Subject: Re: the Cult - Beware the Quail!
My name is Professor Fane, and I have not written to this list yet. But
reading this comment from Mr. Dance, I felt compelled to respond:
>> Anyway....anyone else think The Great Quail should be designated theNo! No! No! The Great Quail should not be designated *anything* of this precious cult. I happen to know that Susan is right - the quails are not what they seem. For instance: how many of you recall the Gong Fanweb?
Anyone? No! Of course not - and here's why.
A few years back, one of the most thriving, happenin' places on the Net was the Gong Fanweb, which included a mailing list something like this one. But then strange posts started appearing, all signed by "The Wondrous Partridge." At first, everyone was unfazed. But then? Well, as you all know, Gong fans are gullible, usually on account of the large consumption of THC and an overly enthusiastic appreciation of Ozric Tentacles bootleg tapes, and within a few months, the Wondrous Partridge had them all convinced they were in some sort of Cult, and they appointed him leader. Within three days, the Fanweb mysteriously shut down, vanished into the ether . . . and there was no traces of any members at all. When the EFF went to investigate, tracking down each member's actual location, the only thing in common they found was some private email, often left still binking on the screen: GIFs of a crop circle in Kansas, an invitation to a spurious Gong concert.
Rushing to Kansas to investigate, the authorities were astonished. In a well-trampled field, they found some three hundred and five suits of clothing (Oh! a terrible sight - the tie-dye! the bell-bottoms!) laying around in a pile, sans owner. Cups of coffee were left half-finished, ala Marie Celeste, and a myriad of small bowls, bongs, and half-smoked jays were scattered about the crushed wheat like fallen oobleck from a Deadhead's Dr. Suess primer.
Ghastly . . .and not a single living hippy soul in site. It was like a ghost-in. and the only message was this, carved into a large, overturned tractor: "All hail the Grate [sic] and Wondrous Partridge, we are coming home to Planet Gong, Ia, Ia Quailthulhu, long live the Pothead Pixies!!"
That something terrible happened was beyond question - I mean, what Gonghead would leave a *half smoked* joint behind? Inconceivable. . . .
And I'm sure you all heard about the utter collapse of "Desolation Row 61," the List devoted to the study of Bob Dylan's lyrics? How three months after an increasing spiral of postings from "The Magnificent Bobwhite" *every single* member of that great List signed off, sold all their property, and used the money to start the Barry Manilow Jingle Analysis Center of Grover Mills, NJ? And that the last thing anyone has heard from them since, is that fateful day last year when they all spammmed the alt.music.joan.baez newsgroup with the mysterious message,
"Pweet, pweet, cheep, peck?"
Did you know that the original name of the "Good-time Virus" was the "Quail-time" virus? That Syd Barret got his acid exclusively from a dealer known as Dr. Lophortyx Californicus? (*you* look it up, brothers and sisters, though in your hearts you know what you will find!)
You see, I believe that the quail is really the cover-name for a mastermind who behaves like the dread cuckoo, a bird which lays her eggs in another birds nests, so when they hatch, in a grim orgy of beak-tossing, they murderously fling the true birdies out of the nest and take over the scene. . . .
And Susan says,Can't you see his manipulation? He'd tell you anything. I bet that even, right now, he is studying old Kinks albums just to start dropping allusions, furthering your trust in him. . .
>The fact that he knows so much about Bob, though (and I don't mean DylanA clever warning on his part, this Bob thing . . . Bob, Bobwhite, Bob the spiritual vampiric entity from Twin Peaks. . . . so why *do* you think Twin Peaks was cancelled? Has anyone heard from Sherilyn Fenn in a while? Who killed Jack Nance? Could it be any clearer?
So DO NOT APPOINT HIM LEADER! Do not drink his kool-ade, read his
postings, visit his websites, or - God forbid - eat of his birdseed!
Kill him! Kill all quailkind! Stamp on their little birdy bodies! Pluck off those ridiculous head-feathers! Patronize restaurants that have "quail" on the menu!
Thank you, that is all.
Doctor Reverend Maynard Lovejoy and
Institute for Cult Studies
Linctus House, New York