And now, Merujo briefly unloads on Scientology...
Avoid zealots. They are generally unpleasant.
Tom Cruise, high school drop-out and apparent mental health professional, on postpartum depression: "There is a hormonal thing that is going on, scientifically, you can prove that. But when you talk about emotional, chemical imbalances in people, there is no science behind that. You can use vitamins to help a woman through those things."
Oh, puh-leeze, tell us more about your personal experiences with postpartum depression, Tommy Boy. Really, oh wise one! I'm sure that you didn't blink a bit after you birthed yo' babies. Oh wait. That's right. You can't suffer from postpartum depression, you total jerk. You don't have the equipment to "part" anything.
I don't know when they started handing out M.D.s in granola boxes, but I sure can't wait to get mine! I'm sure if I were to conjure my maternal grandmother from the dead and tell her that amateur shrink Tom Cruise sez her depression could have been cured by vitamins, she'd be amazed. I'll be sure to tell all my sisters and friends who took their friggin' vitamins throughout pregnancy and still found themselves depressed. Tommy sez, "Tish tosh, ladies! There is no such thing as a chemical imbalance! You just should have taken more vitamins!"
Did I already say "Asshole Scientologist"? Yes? Well, hell. There's nothing like a little emphasis to drive the point home.
Tomchik, shouldn't you be out making a sequel to "Battlefield Earth" or some other piece of crap to appease the great spinning cylinders? Drop by sometime, Tommy Boy. Let me tell you how much I would have appreciated knowing my grandmother. Wish to hell and gone they'd had Paxil back in 1921...
To Brooke Shields, I say: congratulations, hon, on making it through your depression. I often wonder what my mom's childhood would have been like had there been good - or any - medication for her mother... And Tom Cruise can stick it where the sun don't shine with his snotty comments about your career, hon.
To Katie Holmes, I say: run, little Katie, run! Run the hell away and just keep running. You don't need this garbage in your life just to keep your career afloat, honey. Seriously, babe. You marry him, you're a fool.
Listen, L. Ron Hubbard wrote shitty science fiction. Plain and simple. And, in the midst of writing his crappy fiction, he figured out an amazing way to part gullible wealthy people from their money and make them feel so goody-good about themselves, they'd empty their pockets and still walk away with a shit-eating grin. Wily old bastard, that Hubbard guy. It's more of a scam than those "no money down" real estate rackets advertised on late night TV.
When I was a student in London back in the '80's, Scientologists would stand outside the Goodge Street tube stop and try to get passersby to come into their storefront office for a free "personality evaluation". If you had the misfortune to be stuck standing there, waiting for the streetlights to change, the freaky, overly smiley recruiters would get more aggressive and brazen, suggesting that there might be something wrong with you that Scientology could fix. I found that massively offensive.
One evening, a friend of mine, an exceedingly handsome Welshman (well, exceedingly handsome in my young mind, at least) got into a shoving match with one of the Scientologists who offered him a path to improve his imperfect mind. My friend gave him some deeply personal suggestions in his rumbly, deep distinctly (sexy) Welsh accent. The Scientologist then snidely said that Scientology had programs that could even help the Welsh to improve.
That was a mistake.
One thing I learned over that year in London - don't suggest to a Welshman that he's anything other than Just Fine The Way He Is. At the time of this super-terrific-happy-fun encounter, a pack of us were headed back to hall from a fairly drunken stop at Dionysus (or, as we called it, Dinosaurs), a really seedy kabob shop on Tottenham Court Road. I recall, once the pushing started, a flurry of lamb bits and cucumber sauce becoming airborne. I also recall our surly posse being given a wide berth the next time we walked by. Apparently, the Scientologists had determined we weren't appropriate candidates for "personality evaluations".
When a good science fiction writer comes up with a decent religion, come talk to me... Until then, Mr. Cruise and Co., you can stick your clear Thetan bullshit where the sun don't shine.
Actually, neither he nor Nicole blinked when they birthed their babies: the kids are adopted. So he really has no idea what it's like...
True dat, mah brutha. True dat. Whole thing makes me grumbly about seeing "War of the Worlds". I don't mind lining Spielberg's pockets some more, but I'd rather my $8.50 didn't go in any way to tangentially support Scientology's smilin' poster boy...
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