calesthenics at 8:00,
enemas at 9:00,
then coffee break.
Why waste all your money and
individuality with Scientology?
I'm just as good, and cheaper!
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calesthenics at 8:00, enemas at 9:00, then coffee break. |
Why waste all your money and
|
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Check out my five-step program to happiness, enlightenment,
and cheap karma.
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Super-secret alien mumbo-jumbo | Cult Vocabulary | Ready to go? The Five Steps | Diagnosis | Withdrawal | Treatment | Assimilation | De-programming | Summary L. Ron Hubbard had a great idea, way back when. He came right out and said, the best way to make a ton of dough is to start your own religion. Of course, it's not really a religion he founded, since there was no God in sight. Nowadays they throw the word "God" around, but hell, they don't mean it. I can do the same thing. Only cheaper! So here I am, with my own bold new approach to life. Scientology preaches assertiveness, problem-solving, sanity. I, too, have these noble pursuits. I can also fix a lawn mower. Only cheaper! So JOIN me, won't you? Bring a cult deprogrammer with you as a guest, and you'll get a free doughnut! See, my cult is all-inclusive. And cheaper!
Our mission statement I don't want to be known as the Church of Whizbang. Sounds too pretentious. I want to be the Unholy Order of Whizbang. Definitely sounds more forbidding, more formal. Sort of like the Order of Franciscans, Order of the Knights Templar, Order of Cheeseburger and Fries. Besides that, I want to keep margins low and volume high, and hopefully stay out of the radar of the IRS. I don't want to go through that bogus nonsense of trying to convince the federal government that I deserve tax-exempt status, like Scientology did. I want to be able to live with myself; so rather than fibbing about my true purpose, I'll simply not report income. It's a more honest sort of dishonesty. How do I intend to keep margins low and volume high? Easy. I'm cheaper.
Let me tell you about The Cult Leader. L. Ron Hubbard got people to like him by totally lying about his background. The longer he lived, the more impressive his Navy record became. He was even reported to have served as a fleet commander. The truth about Hubbard's service is that the longest job he held while on duty during World War II was "cable censor." He never saw combat, despite claiming to have been severely wounded in battle. Various bosses demanded he be removed from duty for strange behavior, including having errnoeously fired shots from his boat. He included in his qualifications (for applications to jobs and school) that he could speak a whole host of languages that he didn't really know, and that he was the "son of a Lieutenant Commander." After he got into school, he summarily left, to be hospitalized with ulcers. That's as close as he ever got to being wounded in battle. He hung out with a guy who studied black magic, and eventually stole that guy's mistress, whom he married. He started a religion for the money, and in fact it's the only known "religion" that charges for every one of its religious services. Well, here's the straight poop on ME, the Cult Leader. Despite a recommendation from our state representative for me to attend West Point (no shit), I declined because of a heart murmur and a tendency to punch people in the nose (a habit that later got me denied a post as a Notary Public). I graduated at the top of my class in grammar school, NEAR the top in high school, and even closer to the top in college. My police record is laughable (because of smacking people in the nose), and I have a handful of speeding tickets over 25 years. I started my religion during a prolonged drunk. There's not a ton of money in it, but again, I'm working on higher volume. Hubbard's kid had long complained that Scientology leaders were keeping the old man cooped up and on drugs. When Hubbard died, the coroner noted the guy's decrepit condition: long, stringy hair, unshaven face, long and unkempt nails, and his blood was full of the kinds of drugs that Scientology denounces. Sort of like Howard Hughes. The "church" was quick to have him cremated. I keep my nails short for guitar (I play a mean "Kumbaya"), but I do have long stringy hair, and am unshaven. This is not because I'm being cooped up by cult officials. It's simply called Bad Grooming. I'd pay for a haircut once in a while, except that I'm cheap.
The cult life ain't totally boring Now, I'm not saying Scientology is all check-writing and course-taking. Some very famous people have become Scientologists. The most highly-touted member is actor John Travolta. This gentleman even went so far as to make a movie of Hubbard's sci-fi schlock epic Battlefield Earth, in which Travolta plays a villain who, along with the other villains, spends a lot of screen time loudly cackling, as movie villains are wont to do, at humanity's struggle for independence from an oppressive alien horde. Unfortunately, the movie was a wretched, expensive flop, opening to horrendous reviews. In fact, his Scientologist ways haven't kept Travolta from putting out one crap movie after another. Well, we can be just as creative as Travolta, only cheaper. My video camera is in the shop, but I still have my dad's old Super-8 camera. No sound, but it's still pretty cool. I make my own special effects. Why, just the other day I built a miniature spaceship from a pressure cooker and a package of pipe cleaners. Instead of costly alien makeup, I've recruited my Uncle Leon, who isn't exactly an alien, but he IS butt-ugly, and might pass for one. I'm calling my opus, a tale of humanity's struggle for independence from an oppressive alien horde, Battlefield Peoria, because the last time I filmed there, I didn't get arrested for indecent exposure, despite trying my best. Peoria understands the arts.
Celebrity endorsements Scientology has attracted all manner of weak-minded celebrities to hawk their nonsense. How do they do this? Easy. By not treating the celebs the way they treat the rest of their weak-minded horde. They make them feel loved and wanted, not misdiagnosed and sucked dry. We don’t have any official celebrity endorsers yet, but we’ve been writing regularly to Gary Coleman and Dick Van Patten, asking for a quote. They haven’t written back yet, but we keep trying. I spend lots of time in airports, and because of this, I've gotten a few celebrity autographs. I've also asked each one of those celebrities to join my cult. I've had such luminaries as Mike Singletary, Barry Sanders, Louis Farrakhan, and Senator Alan Simpson all personally look me in the eye and say, "Get the f___k away from me." I also once brushed asses with Clint Eastwood, at his restaurant in Carmel, California. We didn't exchange any conversation, but I had a magnificent glow for weeks afterward. Such was the power of his ass. Summer 2005, noted Scientology wacko Tom Cruise went on an insult spree, yelling at interviewer Matt Lauer about the evils of psychiatry, and explaining how Brooke Shields made a mistake taking medication for her post-partum depression. Apparently at some point in his life, when we weren't looking, Cruise had a baby and learned all about the subject. Cruise also forgot the whole "theta clear" thing, went on Oprah, and started jumping on the furniture while speaking of his great love for Katie Holmes, a woman MUCH younger than he. Holmes subsequently gave an interview to discuss her mutual love for Cruise, and did that interview with a "Scientology escort" right next to her. When she couldn't think of the words to properly describe her relationship with Cruise, the "escort" told her "you adore him." As with Katie Holmes, we can provide you a cult escort as well, to finish your sentences too. Our escort, Fat Tony, will follow you everywhere, even while you take a leak, and fill in your dialogue. He's well-versed in phrases such as "He'll have the sweet and sour pork," "hang up your phone and drive, you a______," and of course "no, of course he doesn't think your ass looks fat in that." You can also get the "silent escort" option, in which Fat Tony doesn't speak for you, but at crucial moments he will prompt you to action by poking you with a stick. L. Ron Hubbard, who knew absolutely nothing of pre-natal medical care, highly recommended "silent birth." That is to say, nobody should make any noise during a delivery. Of course, the baby has been hearing all sorts of noise in the womb up to that point, including voices, especially its mother's, and also Mom's colon and heartbeat. Maybe coming out into total silence will freak the baby out. Well, we can suggest totally baseless science as well. In our cult, we recommend that when your baby comes out, you immediately show it pictures of Michael Jackson and tell the kid, "Stay the f___k away from this guy." Summer 2006, Cruise and Holmes, in an effort to fool people into thinking that he's not competely scrambled, posed with their new baby for Vanity Fair. The pictures only confirm that he's scrambled. We, too, can get your picture published, most likely at the post office. Some people have suggested for years that Cruise is secretly gay, and
some sources quote his ex-wife Mimi Rogers as saying he never touched her
during their marriage, and that Holmes is merely around to hide his homosexuality.
I dunno about that, but I do know that she's failing to hide the fact that
he's f____d in the head. But I digress.
Super-secret alien mumbo-jumbo Once you’ve been in Scientology for a while, and spent enough money with them, they impart on you the secret info that explains all the wacky stuff they do. This includes Hubbard’s allegedly true story of how, many millions of years back, an evil alien ruler banished the frozen bodies of his enemies to Earth, where they were dropped into a volcano, releasing their souls, which inhabited the cavemen and which are now responsible for all our modern hang-ups. Jesus H. Cat-Juggling Christ, this is daffy. Actually, the story is even more complicated than that, but hell, who’s got the time? We have our own sorry tale of alien oppression, except that in our story, the enemy bodies got dumped into the trunk of a Ford, which was left in the Jersey swamps. You say this story doesn’t stack up? You’re right. Our PR guys who thought it up are cheaper!
Secret cult vocabulary Scientology has their own large dictionary of terms (presumably to go with the secrete handshake and alien garbage). A Potential Trouble Source (PTS) might cause trouble, a Suppressive Person (SP) causes trouble, issness means reality, and obnosis means observation of the obvious. We have our own vocabulary too. It's hard to tell if it's cheaper, simply because what Scientology has is so damn dumb to begin with. People who cause trouble are a Pain in the Ass (PITA), and people who have already caused trouble are People With Broken Legs (PWBL). We also use the terms slerm (scum in the soapdish), crap (crap), and noogie (which is what you think it is).
Are you ready for a higher plane of existence? Or maybe just a doughnut? Now let's explore together the ways in which I draw out the negative vibes, explore your inner turmoil in order to resolve your rage, bring you to a higher plane. And how I do it cheaper! Here's my five-step program to enlightenment and regularity. Hey, don't knock regularity. In fact, with regularity in mind, I've written my own book. Hubbard's book, Dianetics, has been a huge seller. My book, Diuretics, will open your mind, as well as the other end, to my ideas on health, wealth, interpersonal relationships, achieving your goals, and fiber. Scientology has its own charismatic leaders.
Okay, maybe charismatic isn't the right word. Nutty, there's
the word. Heber Jentzsch is their International President,
and he's a walking advertisement for why you wouldn't want to join
their cult. He is, to be polite about it, a total loon. I too
have been known to turn off potential converts to my own dangerous, mind-bending
cult, but I'm working on my personal hygeine and posture. Seriously,
I'm working on it.
Our Five-Step Path to Peace and Pulchritude
Step 1. Diagnosis of why you're all messed up To begin with, when you first visit a Scientology center, they hook you up to a strange machine, and tell you that it can diagnose your problems. In pretty much 100 percent of all cases, the machine will find something wrong with you. That's quite a thorough track record. After the diagnosis, they prescribe several expensive and drawn-out courses to fix what ails you. Such a deal! Well, I too have such a machine. And it is based on the same principles.
I'll even let you open it up and examine its inner workings. And
it will function on the same principle as well. The bricks and Slinkees
and old TV tubes I have put inside it will diagnose you just as accurately.
And I guarantee, if you come to my cult center, I will find something wrong
with you fully 100 percent of the time! And I'll do it cheaper.
On this you have my word as a Notary Public (alright,
fine, so I'm not really a Notary Public; I applied, but an old felony
conviction got in the way; but my heart was in the right place).
Step 2. Withdrawal from family, withdrawal from friends and society, withdrawal of limited funds You are probably all messed up for the same reason everybody else is. You suffer from the same symptoms, so you probably share a root cause. And that root cause is LOVED ONES. Parents, spouse, kids, in-laws (Jesus Christ, ESPECIALLY in-laws), and pets all contribute to a general sense of ennui, a lack of direction, fingerprints on the wallpaper in the hallway next to the linen closet. These must be purged. You need isolation, better influences, fresh wallpaper. Well, we can be that wallpaper. First thing we'll do is spirit you away. Please wait at your front door, because if we pull up in the driveway and honk the horn, your dad might get pissed. Wear a funny hat, so we can tell it's you. One time we snatched this guy's brother by mistake, right? And boy, was he ticked. Until we got to the part of the program with the hookers. Make sure you bring money. Not every last penny. We don't ask you to sell your stereo, or your dad's stamp collection, or your sister. Unless she's cute, and we'll make you an offer. But just bring a few bucks. Remember, we're cheaper! Oh, and bring a map. We're really shitty with directions. We need to whisk you off to the airport, where we stick you in a crate and fly you secretly to our super-secret hideaway. We engage in sleep-and-food deprivation. Until the beer kicks in, and then everybody sleeps. That's the rule. The food part, well, if you want to, we let you bring chocolate chip cookies. But only if you bring enough for everybody! Let's see, there's me, I'm the cult-master, and then there's Abu the Keeper of the Gate, and Hassan the Enforcer, and oh yeah, there's Peaches. You'll like Peaches.
Scientology strives to bring its denizens to a higher consciousness, a zone of not-screwing-up, called Theta Clear. They claim that when you're clear, you'll never cause car accidents, you'll never lose your keys, you won't walk into walls. They do this by putting you through a whole bunch of courses, and giving you busy work. Such a deal! My own version of this is more suited to who you are. You can't always be Theta Clear. Hell, some days, you wake up feeling, well, Omega Ornery. Myself, sometimes I'm Delta Dingy. But on a good day, following my not-so-strict regimen, you'll be Sigma Stupdendous. We don't shoot for Sigma Stupendous all at once. We usually start with something easy, like Alpha-Ah-What-the-Hell. Then we slowly progress to Beta Good-Enough, then Lambda Not-Too-Damn-Bad, and the penultimate stage Gamma Dammit. That's the point at which you rid yourself of all remaining angst, regret, and pocket change. We play a lot of poker between Lambda and Gamma. Finally, everybody smacks you in the head with a ping-pong paddle, we make you sing your school fight song, and then you'll feel Sigma Stupendous. Of course, there's always the quick and dirty path to being Sigma Stupendous. And that's to get laid. But that's in Part IV of my advanced course, How to Get Laid. I don't know if Scientology will get you laid, but if they do, I'll do it cheaper! I hope you're not picky.
Step 4. Assimilation into my all-enveloping cult mentality (and Potluck Dinner) Unlike most cults, we actually lull you into a sense of well-being by not enforcing a faceless, all-for-one, selling-pencils-at-the-airport philosophy. Actually, we sell Amway products, but that's another story. Instead, we preserve individuality in totally innocuous fashion which in no way threatens the overwhelming supremacy of the cult-leader, ME (remember, always address ME as Most High Poobah, King Mambo Grande, or the more casual Big Sugar Daddy). We preserve this state by assigning every single member of the cult a unique name, which is all theirs. To avoid reinforcing any ethnic or cultural stereotypes, we choose these names from common household products. The names are officially handed out by Brother Ajax and Sister Windex. Because there's this stupid-ass idea that cult people are all vegetarians, no meat product names are used. Unfortunately, this bylaw was passed after we were joined by Brother "Ballpark" Frank. After you get your Certificate of Banjo-Playing (we got them
cheap, and in bulk) for getting through our cult training, we have a dinner.
Everybody brings a dish. I make a killer green bean casserole.
What's that? You don't like casseroles? Go to hell!
Step 5. Gut-wrenching deprogramming and re-assimilation into normal society (and Potluck Dinner) Eventually, your parents and/or your creditors will come to rescue you, if for no other reason than to slap you in debtors' prison 'til you pay for those Columbia Record House CD's. Which reminds me, if you're caught listening to anything by Styx or The Backstreet Boys, whom we suspect are the same people, you will have to spend a night in a motel with Peaches' ugly sister Edna, after which you will be Iota Itchy. Wait, where was I? Oh, yeah, when the deprogrammers come, we offer no resistance. I hate getting punched in the face. In fact, by the time they come for you, you'll be outta cash anyway, so we're easily bribed by the other guys to just hand you over. For ten bucks, we'll even roll you up in a carpet for easy transportation in their anti-cult van. It's always a van. And it's usually a beater. This deprogramming gig, the pay is shitty. After they've slapped you around in a motel room, played you a recording of Up With People, and fed you a cupcake, you'll be ready to rejoin your family. I know there's some nude photos of me circulating out there, and those'll sure scare you the hell away from my umbrella of influence. Then you'll need to go through some intensive therapy, to make sure you can re-enter society. And that's where WE come in, again. Who better to steer you away from the evils of our cult than US? We understand all the underhanded, cheesy, scheming ways in which we worm our way into your psyche. And we're also totally aware of all our own foul habits that nauseate those closest to us. So we just remind you of all the farting, belching, nail clipping, and other nasty practices that made you squirm during your original indoctrination. You'll say, "Oh, yeah, they were disgusting!" and you'll quickly move yourself away from our sphere of evil influence. We get you coming and going. AND we do it cheaper! After you have been totally deprogrammed, we have another dinner. Everybody
brings a dish. Fine, I won't bring a f_____ng casserole. But
if you don't like my meat loaf, it's back to the motel with Edna
for you, buddy!
And there you have it. My amazing five-step program from despair to happiness, then to enlightenment, then back to despair. Life is a grand circle, the universe is curved, and this is why you end up back where you started, which is explained in the simple bit of wisdom, "You don't really buy beer, you only rent it." Of course, the cult life isn't for everyone. Maybe you're not
cut out to shave your head, sit your bare ass on a cold stone floor reading
sanskrit poetry, enduring daily floggings and endless viewings of Teletubbies
(no
shit, it's just like quaaludes), spilling your guts to 60 Minutes
after
you quit. And if you're not up to the challenge, that's perfectly
okay. But would you still like to sell Amway for us?
Check here for enlightenment and our fine selection of soap-on-a-rope.
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