The Patriot Ledger: Saturday/Sunday August 6-7. 2005, page 1:
QUINCY - In many ways, Eric Walker is just a regular guy, a shy tech-support worker and self-admitted geek who lives with his wife in Quincy.
But in other circles, Walker, 37, is known as the Rev. Modemac, an ordained minister of the Church of the Subgenius, a world of geeks and weirdos, mavericks and misfits who meet to counter the Conspiracy, and, of course, to spread the Slack.
Difficult to understand?
"It's supposed to be," Walker said.
The members -- Subgeniuses -- rarely step out of character long enough to explain their faith to the outside world. But Walker did convey the central themes: the religion is really a spoof on cults and false deities. Also, it's supposed to be fun.
"How can you make fun of ridiculous cults if you're not a member of one yourself?" Walker said.
The First Church of Bob operates out of Walker's Copeland Street home, an online parish community, if you will, that is part of the larger Subgenius world, an almost too-weird-to-describe network tending to draw sci-fi nerds, skeptics and social outcasts who can let loose, commiserate and just be weird -- mostly in online chatting.
One of the most active members is Walker, who is working on a web site that seeks to demystify the SubGenius World. The aptly named High Weirdness Prokect, located at www.modemac.com, provides an explanation of the convoluted and comical tenets of the Subgenius faith, as well as links to other half-baked conspiracies.
Subgeniuses worship a character called Bob, an elusive caricature with a wacky smile and a pipe coming ouyt of his mouth. Assassinated and resurrected countless times, Bob is not so much a savior as he is plain cool.
He doesn't much care about your sins, and he is on the frontlines fighting the Conspiracy, that being all that hinders fun" mundane jonbes, loneliness and otherwise boring existences.
Subgenius was founded in 1980 when Bob supposedly spoke to Ivan Stang of Cleveland and told him to start the Church. X-Day, the main yearly holiday, is held each July 5. Subgeniuses believe that on July 5, 1998, aliens will beam up all the dues-paying members into a world of decadence.
You may say, "but that was seven years ago."
But the religion's top apostle offers a quick answer: "The fact we get together and still wait for 1998 is indicative of how faithful we really are," says the Rev. Stang, 51, speaking from the church headquarters in Cleveland.
It only gets weirder. What other religion not only encourages, but requires, members to break from the church? Anyone who takes the Subgenius too seriously is de-programmed. Schisms are welcomed, if not encouraged.
If nothing else, the religion is forthright about making money. Asked about the $30 fee to become a minister, Stang said, "Of course it's a rip-off, but you're getting ripped off every day."
For Walker, his conversion happened in 1993 when he was browsing in Cambridge's Buck-a-Book. It was then that he found the Book of the Subgenius, the sacred tome of the religion, published in the 1980s. Following the $1 purchase and a quick read, he had what he calls a revelation: that he was "working as a stupid file clerk for a bank in Boston."
It was then that he repented -- meaning he quit. He found "Bob," embraced Slack -- meaning fun -- and paid a $30 membrship to become ordained.
Like any pseudo-cult, Subgeniuses have their share of celebrity bandwagon jumpers. Among the dues-paying members is actor Bruce Campbell, Pee-Wee Herman (still owes $10 in fees), David Byrne, formerly of the Talking Heads and comic book artist Robert Crumb.
But the Subgenius life is hardly glamorous. For Walker, life just got a bit better after he found an easy way to socialize, something that hasn't always come easy to him.
"Deep down, I believe it's a religion as much as any other," Walker said. "But many people wonder whether it's a religion disguised as a joke, or a joke disguised as a religion."
Jessica Van Sack may be reached at jvansack@ledger.com.