Scientology vs. France

The Church of Scientology is on trial for fraud in France. Apparently, a woman who said she paid the church more than $34,590 for lessons, books, drugs and an "electrometre," a gadget which the church says can measure a person's mental state got herself all up in arms over none of it working.

I feel the need to write on the subject as quickly as possible, because I’m sure the French will be surrendering promptly, but I have some major problems with Scientology and will take the opportunity to throw them under the bus.

My issues with Scientology are two-fold. There is the glaring problem I like to call The Katie Holmes Conundrum and then there is the whole thing where the religion is based on a science fiction (fiction meaning “made up”) book.

The first issue, and one that is a bit personal to me, is the Katie Holmes Conundrum. You see, Katie was destined to be the mother of my children until the Scientologist’s personal messiah-like figure, Tom Cruise, brainwashed her and turned her into a zombie.

Now, I have to take umbrage with both Maverick and his church over this offense. Sure, it’s true that I’d never met Katie Holmes, that my prospects for ever meeting her were dim at best and that even if we had somehow met I have to acknowledge that it is possible, however unlikely, that she could have been immune to my boyish charm, but who are kidding here? Joey Potter was destined to be mine, and Tom Cruise stole her from me!

And that alone, I could deal with. I’ve had girls stolen from me before (not really, but they say it helps your audience connect if you humanize yourself). It isn’t the theft itself that pisses me off as much as it’s the whole turning her into a zombie-like stepford wife. I like my gals a little spunky and it’s like he put a tap in her and drained all the spunk out. I’m devastated. Not only can I not have her now, but I don’t even want her which is a bit saddening really. So obviously, for that reason alone I’m justified in my hatred of Scientology.

But even before Maverick stole Katie away from me, I found myself to be a little bit incredulous toward this whack-job religion. It’s not so much that they based a religion on a science fiction book as it is which science fiction book they chose.

I mean, if you’re going to be a certified loon and worship characters from a work of science fiction, at least pick the best available work out there! I mean, if Tom Cruise and Vincent Vega decided to be Jedi, I’d still think they were completely batshit, but at least I’d think they were batshit in a good way.

I mean, the people that take StarWars too seriously (and okay, I may or may not be on the fringe of that) are a bit nuts, but at least they are nuts in support of the greatest movie of all time, not some crackpot fringe book about aliens that don’t even have light sabers! I mean, the Force is something you can believe in, at least it’s based on an amalgamation of the beliefs of the worlds major religions. Scientology, on the other hand, is a certified, drink the kool-aid and board the mothership refuge for people who were previously only united in their mastery of creating cardboard cutouts to wear proclaiming that the end was near.

It’s just simply ridiculous that Scientology even exists and I know this case isn’t going to be in the courts for long, the French will be pulling down their pants, bending over and begging Scientology to be gentle and use lube in less than a week, but while it is, before us and in the news, I’d be remiss if I didn’t speak out against it!

And Katie, if you’re still allowed to read and somehow come across this piece, if you can still comprehend the words and this happens to spark some sort of epiphany that helps you break free of the lock this quack religion has over you, before you completely overcome your brainwashing, it may not be a bad idea to repeat the following mantra until it is the very core of your being.

“Chubby guys wearing Cubs hats rule! I want one of those!”

That is all

Bumper Cars

I’m all for putting a little personality into your vehicle. The spare tire on the back of my jeep has a huge Cubs tire cover over it. At one point in my life I had personalized license plates as well, which extolled my status as a Jedi (nothing gets a guy laid quicker than having the words Jedi on his license plates, let me tell you!).

I think Calvin peeing on the symbol for a competitor’s truck is clever and the decal that makes it look like there’s a baseball lodged in your rear window is funny. My problem is the bumper stickers.

No one and I do mean no one at all cares that your kid is an honor roll student or what school little Timmy or Sally goes to either. For that matter, no one cares that your kid can beat up an honor student either. Why not just save time and get a bumper sticker that says, Hey Pedophiles, For a Good Time, Follow Me Home and Wait Until I Leave Little Timmy Alone!

I see you voted for John Kerry. That’s a nice bumper sticker. The election was over four years ago. Let it go. Bush sucked, that’s not in question, but Kerry was a weasel too so don’t sit all high and mighty about a vote you cast a lifetime ago.

It’s nice that you love your schnauzer, but how does that affect my life? If you love your schnauzer so much that you plaster a bumper sticker on a car to profess that love, there’s probably something unnatural about it and maybe you need to see someone to help you with that problem.

If I can read your bumper sticker then I’m following you too closely, huh? That’s clever. Maybe if you didn’t kick your brake more often than you might your ugly red-headed step child, we wouldn’t be having this conversation though.

If I don’t like your driving I should call 1-800-EAT-SHIT? Is that right? Well I don’t like your driving, but I prefer to express my frustration with a tire iron and a bad attitude at the next stop light. If you’d thrown a please into your request, I might have gone along with it, but I have trouble taking orders—especially from people who haven’t mastered the art of driving.

Your other car is a Porsche huh? That’s nice. Porsches are for pricks. Your other car is a broomstick? Oh, I get it, you’re a witch huh? That’s nice, now drive away before I go all Salem on your wart covered ass!

You go from Zero to Bitch in 0.6 seconds? That’s impressive, and convenient since 0.6 seconds is the exact amount of time I need to punch someone in the mouth and laugh while they spit out their teeth.

Putting a little personality into your car is one thing, but advertising the fact that you’re a moron is just plain foolish and let’s face it, most bumper stickers are moronic. It’s time to peel those suckers off and join the human race. Your schnauzer can’t read, so I promise he won’t mind. If your kid’s self esteem is based on whether or not you display a sticker proclaiming him or her as smart, you’ve got some serious problems (besides, they put any kid who doesn’t shit themselves more than three times a year on the honor roll now a days). If your politics define you as a person, that definition is not alive.

So please, for the sake of all of us who have to share the roads with you, do us all a favor and peel the damn sticker off. They don’t make you funny or witty or clever. They make you look foolish and moronic. And they make me want to hit your bumper hard so you’ll have to get a new one.

Then again, what do I know? I’m just a fanboy who’s team hasn’t won it all in 100 years.