“A Lapse in the Dimensions Has Occurred! Praise Be!” by Nicole Blystone

[Here’s an archaeological piece from the recesses of the DIM archives, written by Nicole Blystone (then Nicole Peterson, aka Professor Nicole P.) in July of 2011! —RFY]

A place exists of extreme dimensional power. Power so great, it made my heart race and my teeth ache.

It all started with a trip to the dentist. I sat, sequestered, in a small, floral wall-papered room. On the wall hung a curio cabinet painted the green-color of aged copper to match the fake aged-copper rabbit lamp siting below it. The cabinet was filled with goat figurines. Figures of goats made from porcelain and glass, images of goats painted onto small plates, pieces of crystal carved into the goat shapes. Large, useless tassels hung from every surface imaginable: the drawer pulls, the top of the paper-towel dispenser, the window trimming. Even the strange goat-cabinet had a large tassel suspended from it.

To my left, on the pepto-pink counter top (which matched the wallpaper with sickening accuracy. Perhaps they were color matched?) sat my copy of East of Eden by John Steinbeck.

A masked woman came in, wearing floral scrubs. Perhaps they received a bulk discount on this floral pattern. Or perhaps the floral pattern is evidence of slippage between two dimensions; clearly, the pattern is from a hellish dimension that only the most blasphemous non-believers would be forced to endure. Then, strange and enlightening words came from behind her mask. “You’re the third person in here today reading that book.” All of the nerves in my body stood on end, sending shivers of electricity down to my fingertips; clearly, this room was an area of dimensional slippage more powerful than I had imagined. Who on earth, aside from myself, would subject themselves to Steinbeck as quote-unquote fun reading? Very few people aside from myself would do such a peculiar and outlandish thing. That was the moment I realized that the other two readers this woman spoke of must have been projected images of myself lapsing from different dimension in this powerful, interdimensional space.

Truly, the gods and goddesses are great, and the prophets were strong. Clearly, this was a message from the Ultimate Dimension, telling me that we, the Brothers and Sisters of the Church of Dim, are on the path to glory and eternal life.

Or something very similar to that, anyway. At the very least, I can comfortably say that the followers of the Church of Dim are destined to a fantastical dimension where the floral wallpaper dripping from the power-room does not exist to haunt our most horrifying nightmares. Indeed, a wall-paperless dimension exists, and we are on the path toward it!

-Nikki P.

[Originally published at the old site: The Church of Dimensional Images!]

PEACE Finally Comes to the Church of DIM!

It is with great joy that I announce that a truce has been brokered in the historic war between Brothers Yates and Erdahl! Here’s how it happened:

Despite my objections, Sister Mariah, from the DIM Poughkeepsie branch, was again called upon to quell the dispute, even though she totally ripped us off and assaulted us last time. She first asked that the Brothers rid their systems of any horrible epithets, at which point Brother Erdahl called Brother Yates a “blunderbuss,” a “spoony,” an “unlicked cub,” and a “heathen philosopher,” the latter being a devastating comment on the condition of one’s pants. In response, Brother Yates called Brother Erdahl a “fop-doodle,” a “duke of limbs,” an “afternoon farmer,” and a “gentleman of four outs.” Ouch.

With this out of their system, they pulled one final prank: Brother Erdahl placed a “Trump 2020” sticker on Brother Yates’ car, and Brother Yates planted an Anthrax bomb in Brother Erdahl’s home (the band, not the poison). Some say Brother Yates’ response was not proportional.

Anyway, Sister Mariah had one last trick up her sleeve (likely where she hid my turkey sub), and got Brothers Yates and Erdahl to agree to a temporary truce ONLY during the Church of Dim’s holiday season. Unbeknownst to them, because they are too special to come to the weekly meetings, the CoD now has 365 holidays, one for each day of the year, so that our religion’s followers never ever have to go to work. Fyi: the rare February 29th is also a holiday when we reflect on how many awesome holidays we have.

So there you have it, peace at the DIM. Unfortunately, Sister Mariah ended up stealing Brother Erdahl’s surgery painkillers, Brother Yates’ Cap’n Crunch secret decoder ring, and the last 5 pieces of my Crab Rangoon… that I was SAVING! Then she punched each one of us in the back of the head. Still, we’re calling this one a win.

Peace IN, my Brothers and Sisters!

—Brother O’Brien

DIM Battle Confession from Brother O’Brien

As fellow Dimmers, you know that one of our core practices is the confession of sins. Unlike Catholicism, however, our reasoning is a tad different. Here at DIM, we think sinning is the bee’s knees and encourage the frequent commitment of such – BUT, we also encourage the confession of our sins, solely for bragging purposes.

Therefore, with regard to the battle between Brothers Yates and Erdahl, I must admit/boast that I have been adding gasoline to the fire (I tried marshmallow crème, but that just made the room smell nice). Full disclosure: I was on a power-grab for the Benevolent Order of DIM, Yippy. It’s true: I wanted the BOODY for myself.

My sabotage efforts consisted of telling Brother Yates that Brother Erdahl called him a “poltroon” and telling Brother Erdahl that Brother Yates had called him a “sauce-box.” Then, just for fun, I sent Brother Yates 6 pizzas topped only with candy corn (hee!) and had Brother Erdahl’s favorite grandmother committed to a mental asylum from which she will never return (giggle).

More sins to come…

—Brother O’Brien

World War DIM!

It is with great disappointment that I report that the level of discourse in the Yates/Erdahl battle has sunk to a new low, wherein both have resorted to the nastiest, most offensive, sickening, sexist epithets in name-calling: it seems that Brother Yates called Brother Erdahl a “mollycoddle” and Brother Erdahl responded by calling Brother Yates a “milksop.” I know, it is hard to unread, but that is where we are.

This verbal slugfest resulted in Brother Yates replacing Brother Erdahl’s 1% milk with 2% milk and Brother Erdahl knocking out Brother Yates, transporting him to Thailand, having a few of Brother Yates’ organs removed and sold, replacing them with live hand grenades, then threatening to destroy everything Brother Yates has ever loved. Some argue that Brother Erdahl’s response was not proportional.

In my next effort to calm the waters, iron out the wrinkles, and right the ship at the Church of DIM, I started using lazy metaphors excessively. Then, when that didn’t work, I gave up. I actually give up pretty easily.

More updates to come. Unless I give up.

—Brother O’Brien

“DIM’s Internal War Continues!” by Brother O’Brien

Unfortunately, the chaotic conflict (and alliteration) have only increased at the raddest of religions. It is with even more sadness that I report that someone co-opted my turkey sub from the mini-fridge at our house of worship (Pauly’s Dental and Mini-Storage, #19).

In the Brother Yates v. Brother Erdahl battle, things have deteriorated to a point of exasperation: it seems that Brother Yates called Brother Erdahl a “ninnyhammer” and Brother Erdahl called Brother Yates a “rattlecap.” Subsequently, Brother Yates replaced Brother Erdahl’s toothpaste with Icy Hot pain relief cream and Brother Erdahl reported Brother Yates to Homeland Security for being a North Korean Spy under the alias “Kim Jong Snake-Bunny.”

Therefore, I recruited Sister Mariah from our DIM branch in Poughkeepsie, NY, to act as a conflict interventionist. Impressively, Sister Mariah simply walked in and firmly slapped all three of us, then left, but not before she, sadly, stole every nickel from our holy coffers.

Well, that’s the update: the Yates/Erdahl battle still rages, we have no money (please send money), and my face still hurts.

If anyone sees Sister Mariah, please tell her that I don’t care about the embezzlement – I just want my turkey sub back.

Brother O’Brien

“The Great Fleecing!” by Brother Yates

Let’s not beat around the bush here (for that is how we incur the wrath of SNAKE, who is usually sleeping in the bush and doesn’t want to be beaten.) We all know what the great FLEECING vs. SHEARING debate is TRULY about. Brother Erdahl, who is KNOWN to have had dalliances with other faiths while a member of the Church of DIM (he flirted with Stanism, and was a founding member of the Church of DOG, and we all know how THAT turned out…) And what he is advocating by the Great SHEARING is the fracturing of the CoD into smaller, less functional parts, or PERHAPS the complete destruction of the faith! For, as we all know, to shear DOES mean to remove the wool from a sheep, but it ALSO means to break away!!!! (GASP!) Are we beginning see the light???

In contrast, I—and other members of the most HOLY sect of the Brotherhood, THE BENEVOLENT ORDER OF DIM, YIPPY (or BOODY, for short)—advocate FLEECING, because fleecing is gentler, is less likely to upset the sheep, is more likely to make the sheep HAPPY…(And HAPPY SHEEP are WILLING SHEEP.)

FLEECING IS THE FIRST STEP IN CONSTRUCTING A CABLE-KNIT SWEATER! Shearing is insanity, but not the good, drawing psychedelic kittens kind of insanity—the boring kind of insanity that brings things to a grinding halt so we can listen to a pompous PENNYWHISTLER prattle on about his silly DOGS… That kind of insanity…

Church of DOG… Please…

—Brother Yates

“Civil War in the Church of DIM!”

Brother O’Brien here. Look, I get no pleasure from discussing this internal, sensitive matter, but I feel that the Church of DIM must be transparent (also hollow, vacuous, inane, and vapid). It is with sadness that I report that Brothers Yates and Erdahl have waged a personal war against each other. It seems that during a strategy meeting, Brother Yates suggested that the CoD “fleece” the masses while Brother Erdahl preferred we “shear” the masses. Naturally, my first attempt to quell the dispute was to explain that these were both metaphors describing harvesting sheeps’ wool and that we could all agree that we want to cheat people, but it was to no avail.

The argument soon exploded into personal insults, wherein Brother Yates called Brother Erdahl a “sweet-scented dandy” and Brother Erdahl said that Brother Yates was “all hat and no cattle.” As you could predict, this resulted in Brother Yates stabbing Brother Erdahl in the hamstring with an old, blue, rusty potato peeler and Brother Erdahl poisoning Brother Yates’ second cousin from Oklahoma, whom Brother Erdahl thought was very close to Brother Yates. But, as it turns out, Brother Yates had a falling out with that cousin over a disagreement between the color of a book cover: “deep fuchsia” v. “medium orchid.”

I will keep you informed as the battle continues…

—Brother O’Brien

“Mother Protozoa (Praise Be) Sets the Record Straight on Easter” by Brother O’Brien

There are many things that we believe as children that later turn out not to be true, like Santa Claus or internet privacy, but today I want to talk to you about Easter: sure, we now know that Christianity hijacked this celebration from the Pagans, who had made icons of bunnies and eggs, symbols of fertility in Spring.

What you may not know is that the filthy Pagans actually stole Easter from the Church of DIM!!! It’s true: in something-BCE, Mother Protozoa (praise be) named April’s first Sunday after the full moon to be “Eater” (the ‘S’ was later added by heathens), which meant “Yay, fungi!” The holiday was commemorated in two ways: smart people would eat too much chocolate, while the less-bright people were encouraged to search for mushrooms (not eggs) in the forest and eat them! As you can imagine, this holiday resulted in the deaths of many from ingesting poisonous growths, but that was the plan of Mother Protozoa (praise be)! In her single-celled-wisdom, she had created a celebration to curb the number of humans! Back then, the populations of villages were exploding, with up to 28 people in the larger ones! And some of them were dicks, y’all!

Anyway, thank you Mother Protozoa (praise be). So this “Easter,” when you get hungry, does yucky chocolate sound as good as a delicious, wholesome, mushroom-hunt?
Happy Eater, everybody!

—Brother O’Brien

The Church of DIM Predicted It!!!

As you well know, the Church of DIM is your one-stop-shoppe for P&P: Prophecies and Prophylactics; therefore, we take great pride in pointing out that only a week ago we at the Church of DIM predicted that our current “president” would wage battle, due to his pathetic approval rating and embarrassing eyebrows (it is historically proven that starting a new, awesome war is the easiest way to get the public behind you). We began the post by saying that we could “smell war coming,” and lo and behold, it has happened in Syria. And while the CoD does not really condone war (it usually preempts regular t.v. programming), we are encouraged by this latest step toward self-destruction.

But enough about amazingly-accurate war prophecies; our important prediction is that you will buy Church of DIM-brand prophylactics to curb the growth of the human race! Our prophylactics are the only condoms that protect you against fire, as they are made of 46% asbestos! Grown in the Andes Mountains, our prophylactics are nearly 11% organic, and although they are terrible at preventing pregnancy or STDs (pretty much the same thing), our huge selling point is the price: only $129.99 per giant family pack (1)! Buy some today!

(FDA Warning: Church of DIM prophylactics are dangerous. Do not use while operating machinery and especially if you are not operating machinery. Users of Church of DIM prophylactics have experienced delusions of grandeur, kidney rot, unpleasant sentimental flashbacks, and sensations of toe jam).

—Brother O’Brien

“Mother Protozoa Wants to Help You!” by Brother O’Brien

Mother Protozoa wants to help you!

As you know, Mother Protozoa (MP) has predicted the end of Earth’s civilization on next Tuesday. Keep in mind that in spiritual time, “next Tuesday” might mean next Tuesday or 4 trillion years from now; this is important because amateur predictors offer clear deadlines that prevent further fleecing of the masses after the deadline has passed, whereas MP is wise enough to keep such milestones ambiguous, while seeming imminent.

Anywhozit, all life will end next Tuesday, y’all! And since you will have no need for material possessions or loose change, MP is willing to pay YOU .04 cents on the dollar for the value of your valuables and property! This wonderful opportunity means that you can finally sell your house, Faberge Eggs, cars, and gold teeth, all while earning enough for a fabulous dream vacation to Ridgefield, Washington! Tour the countryside! See the sights! Watch a meth-head fight a drifter for an ant-covered burrito! Then, simply wait for “next Tuesday” and enjoy the sweet embrace of End Times!

Please donate all of your possessions to Richard F. Yates (thankless accountant for the Sweet Lord Mother).

That is all.

—Brother O’Brien