everyone around her.  Who would die and when. who would become drug addicts, who would get married and have kids, she saw who would become accidentally wealthy.

But then she saw... Saucers. Bouncing around the surface of the Earth like pinballs.  Laying waste, destroying everything.

Connie is surprised.  "Bob" grabs her and takes her on a dive through the luck plane. In his '57 Studabaker.  They experience some inflight difficulties and crash, violently.  They make a lucky landing in Malaysia.  Where "Bob" informs her of her Subgenii brothers and sisters.  And her permanent home in Dobbstown.


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