WARNING - Mysteries of the Universe revealed herein!
Restricted to Full-Blooded Yeti ONLY!!
Turn back NOW before its too late!

Concentrating on each of the pictures on this page will automatically transfer forbidden church doctrine via steganographic encryption. Every pixel is carefully calculated and placed in order to realign your monetary chakras, yet leave you with that fresh and satisfied feeling not unlike the obligatory cigarette after an episode of particularly rough sex. Only, our "wet spot" will never go away, no matter what you do. This is a Very Good Thing(tm) - you just don't know it yet. The totally clueless may never quite "get it", but even now your DNA code is being rewritten. PraBob! The bill for this valuable service is in the mail.

UFOs are garbage. They are nothing more than fleeting glimpses of the Urge To Buy neuro-implant, effortlessly absorbed from the almighty TeeVee by those unable or unwilling to understand the true horror behind the horror. The real ones haven't gotten here yet. The Powers That Be want to make sure that when the real ones land, everyone will be overjoyed at having their own personal cute little huggable Friend from Beyond; they'll be so happy that our Brothers in the Cosmos have finally come to share their love and enlightenment with us; or that they'll finally be able to leave their shitty job, suck-up friends, and overbearing family, and leave the planet to play Star Trek for real-- that in those critical first few minutes, we'll peek out of the shelters, lower our shotguns, and open the door. Then, the "visitors" will eat their livers. The schmucks deserve it. Its a perfectly natural process, ordained since the beginning of time. The Earth will be cleansed like a drunk puking his guts out to get rid of that last fatal bit of cheap liquor. And in the end, it will be precisely the ones who had enough sanity not to give a shit, that'll be waving goodbye in the rear-view screen.

Yeah, its "Good News" all right. Enough to make those pencil-necked geeks on bicycles who DARED to wake me up last Saturday morning wish that they'd never even been fertilized. As always, some whining, slug-like human jumps and says "But Reverend, we already know that, we've heard that from the last 665 preachers here at the End of the World Semenar." But when the echo of the last rant had died down, and the last drop of yeti blood had been shed upon the stage, and the Gurus and Doktors and Ministers had left the stage, the audience remained chained to their seats. What was wrong? They had sent in their $30. They had put up any of the sacred posters all over town. As the first waves of saucers came down in fiery swarms, landing near the stage, the joy of rescue on the Sex Saucers turned to horror as the line of preachers cleared the boarding ramp, revealing a large NO VACANCY sign.....

Holy Temple of Mass Consumption
PO Box 30904
Raleigh, NC 27622
(919) 954-5956

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