Scientology Crime Syndicate

22 Jul 2000


Picket Report, 22 July, 2000
Signs: bad weather in store from the crime syndicate!
(A very good "sign").

Fantastic New Discovery! The Stealth Picket, et tu David.

I wanted to see Mistress Barb (it was also a commandment, but my wish is to obey her), and perhaps down a few pints of demon alcohol ("You're drunk aren't you?!" -- Dan Murnen) at the local pub, so I wandered from my new abode and down the street and knocked upon her towering domicile. She buzzed me in. I was a bit disappointed when she did not order me to fall upon my face at her feet, but that was not really what I had come for...

I had come to ENTURBULATE and to EDUCATE. Enturbulate any and all Scientologists out walking among the raw meat (unlikely), and to educate the raw meat to STAY raw meat (much, much, much more likely). The few pints of bitters and the opium smoking (oops! Barb, was that a secret?!) were just icing on the cookies.

Barb printed out a sign: "Scientology $360,000 Space Alien Cult" and using Duct Tape Tech(tm)(r)(c) we managed to make it stick to the slightly damp cardboard I brought. Stir in one balsa wood stick (Minton Tech) from Keith's unlimited supply, and tah dah! A Sign Is Born! It looked good; it looked powerful; it looked ready for anything; it looked---- enturbolatious!

First stop: Kinkos, right down the block from the brain washing center. We made 50 copies of the Xenu Flyer (modified by Mistress Barb with a line drawing of Xenu, which copied much better), and left the original to help enturb-ucate (Dictionary def: "Contraction of 'Enturbulate' and 'educate'") on the table next to the copy machine.

Second stop: The Blarney Stone! Mistress Barb asked me what I wanted to drink, but I had no idea. I (cough) never go to bars and I (cough) never drink alcohol. She commanded me to drink Guinness and LIKE IT OR ELSE, so I did. Hey, that's good stuff! One need never eat real food again, if one only drinks that dark, sinister brew. It's like liquid bread (er, which it is).

It took me a full three minutes to get my sign positioned just right: facing the foot traffic three feet away from the pub's wee patio enclosure--- close enough that it could not possibly be missed by even the most myopic of wogs.

I tried to bum Barb's last cigarette off of her, but she would not give it to me (after all I've done for her!). But since I do not smoke, and Ken Hoden was not around to give her smokes, she still refused.

Passed out five or six flyers (quaffing cool drinks with one hand, passing out flyers with the other, while sitting on our whale-sized asses in the shade) to folks who walked up, saw the signs, and wanted to know more about Xenu. This is =THE= way to picket, folks! (Meanwhile, Keith Henson was in 105 Degree F. heat at Gold Base, marching up and down the blazing hot asphalt highway, under the relentless, killing sun, dogged by two evil thugs. Hardly seems fair, eh what?)

One waiter at The Blarney Stone wanted us to leave. "Why, sure! We're going any minute now! (Pssst! Hey David: go get us another round!)" --- Mistress Barb. The signs seemed to be enturbulating him more than they were educating him: I suspect he did not want crime syndicate goons to come along and harass their customers.

We drank The Blarney Stone dry, so we packed up our signs, flyers, and meat bodies and strolled off to the next pub--- signs out where folks would have to look at them just before leaping out of the way to avoid being smacked in the face by them. We heard lots of nearly sub-vocal talk about "Scientology" this and "Scientology" that as we passed people. I kept telling people we were "Anti! Anti! -NOT- pro! ANTI DAMN IT!" which made folks MUCH more friendly and approachable.

On my estimate, of the three or four dozen folks we talked to, only one was negative about our message--- that one person called -US- "crazy." We assume he thought we were supporting Scientology and not protesting their crimes / abuses.

It's amazing how saying "I'm -NOT- a Scientologist!" seems to make people gush with kindness and warmth and friendliness. It's almost as if Scientology had a bad reputation around here.

We got to the second pub, leaving a trail of flyers in people's hands, and found us stools outside and amongst the foot traffic. We parked our whale-sized butts and got another pint or two to kill our parched throats (hell, it was like an entire THREE BLOCKS to walk! Minton, I want hazard pay!). The bloke there was adamant about us facing our picket signs inward to where potential customers (and actual clams) would not see the words. But a wee gust of wind kept turning the sign's face towards the foot traffic, try as we might to prevent that. We are just, like, so (cough) sorry this happened....

We passed out more Xenu flyers. Received many stories about how folks had to deal with "that crazy bunch of lunatics." One guy did some sandblasting from the crime syndicate, and he said that he was astonished at how insane the clams were. He ran away before we could ask him if he was paid in "services" instead of money.

It was dinner time--- hot Saki soon followed the Guinness down our once-again-newly-parched throats. At the Japanese restaurant we went to, a handy sign base was on the sidewalk just waiting for a sign to be suck in it! They must have known we were coming. Lots of folks saw the sign and gave us thumbs-up and cheers and other guttural utterances of approval. We asked one group of folks if they wanted flyers about Xenu, and one of the guys in the group said "Ah, Xenu? Body thetans? Volcanoes? Murdered space aliens? I know all about that!" with a laugh. That was cool--- Scientology (OTIII) REALLY =IS= expanding!

All good things must end, alas. It was time to stagger back home, signs clutched in our now-uncertain, un-steady hands. Barb even almost--- ALMOST!--- started to sing a Kenny Rodger's song but caught herself just after the "You gotta know when to hold 'em.... <HAULT!HARDSTOP!PARITY-ERROR!" part. She commanded me to never ever ever mention it, and swore me to secrecy unto the grave that she had almost sung a Country Western song. I swore I'd not put it in this K/R. Which I didn't: one of my BT clusters did.

We got home safely. The alcohol seemed to have congregated in our whale-sized asses instead of the brain--- thank Goddess for large favors. All in all, it was a damn fine "protest / picket." My assessment is that people already know, or at least they believe they know, about Scientology and that they avoid it like a vampire avoids sunlight and garlic. This is why I think Kristi Watcher's "It's worse than you think!" is good tech: people may believe they know just how bad the Scientology abuses are, but not actually know to where they could pass on their information responsibly. Folks seem to already have been inoculated against joining Scientology: the next step is to expose their front organizations!

This is true.


"Every week, every month, every year, every decade and now every century, Scientology does weird and stupid things to damage its own reputation." -Steve Zadarnowski

http://www.xenutv.com (see live Scientologists in their natural state!)


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