Hollywood -- As the unauthorized biography about him hits the bookshelves today, entirely heterosexual couch-jumper and diminutive Matt Lauer-scolder Tom Cruise (star of mega-hits Cocktail, Days of Thunder, Far and Away) has taken a break from making Nazi movies and building alien invasion bunkers to discuss how sane he is. He has graciously granted permission to his female thetan-pet (aka marathon-faker Katie Holmes) to take her bodacious oxygen-carbon-machine on a tour with baby Suri in matching mom-and-baby Barbara Feldon bobs to promote a movie by the name of...of...that movie Queen Latifa and Diane Keaton will hide from their resumes. So, with time on his hands, Tom has taken a short break from auditing Posh Spice so he can chat about Xenu, dirty lying gay hustlers, L. Ron Hubbard's semen, terrorizing Oprah, and the complete and utter sanity with which he eats placentas and chats with aliens.
Nanu-nanu. When the post-natal oxygen-carbon machine dubbed "Suri" ejects poop into its pampers, it's because its body thetans are glib, telling its reactive mind to make oopsies. But its female humanoid flesh suit is nicely growing in tandem with the alien lizard inside. They grow up so fast! It seems like only yesterday fellow clams Kirstie Alley and Jenna Elfman and John Travolta and myself were playing pictionary after enjoying a lovely batch of clam-and-placenta yum cakes, while Katie was in the biopod undergoing a memory cleansing so she wouldn't recall being forcefully inseminated by a popsicle of LRH's frozen baby juice and shaken upside-down by her legs. I would like to jump on the couch now. Excuse me. [EDITOR'S NOTE: 17 minutes elapse] I'm back. I wanted to write this little aria in the Great Space Opera in order to take on all those glib rumors about my personal life and to respond to some rude fibs about Scientology. First, there are some low-life pre-clear ass-wranglers out there who have apparently been hired by my doppelganger to engage in sweaty renditions of the grunting moaning butt bolero. I would like to take a wide stance and categorically deny any claim that I enjoy being anally spelunked by strapping young buckaroos while watching my supple young bod writhe about in tighty whities in Risky Business, which plays on a constant loop in my den. Anyone who claims anything to the contrary is a liar-liar-pants-on-fire whose silence will be brought about in one way or another. I would also like to address the misconceptions being spread by soon-to-mysteriously-disappear baby rapists (aka Scientology critics). The CoS is not a cult. Heaven's Gate was a cult. They ate poison and dressed in Nikes and put bags over their heads cause they thought aliens were going to suck their souls up to a passing comet. Scientology, in stark contrast, believes that Xenu, King of the Galactic Federation, tossed a bunch of martians into volcanoes and that's why Brooke Shields takes psychotropics. Besides, Scientology is the bomb. It helps me control my own reality. I have intentionally transformed myself from virile Hollywood golden boy to creepy box office poison. And it only cost me eight and a half million bucks! Show me the money! Ha-ha! In closing, I've generously disclosed one of Scientology's most closely-guarded secrets: The OT3 Recipe for Clam-and-Placenta Yum Pie!
CLAM AND PLACENTA YUM-CAKES
1 fresh placenta, minced (if from a preclear, wrap in cellophane and stow overnight in an OT's vagina)
1 cup clamato juice
2 Tablespoons clarified Tom Cruise Urine (trademark pending)
1 dozen ethically shelled clams
1 cup Stove Top Placenta Helper
1 cup pulverized Capn' Crunch
1 cup frozen alien eggs (aka peas)
1 teaspoon Jenna Elfman spittle (trademark pending)
1 dash of Mrs. Paul's Italian Style ground Body Thetans
DIRECTIONS: Preheat oven to 375 degrees. To make the crust, postulate a pie pan. Then mix pulverized Capn' Crunch with Clarified Tom Cruise Urine and Jenna Elfman Spittle. Roll to quarter-inch thickness, place in pan. To make the filling, saute minced placenta in clamato. Once it starts to caramelize, stir in Placenta Helper. Add clams. Dip an e-meter into the filling to make sure it's ethical. Add dash of Mrs. Paul's Italian Style Ground Body Thetans. Bake for 45 minutes (or until placenta chunks are sizzling). Dig in!