Why Tom Cruise is a bleeding penis tip... but RIGHT!

I should start out by declaring

SCIENTOLOGY BLOWS.

I don't think it's necessary for me to go into the reasons. Just the fact that something like this exists in the 21st century -- that people take this shit written by a hack of a sci-fi author not just seriously, but religiously -- is positive proof that the human race is doomed.

Now. By now most of you have seen or heard about the video of Tom Cruise again being a blathering twat and getting a big stiffy over his main-man L. Ron (The Hubber, as he might be named) as he talks about acronyms and other bullshit that those nutters use to sound like a bunch of secretive cockblossoms. You also may know that I have the extreme dishonor of living close to a Scientology center/hive/breeding ground. The story continues to the next paragraph...

In Tom-tom's laest romp through illogic, he explains that "if he sees an accident on the road, as a Scientologist [he] is obligated to help, because a Scientologist is the only person who can help..." Poor Cruise-control is apparently unaware that paramedics are probably going to be a bit more helpful than proselytizing in the event of an accident. Or so I thought... because AS BLOODY SHIT WOULD HAVE IT I DROVE BY A CRASHED CAR BEHIND THE BIG SCIENTOLOGY HOTEL TODAY. And guess who was there??? SCIENTOLOGISTS! HELPING!!

There they were, wearing their sleek navy blue sweatpants and chatting jovially amidst eachother. The driver was huddled up on the sidewalk looking in shock at her car (or at the fact that she crashed in a place worse than the scorched lands of Mordor). And those good, good Hubber-followers brought out orange cones and were sweeping up the glass.

T.C. says that only a Scientologist can help at an accident. The Scientologists were sweeping up glass. Ergo only Scientologists can sweep up shit.

QED, BITCHES!


You should send some of those fools over here. My patio is getting dusty.