Indecency Exposed!

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Everyone knows that indecency should never be read for enjoyment or pleasure--no, indecency is not meant to be enjoyed. That's why they call it indecency.

So, rather than presenting our indecency in a way that could possibly be enjoyed by some unwary soul, we have asked our resident expert on indecency, S. Elf Righteous--Elf for short--, to explicate and eradicate the indecency, and so protect us from its harmful effects. Thank you once again, Elf, for bravely volunteering for this hazardous and thankless duty.

The indecency looks like this. It consists of verbatim selections from Chapter 21, "Seldom Seen at Home" of Edward Abbey's The Monkey Wrench Gang--a book that, we are quite afraid, is widely available and has been read by millions of obviously depraved Americans.

Elf's insightful responses to the indecency look like this. --Elf

Please read and decide for yourselves: Should the wretched indecency of "Seldom Seen at Home" be allowed to exist? Or should it be gathered into a gigantic electronic bonfire and roasted off the face of the net?

Seldom Seen at Home

Green River, Utah. Susan's house. The watermelon ranch. An easy day's drive from Sheila's place at Bountiful, which was in turn an easy day's drive from Kathy's house near Cedar City. He'd planned it all that way, of course, from the beginning. Seldom Seen Smith hearkened to the prophet Brigham: he was polygamous as a rabbit.

Already the indecency begins--in the very first paragraph, the helpless children are exposed to a deviant sexual lifestyle. This deviant lifestyle is presented not only explicitly (as we shall see later on), but also in a positive light--as though this polygamous perversion were something that ordinary, everyday folks indulged in. The blasphemy! The perversity! The indecency! --Elf

Three o'clock in the morning and the bedroom was full of dreams. . . .

Seeing how as these dreams are taking place in the "bed"room, one can easily imagine the extent of their indecency. But we need not imagine for long . . . --Elf

Smith lay in his bed beside his third wife and dreamed his troublesome dream. They were after him again. . . . A warrant for his arrest had been issued in San Juan County. . . . Smith fled down endless corridors of sweating concrete. Under the Dam. Trapped again in the recurring nightmare of That Dam.

Excuse me, but in the space of one short paragraph we have:

Avoid the very appearance of indecency--that's MY motto. Yet our author seems to revel in it. Disgusting. --Elf

Down in the dank bowels of Reclamation. Engineers on skateboards glided past, clipboards in hand. Pneumatic panels opened before him, closed behind him, drawing Smith deeper and deeper into the dynamo heart of the Enemy. Magnetic webs pulled him toward the Inner Office. Where the Director waited, waiting for him. . . . Smith knew he was going to be punished

"Punishment"--here we have more than a hint of sado-masochism. Deviance piled upon deviance, indecency on indecency!

Furthermore, the veiled reference the the thrasher lifestyle ("Engineers on skateboards"--hah!) is obviously designed to appeal to children and teenagers--and it is well known that thrashers, in person and through the medium of their vile magazines, promote profanity, obscenity, pornography, anarchy and other forms of indecency. THIS MUST BE STOPPED! --Elf

The final door opened. Smith was dragged inside. The door slid shut and sealed itself. He stood again before the ultimate eye. In the presence.

The Director peered at Smith from the center of an array of metric dials, scintilometers, temblor screens, Visographs and sensorscopes. Tape reels spun, their circuits humming, before the quiet buzz of electronic thought at work.

The Director was monocular. The red beam of its unlidded Cyclops eye played on the face of Seldom Seen, scanning his brain, his nerves, his soul. Paralyzed by that hypnotic ray, Smith waited helpless as a babe.

The blatant phallic imagery of the "monocular" eye, so obvious that not even a child could miss it, suggests yet a third form of sexual perversion within a single page! (Need I spell it out?) The damage to helpless children who might read this vile outpouring is incalculable! Call your congressman today and DEMAND that this OUTRAGE be halted IMMEDIATELY!!!! --Elf

The Director spoke. Its voice resembled the whine of an electronic violin, pitched in highest register to C-sharp, that same internal note which drove the deaf Smetana insane. "Smith," the voice began, "we know why you are here."

A painfully loud noise--again, a not very cleverly veiled reference to masochism. What's next? Whips, chains, cattle prods? --Elf

The read beam glanced aside for a moment, shifty-gimbaled in its hooded carapace. The tape reels stopped, reversed, stopped, rolled forward again, recording all. Coded messages flickered in sleek electric flow, transistor-relayed through ten thousand miles of printed circuitry. Beneath the superstructure the dynamo purred on, murmuring the basic message: Power . . . profit . . . prestige . . . pleasure . . . profit . . . prestige . . . pleasure . . . power. . . .

Quite obviously, this passage is meant to suggest that the indecency and obscenity of The Monkey Wrench Gang should be electronically encoded ("Coded messages flickered") and placed on line ("in sleek electric flow, transistor-relayed through ten thousand miles") so that it's vile message ("profit . . . prestige . . . pleasure"--yet another blatant sexual reference) may be propogated unhindered by the long arm of the law, corrupting our youth and continually lowering the standards of this once great and God-fearing nation.--Elf

"Seldom Seen Smith," the Director said, its voice now tuned to a human intonation (modeled it would seem on the voice of an aging teenybopper balladeer whose scraggly bearded unisex face has appeared on the cover of Rolling Stone seventeen times since 1964), "where are your pants?"

"Unisex"--the FOURTH--count 'em: one-two-Three-FOURTH!!!--distinct form of sexual deviance explicity detailed in this festering tarpit of obscenity.

The reference to Rolling Stone--again blatantly appealing to the prurient interests of children and teenagers--is too vile even to comment upon. --Elf

Pants? Smith looked down. Good Gawd Almighty!

"Thou shalt not take the name of the LORD thy 'Gawd' in vain." Obscenity in its VILEST FORM!!!!!!

And we need not even mention the lack of PANTS. By now we are so convinced of the degraded nature of this "Seldom Seen Smith" that we are not AT ALL surprised that he is running around without pants on. --Elf

The scanning beam returned to Smith's face. "Come closer, fellow," the voice commanded.

Need we mention, afloat in this veritable cesspool of filth, that the so-called "scanning beam" probing Smith's "face" is yet another obscenity? --Elf

Smith hesitated.

Finally! Praise the Lord!! A miracle!!!! In this treatise of trash, in this siloloquoy of smut, this debacle of debasement, our highly esteemed and literate "author" has managed to include a single decent and respectable paragraph, lacking any and all profanity, obscenity, lewdness, immorality, indecency, deviance, and perversion!!!!! How did he do it? How did he manage to express himself without relying on an appeal to the basest human instincts and the most degraded forms of speech?

Well, there's little use speculating on how he does it--he obviously can't keep it up for long . . . --Elf

"Come closer, Joseph Fielding Smith, known informally as 'Seldom Seen,' born Salt Lake City, Utah, Shithead Capital of the Inter-Mountain West, for behold art thou not he who was foretold in 1 Nephi 2:1-4, The Book of Mormon, wherein it is written, 'The Lord commanded him, even in a dream, that he should take his family and depart into the wilderness'?"

Aside from the blatantly gratuitous profanity, this paragraph clumsily attempts to mock the things of God, proof--if such were needed by now--that our "author" is the spawn of Satan. --Elf

Some tongue from a higher world answered for Smith, in words he knew not: "Datsa me, Boss."

"Datsa me" . . . the language of devils, not angels. --Elf

"Good. But unfortunately for you, fellow, the prophecy cannot be fulfilled. We cannot allow it. We have decreed, Smith, that thou shalt become as one of us."

It becomes clear where all the gratuitous sex, violence, profanity, and obscenity that we have already endured in this festering excrescence of evilmindedness is leading--the "author" is enticing and instructing our innocent children to "become as one of" the legions of Satan!

This comes as no surprise to those of us experienced in exposing this sort of obscene trash. Indecency invariably springs from the minds and mouths of the minions of Satan. How do I know? Because Pat Robertson said so!!!!! And so did Benny Hinn!! Who am I to argue with these all-knowing spiritual authorities? --Elf


Four green bulbs winked in the Director's frontal lobes. The voice changed again, becoming clipped and cryptic, clearly Oxfordian. "Seize him."

Smith found himself pinioned instantly by rigid, though invisible, bonds. "Hey--?" He struggled feebly.

Whips! Chains! "Bond"age! Did I foretell it? The spew of the satan-inspired is as predictible as it is repulsive. --Elf

"Good. Affix the electrodes. Insert the anode into his penis. Quite so. The cathode goes up the rectum. Half a meter. Yes, all the way. Don't be squeamish."

And did I predict cattle prods, too? This perversity knows no bounds. --Elf

The Director issued his orders to invisible assistants, who bustled about Smith's paralyzed body. "Good. Imprint the flip-flop circuits on his semi-circular canal. Below the ear drum. Right. Five thousand volts should be sufficient. Attach sensor wires by strontium suction cup to his coccyx. Firmly. Plug the high-voltage adapter into the frontal sockets of his receptor node. The head, idiots, the head! Yes--right up the nostrils. Be firm. Push hard. Quite so. Very good. Now close circuit breakers. Quickly. Thank you."

If our "author" was indecent and repellent before, now he has gone over the top!!!!!! How can any man of decency and self-respect mention in public or even in private horrible, despicable, revolting, nauseating words such as those referring to the private areas of the human body? I rest my case!!!!! Call your congressman! Call your senator! Call the President, the Supreme Court!!! Call the FBI, the CIA, the KGB!!!! Even call the NSA and the ATF, for crying out loud, if it's necessary! We must immediately end this DISGUSTING discussion of the human body!!!!! Our children must be PROTECTED! --Elf

"Well now, Smith," the Director said, "--or should we call you (heh heh) Seldom Scanned?--are you ready for your program? What's that? Now now, buck up. That's a good lad. You have nothing to fear if you can pass this simple test we have prepared for you. Call the taper, please. Good. Insert the magnetic tape. No tape slot? then make one. Between the anode and cathode attachments, of course. Right up through the old perineum. Precisely. Never mind the blood, we'll have George clean that up later. Ready? Insert the tape. All the way. Hold his other foot down. That? Then nail it down! Good. Quite so."

As if the previous indecency were not sufficient, our author now mentions an unspeakable area of the body (the "perineum") that most people have never even heard of!!!!! Helpless children, unknowing adolescents, and unsuspecting adults will be enticed to the dictionary, where they will discover obscenities previously unfathomed!!!! Oh, the perversity, the indecency . . . the humanity!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <sob> --Elf

The Director's single eye beamed into Smith's pineal gland.

We scarcely need to point out the FIFTH--count'em: one-two-three-Four-FIFTH--deviant lifestyle cunningly insinuated by this sentence. --Elf

"Now Smith, your instructions. We want you to expand the simple exponential function y = ex into an infinite series. Proceed as follows: Bn: transfer contents of storage location N to working register; Tn: transfer contents of working register to location n; + n: add contents of location n to contents of working register; xn: multiply contents of working register by contents of location n; / n: divide contents of working register by contents of location n; V: make sign of contents of working register positive; Pn: transfer address n to accumulator if contents of working register are positive; Rn: transfer address in location n to accumulator; Z: stop program. Is that clear, Smith?"

The indecency promulgated by this putrid passage ("working register", "multiply contents", etc.) is more than I can bring myself to publicly comment upon. --Elf

Numb as novocaine, Seldom could not speak.

"Good. Get ready. You have 0.000012 milliseconds in which to perform this basic operation. If you fail we will have no choice but to transplant your vital organs into more adaptable specimens and to recycle your residue through the thermite crucibles. Are you ready? Good lad. Have fun now. Set the timer, please. On your toes, Smith. count down from five. Here we go. Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Zero! THROW THE GODDAMNED SWITCH!"

Is it any coincidence that, immediately previous to the vilely indecent gratuitous profanity in this paragraph, there is a countdown from . . . where? Not down from just any old number, no! A countdown from . . . five! Five!!!! FIVE!!!!!!!!!! The exact, precise number of deviant lifestyles advocated, up to this point, by this stinking piece of refuse that calls itself literature!!!!!! The EXACT, PRECISE number--FIVE!!!!!!!! No MORE and no LESS!!!!!! Tell me that this is a mere coincidence! Tell me that Satan is not cunning, clever, and devious in promulgating his profanity and indecency!!!!! And furthermore, tell me that counting to "One! Two! Three! Four! Five!" (only backmasked, a common ploy of demon-inspired rock bands) does not suggest six! Six! SIX!!!!!!!!

Yes, that's right! 666!!!!!! The MARK of the BEAST, as foretold by the PROPHETS, lo, these THOUSANDS of years!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I rest my case. You must call your congressman now and stop the madness. --Elf

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah. . . ." Smith rose in his bed, filmed with cold seat, turned and clutched at his wife like a drowning man. "Sheila," he groaned, struggling toward the surface of consciousness, "great almighty Gawd--!"

"Great almighty Gawd!"--another example of indecent profanity. Yet this is mere child's play compared to what we have just been through--proof that exposure to indecency over an extended period of time will inure even the most righteous man to its effects. --Elf

"Seldom!" She was awake at once. "Wake up, Seldom!"

"Sheila, Sheila...."

"There's nobody here named Sheila. Wake up."

"Oh Lord . . ." He fumbled at her in the dark, feeling a warm hip, a soft belly. "Kathy?"

Explicit indecency. --Elf

"You were at Kathy's last night. You have one more guess and it better be right."

Implied explicit indecency. --Elf

He groped higher and fondled her breasts. The right one. The left one. Two of them. "Susan?"

Implied explicit indecency of the most obscene sort. --Elf

"That's better."

Vision adapting to the starlit darkness, he found her smiling at him, reaching for him with both arms from the warmth of their lawful conjugal bed. Her smile like her sweet eyes, like her bountiful bosom, was rich with love. He sighed in relief. "Susan . . ."

Again implying that this deviant polygamous lifestyle is "lawful." Innocent children may never recover from this.

Note as well the explicit reference to a woman's "bosom."--Elf

"Seldom, you are a caution. You are something else. I never."

The reference to a "caution" is a sexual metaphor so explicit I scarcely need to mention it. --Elf

And she consoled, caressed and loved him, her trembling, stricken man.

Explicit caresses are clearly indecent. --Elf

While outside in the fields of desert summer the melons ripened at their leisure in the nest of their vines, and a restless rooster, perched on the roof of the hencoop, fired his premature ejaculation at the waning moon, and in the pasture the horses lifted noble Roman heads to stare in the night at something humans cannot see.

Is it any coincidence that this final paragraph with its indecent BEASTial imagery advocates our SIXTH form of deviancy--immediately suggesting six-Six-SIX--666--the mark of the BEAST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is PROOF that all indecency is the work of SATAN the BEAST and his DEVILISH DEMONS!!!!!!!!!! Call your CONGressman NOW! and STOP SATAN IN HIS TRACKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! --Elf


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