You may not know me. I come from a place where people openly discuss you fornicating with diseased animals and thereby spawning monstrosities the very existence of which is an offense to God. In fact, if you were to shit your pants in public tomorrow, I guarantee you this blog would Digg that video so hard you’d think we were all fecalphiliacs, which would only be half true.
I’m telling you this, Miley, because I want us to start off our relationship on the right foot. I want to be honest. And, honestly, most of the crew I run with want to see you dead. Not just dead, either; maimed. In front of your family.
But I don’t. Because I know, deep down, that you’re just an impressionable young pop star, falling into the same stupid traps our obsessive culture sets for all of your kind.
Miley, listen to me, because I may be the only person speaking from a place of truth on this one. We already know the people making your decisions at the moment aren’t exactly out for your well-being. If they were, I wouldn’t be masturbating to you as I write this.
Does that creep you out Miley? Well, try to get past it, because I’ve got some deep shit to lay on you and I’m not going to stop.
Miley…DO NOT JOIN THE CHURCH OF SCIENTOLOGY.
I know they’ve had Travolta hounding you, and I know he’s cool. Damn cool. I mean, the guy’s licensed to pilot 747’s, and rocks one of the meanest upside-down goatees I’ve ever seen.
But you know who else piloted 747’s? Terrorist hi-jackers. And you know who else has awesome facial hair? Biker gangs.
And you want to know a dirty little secret? They’re all Scientologists. Scientology is more than harmless idiocy; it’s a dangerous cult, a confluence of all the world’s evildoers. Even Beck.
Don’t believe me? Ask literally anyone who isn't a Scientologist about Scientology, and watch what happens. They're either going to laugh at you or shake their fist in anger, and neither is a good endorsement when choosing a faith.
Look, I understand if you’re looking for some meaning in your life right now. I would be too if I were just getting old enough to realize what an empty shell of a human being I’m going to have to live as for the next eight years before I die on a Heroin overdose in a truck stop bathroom.
But if you’ve got to go in for a crazy fad religion, why not Kabbalah? I don’t know that much about it, but Madonna’s pushing it pretty hard and as far as I know she’s one of the only of your kind to make it into her thirties with some semblance of a career.
I’ve read Dianetics, Miley. It’s long. It’s got big words. And the only pictures are diagrams of things like your “potentiality matrix” and “beingness curve.” Then at the end there’s an agreement you’re supposed to sign that gives Church members the right to come over to your house any time they want and chill out, without even calling first, and eat right out of the fridge.
And may I remind you, not all Scientologists are huge celebrities like Tom Cruise and Leah Rimini. Most of them are just lonely people so chock-full of Thetans they’ll believe anything they hear. Or, wait, do they have no Thetans? Are Thetans bad to have? I think so, but then they give you an operating Thetan level that goes up as you improve. See?! It’s crazy Miley! Get out of there!
And if someone offers you an “E-Meter reading,” kick them in the crotch and run like hell. I heard that’s when they drop the cages on you. And “auditing session” is just slang for a chloroform-soaked rag.
I learned these things, Miley. On the streets. Sticking my nose in where it didn’t belong. Digging up the bones of L. Ron Hubbard and pissing on them. And I impart this wisdom to you, in the hopes that I can keep another of our young people out of the alien clutches of the Church of Scientology.
Godspeed, snake monster.
Yours in Christ,
Michael “I just finished” Swaim
And for the dissenting view, check out Dan's Open Letter to Scientology Regarding the Evils of Miley Cyrus.
When not blogging for Cracked, Michael rescues America's youth from the deprivations of organized religion as head writer and co-founder of Those Aren't Muskets!