collected
TROUTMAN
parodies of HKK

From: kkk@nutcom.duh (Kelena "King" Kobra)
Subject: SCIENTOLOGISTS CAN TOO BE FUNNY!
Organization: Retard Processing Force

There has been a lot of discussion over at the OSA about how    
we (the Scientologists) are being perceived on the Internet.
Specifically, we are concerned that--among other things--
we are considered to be completely without a sense of humor.        
I would like to assure readers of alt.religion.scientology that 
before we joined Scientology, we were all very funny and 
intelligent people. Despite the rigors of auditing, this sense  
of humor is fully intact, as is frequently witnessed by those  
who are lucky enough to be selected for our Recognizing 
Productive Friends holidays.

However, many of you who are not Scientologists remain unaware
of our lighter side, since you are typically exposed to us only
when we are required to lie, threaten and twist facts to serve
our own ends.  Because of this, we requested and received jokes 
and humorous stories from some of our more regular posters to 
this Internet newsgroup, as a way to demonstrate just how
jocular we can be.  I have not had time to review or edit 
them, but I am sure that they are all excellent and completely
original, also showcasing our spontaneity and creativity.

Jokes follow.

Kelena ''King'' Kobra


From:  million@grubby.wognet.con (Andrew Million)

Okay.  These two wogs go into a bar.  
They walk up to the bartender and say, ''Do you serve wogs?''  
The bartender says,''If you tell me how to make one, I'll serve it.''  
Then they ask, ''What about a.r.s. critics?''  
The bartender says, ''Never heard of it.''     Hennnnhhh henh henh
.

.

.

.


From:  waterbrik@netcon.duh (Bob Wallet)

Okay.  These two wogs go into a bar.  
They walk up to the bartender and say, ''Do you serve wogs?''
The bartender says,''If you tell me how to make one, I'll serve it.''
Then they ask, ''How do you feel about freedom?''
The bartender just shrugs. 
Somehow, that's not as funny as I remember.  I liked it better
when Andy Million told it.
.

.

.

.


From:  pasta@netcon.duh (Dick Slurwood)

ARS BIGOTS UNABLE TO EVALUATE DATA
.

.

.

.


From:  c-note@darkside.moon.con (C. Millair)

Okay.  These two wogs go into a bar. 
They walk up to the bartender and say, ''Do you serve wogs?''
The bartender yells, ''Fuck you! Get out of my bar!''
Then the wogs say, ''But we want a drink. We're alcoholics.''
The bartender yells, ''You're a couple 
of pathetic deadbeat dads!  Get out of my bar!''

ho ho ho ho.  Oooh!  I just made a spot!
.

.

.

.


From:  notJet@fruit.hawaii.con (Not Jet)

Okay.  These two wogs go into a bar.  
They walk up to the bartender and say, ''Do you serve wogs?''
The bartender says,''If you tell me how to make one, I'll serve it.''
So one wog says, ''No, *I* am a wog.''
The bartender shrugs and gets them a drink.
                                           HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
.

.

.

.


From:  ickpray@kaiwhine.con (Robert "Prick" Davis)

Okay.  These wogs have two bars, but I won't go into that.  
They say, ''Bartender!  Do you walk with serving wogs?''  
If the bartender says, ''How?  Tell me,''
then serve it to him without making it.  
Or, one wog quotes Hamlet like this, ''Ah Freedom,'' and then
the bricklayer hogties the mouse.
                                  I am so clever.  Bow down to me.
.

.

.

.


From:  1011010.0110@COMPUSUCKS.CON (Robert Mucous)

Okay.  These two wogs go into a bar.  
They walk up to the bartender and say, ''Do you serve wogs?''
The bartender says, ''I'll kill you if you say another word.''
One of the wogs says, ''Huh?''
The bartender says,  ''Never fear to harm another if the cause
is just,'' and then he runs into his back office and hides.

Wow!  I will definitely not be posting here again, 
as I am physically ugly!
.

.

.

.


From:  conMan@Avenue.Of.Losers.duh (ConArtistC)

Okay.  These two...hee hee hee...two wogs go into ho ho
hoo hoo hoo Okay.  These two wogs go into a bar.  They walk up
to ha ha ha ha the ho ho ha baaaaartenderahh ha ha ha ha

Hoooo...*snif*.  Sorry, way too busy to be doing this!  Wow!
.

.

.

.


From:  kkk@nutcom.duh  (Kelena ''King'' Kobra)

Okay.  These two wogs go into a bar.  
They walk up to the bartender and say, ''Do you serve wogs?''
Before the bartender can answer, an attorney at a nearby table 
jumps up and yells, ''Got you!  You have said 'wog', which is 
a copyrighted word.  Down on your knees before me, 
you wizened-weenie bastards.''

Cowering suddenly in fear, the two spineless wogs sink to their 
knees before her, whimpering and begging for forgiveness.  
''Silence!'' the attorney screams, her hard, steely eyes boring 
into them, baring the putrid cesspools in their hearts.  She 
takes a step forward, and they cringe helplessly.  With the 
confidence of authority, she pushes one of them over onto his 
side with her leather shoe.  Grinding it into his paunchy, 
desperate face, she bellows, ''Lick!  Lick it, you
scum-sucking dog, if you ever want to see the light of day again!''
His tongue darted readily from...oh!  Oh my, I seem to have... 
well, this is a joke, after all!  heh.  Not real, I assure you!

I...oh, my...I must go find Andrew...

- -- 

This humorous little interlude brought to you by,
               Troutman, Defender of Sticks
                troutman@teleport.com

From: kkk@nutcom.duh (King Kobra)
Subject: unauthorized music possession on a.r.s.
Organization: Bottom Feeders 'R' Us

Dear alt.religion.scientology readers:

   I represent Ridiculous Technology Center (''RTC''), the owner
of the minds, bodies and actions of Scientologists everywhere,
and the holder of the exclusive rights under the copyrights 
applicable to anything that any Scientologist might do.  Among
these Scientologists is Robert Mucous, also known as ''The
Masturbating Weasel''.  The voluntarily signed papers of 
enslavement for this Scientologist are registered with the
United States Scientology office under No. THX-303-555-1212.

   I have been informed that many of you are in possession
of records, tapes, compact discs, and printed lyrics and
songsheets of a musical group known as ''The Rolling Stones.''
This group is in violation of the copyright of the Scientology-
Rock group of the same name, headlined by Robert Mucous.  Your
possession violates Mucous' legal rights in that you possess
unauthorized copies of songs, melodies and lyrics that Robert
Mucous was just about to write.  In addition, the process of
getting a Scientologist to perform any creative and vaguely
spontaneous activity is a valuable one to the Church and
constitutes a trade secret.  Your possession of evidence that
he was just about to be creative is a violation of this
trade secret.

   It is essential that you take immediate and effective action
to remove all unauthorized copies of this material from your home
and other storage areas you might own.  You are also to delete
these and any other songs from anywhere else you might have
saved, transcribed, stored, copied, imaged or otherwised 
preserved them for posterity.

   Your use and enjoyment of these materials is *not* fair use.
I repeat, it is just *not* fair.  United States courts routinely
find that many people are guilty of copyright infringement; you,
therefore, are guilty as well.

   I will expect an immediate response from you with a frightened
and deferential statement of your willingness to comply with 
these demands.  If you do not comply immediately, I will have no 
recourse.
                                      Sincerely,
                                      Kelen King Kobra

--- 

This fun, little interlude brought to you by,
                Troutman, Defender of Sticks
                 troutman@teleport.com







From: kkk@netcon.duh (Kelena "King" Kobra)
Subject: AFTER VICTORY, RECONCILIATION
Organization: Refried Pinto Facsimilies

[Make no mistake, folks.  This is satire, and it gets a little
thick here and there.  I want to make it clear that I am in no
way attributing or associating anything here with any real 
person. This is all made-up and fictional.  Thanks! - Troutman]

To the readers of alt.religion.scientology,

Now that we have won a total victory over the Internet and our 
critics around the world, as evidenced by the crushing defeats 
heaped upon you by U.S. courts, we are feeling magnanimous 
towards you, and would like to extend our arms to you in 
friendship.  We like you, and we are only here to help.  
Sometimes, help comes in many strange forms.  In Andy
Million's case, a good whipping is helpful; for recalcitrant 
church members, help is provided via the rigorous "ascetic 
therapy" that is found in the RPF.  So we now require that you 
accept our invitation to help each and every one of you, no 
matter how odd it might seem.

As part of our ongoing efforts to portray Scientology in its true 
light of kindness and caring, we have collected a little montage 
of poems for your reading pleasure.  Of course, we never tell 
people specifically what they must think or write, but due to 
some adversity surrounding the similarity of jokes compiled by 
our staff a few weeks ago [the similarity was purely 
coincidental, of course], we have been extra careful in our 
assignments this time.  And by ''assignment'', we mean
only that we have made some suggestions as to what people should
write, not that we have actually provided the text for people to
write.  Scientology is an intensely creative religion, as it 
espouses total freedom of all thought and expression that has 
been preapproved by the OSA.

Here then, is the final, yet totally unedited version, of the
collection, including a surprise addition from LRH himself!
You may not reprint, redistribute or in any way make
copies of these trade...of these copyrighted materials.

Kelena


FREEDOM!    by Bob Wallet (waterbrik@cancelled.acct.con)

Ah, Freedom!

It is the taste of a hot dog that was never in
Your Nose.

It is the smell of sweet
grass
that has been spread in the vineyards, to
pleasure the king.

It is that feeling that Eunice the lady at the corner grocery
gets when she steps outside and stretches out her hands and
feels feels feels with the very essence that flows from
her uterus like POWER.

It is the feeling that I get,
the feeling that
I
get,
I and my comrades in MEST
when I grasp a twenty dollar bill and
press
it
tightly against my forehead in ecstasy.

It is Freedom!  Freedom!  Freedom!  Freedom!
And there is nothing I can do but urinate.
.

.

.

.


The Truth is a Lie  by C-Note Millair (c-note@darkside.moon)

I stand in the street and shake my fist
at the cold, gray sky.

I look in the window of the clothing store
as I walk on by.

I am a woman who is not a woman, and a man
who is not a man.

I have my facts straight.  I just can't tell
anybody.  Damn!

Rhyming is hard.

I know what is wrong with Wolly and Arnie
and Dennis and CAN.

They are deadbeats, evil little slugs,
and I would prove it.  Fuck it.  I hate trying to rhyme.
They are losers.  Everybody knows it.  Why can't you all just
get a life and stop attacking us?  I mean, have *you* done
your laundry lately?  Huh?  I, for one, would rather shoot
myself in my own foot than give money to somebody like *WOLLY*,
who will probably never again give the church any money and
that just pisses me off.  You are all losers, and I hate you.
I hate this assignment.  I'm tired of trying to be nice to
these pissy, little wog nerds.  Screw you all.
.

.

.

.


misel. Haikus    by Andy Million (million@grubby.wognet.con)

The handcuffs are tight.
I feel the sting of the whip.
Kelena is mad.
                             Just sent press release.
                             A.R.S. is reading it.
                             They're laughing again.
The handcuffs are tight.
I feel the sting of the whip.
RPF is hard.
                             Freedom is slav'ry.
                             That's what we've been taught to think.
                             Sounds ok to me.
Scientology
takes up one complete stanza
of a Haiku set.
.

.

.

.


ARS BIGOTS UNABLE TO EVALUATE DATA,   by Dick Slurwood

ARS BIGOTS UNABLE TO EVALUATE DATA
.

.

.

.


The Hater's Waltz    by Robert Mucous (1011010.0110@COMPUSUCKS.CON)

Oh...when...I first came up onto Usenet (dum dum),
I thought I'd just clear things right up.  (dum dum dum)
I quickly discovered how wrong I had BEEEEEEN (hold this note),
when I started to dance with the wogs. (dum dum dum)

I...was...hatted by G.O. to handle (dum dum)
the PR disaster up here. (dum dum dum)
But I found that the posters were smart and prePAAAARED,
and my strategy went to the dogs.  (dum dum dum)

I...would...lie and deceive and I'd twist and I'd turn
but the wogs wouldn't give me a break (dum dum dum).
I'd whine and complain that my treatment was harsh
but the wogs just weren't willing to take it (dum dum).
They yelled and they fought and they called me a fool
and they filled up my inbox with smut. (dum dum dum)
I threatened their lives and to give them all hives
but they gave me a kick in the butt.

Sooo....I'm....on AOL where it's safer (dum dum),
where wogs aren't allowed to do posts. (dum dum dum)
I might just come back though I couldn't say WHEEEEENNNN,
''I will definitely not be posting here again.''

(The last line is a joke to make the wogs 
fall on their feet, ha ha).

(Though, of course, we would be laughing *with* them, 
now that we are all friends)
.

.

.

.


I'm a Big Win     by Not Jet (notjet@fruit.getreal.hah)

When I go out to clubs at night,
I like to wear my foil hat.
You might believe I'd cause a fright,
But you would be wrong.

I use my power all the time.
I charge it up by saying, ''Wow!''
I'd use it here to help me rhyme,
But that would be wrong.

I have control of time and space,
I talk to plants and pets all day.
You might believe I'm sniffing mace,
But you would be wrong.

Auditing, it works for me.
For you?  I just don't give a hoot.
What's best for you's not best for me,
Because that would be wrong.

Come with me and have some fun!
Expand our swelling, growing ranks!
Hey, come back!  Don't try to run!
What'd I say?  What went wrong?
.

.

.

.

 
When In Doubt, Flowers Are Best
   by Robert ''Prick'' Davis (ickpray@kaiwhine.con)

Oh, it is so obvious that it cannot compare.
I wish to find a niche where the sorry bastards don't hang out.

On a broom, I think I'd recognize one for sure, but
I still wonder if they could live for long under water.

Yes, of course, the envelope contains all the fabric you'll need,
as bees still buzz in the Arizona desert.

All I want is a nice place to put this, preferably with a red cloth.
When in doubt, flowers are best.
.

.

.

.


Inspirational Poems, A Collection
   by Verah Wallets (an123456@anon.smoke.screen)

Roses are Red,
Violets are Blue.
Scientology Keeps Expanding,
So Deal With It.

A wog dies slowly,
Impaled on a roasting spit.
It makes me happy.

It makes me so excited that it's hard to express,
Watching folks in RPF, under such duress.
They will learn to think good thoughts,
They will learn to be robots.
Those little bastards *better* learn;
Lift that sack!  Feel the burn!

I love LRH, and so do you,
He's the only one who's ever said something true.
If he didn't say it then it doesn't exist.
Don't believe me?  Here, let me give that thumb a twist.
.

.

.

.


Freeform Ecstasy    by Kelena ''King'' Kobra (kkk@netcon.duh)

Black saddle.  Night black, soul black, black hole black.
Black saddle between my thighs, smooth and hard, slick.
Slick black saddle.  I slide back and forth against it.
Back and forth, black and forth, black and slick.

Grunting steed.  Reedy, contemptuous little runt.
Grunting runt.  Saddled runt, on all fours.  Hopeful.
Desperate.  Pathetic whining pony.  Despicable pony-worm,
crawling without legs, crawling with legs.

Long riding crop.  Smooth and supple, thigh-supple and
slender, black, warm.  Warm from the friction against the
flanks of the pony.  I slide on the saddle as I warm the
pony with the crop.  The crop struggles to impart some
spine, some backbone, some will into the pony, and it
fails.  Fails.  Fails.  Fails....

The pony wants more.  It doesn't know how slippery the
saddle is getting.  The crop tries again.  Fails.  Fails.
Fails.  Fails.  Fails...

And now the ride is over.  As always, the pony is happy to
clean the saddle.
.

.

.

.


[OSA Note:  We had intended to include LRH's "The Song of 
Hiawatha" here, but we have discovered that this file would
be too large to send if we did so.  We are therefore including
LRH's original poem, ''Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening''.]

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
   by L. Ron Hubbard (lrh@mest.marcabs.con)

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
.

.

.

.


This humorous, yet painfully long interlude which might actually
be considered not an interlude but a torturous interruption in
the stream of reality *breathe* brought to you by,
                     Troutman, Defender of Sticks
                      troutman@teleport.com


Okay, I have lots to account for, here.  First, ''The Song 
of Hiawatha'' is a poem by Longfellow, and it is *long*, fellow. 
 
Second, ''Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening'' is a poem  
by Robert Frost.

Third, this entire message up to the signature part is satire.  
It may be a little harsh in places, but that's the great thing 
about free speech; it protects both the nasty and the nice, which 
is why I'm still here.  Nothing in this post is intended in any 
way to represent the actual opinions, speech, actions or beliefs 
of any real person.


''I prefer 'The Song of Frank':  'doo bee doo bee doo...' ''
                                - Richard D. Piskevinaugh










From: NotJet@pineapple.hello.hah
Subject: NO! **MY** Success Story


In article {401cko$73h@news.aloha.com}, jet@aloha.com (Jet) wrote:
|
| [A big fat lie!]
|

NO!  He watched *ME* do that!  I did it!  ME!  I was the guy with
the 16-foot face who was surfing in a north shore restaurant.
But since he's already told you about it, I'll have to tell you
another one.  Yes, it's true.  I'm really one o' them Diane-etics 
guys.  Fooled you all, didn't I?

Since 1989, I've been remodeling and building houses.  After four
years, I got to where I was doing the large houses out by the beach,
the ones with sizes of up to 16 ft high stories.

While hammering, I used to hit myself in the head a lot on the recoil
stroke.  Doctors and chiropracters here have said that getting hit in
the head like that, over and over and over and over and over again is
equivalent to getting whiplash from throwing up after blowing half the
U.S. Congress.  I have done this thousands of times.  The hitting part,
I mean.  I have also hit myself on my side, rear, feet, etc.

A couple of years ago, it started to hurt.  And when I would get 
stressed out, it would travel all around my body and I would see stars.

My father was not a doctor, but he pretended to be one while in the
Navy.  This was no help, so I went to a real doctor.  He said I should
stop hitting myself if it hurt, but I figured that to be a pretty
stupid thing to say.  Doctors can be so clueless sometimes.

Then, I saw a Dianetics ad on TV and went right out and bought the
book.  In it was a description of "the reactive stroke", which is
*exactly* the thing with the hammer bouncing upwards from the
material.  I thought it was "recoil stroke", but I was wrong. I
learned that if I pounded nails with an auditor's head and not a
hammer, it would hurt somebody who was a lot more useless than myself.

So, here's the recap:

Before:  daily, intense pain in my shoulder/neck/back/butt/head.

After: daily, intense pain in the auditor's body.

And they do it for free!

Wow!  IT WORKS FOR ME.  I REPEAT, IT WORKS FOR ME!  WOW!

- -- 
This short but intruiging interlude brought to you by:
                          Troutman, Defender of Sticks
                           troutman@teleport.com









From: jet@mango.aloha.com
Subject: ANOTHER BIG WIN!
Organization: Foam City

Hi Everybody!  Jet here!  You know, reactions to my last big
win message were rather mixed.  I guess the story about my
surfing exploits just weren't enough for you.  Wow, what a tough
crowd.  Anyway, I've been thinking *ever since* about another win
I might have had that could top it, and now I've got it.  I know,
lots of you might have taken a lot less time to think back over
the last few years of your lives, but I'm just so busy that it's
like I do five times as many things as the rest of you.  At 
least, that's how I've been told it works.  I only believe what 
other people tell me.

Anyway, here's my big story.  Remember:  IT WORKS FOR ME!

Okay, so last week I was getting ready to leave my house and go
down to the beach.  I had on my aluminum foil hat and some really
cool ''Sea Org'' jams that I had just bought (neon green, with a 
Sea Org patch on the back pocket, only $479.95 -- a bargain).
I was so excited because I had just learned about putting 
intentions into animals, and I wanted to go try it out.  Well, 
wouldn't you know it, but I forgot to open the front door as I 
was running out and *WHAM* -- I ran right into it!

Wow, was I exteriorized.  I saw stars.  At first, I thought they
were, like, other planets, but then I realized that it was just 
my hat that had slid down and was sparkling in the sun.  I 
straightened my hat, and then I thought (after a while), 
''Hey. *I'M* the Scientologist!  *I* should have control over that 
door.''  So, I got my hat back on straight and faced the door, and 
put my hands on my hips like I was taught, and I focused my 
energy right onto that door. I *willed* it to open.  I 
concentrated harder and harder, and I could feel my forehead 
getting really warm.

Then, guess what!  IT OPENED!  YES!  THE DOOR OPENED BY ITSELF!
Right as my roommate Bruce was coming in!  He was right there as 
it opened, so I have proof.  He was pretty stoned, but after I 
explained what had happened, he was *really* impressed.  Now he 
wants to borrow my hat all the time, but I tell him he can't 
until he gets more upstat and does that little trick where he 
runs his... well, anyway.  The *point* is that I have the power 
to affect doors.  Like, open them.

If that's not a BIG WIN, well, all I can say is, ''Wow!''

- -- 
Jet, uhh, no, that's...
                       Troutman, Defender of Sticks
                        troutman@teleport.com









From: airplane@stupid.ology.com ((not) Jet)
Subject: BIG WIN NUMBER THREE!  WOW!  I SAID:  WOW!
Organization: Hosers Anonymous

Hi everybody!  (not) Jet here!  You know, my last post about my
big win was so popular, I pulled it out to show everybody I met
for three days!  But, after a while, I noticed that when I'd do
that, people would look at me funny and then walk really fast the
other way.  I think it was maybe my foil hat.  Or maybe, it was
that if people looked at it for long, I would make a spot.  Or
make Spot make a spot.  Or something.  Look, this Scientology
stuff is hard, okay?  But you know what?  It works for me!  Oops,
sorry:  IT WORKS FOR ME!  Remember that.

Anyway, I've been trying to get lots of people kicked off the
Internet lately.  I figure, if I don't like them, I shouldn't
have to look at them.  Oh, sure, *you* can't see the people
who post, but all of us Blubbardites sure can.  Well, it seems
that there has been some interest surrounding my actions, so
I thought I'd send out another BIG WIN message to describe
how well I did.  I'm pretty proud!

Here goes:  well, I just sent that sysadmin message right off.
But they wouldn't do what I wanted, so I got a gun.  I figured
I'd shoot myself in the foot, just like that Dianetics book says
on p. 257, ''Handling the Reactive Toes.'' I took careful aim, and
*bam*, I missed.  I completely missed my foot, and instead,
I nicked the nub where my theety-weety used to be.  As I'm sure 
you know, part of the OT-3 level is the WeeWee Rundown, where you 
audit your... you know...with a cudgel until most of it drops 
right off. It's one of the most critical things about becoming  
a Scientologist.

Oh, so anyway, my little nub started to bleed a little, so I went
to get a Band-Aid for it.  It wasn't bad or anything, but I 
didn't want to get a mess on my new ScienoShoes (neat white 
tennies, with an El Ron face patch on each ankle, only $329.99 at 
the local org outlet store).  But then, as I was grabbing the 
Band-Aid box, I thought, ''Wow!'', and I knew I was charging up my 
Stroboscopic Thetaperceptic abilities.  For Scientologists, ''wow''
is a power word, kind of like when that He-Man guy on television 
thrusts his big sword into the air and yells, ''The Power of...'', 
uh, whatever it is.  I like that show.

Where was I?  ummm...big win...net.protest...shoot theety...
band-aids...wow...yeah:  Wow!  I looked down, and I could see
my theety positively *teeming* with Nub Thetans (we call them 
Nts). I knew I was in control!  I *know* how to handle NTs.  I 
had to audit.  I looked around for my E-meter, but remembered 
that Bruce (my roommate, right?) was tuning up his Vespa and 
needed to use it for something.  I needed those cans.  Cans!  I 
ran to the kitchen and grabbed two cans of beets.  I know, not 
the same thing, but the *word* is the same, and it's the word 
that matters to a Scientologist!  I grabbed the cans, and I 
concentrated.  I concentrated really, really, really hard!  My 
forehead got really hot.  Then, I realized what I was holding:  
cans of...*beets*. Get it?  Beets, *BEATS*?  I'm an expert at 
this word stuff.

Immediately, I smashed myself in the head as hard as I could with
both cans of beets, and went down like a weasel nailed by an
AK-47.  Fifteen minutes later, when I woke up, I looked down and
MY NUB WAS NO LONGER BLEEDING!!!!!!!  !    !!  The NT's were
completely gone!  Bruce was so excited that he gave me twenty
dollars, which for a Scientologist is one of the highest 
compliments that can be paid.  There's a joke there, somewhere, 
but I can't find it.

So there you go, folks!  IT WORKS FOR ME!  And that's all that 
counts. If it doesn't work for me, it's stupid.  But I mean that 
in the nicest possible way.

Have a nice day.  I love you all!
- -- 
This fun interlude brought to you by,
                                    Troutman, Defender of Sticks
                                    STILL AT troutman@teleport.com!!!









From: airplane@fruit.surfer.duh (Not Jet)
Subject: YET ANOTHER BIG WIN!!!!  !!!  !!  !
Organization: Really Preposterous Fools

Hi, everybody!  [not] Jet here!

You know, the response to my last Big Win was so positive 
[*finally*], and so many of you wanted to know what my latest Win 
would be, that I promised myself I'd let you know when it 
happened.  Well, guess what?

Yep.  I had another one!  Actually, I had two, but the first Big 
Win was kinda personal (I made a spot with my "little win"), so I 
won't go into any kind of detail about that one.

Remember:  IT WORKS FOR ME!  That's all that counts.  If it works
for you, I don't care.  That's not what's important.  It has to 
work for *me*.

Okay, so here's what happened.  Bruce and I were sitting around 
the other day.  He was getting really stoned by smoking pot mixed 
with cinnamon.  Of course, being a good Scientologist, I don't 
inhale that stuff, because then I'd end up with the Purification 
Runs, but I figure that it's okay to be in the same room as him 
when he does that.  I mean, it's not like I'm actually inhaling 
any of the smoke, right?  Besides, I think it sets a really good 
example of how strong I am, now that I have Wowitology on my side!

So, he'd done like half a bag of the stuff; I think it took a 
couple of hours, but after a while it seemed like I was losing 
track of time a little.  We had to keep the windows closed in the 
living room so we didn't annoy the neighbors.  He started to get 
really silly, like putting pillows on his head and saying things 
like, ''I'm a ssssspppaaaaccceee aaalllliiieeeennnnnn.'' 
Remembering that it's good for a Scientologist to laugh [it jars 
loose body thetans that aren't hanging on very tightly], I got 
all giggly about it.  I think.  My memory about this is a little 
vague, for some reason.

Then he started to dare me to put on my aluminum foil hat and put
intentions into people.  At first, I was reluctant, because I've
been told that you're not supposed to do this unless you can
guarantee that your subjects have enough money to make it worth
your while, but finally I gave in, if only to show him how good I
am at doing this.  We looked all around the apartment and under
the furniture and in all the closets, but we didn't find anybody
to intent [that's Scientology slang for ''put intentions into'', 
by the way].  We decided we'd go up on the roof of the apartment 
complex and look for people there.  It's only a two-story place, 
and there's a ladder up the side, so it's not like it's all that 
dangerous.

So we got up there, and we looked all around, but there weren't 
any people we could experiment on.  Well, there was Mrs. Mendaya 
wandering off to the store, but I think she's suppressive.  The 
last time I told her she was in need of a personality test, she 
smacked me (*hard* -- it hurt!) on the head and told me she'd 
adjust mine for free right there in the parking lot.  So I didn't 
bother with her.  After a while, though, this guy named Brad 
walked out of his place.  He's a big surfer dude like me, though 
his head is too small to wear a hat like mine.  So I focused my 
attention beam on him, and willed him to turn around and go back 
into his apartment.  And you know what?

HE DID!  HE TURNED RIGHT AROUND AND WALKED BACK INTO HIS 
APARTMENT! SCIENTOLOGY WORKS FOR ME!  IT DOES!

And I didn't even need to say, ''Wow''.  I figured that I didn't 
need to because he always forgets his board and has to go back in 
and get it.  I've never seen him leave without forgetting 
something and having to go back and get it.  But this time it was 
because of me.  Bruce was so impressed, he thumped me on the back 
really hard and I fell off of the roof.  Fortunately, I landed in 
the pool in the middle of the apartment, and my hat was still on 
and everything.  I think that says a lot, too.  One of Mrs. 
Mendaya's kids was there, and he laughed a lot when he saw my 
hat.  I think he might make a good Scientologist, since he laughs 
a lot and he likes hats like mine.

Anyway, there you have it.  Another Big Win in my life.  I have 
a feeling that I'll be having lots more in the future!  Oh, and 
here's a special intention for each one of you:

Did you get it?  Good!

- -- 

This humorous little interlude brought to you by,
                     Troutman, Defender of Sticks
                       troutman@teleport.com










From: notjet@fruit.getreal.hah (Not Jet)
Subject: BIGGEST BIG BIG WIN!!!!!
Organization: Radioactive Penguin Farts

Hi everybody!  Not Jet here!  I am *not* Jet!  NOT!  I am Not 
Jet! Okay?  Good.

Oh, I am just so excited, I could just make a spot right here, 
but I'm doing the Rubber Band [Theety] Rundown right now, so 
spots are pretty much out of the question!  I just had another 
Big Win that was so big I could call it an Enormous Win, except 
that it wouldn't be an approved thing to say so I can't.  I just 
used my amazing Scientology powers to foil a robbery!  Yes!  And 
there were witnesses who weren't even stoned this time.  Some of 
you have questioned Bruce's veracity as a witness because he's 
always high on something.  Now, I'm not sure what that means, but 
I don't think it has much to do with him telling the truth. I'll 
get ''C-Note'' Millair right on that, though, just in case,'cause 
she's an expert at the truth.  I mean ''he'' is an expert. Sorry.

Anyway, I just *have* to tell you all about this.  I was heading 
down the street to the 7-Eleven to get some Vaseline.  We used to 
have a lot of it, but Bruce has been into new art projects 
lately, and he coated all the walls in his room with it.  At 
least, I think it's art.  Well! So, I got to the store and filled 
up my little basket with jars of Vaseline (greasing the "cans" on 
an E-meter can sometimes give you better results, you know), and 
I was just wandering over to the kitchen section to get Bruce 
some baggies for his art project, when the door burst open and a 
guy came running into the store holding a gun!  He went right up 
to the cashier and pointed the gun at him (at his *head*, not at 
his foot, which I thought was pretty strange), and started 
screaming at the guy to put the register money into this
paper bag that he had brought.

I knew I had to act fast.  I wasn't afraid, of course, because 
once you get to be as good at auditing as I am, you just don't 
fear anything anymore, unless it's something *really* scary like 
this Capricorn fellow or something.  I mean, even an enlightened 
being who has  conquered space and time has his limits, ok?  Some 
of these haters and bigots are downright dangerous!

Anyway, I knew I had to act fast.  I ducked down so I wouldn't be 
seen, and I whispered, "Wow" over and over while I looked around 
for something that could help me.  All of a sudden, as the Wow 
Rundown began to take effect, I spotted it:  rolls and rolls of 
Reynolds Wrap.  Quick as a wink, I had grabbed a roll of foil and 
I tore off [quietly!] a huge piece of it.  I didn't have a 
framework to make a hat with, but I couldn't afford to be picky.  
I just made a hat by molding the foil right to my head, and I 
even had enough left over to build some little beam-focusing 
antennae right into the front of the makeshift hat.

I said "Wow" just a few more times, and then I was ready!  I 
jumped to my feet [accidentally knocking a bottle of Pine-Sol 
onto the floor] and fixed him with a deadly gaze.  He sensed me 
immediately, because he whipped around to face me right about the 
time that the Pine-Sol bottle smashed on the floor.  I 
concentrated my entire will into a single thought: ''BE INSANE!''
and I beamed it at him as *hard* as I could.

Boy, I was fully-charged from the Wow Rundown, because he stood
completely still, staring at me for a couple of seconds, and then
he completely lost it.  His arm holding the gun went limp and he
burst into a hysterical fit of giggles, completely insane!  Just 
like I had commanded him to be, and beamed at him through my hat!  
And then, just as I shifted my thought to, "BE UNCONSCIOUS!" and 
beamed it at him, the shopkeeper smacked him on the head with a 
baseball bat that he had behind the counter.  Of course, he 
dropped like a side of beef falling off the hook, but he was 
already on the way down when the  guy hit him; I could tell, with 
my heightened perception.

Anyway, everybody was totally impressed.  I told everybody that I
was a Scientologist and described what I had done, and people 
were really excited.  The police and the shopkeeper just couldn't 
stop smiling, and they said that my being a Scientologist 
explained a lot of things.  So they believed me, which is good 
because that *is* what happened.  I offered to let the policeman 
have my makeshift hat as evidence, but his smile just got bigger 
and he said No, I should keep it because it was *much* too 
valuable to just give away like that.

So, there you go; another big win!  And these days, with so much
hate on, you know, this newsgroup (sorry, I'm not allowed to say
which one it is), I thought you all needed to know!  With more 
Big Win stories like this one, it won't be long before *all* of 
the haters and doubters will be gone from the Internet!  It's 
quite simple, really...

Not Jet
- -- 

This humorous little snap-on-the-butt brought to you by
                          Troutman, Defender of Sticks
                           troutman@teleport.com










From: notjet@pacific.island.con (Not Jet)
Subject: NOT REALLY A BIG WIN!

Hi everybody!  Happy new year!

Big news!  I... oh, I almost forgot...  (Not) Jet here!  I am not 
Jet. NOT!  I am (not) Jet!  Okay?  Good.

So, the big news of the new year (and I'll get to how come I'm so 
late in a little bit), is that I finally kicked out my roommate 
Bruce a few days after Christmas.  I really thought that he was 
going to work out okay, but it was just so clear [that's a little 
Scientology play on words, by the way -- for a hundred dollars, 
I'll explain it!  :)  ] that things weren't working out, so I 
jumped right in and ended it!  It happened so fast that my head 
is still spinning.  It's really too bad, because I guess the 
renter market out here in Hawaii is really slow because it takes 
me just *forever* to find roommates.  I would think that Hawaii 
would be a really desireable place to like, come and stay, but I 
guess that's just not how it is.  At least, not around here.

So anyway, I thought I'd bring everybody up to date on what 
happened. You may or may not remember, but Bruce was always 
taking my special Scientology stuff when I wasn't around, even 
when I kept telling him not to. ''Bruce,'' I would say,''don't.''
And then I would find things in different places, later.  Once, 
I'm pretty sure he moved some stuff around in the refrigerator.  
Boy, my head hurts right now.  Being a  Scientologist is a big 
responsibility, and it can really give you a headache.  I hear 
that from a lot of people who aren't even in an org or anything.

So, a couple of days after Christmas Day, I had been out looking 
for  more of those Salvation Army bell ringers (I like to put 
intentions into them for fun and make them not stop ringing, even 
after an hour or so), but for some reason they were all gone.  
It's hard to figure out what their schedule is.  So, I came back 
home early, and there was Bruce and some woman.  She was sitting 
on the couch and not wearing any pants, and he was standing in 
the middle of the living room WEARING MY ALUMINUM FOIL HAT!!!!!  
That was just about the limit, but not only that, he was kind of 
bent over, flapping his arms like a bird with this googly-eyed 
look on his face, screaming ''EEEEEerrrr EEEEEerrrrr EEEEEerrrrr--
guess who I am!''

Well, it didn't take my Dianetically enhanced brain long to 
figure out what he was doing.  I tapped him on the shoulder, 
fixed him with my most powerful look and flung my arms back out 
of the way in case I had one of my power surges.  The woman on 
the couch gasped in amazement as she  looked at the two of us; I 
think she was pretty impressed with my Power Posture.  I told 
him, ''Look, pal, that hat is dangerous stuff for you!  It could 
make you insane, or give you pneumonia if you don't know how to 
handle it.  I told you before not to touch my secret Scientology 
stuff, but beyond that, it's sacrilege to imitate L. Ron
Hubbard in a foil hat!''

Anyway, I really told him off, and suggested that maybe he'd 
better clear out.  He agreed, and actually took off that night.  
After he left, I went wandering around the apartment making sure 
that all of my stuff was still there, and I found a plate of 
brownies on the kitchen table.  I guess Bruce must have made them 
before he left and just forgotten them or something.  I ate one, 
and even though they had a little hint of some funny spice in 
them (I never did figure out what it was), they were really good.
I sat down, thinking maybe I should do some auditing and clear my
busy mind, but I thought, ''No, I'll have another brownie first.''
It's not that I have a weakness for them; I just like them, okay?

So, before I knew what had happened, I'd eaten the whole plate of
brownies.  Wow, I was stuffed.  Wow!  And that's exactly what I
was thinking:  ''wow''.  And I knew I shouldn't keep thinking that
since "wow" is a power word for us Scientologists, but I couldn't
help it.  I started imagining how I looked as I said, ''Wow'' 
really slowly, with a big wide mouth.  I guess I must have done 
it too many times, because all of a sudden my head hit the 
ceiling.  And the weird thing was, as I looked around at the 
apartment, trying to push myself down off the ceiling, I saw that 
ALL OF THE FURNITURE HAD FLOATED UP TO THE CEILING, TOO!!!!!

I started to panic, because I knew I had done too much of the
Wow Rundown, and I was shooting off power in all directions.  I'm
not completely sure what happened for a while after that, but I
think I had to go rescue a polar bear from the supermarket, and
I ended up mowing a bunch of people's gardens because they didn't
have lawns.  I also remember throwing a can of evaporated milk
through a window because the cow on the label was making too much
noise and my head was hurting because of all the power.

Well, to wrap it all up, I burned out pretty good for a few days.
I went into my org and told them all about it as soon as I got
back in control, and they were as totally amazed as I was at the
sheer power of Dianetics.  Every now and then I still have a 
little tremor of power and I'll open a doorway into another 
dimension for a few minutes, and I'll see something there like a 
little man dressed up like Peter Pan except that he's wearing a 
big black codpiece and in a faraway, mushy voice he says 
something like, ''If it withers, just chop it off.''

But that's not happening as often anymore, and I'm sure as soon 
as everything is back to normal I'll have another big win.  Until 
then, remember the Scientology motto:

   It works for me;
   That's what counts.
   Give us money
   In large amounts.

(not) Jet

- --
This humorous little interlude brought to you by...

Troutman, Defender of Sticks
troutman@teleport.com
...who's just passing through, tonight...

The above message is satire, and hopefully funny unless you have
no sense of humor or are a Scientologist.  Gee, I guess that *is*
redundant... The message in no way reflects the opinions, speech, 
actions or opinions of any real person, no matter how big the 
similarity might seem.  If you think it does, then you are wrong.

Oh, and this is *my* version of Scientology's creed:

   Avarice is Altruism
   Ignorance is Knowledge
   Deceit is Honesty
   Slavery is Freedom

I miss y'all,

Sticks






 


     
    
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