Oh god, I remember with perfect clarity the first time I set eyes on ,,oBo,,,
although I wish that I could forget. The power of that being is truly
frightening to behold.

It was in 'Nam, 70. R'n'R in Saigon. In the bar with no name, down Rue Mal
Chat, the one with the picture of a giant squid in peeling paint on the brick
outside. I was drinking with some buddies, Chooka Pete and Ned the Blastin'
Bastard. We had some local talant in our laps, looking for folding green.
Those girls would stick a frozen herring up their arse for a dollar, they'd
eat each others shit on a toasted sesame seed bun if the money was right. I
loved them. They made me proud to be a human. Chooka was doing slammers. He
made his girl squat on the bar in front of him so he could get a faceful of
poontang whenever he wanted. It was beautiful to see him in action; salt,
tequila, lime, cunt, salt, tequila, lime, cunt, like a machine. Ned suggested
he mix a big margarita right in her box and drink it with a straw, and he
would have, too, if we weren't approached by the manager, Slinky Dink. That
slope was so sleazy. He slid around sideways like a crab wherever he walked.
He wore a black suit that looked like he dug up a corpse and stole it right
off his back, and I'm talking an old corpse. The girls liked him because he
was queer, didn't touch them. Got his jollies drugging the cute blonde marines
and then checking their oil out the back. What a guy. Anyways, he kind of
slides up to us, his eyes rolling backwards and forwards in that oily brown
face of his, and hisses at us in greeting. "Hey boys," he hisses, "you wanna
see something great? See some action you neva see before? See something nice
and groovy, baby?" He always tried to affect this hip thing with the slang.
Maybe he hoped to someday get his end in a boys ass without the mickey finn.
Anyway, we always got a kick out of the freaky stuff the locals did. That's
why we loved 'Nam so much. It was alien man, a whole 'nother world. They did
stuff there that you'd get hung for, if you tried it in most other countries.

We all said yeah, and tossed the bints off our laps, threw them a little
jingle so they wouldn't get the impression they was wasting their time with
us, and followed that sideways sliding bastard. He took us through the
kitchen, where big bald guys in grey grease-drenched whites were chopping up
chickens and goats and lizards and stuff. The Dink slid through the steam and
the stench and opened this little door, this little wooden door about 4 foot
tall, kind of hidden behind the pots and pans. We practically had to crawl to
get in, and then we couldn't even stand yet because there was this little
passage made of clammy damp stone, with just 10 watt bulbs ever few yards for
light hanging off a wire. We followed the Dink down this sloping passage, and
it switched back and forth a few times, deeper and deeper.

There was this room, this big broad room with a low ceiling and pillars. We
couldn't see the walls, it was too broad and the smoke was bad. There were
some types in there, sitting at tables drinking. They were different to
upstairs. Badder. Most of the boys upstairs, were just grunts, a little rough.
Might have been teamsters, back home. They had few vices when they came here,
and they'd picked up a few more, but it was all innocent at heart. They might
like to see a couple monkeys fucking in a cage, maybe, but they'd get pretty
upset if one of the girls got in there and sucked King Kongs dick. Us, we
didn't care. Bring it on. We stood there blinking in the smoke looking around
at this roomful of true scum. There were government advisers, the same as got
JFK plugged when he tried acid and lost his balls; chinese vice lords, having
a break from overseeing their caravans of spice; russians, having a drink with
their mates from the State department and swapping plans for missile guidance
systems. What a jolly crew! Dink smiles and slaps us on the shoulder and shows
us to our table, right down the centre near the front of a small round wooden
stage. "You boys have good time here! We have fun, special show is starting.
You will like!" And he kind of fades into the mist of cigar and hookah smoke.

Well, we settle back and order drinks when the girl comes around. Ned kind of
goes to grab her, but I catch sight of this turkish dude with the big mustach
at the next table giving him the evil eye, like she was his sister or
something. She might of been, with that mustach of her own. Anyway, we decided
to get some bloody maries, because it's only a few hours to dawn and we hand't
had much to eat. Also the crew weren't a beer crowd and we wanted to make like
the romans.

Pretty soon the hubbub starts to fade and there is silence. All eyes are on
Dink, standing on the little stage. "Gentlemans okay, we are ready now to
start. Some of you are here before, some of you are here never. All are
waiting. We are here to see with our own eyes. We all understand what we are
seeing. We all know what it means. Now, here is ,,oBo,,." And that was the
first time I heard that fuckers name.

The Dink exits stage left, and then the stage itself starts to rise. It starts
to tip back, until we can all see it was just like a lid on a giant trash can.
There's this big grinding sound, like chains going through a winch, and this
tent thing starts to rise through the hole in the floor. The lights have got
really low now, just the occassional candle ona table flickering, and the
light from the hole. Slowly into view it rose, the palanquin of ,,oBo,,.

He lay on a pile of embroidered velvet cuishions. They were stained with his
excrescences, the sweat from his skin and other more terrible eruptions from
the orifices of his body. Forgive me for getting all poetical on you now, but
the memory of that moment always affects me that way. I wanna use the big
words, the only ones thst can decribe what we saw. ,,oBo,, is a monster. His
skin is slick and smooth, pink with a hideous health that seems to glow. He
burns with the radience of the souls he has taken. The folds of his flesh were
burnished by the light from the candelabra that adorned his couch. His feet
were small, almost petite. His legs swelled like a babies, but with sparse
hair. Draped with silk, he lay comfortably on his cuishions, lay with the
flabby contented complacent sloth of an enormous udder. Like a fresh laid turd
he lay.

His face was set in the utmost idiocity. There was something at once startling
and obvious about the power inherent in his absolute lack of control. As he
stared dissinterested out at his audience, I felt an insidious urge to run and
lay down before him, to beg some kind of forgiveness for my sins in life and
an opportunity to atone by becoming his servant forever. All around me the
assembled scum of the earth sat foreward, staring intensely, and I couldn't
tell if they were feeling the same as I, or if they were merely eager for what
was to follow. I heard a scrape. Chooka started out of his chair. Ned grabbed
his arm, and Chooka shook his head as though awakening from a daze. He sat
down, looking scared.

Someone put on a record, a scratchy old 78 of Peking opera music. A slight
figure came walking between the tables, dragging something. It was one of the
cigarette girls from upstairs. Little Slipper, a jap. She liked you to slip
the change into her bum crack, until she had about 20 dollars on silver
between those peach cheeks and would squat over her tray and release the coins
in a glinting shower. Now she walked slowly, haltingly, hefting this GI
backpack. She wore a plain white shift.

,,oBo,, saw her coming and for the first time his eyes awoke from their glassy
nothingness. An animal hunger appeared, and a childlike glee. He convulsed
once, and his fat arms started to crawl across his body, pawing at the silk he
was wrapped in. Like a baby, trying to escape from his pajamas. Little Slipper
now stepped onto the platform and knelt down before him. She reached out and
took hold of a fold of the monsters garment, pulled, unwound, revealing the
great stomach. It was hairless and pale, like the head of a deep sea octopus.
She pulled another fold free, revealing his crotch. His great cudgel of a dick
was standing upright like an alabaster truncheon. There was no hair. ,,oBo,,
convulsed and heaved and gulgled and snorted as she began to stroke it,
running her hands up and down its length. His eyes rolled and bulged. His
slack wet mouth gaped and worked as she caressed him. He grinned, it was
terrible. A toad might grin so, in contentment as it felt a fresh meal move in
it's stomach.

>From around her neck Little Slipper removed a silver vial suspended on a
chain. From this she poured some kind of ungent, which she slathered over the
enormous penis, her hands gliding up and down rythmically. I could hear the
breathing of the audience quicken. She stood and the shift slid from her
shoulders and to the floor. Her body was sweet and young, but trembled with
fear, and maybe desire. The hold ,,oBo,, has over humans depends entirely upon
his complete lack of good qualities. ,,oBo,, is the satan that reminds us that
there is no god, that we are not rewarded for our good deeds. The one being
that is incapable of doing a good deed is the one that gets the most rewards.
Slipper knew she was in the presence of a demon. She took more of the salve
and started to anoint herself.

,,oBo,, was gasping now, shaking and surging and trying to grab her with great
sweeps of his arms. Nimbly she stepped back, and bent to fumble with the
backpack. Like all GI issue backpacks the bag itself can be removed from the
frame, and this she did, revealing an incredible sight. It was an engine. It
looked like a 2 stroke outboard motor, the kind used by by river canoes. This
had been firmly rivited to the frame, and the drive shaft removed. Welded on
the back was the wire guard from an electric fan and inside that was what
looked like a giant cam, a wheel cut into the shape of an egg. It was heavy,
but she was strong. She hefted it onto her shoulders and tightened the
buckles, wrapped the webbing belt across her belly and tightened that, making
sure it was all secure. Then she reached back over he shoulder and grabbed the
starter cable. The engine was well tuned, and started on the third pull. With
a loud roar a steady stream of blue smoke shot out to the side and mingled
with the fug in the air, and the off-centre wheel span up to speed. Little
Slipper began to shake. Like an epileptic, only faster, harder, and more
rythmically, her entire body vibrated under the impulse of the wheel. She
could barely stand upright. With a huge effort she turned, danced around,
leant forward, and flopped onto the great body of ,,oBo,,. His organ plunged
into her, and she gasped in pain. The engine roared and backfired. Her body
spasmed and flopped this way and that as ,,oBo,, convulsed beneath her,
bucking with enormous strength. All around the room chairs scraped back and
fell as the audience stood. ,,oBo,, howled in ecstacy as he thrust again and
again, his eyes rolled back, his mouth gasping. The audience responded as one,
howling back, and laughing now, cheering, raising their glasses in a toast to
their lord, the idiot god, ,,oBo,,. ",,oBo,,, ,,oBo,," they screamed. They
surged forward between the tables, to stand around the dias.

I can't describe, now, the horrors that ensued. Those memories are jumbled, or
blocked. A shrink might help me recover them, which one reason I've never been
to see one. I've seen ,,oBo,,, or signs of his presence, many times since. In
some ways I see his influence every day. You might think that you don't
worship ,,oBo,,, but you do. If you worship anything at all, it is him.