Friends, I started this blog because I feel like I have a special calling to feed the greasy drippings of my tabloid-fattened mind to the starving cyber-masses. But I have bad news for you, starving masses: 9 pages of bad news in the form of an as-of-yet-unwritten analysis of the role of the male gaze in the construction of sociological theory (working paper title: “Jesus Christ, Marx.. theorize about the proletariat to my face, not my tits!”). And that’s due in 5 hours. After that, I need to write two more papers and study for tomorrow’s midterm. This will wreak total havoc on your day, because it means you’re probably going to have to wait till the weekend to hear all the juicy details of my conversation with Sam** the Scientologist.
Juicy. Now that’s the kind of word that makes you feel like coming back. And speaking of coming… Have I got a treat for you! In lieu original content, I give you a link to someone else’s…
Scientology Hotties: off the e-meter!
Yeah, that’s right. You’re probably pathetic and totally deprived sexually, and so you’ve probably
wacked off to heard about fine-lookin’ Scientologists like the Presley heiress and the lovely Katie Holmes (independent women, raise yo’ hands!). But have you ever considered temporarily allievating your sense of unending loneliness and total alienation*** with the assistance of tissues, lotion, and a cache of babelicious scientology bureaucrats in jpeg form? Yeah? Well, me too. Comrades, our dreams can be realized!**** Some kind soul has assembled an entire collection of images of the hardworking gals at Scientology’s Office of Special Affairs (OSA). Is this a case of pervitude, altruism, or some savory combination of the two? Check out the URL and decide for yourself.
* Note to all you elitist cultured snail-eating motherfuckers who try and pronounce “Foucault” all French and shit: I will have you know that the above title is too a play on words; my online rhyming dictionary claims that Foucault rhymes with cult. The internet does not lie, friends.
** Not his real name, and also not the name he told me was his name but which probably is in fact not.
*** I don’t know about you, but “temporarily allievating my sense of unending loneliness and total alienation” is definitely my favorite masturbation euphemism. Sam tells me it’s also a great reason to join the Church of Scientology, though I’m still not sure whether or not he was totally clear about what I meant when I said it.
**** For a nominal fee.