140 lines
7.1 KiB
Plaintext
140 lines
7.1 KiB
Plaintext
Principia Entropius Book Two >>The Principia EntroHocusPocus
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Part Twenty-two of 15
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"But you must know that we are all in agreement, whatever we say."
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---Turba Philosophorum
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The Fellowship of Froot loops:
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If you know that YOU are in, in with the in crowd, the inner circle,
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then you are actually fooling yourself, there is no in crowd or clique.
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We accept almost everyone,except maybe a few people, but mainly those
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that suck are not allowed to play reindeer games.
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Everyone else, is pretty much in the fellowship, and that fellowship
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involves sticking together, unless you know the other person is wrong,
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but even then, you should just pretend like you agree, giving people
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who are just tuning in, the illusion, that we infact have a unified idea
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of what it is we are about.
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Under no conditions should you reveal our sacred Passwords, unless we
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are talking like 50 bucks or something.
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Secret Cryptic Froot Loops Password:
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"Aiieeee the Squid is no longer under Mind Control"
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Countersign
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"The sky is falling, quickly do the Hurney Gurney Dance"
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Those that read that, owe me 50 bucks!
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(in American currency, Postage Stamps, or
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severed body parts).
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{Kappa-Epsilon-Phi-Alpha-Eta Beta}
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THE CRY OF THE HAWK
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Hoor hath a secret fourfold name: it is Do What
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Thou Wilt.(3)
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Four Words: Naught-One-Many-All.
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Thou-Child!
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Thy Name is holy.
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Thy Kingdom is come.
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Thy Will is done.
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Here is the Bread.
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Here is the Blood.
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Bring us through Temptation!
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Deliver us from Good and Evil!
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That Mine as Thine be the Crown of the Kingdom,
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even now.
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ABRAHADABRA.
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These ten words are four, the Name of the One.
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----Alleister Crowley
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Chapter Two, book of Lies.
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THE BOOK OF SHAG
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Heed my words, oh miniscule and pulchritudinous ones. Hear and heed, you
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who do not fellatiate, and you who know not the meaning of the great and
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high remex. The end is near. You must heed and follow the things I will
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speak unto you, the words of the great gods, the god of the windowshade,
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the god of the distributor cap, the god of the blue bikini underwear and
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most importantly the god of the dead japanese beetle somewhere on the
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campus of rutgers university. By heeding these words, you will improve
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the gas mileage of your car, enter into a new age of harmony, peace,
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happiness, and belgian waffles. Bring things home each day and not pay
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for them until next september, and make sure that your life is sanctioned
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and guarded by the great race of aliens which will land any day now in
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Starkville Mississippi and revolutionise the way you wash dishes. Be sure
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to not be left out when all human males become obsolete as females flock
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to the alien males and their new, improved, user-friendly genitalia mark
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five systems! You must make your genitalia blue, anointing it with
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indigo. Anoint also your ears, your nose, the back of your neck, and the
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fourth toe of each foot, the most holy of all toes.
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I speak to you of the coming of the greater race. You shall know them by
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their stature, by their countenance, by their language, unlike any that
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man has ever heard, and by their sexual prowess. Behold, they shall land
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in a small town, Starkille, and shall walk the earth among the children,
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and you shall not know them. Many will say in those days, "The gods are
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walking the earth, the gods are walking the earth," but they shall be
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scoffed upon and spit upon and fucked hard by prostitutes in cheap motels
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then bankrupted by the media. But you will pay them no attention and
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merely stop sending your donations. But then, the greater race will
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reveal themselves in all their glory for all mankind to see. The truth
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will be known, and the truth will be that mankind has not paid their lease
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and is being evicted, a new race takes over the planet, please move the
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furniture out and clean the carpeting before you leave. Behold a wonder:
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your children and their children shall mate, producing a better race yet,
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but you, the unbelievers, shall be sentenced to 40 time units of wandering
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in the outer dust clouds of the andromeda sector aboard a tiny spaceship
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called the minnow.
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So, lo, woe, yo, repent while you still are young on an archaelogic scale.
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The world must be saved by the horrors that are low-density disks, AM
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radio, and non-FOX television. You must learn to live without processed
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spinach products, to wean your children on their father's milk,. and to
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accept that power strips and LSD are things of the past. Synthesise your
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offspring carefully so that when the time of the great choosing comes,
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your sons and daughters may be chosen by the greater race to participate
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in furthering their race, in the strange ritual of the cosmic fuck, the
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antithesis of the hells of knowledge, riches, and power, the fulfillment
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of the postmodern dream of red lights, t-squares, and paint blotches.
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Prepare yourselves for the day of the final inkblot judgement, wherein all
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shall be tested for blot and blood type. In that day, some will say,
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"verily, it is an aston-martin, in O positive." To those, the coming one
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will say, "farewell, you were never a phlebotomist, just a prick, depart
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from here into an eternity of dimness and cheap paperback novels and
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genuine IBM computers." But in that fateful day, some will say, "truly,
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it is two schnauzers chasing a naked woman, in AB negative." To those,
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the coming one will say, "come, join me at the cosmic sock hop, you are
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one of my own, you will live an eternity of free drinks and beautiful
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tragically hip waifs."
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For I have been spoken these things by the angels of light, hermetic
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seals, and the small purple man painted on my wall, who read them from the
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great platinum plates upon which they were inscribed from the supernatural
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force of the great god of the cunny, who swallows all things for the
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better of his followers. I have seen the light, I have been enlightened,
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I speak the truth to you, heed it and save your lives and those of your
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fellow neighbour's wife and your neighbour's ass, or do not hear my words,
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and turn a deaf ear to them, and forever suffer in this meaningless
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existance. The gods have spoken, I have written, and the pen, having
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writ, runs out of ink, on this, the next to the last of the last days...
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-The Book of Shag-
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