Day 36

5.03: Scientology bashing’s quite easy, but sometimes the easy things are the most pleasurable. “There is nothing better in life than writing on the sole of a a slipper with a biro,” as Half Man Half Biscuit said.

So here‘s something really fucked up. A squad of ministers from the Church of Scientology are bowling around Haiti, claiming to use the power of touch to reconnect folk’s fried and frazzled nervous systems.

I don’t even know what that means, but off they go, charging about the disaster site as if the insufferable Help paperclip that Microsoft Word sends to goad ordinary PC users into strangling themselves with a firewire had been made flesh and grown only more irritating than the sum of its self-congratualting, useless parts. Jaunty little animated jackass.

They even sound like it. One of the Scientologists explains, “We use a process called ‘assist’ to follow the nervous system to reconnect the main points, to bring back communication.”

As Mark Twain said of a peddler of snake-oil, “He is an idiot, an idiot of the 33rd degree, and scion of an ancestral procession of idiots stretching back to the Missing Link.”

5.58: A facet of the thing I hadn’t noticed is that John Trvalota piloted the planeful of cultish quacks that’s descended on Haiti’s quake-ravaged cities. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No: it’s Tony Manero and the mountebanks. (Is that a good name for a band?)

6.45: This morning’s measurable achievement stands at zero. Everything I wrote, I deleted straight after. I’m taking some heart from this; probably means I’m getting better at censoring myself when I write something shit, but the fact remains that I sat at a computer for two hours and produced a wordcount of zero. I could have stayed in bed and done that.

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~ by David Thorley on January 28, 2010.

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