Sometimes, you have to be willing to suffer for the sake of comedy. Sometimes, you have to be willing to subject yourself to a good anal probing from the aliens for a few yuks. That was my calling when I decided to infiltrate Scientology, and report back all the freaky stuff going down in there. What horrors would I find? Alien carcasses? Naked hippies? Suri Cruise?
I recently moved back to Los Angeles, where you can barely drive more than four blocks in any direction without passing a Church of Scientology. So, the question wasn’t where to find Scientologists, the question was which friggin’ one should I go to? In my zip code alone, there are no fewer than six hundred and sixty-six Scientology centers.
I must confess here, part of the criteria in finding a good apartment in Los Angeles is looking for a Scientology Center nearby. They don’t get Scientology in the ghetto.
I decided that if I was going to do this, I was going to do it in style. I was going to go to the biggest Scientology Center of them all. The church that started it all — THE Church of Scientology of Los Angeles, on L. Ron Hubbard Way. I kissed my girlfriend goodbye, told her to send help if I wasn’t back in two hours, lubed up my butt to make the probing go more smoothly (OK, I always lube up my butt before leaving the house.), and I was on my way.
Turning off of Sunset onto L. Ron Hubbard Way, I got a little embarrassed. “No, really, I’m just going to make fun of them,” I mouthed to passersby. It didn’t calm my fears any to pull into the parking lot and park next to a truck with a flat tire that appeared to have been sitting there since 1973. “Dude probably got sacrificed to Xenu,” I thought. (Xenu was, according to L. Ron, an alien who came to Earth, killed all of his people, and left them here so they could get in our brains and wreck them). No turning back now. I’m going in. Oh, help me, L. Ron.
Once inside, I’m greeted by a guy and girl at the front desk, who were just hanging out, Scientologizing and stuff. “Can I help you?” “I don’t know. I’m just here for information. What’s this all about?” He tells me he wants me to watch a bit of a video, then we’ll chat. I have a seat, and he can’t find the video. I really expected these Scientologists to be more organized. I sat there for five minutes while the guy shuffled around looking for the “Dianetics for Dummies DVD” or whatever he’s about to show me, and I considered bolting a few times, intimidated by the giant wall of L. Ron Hubbard books. Say what you will about L. Ron, but the man was prolific. Apparently, he never had a thought cross his mind that he didn’t turn into a 7,000 page book.
Finally, it’s video time, and it’s a sleeper. You’d think with all the actors into Scientology, they could manage to make a training video that doesn’t suck so much. I was having a hard time staying awake, but I do remember that “Dianetics” apparently involves a bunch of yelling, and a woman throwing her boyfriend’s guitar out the window. I LOLed. That probably wasn’t the intended response. I’m already failing at Scientology. Then, the key to “Dianetics” comes across the screen. I know it was important, because they repeated it, and displayed it in the big, bold L. Ron Font:
Huh? Why didn’t I think of that? I’m ready. I know what Scientology is all about. I’m ready for my one on one indoctrination. Please, make me more like Beck and less like Tom. We start chatting, and the guy tells me he’s been a Scientologist his whole life. His parents were Scientologists. I can relate. My parents were stoners. We keep talking, and he keeps grabbing books to show me quotes. I’m pretty impressed with his memorization of the entire L. Ron library. A few flips, and he’s got the quote he wants to show me, again and again. Apparently, there’s not much to do while working the front desk at the Scientology Center but memorize books and wait for people like me to come in and harass you.
“You want to be more successful, right? We’ve got the technology here to help you do that.” Say what? You’ve got lasers or what? Now, I really, really want to see what’s in the back room.
It soon becomes clear, though, that I’ve run the course of my free trial offer, and I better buy something, or hit the road. He’s handed me about five books, two workbooks, and a DVD. I think there was even a “Goodnight, L. Ron” pop-up book for kids. “That’s about it,” he says. “The best thing for you to do is buy the books and learn all about it.” It was then that I realized what Scientology was really all about. It’s just one big, giant friggin’ book club.
I liked it a lot more when I thought it was a lot of Tom Cruise jumping and screaming on Oprah’s couch. That, I’d sign up for. Reading homework? Not so much. “Yeah, I’ll be back,” I tell the guy. “Why don’t you just buy them now?” (He’s onto me! He knows I won’t be back!) “Yeah, I didn’t bring any cash with me.”
I didn’t think anything could break that cold, awkward silence. You can’t make this stuff up, but right then, a man walked by in a kilt, playing the bagpipes. If I’m lying, may Xenu himself probe my anus with a copy of “Dianetics.”
Have you converted? Check out our lists of 11 Funniest Comedians That Attack Religions and 8 Outrageous Scientologists on YouTube.
This post was written by Steve Gifford, who isn’t going to read boring books for any religion.
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