d-UH? (The dis-Order of Urban Hermits?)
Founded by Greybeard the Pensive :), KSC, d-UH?, MM
 |
HOME |  |
DISCORDIANISM |
Who — or What — is Greybeard the Pensive :)?
|
Greybeard was born in the Midwest in The Big City and was immediately exiled on general principle. For the next several years he lived in a veritable Eden of greenery until it was decided by a family quorum (four to one) that he should be taken back to that Shrine to Concrete, dumped at a random intersection with a fake name tag attached to his chest and lost for good.
|
Our Flounder today. |
All of this took place in the early 1950s. Eisenhower was President of the United States of America and was warning us about the Military/Industrial Complex. (Why listen to an old bald guy? What does he know? We just stuck him in there so that we could skid through the next eight years without anyone noticing the corporate take-over of America.) Nixon the Veep was honing the skills he learned as a used car salesman by looking for communists in everybody's lunch pail and his buddy Tailgunner Joe McCarthy was looking under every bed while, if they had been looking in closets, they might have come across (so to speak) an even worse perversion (in their eyes), the honorable J. Edgar "The Big Suck" Hoover.
Yes, those were the days. Greybeard (he was known as Nobeard back then) often wishes that things would return to those idyllic times. The days when you believed that a cowboy with a basso profundo voice who shot silver bullets, who wore a black mask and a pale blue skin tight uniform, who had a faithful Indian companion dressed in leather, would have no need for female fraternization and that not one ornery galloot in the Wild West gave it a second thought. The days when you believed that if you sat on the floor in the school hallway facing the wall with your arms over your head that you would survive the blast of an atomic bomb dropped in the middle of the city. The days when the biggest trauma anyone faced was not getting his homework done, as told to us by Theodore Cleaver. The days when you believed that the two six-foot- tall students who wore black leather jackets, had mustaches, had cigarette stains on their fingers and who sat in the back of your fifth grade class only suffered a little hormone problem.
Belief had a lot to do with those days. Even though people were being blow-torched then lynched, even though factories were shutting down from sea to shining sea and even though women, who had proven themselves in the workplace during the war, were once again relegated to the bedrooms and kitchens of America, we all believed that everyone had one fat juicy slice of the American Pie in the Sky. Our leaders said so. Madison Avenue said so. Television said so. It must be so. Authority was not a thing that was subverted — not in the good ole USofA. We had just fought the Second War to End All Wars to prove that very fact that "it can't happen here."
But, like a damned dog with fleas and the mange who likes dry-humping your leg, Greybeard kept returning to the bosom of his family. The family gave up and moved back to the Concrete Jungle, biding their time until he would move out on his own.
The next several years were like a Roman orgy for Greybeard. Unfortunately, he wasn't one of the guys on the divans. He was the comic entertainment, being, as he was, tall, skinny, clumsy, slow-witted and naive. Tiring of stardom, he fled this happy megalopilis at the age of twenty-one and headed for what John Phillips (not Sousa) had told him was paradise in a song.
While enroute to Los Angeles, he had a vision in the land where giants have scraped the tops off mountains. He was blinded by a Great Light. This light was provided by an amphetamine junky who was driving a sixteen wheeler packed with three tons of pirated Hula Hoops™ at 120mph down the wrong side of the highway at 3:00am in the rain. Greybeard swerved off the road into a ditch. This perfectly illustrates his lack of neuro-motor coordination as he was walking and hitching, not driving. He got up and, still blinded, wandered into a cactus grove.
For the next five weeks he spent his time in a cave outstaring a wall and picking cactus spines out of his body. It was during this time in the desert that he was fed grubs by two ravens, Huggin and Muggin (or was it Heckle and Jeckle?). After weeks of eating grubs, centipedes, fire ants and mescal buttons, he had a vision. (By the way, there was a MacRonald's© over the next mesa and the ravens lived on Dollar Pounders with Cheese and MacFrosty shakes.) It was in this vision that he met Eris, Our Mother of Madness. She told him to build a temple dedicated to Her upon this spot so that the multitudes might come to do Her honor. Greybeard spent the next fifteen minutes of his life building a modest temple for the Goddess of Gloom. Using the materials found at hand, it was composed entirely of dried buffalo chips. (I know you are familiar with the wings found on buffalo of the Southwest region, but they make delicious chips from their hind quarters as well.)
|
At the right you will find a photo of this edifice before it was destroyed in 1976 by the Heinrich Himmler Troop of the Boy Sprouts of America, who at that time were taking on the characteristics of the goofier Islamic Terrorist Brotherhoods. They refused to allow any non-Protestant Christian, non-heterosexual, non-white, non-male, non-land-owner approved edifices within their line of sight. The little rascals that did the deed achieved immediate Thundercloud status and new commemorative merit ribbons: bar-sinister of course. A Jamboree was held in their honor at Lynchburg, TN.
|
(Andy) Divine Temple to Eris |
Leaving Eris giggling and pawing filthy lucre at the ticket window outside Her temple, and saying goodbye to Huggin and Muggin (or was it Heckle and Jeckle?), who gave him parting gifts of DizneeCorp© Yet© Another© Diznee© Classic© commemorative© toys©,© he continued his Journey to the West. He had, while secreted in the desert, assumed the persona, Greybeard the Pensive :), KSC (Keeper of the Sacred Chao).
He entered the Promised Land and immediately threw up his lunch. Yes. It was here. More graft, kick-backs, abuse of power, subterfuge, elitism, shucksterism, manipulation, defilement, pollution, egoism, brutality, greed, and outright impoliteness than he had left behind. It made the shenanigans of Richard M. Daley, Al Capone, John Dillinger, Richard Speck and Mrs. O'Leary's cow look like a Pleasantville Church Social.
He immediately went into hiding and formed d-UH?, the dis-Order of Urban Hermits?. Before losing himself in eternal anti-social behavior, he bought a copy of Principia Discordia, married the Goddess L'Fck, Patron Saint of Small Furry Animals (who insists that he eats grub instead of grubs), and bought a couple computers to ensure that he would be ever reminded of the holy presence of Our Lady of Faulty Programming and Incompatible Hardware, namely Eris.
To this day he can be found wearing a hair shirt and smeared with chao dung, sitting in the low-level radiated glow of his monitor, re-re-re-re-rebuilding his desktop and/or being told that Windoze was shut down improperly and that, to not see this message again (for the eight billionth time), he should use the Shut Down option, rather than having an elephantine convoluted jury-rigged operating system dancing on the head of a pin freeze up his computer.
And smiling the smile of the blessed . . . or the moronic.
Photo of Temple: ©I can't remember . . . I'm looking, I'm looking!
This
page was created on the 3rd of Bureaucracy, 3167. It was last revamped
— 6th of Discord, 3168.
(Infidel translation: This page was created August 10, 2001. It was last
revamped — March 20, 2002.)