Paedageddon, Facebook-style

I found something today so very worthy of attention that I can’t even be bothered to work out how it could be made to be on-topic. Because, you know, this blog is the epitome of journalistic integrity. So here, unashamedly, is an off-topic entry.

I have a friend who goes by many names, and the one on his birth certificate is probably the least believable. He drew my attention to a group on Facebook called – I kid you not – “STOP MEDICAL RESEARCH ON ANIMALS USE PAEDOPHILES.”

Having written an entry a couple of days ago dissing Pudsey Bear and noting that I work for a children’s charity, this entry will probably be enough to get me put on some sort of register, or at least get me torn apart like a dummy full of guts (Chris Morris REPRESENT!). But really, groups like this are alternately funny and disturbing. You read the things people write on them and it’s hilarious, but then you realise that no, this person genuinely believes the things they are saying. Here are some fine examples of what people have to say in the group.

Paedophiles never get punished enough they take something from children that can never be returned they break them wreck there lives at a young age so yes they should be used for medical research if there is no medical research use them as crash dummies either way as long as there dead at the end the world will be a better place.

Yep. Yeah. That’s a pretty well-informed opinion right there. I suppose I should just get this out of the way – I don’t think I’m a grammar Nazi per se, but I always think a mad, foaming rant loses its impact when the author doesn’t know the difference between “their,” “there” and “they’re.” Along those lines…

The Branding Is A Cert!!!
A Nice Bold Tattoo On The Forehead ” I’M A PEADO”
This Should Be Their Punishment! All The Goverment Would Have To Do Is Throw Them Back Into The Population…… Then Sit back And Watch The Fireworks.

“Excuse me, what’s a ‘peado?’” Also, I Know You’re Not Sure Where The Capital Letter Is Supposed To Go, But Here’s A Clue. It’s Not Everywhere.

They deserve slow painful torture, being humuliated in front of everyone. A very slow harsh death!!!!!!they knock me sick, the filthy bastards!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

To quote Terry Pratchett, “Multiple exclamation marks. The sure sign of a diseased mind.” As is this:

They should be castrated, then fucked in the ass with a molton iron rod.

I’m sorry, who did you say was a sicko pervert again? I mean, are you volunteering to do this? Is this what you want to see happening?

Perhaps I should explain myself here. I’m as anti-child-molestation as the next guy. But these rants come across as, frankly, way psycho. I mean, some of these people have really thought about what they’d like to do. Possibly late at night, trousers down if you know what I mean. Take this, for instance.

They should be put into the General Population in Prison. And Let the Men there deal with the Baby rapers. Or a shot to the head a Bullet is only a few cents. As a Matter of fact I volunteer to supply the Bullets. So the cost is now $ 0.00 to the Taxpayers. Problem solved. Or they should stuff there penises with Red Hot Peppers and sew it into there ass cracks. Or they should butter up a flag pole and stick there ass at the top and let gravity do the rest. Or they should cut a glory hole into the door on a microwave oven. And make them stick there sex organs in it. Far a few hours.
Or they should cut down a tree waste high, and nail there peckers to it with a wide head nail . Then put a rusty metal spork there and leave them.So they can die of thirst and starvation. Or they can saw there peckers off with a rusty spork. He he. Or …I could go on and on.

No, you already have gone on and on. Incidentally, the chap who wrote this rant is, judging by his profile pic, a father himself. So hey, kid, that’s what your dad thinks about on the quiet. Pretty cool, huh? Witness also:

the only way to stop these dirty vermins is to cut off their peckers so they cant use it on children rip out their eyes so they can never perve on any kids again and then cut off their hands so they cant use them physically on a child.

wot about victims human rights its always pedophiles/molesters that get special treatment who the hell made them king/queen they are PURE EVIL they all should rot and burn in hell where they belong the dirty stinking rotters.

victims should have more human rights then these dirty fuckers.

a dog that attacks a human it faces instant death sentence well i say same should apply to these feral freaks. (sick and tired of the dumb judges and do-gooders)

Jesus, the only way this could be more brimming with rage is if the woman typing it started headbutting the keyboard. If you started talking like that about, say, burglars, you’d be regarded as a Talibanesque fascist. Except for the slightly incongruous “dirty stinking rotters.” I didn’t know the Famous Five had Internet access, but now I do. Also, that “sick and tired of all the dumb judges and do-gooders” comment is making me wonder if this might be the birth of a new superhero. Like Rorschach, only functionally illiterate.

this citty is afrade of me. i hav seen it’s true face. teh streets r xtended guttrs and the guttrs r full of blud & wen the dranes finlally skab over all teh vermin will dronw.

teh acumilated filth of all there sex & mudrer will fome up abotu there wastes & all the hores and politish pollytic politisians will look up & shout save us

& ill look down & wisper

no

God damn I’m going to get funding for this thing if it kills me.

Anyway. Sidetracks aside, I think what annoys me most about this group is the sheer pious hypocrisy of it. Groups like this, whether on Facebook or elsewhere, exist primarily so that respectable, decent, hardworking folk can find some “valid” outlet for their own desires which, as you can see, are as bloodthirsty and perverted as any paedophile could dream up.

I’m not a believer of capital punishment as too many innocent people were wrongly sent to the gallows but for people who abuse children and wreck there lives it should be brought back, especially in an age where DNA and forensics removes all possible doubt.

This contribution says it all. Translated: “I’m a good, caring, thoughtful sort of fellow, but secretly violence gives me a boner.”

In conclusion, yes, convicted paedophiles don’t deserve an easy sentence. There’s no denying that child molestation is a repulsive crime, and I can see why people get emotional about it. But how about you wipe the foam from your chin, take a few steps back and start thinking like an adult, twenty-first century, non-psycho human for a little while? Chill out, have a drink. And enjoy this double-page spread from the Daily Mail.

 

Here’s an idea

If I didn’t work for a children’s charity, I’d love to start a Facebook group called “Support Your Local Paedophile.” I wonder how many fury-induced heart attacks would ensue? Maybe we could get the tabloids in on this.

Further Reading

If you’ve read those quotes (or got someone to read them to you) and you still think, “Yes, I want to go on about ripping into another human being like a wolf on a chicken when in reality I wouldn’t even pipe up if someone pushed in front of me in the queue at Tesco,” then the actual group is http://www.facebook.com/board.php?uid=99926085654#/group.php?gid=99926085654. Enjoy, and remember to close your mouth in the shower.

The Monopoly movie is definitely not a terrible idea

So I hear there’s a Monopoly movie in the works. The fact that I heard it from Cracked.com does not make the idea any less problematic.

Now, I enjoy Monopoly a lot. It’s probably my favourite board game (Cluedo can fuck right off). I know the secret little strategies, I know which squares you shouldn’t buy, I’ve even got out of jail free (with thanks to my lawyer, Quincy Rafter).

These days, there are so many versions of Monopoly that it’s getting ridiculous (some I’ve come across are King’s College and a knock-off set in Dartmouth). There’s even one based on post-war toy trains made by the Lionel company, which even I, a notorious train nut, think is a bit much. There’s a Belfast version, which primarily differs from the other versions in that the car is upside down and someone has shot the dog.

 But for me, Monopoly is the classic London version. You know, the one that features loads of places that you’ve only heard of because they’re on the Monopoly board. Old Kent Road is brown, Mayfair is purple. This version was for a long time also the one used in Europe and much of the Commonwealth. So well-known is this version that it’s often erroneously assumed to be the first one – that’s actually Atlantic City. Me, I don’t like the updated versions. I like my Monopoly to be a little bit retro, with steam trains in the station and some ugly old lag in the jail (I call him Cyril).

Anyway, that’s my credentials as a Monopoly-enjoyer established. And I think the idea of a movie is just awful. The scenario is this. Our main character is a lovable loser who works as an estate agent (because everyone loves estate agents, amirite?) and is an enthusiastic Monopoly player who one day…

[PAUSE INSERTED HERE. SEE IF YOU CAN GUESS THE NEXT PLOT POINT]

… finds himself inside the Monopoly game! It’s krazy!

Kirk Douglas in the unsuccessful Pictionary movie.

Here’s the thing. Board games don’t make for great movies. This is because they are board games. They are designed to work as board games. They are not designed to be watched. Frustration is a good board game, a two-hour film about frustrated people would not be a good movie. Snakes and Ladders – actually, that would be a pretty awesome movie. But in general, my point stands. The only board game movie that really worked was Cluedo (or Clue, if you’re one of those Yankee types), and that’s because the basic plot of the game is a standard Agatha Christie-style detective story, complete with country vicar and retired colonel.

Monopoly’s premise, on the other hand, is that it’s about buying and selling property. If you’ve ever dealt with estate agents, you’ll know what incredible fun that is. Now, the director is Ridley Scott, so maybe he’ll pull something out of the hat and produce a completely amazing film and I’ll wind up looking stupid. But I maintain that it’s almost impossible to make an interesting film about land sales. Unless…

Success!

Further reading

http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/herocomplex/2009/11/a-monopoly-movie-the-story-behind-the-roll-of-the-dice-.html - For a fuller account of this mooncalf of a movie.

Pudsey Bear – what’s that all about?

Why, it’s Children In Need time again! The annual event when lots of celebrities go around making arses of themselves for a good cause. Of course, the event has its critics – there are those who say it’s financially inefficient and there are those who like to point out that it’s not bad publicity for the celebs taking part. Personally, I couldn’t give a damn either way.  I prefer to spend my Friday night in a haze of opium smoke, knocking back laudanum and absinthe and consorting with prostitutes of both sexes.

Sorry, my blackened and ulcerous heart is showing through again. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t believe we should be helping children who are, in fact, in need. It’s just that I technically work for a children’s charity myself, and I get a little bit sick of this whole saccharine “for the kiddies” attitude. There, I said it.

One thing really bothers me, though, and that’s the chap you see above you. His name, if you don’t already know, is Pudsey Bear. Something I’ve always wondered is how the hell did he lose his eye? The Children in Need website is no help. Wikipedia’s got nothing. I’ve done a bit of research and come up with the following possibilities.

1. One of the children in need was in need of an eye, and Pudsey’s was an exact tissue match. Pudsey did not want to appear a hypocrite and so had no choice but to donate.
2. Pudsey has no eyes at all, but could only afford a single glass one.
3. He accidentally wandered into Natasha Kaplinsky’s changing room and saw her terrible secret. He put his eye out with a spoon in horror, and would have done the other, but was restrained by the Sugababes.
4. Terry Wogan slashed it open with a broken bottle in a fit of drunken rage.

There may be possibilities I haven’t covered, but these would seem to be the most likely.

Further reading

http://www.bbc.co.uk/pudsey/ - Here’s the charity website.

Smile, darn ya, smile!

If there’s one thing the Internet has revolutionised, it’s the urban legend. Time was when you’d have to work for your insane rumours. These days a good story can be invented, spread round the world and debunked by Snopes by lunchtime. How did we ever manage without it?

I was recently reminded of a London urban legend that predates the Internet – or at least, widespread use of it. It seems to have originated in the 1980s. I heard it as a schoolchild in the mid-’90s. I am speaking of the Chelsea Smilers.

The Smilers, so the story goes, were a gang of football hooligans. Depending which version of the story you hear, they would either roam the streets of South London, travel around in a blue Transit Van or – if you looked particularly easy to scare – would go door-to-door.

Details varied, but the basic essence of the story was this. The Smilers would confront you and ask you if you supported Chelsea Football Club (soccer team, for the benefit of any United Stateseans who may be reading). Possibly they would ask you a series of trivia questions to prove it. In the version I was told, they would then slice the corners of your mouth – upwards if you said yes, downwards if you said no. Then they would punch you hard, so you’d scream, thus ripping your mouth into a permanent smile or frown. Some versions would add that they would then pour something on the wound, usually vinegar, so the scars wouldn’t heal properly. I’m surprised no one suggested ink.

The Joker supports Chelsea.

There are a million variants on the story. Some say that they only cut you if you don’t support Chelsea, and then only in the form of the smile. Some say this was only practised by criminal gangs in Chelsea (presumably they march around in tailored suits, terrifying onlookers with their white-collar fraud and cold-blooded acts of insider trading). To be honest, while I don’t deny that such crimes may have happened – such scarring is known as the “Glasgow smile” and, so says the Daily Express, a case is treated every day by Scotland’s hospitals. But I’ve yet to see any real evidence that the Chelsea Smilers exist.

Still, I went to school in South-West London and it was a damn fine scary story. And that’s what’s important.

Let’s get some things straight

You know me – I’m a crusader for the truth. I aim in this blog for absolute accuracy 54% of the time – that’s more than half. So when I discover that I have inadvertantly made a mistake it upsets me. Not a huge amount, admittedly, but a bit. Enough to write this entry, put it that way.

See, I was questioned on my sources for the entry ‘Joseph Manton’s Huge Bottom’ (http://londonparticulars.wordpress.com/2009/02/11/joseph-mantons-huge-bottom/) in which I recounted the tale of how the gunsmith Joseph Manton encountered a highwayman while crossing Hounslow Heath. To briefly recount, Manton damned the highwayman for his insolence, as Manton’s own firm of gunsmiths had manufactured the highwayman’s gun. The highwayman, slick as you like, complimented Manton for his craftsmanship but complained that the gun was a rip-off. Therefore, he robbed Manton of precisely the price of the pistol and no more. A couple of days ago, I found this comment on the entry:

Tom, just out of curiosity – where did you get this story from? I haven’t seen it in any of my books where Joe Manton is mentioned.

“No problem,” I thought, “I’ll just have a look in my own library and… well, God be damned.” I couldn’t for the life of me remember where I’d read that tale. I eventually tracked it down to one of those “Did You Know?” kind of books. You know, the ones that don’t have a bibliography. Anyway, they must have got it from somewhere, but damned if I can find it. So, for now, let’s say this one is apocryphal. Unless anyone knows any better.

Actually, I should have been more careful – I’ve dismissed other “facts” with less evidence. For instance, there’s a tale that gets forwarded to me in my capacity as a chap known to be a fan of London and steam-powered things. This tale goes that the people of East London were appalled by the sight of the first steam locomotive of the London and Greenwich Railway. The solution devised by the Board of Directors was to build a new locomotive that was shaped like a ship, because there are lots of those in East London anyway. I have not, however, found any mention of this in books about the London and Greenwich Railway. Even the ones with a full stocklist. It seems rather unlikely, and in any case, this would do nothing to disguise the train’s load, nor would it reduce the greater nuisances of noise and sparks. The closest I’ve been able to find was mention of a ship used by Arctic explorer John Franklin called the Erebus, which was converted to steam power using parts from a locomotive of the London and Greenwich Railway. So you see, I do have some integrity.

EDIT: A previous version of this entry was even worse.

Chiswicked

Chiswick Park Tube Station by night

I think I might have experienced one of the most disagreeable sensations of my life that didn’t actually involve pieces of metal being inserted into me. More on that later.

Last night I made a visit to Chiswick, out in West London. I used to know a chap at school who claimed that Chiswick was the ghetto, but given that his dad owned an aeroplane, it’s possible that his definition of “ghetto” differs somewhat from that of most other people. I’d say Chiswick is one of the least ghetto-ey places in London. It’s notable, among other things, for being the residence of satirical artist William Hogarth and for being where the Chelsea Flower Show got started (although it probably wasn’t called that back then, now I come to think of it). Oh, and On the Buses was filmed there, although I’m sure we’d all like to forget that shameful period in our history.

I was there for a pub crawl organised by a chum of mine whom I shall call The Directrix, because she’s some miles away and can’t get me har har. Much fun was had. I recall explaining the origins of the word “Chiswick,” i.e. that it was founded by investors from Chelsea in 1865 and was originally to be called “Chelsea Is Wicked,” which had to be shortened due to the limitations of road sign technology in those days. I may not have been entirely believed in this claim.

I was introduced to an exciting concoction. I’m not sure how best to classify it. It consists of half a pint of Guinness with a double shot of Tia Maria, and basically tastes like a sort of fizzy chocolate beer. It shouldn’t work but somehow it does. I enjoyed various other substances, but somehow managed to avoid the champagne-and-absinthe, although I did wax lyrical with the Directrix about moving to the 1890s and drinking heinous amounts of laudanum in a loft apartment in Montmartre. I forget whether we came to any sort of conclusion on this.

The evening ended – for me at least – at approximately half past three on Sunday morning. I figured it would be a fairly simple journey back to Colliers Wood. A fifteen minute walk from the Directrix’s place in Chiswick, through Gunnersbury to Brentford. I failed to take into account two factors. The first was the sobering-up process. I don’t know if you’ve ever trodden the borderland between inebriation and the hangover, but it’s not fun. All the fun of not being able to walk straight or coordinate your movements with the additional hilarity that is rising headache and nausea. I tend to view the hangover, overall, as a form of instant karma. But I’d rather it waited until I’d had a bit of a rest before smacking me in the face.

The second factor was the rain. It was, as you may already know, wet last night. Really wet. So wet that my feet have been dyed a semi-permanent black from my shoe polish. So wet that when I took my coat off, I actually got a little dryer.

The two-factor combo resulted in utter misery and the walk being stretched to an hour. Raging thirst and a need for some sort of respite prompted me to enter a petrol station for a drink or possibly combustion-related suicide. Being too wet for the fire to take, I just bought a bottle of Pepsi. The chap behind the counter wittily asked if I’d been out in the rain. I forget whether I laughed or cried, probably both.

Kew Bridge Station, 4.32 AM, from the momentary shelter of the footbridge.

Eventually I reached Kew Bridge in Brentford and took refuge at the bus stop, although frankly by that stage the concept of “shelter” had become a little theoretical. Did anyone see Doctor Who today with those water-alien-zombies? Yeah, I didn’t realise there was anything wrong with them, that’s how wet I was. Anyway, there I stood at the bus shelter in the shadow of the tower of the Kew Bridge Pumping Station, now the Kew Bridge Steam Museum.

The tower by day. Last week, in fact.

Surprisingly, and mercifully, the journey back was pretty fast. The route was to be the Number 65 bus from Brentford to Kingston, then the 57 to Colliers Wood. Fortunately, a combination of the lateness of the hour, the crappiness of the weather and a couple of strokes of luck ensured that the rest of the journey took a total of one hour. Given my hatred of night buses, this was a Good Thing.

I had plans to go to Brentford today, but frankly couldn’t face it after all that. So I found business in Tolworth instead. Which is so much better.

Top this.

It is fair to say that the top hat is the greatest item of headgear in the known world. It is possible that there are better forms of headgear at, say, the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, but it seems unlikely. It’s formal and yet flamboyant. Distinctive and yet instantly recognisable. It’s a symbol is what it is. Why, I myself am wearing one even as I type this.

It’s unknown precisely who invented the top hat – like most articles of clothing, it most likely evolved from earlier fashions. In the case of the top hat, its obvious ancestor was the sugar loaf hat, which you’d probably know from Welsh national dress, although they were fashionable across Europe from the middle ages onwards.

The mighty topper is believed to be of French or possibly German origin. However, one version of history actually has it as a British invention, originating on the Strand (down which we may all go and, if there is time, have a banana). According to the story, the hat was premiered on 15th January 1797 by a hatter named John Hetherington. It caused a sensation. Well, more accurately, it caused a riot. An actual riot – women fainted, dogs barked and in the mob a young lad had his arm broken. Hetherington was arrested and brought before the Lord Mayor. He was charged with a breach of the peace, despite claiming to be “merely exercising the right to appear in a headdress of his own design – a right not denied to any Englishman.”

His Worship was not impressed, and Hetherington was fined £500 for his trouble.

If I’m honest, I have trouble believing certain aspects of the story. While it is possible that a gent in a top hat would be an astonishing sight, I couldn’t see it causing an actual riot. And £500 seems remarkably steep, given that £1 was a pretty good weekly wage in those days. Perhaps, given the more likely French origin of the hat, he was taken to be impersonating a Frenchman and inflamed the blood of the patriotic folk about that day, resulting in a fracas. Furthermore, 1797 is a little late – the first English top hat is recorded in 1793, made by one George Dunnage.

Despite this alleged turbulent start, the top hat found favour with the early Metropolitan Police, for two reasons. First of all, its added height enabled them to be easily seen on the crowded streets of London (vital for traffic control). Secondly, police hats were made with a reinforced frame that allowed their wearers to stand on them when they needed to see over people’s heads.

Despite its upper class reputation, in its first few decades the top hat was actually a fairly universal form of dress. No gentleman would be seen in public without it, no matter how battered it became. It would be made of rabbit fur or, if you were more wealthy, of beaver fur from Canada. This was gradually replaced with silk, which impacted rather sharply on the Canadian economy at the time.

As the 19th century went on, the type of person who would be seen in a topper changed. Initially, it was the sort of thing any chap might wear. However, for the working or lower-middle-class man, by the middle of the nineteenth century the cheaper and more portable bowler or fedora became the hat of choice. At the same time, Prince Albert’s adoption of the top hat had the upper class scrambling for one of their own. As they became less popular with the masses, so they became more popular with figures of authority as distinctive forms of identification - policemen, postmen, bus conductors, steamer captains.

By the 1890s, they were firmly out of favour as day-to-day wear. If you wanted to depict an old duffer out of touch with the modern world, you’d depict him in a top hat. Left-wingers came to view it as a symbol of capitalism.

Strangely enough, though, they never quite went out of fashion as an item of ultra-formal wear. Politicians and diplomats were still wearing them into the 1960s. On British Railways, the Stationmasters at the grand termini were expected to meet the top-link express trains wearing one into the 1950s. And of course, they’re still worn at weddings.

These days, a proper fur felt top hat will set you back a small fortune (at least, by the standard of impecunious oiks such as Yr. Humble Chronicler). James Lock & Co of London charges £550 for a high-crowned topper and £350 for an ordinary man-about-town job. Silk hats are, alas, no longer manufactured although – bonus for the impoverished gentleman on the street – wool felt hats can be mass-produced at a fraction of the cost of a fur hat, with the added advantage that you don’t have to feel guilty about it. My own hat, for instance, was £20 in a sale. I feel quite the foppish macaroni.

An Open Letter to the Church of Scientology

Church of Scientology, Blackfriars

Dear The Church of Scientology,

How are you today? I am fine myself. The reason I am writing is that, on Tuesday, I was handed a leaflet by one of your people in the Tottenham Court Road. My curiosity piqued, on Saturday I looked in at your main HQ in Blackfriars. I’m afraid that, despite trying to be as open-minded as possible, I wasn’t convinced. If you’ll indulge me, I’ll explain why.

You see, The Church of Scientology, when it comes to criticism, you come across a little bit like a bad writer when the reviews come in. Do you know what I mean? Rather than actually address the criticism, you tend to either attack the critic or claim “religious persecution.” While you may think this is acceptable, to everyone outside your organisation it looks somewhat paranoid. An intelligent person will point out that you’re not actually addressing the question and therefore that the criticism is valid.

So, before I go any further, let me say that I am not going to persecute you for your religious beliefs. This, in part, is because you’re quite cagey and conflicting in your accounts of what they actually are. What I am going to do is point out where you are going wrong. So, without further ado, here are my suggestions.

1. Stop playing the religious persecution card.

Religious persecution is an attack on a person or a group of people specifically for their religious beliefs. If I say that the persecution of Catholics during the Tudor era was a Bad Thing, that is not an attack on Protestantism or Christianity as a whole, but a criticism of the government that pursued a policy of persecution. If I attack Fred Phelps, that is not an attack on Christianity, but an attack on a horrible man whose beliefs and actions do not accord with those of most Christians. If I point out that the Bible has self-contradictory points, that is not religious persecution. It’s religious questioning, and in my experience most religious officials are happy to address it.

Unfortunately, The Church of Scientology, you do not seem to understand this. When someone questions your beliefs, your church or your founders, you shout that it’s “religious persecution” even when it clearly isn’t. Now, to be fair, it might be argued that some anti-Scientology groups do attack your beliefs themselves – we’ve all seen that South Park episode, I’m sure, and it wasn’t exactly even-handed. But such attacks are normally based around concepts like Xenu, which you claim not to believe in anyway.

2. Stop “attacking the attacker.”

While you deny that a policy of “attacking the attacker” exists, the fact is that when you’re criticised, you immediately resort to ad hominem arguments. This is a very poor debating technique, even creationists know that. If someone is untrustworthy, point out the faults with their argument. Blow away the sand their castle is built upon. If you choose to strike at the person making the complaint, as I said above, it looks like they might be right.

3. Chill, Winston.

If I may quote from my own upcoming self-help work, Awesometastics, “If you can’t laugh at yourself, someone else will do it for you.” The problem, The Church of Scientology, is that you don’t seem to have a sense of humour. The only time the average person sees a scientologist laughing is either at the expense of someone who has criticised the church or while gushing about how great Scientology is. This makes you look, if I may dip into the vernacular, kind of like dicks. Mean-spirited. It makes people turn against you. Look, having a sense of humour at your own expense is not a sign of weakness – I’d say it’s exactly the opposite. It shows that you’re secure in yourselves.

But more to the point, many of your detractors do use humour. That South Park episode was pretty funny, and so are some of the articles about you on Encyclopedia Dramatica. Why not take them on at their own game? Come on, you must have some comedy writers among your number, give them a shot. If you can get people laughing with you, not at you, you’ll win!

Along those lines, you need to be less uptight about what people say. Again, it makes you look bad when you overreact. Just ignore them, they’ll get bored and go away. Don’t – I repeat – do not throw lawsuits around like confetti. That looks even worse. That makes you look like a big bully who likes squashing the little guy. Have you heard of a case known as the McLibel trial? That, briefly, was a case in which two activists handed out some leaflets levelling accusations at McDonalds, who sued for libel and won. But it was a Pyrrhic victory, because McDonalds was forced to admit that while the allegations against them were not true, they weren’t entirely pure as the driven snow. Plus they looked like litigious jerks. Not that I’m saying you have skeletons in the closet, but you know, just be careful is all. Sometimes you just have to let it go.

4. Stop using Tom Cruise.

Tom Cruise is a crazy sandwich with a side of pickled wrong. Stop using him as your celebrity figurehead. Everyone’s thinking “Scientology = nutjob” when they see him. There must be loads of celebrities you could use instead. I mean, don’t you have the guys from My Name is Earl? They’re great! You could do a skit with them. Something along the lines of, I don’t know, “How’s the list going, Earl?” “Well, Randy, Karma’s pretty good, but now I’ve discovered Dianetics!” Something like that. I don’t know, I’m not a professional writer.

5. Understand the Internet.

Your understanding of the online world seems a little shaky. I’ve noticed this in your dealings with the group known as “Anonymous.” You only seem able to deal with them if you think of them as a conventional organisation. I’ve seen your Religious Freedom Watch website, you seem to feel that you have to paint them as some sort of grand conspiracy rather than a bunch of people with a common interest and Internet access. As if you can take the leader out and the rest will follow. It doesn’t work like that.

On the subject of your Religious Freedom Watch website, it really is very obvious that you own that. I mean, one look at the forums will show that the only religion that people are interested in defending on there is, in fact, yours. And the fact that there are only threads denouncing those who attack Scientology, with every post written in the same style, shows that you need to spend more time lurking on actual forums. Where are the misspellings? The inexplicable usernames? The funny signatures? The threads devoted to useless crap? It’s a blatant deception, The Church of Scientology. I’m not so much angry with you as… disappointed. I just think you’d look better if you either didn’t lie so obviously or, better still, didn’t lie at all. While we’re on the subject…

6. If you don’t want people to think you’re a cult, stop acting like one.

You deny the allegations of child abuse. You deny that L. Ron Hubbard demanded that people who turned against the church be killed using “Auditing Method R2-45,” i.e. shooting them with a handgun, claiming that this was a joke (and might I say that I don’t think that’s in very good taste). You deny that you pursue the policy that anyone who criticises you is “fair game.” You deny that you’re a cult. The thing is, The Church of Scientology, it can’t be denied that you do some pretty sinister things. I saw that Panorama documentary (you know, the one where John Sweeney lost his temper), and you were very blatantly sending people to follow him around in cars. What was the deal there?

And there was “Operation Snow White” in which you were caught performing illegal activities, which for reasons of space I will not go into here. And “Operation Freakout.” And that business with Noah Lottick. And Lisa McPherson. And the National Association for Mental Health in Britain. In these cases and others like them, you tend to deny any wrongdoing but – here’s the fly in the ointment – you also tend to act in a shifty, evasive and unhelpful fashion. It looks like you have something to hide. I am trying to be nice to you here, The Church of Scientology, but you really are not helping yourselves.

This is particularly relevant when you claim religious persecution, as I suggested above that you should not. But if you absolutely must claim religious persecution, it really doesn’t help your case if you’re going around acting like a less professional version of the Men in Black.

7. The UK does exist.

This is more of a nitpick than anything else, but when I visited your Church, the videos you had showing were in American English. The facts and figures they quoted referred to the USA, not Britain. It’s not as if you couldn’t afford to put new videos together for the British market. It just seems a little disrespectful to me. Not to mention the fact that I find myself thinking, “Well, maybe psychiatry did kill more people than the Spanish-American War, but I know nothing about the Spanish-American War.”

8. I want an apology for Battlefield Earth.

L. Ron Hubbard, in pretty well every non-Scientology source, comes across as a deeply unpleasant man. Racist, homophobic, egotistical, lying, fraudulent, bullying and generally something like the Used Car Salesman From Hell. Come on, Battlefield Earth featured a race of kimono-wearing, kowtowing aliens known as the “Chinkos.” Makes Jar-Jar Binks look like… something that isn’t a racist alien caricature.

Now look, I appreciate that by attacking Hubbard, I myself am indulging in an ad-hominem argument. But I really fucking hated that film, and an apology from yourselves would go a long way to rectifying that.

Conclusion

Now, I don’t know how you’ll take this. You may ignore it. You may attack it. You may laugh at it on one of your websites, possibly with a series of eerily similarly-worded replies. You may even start investigating me for past crimes (you could probably get me on fare dodging, forging signatures and trespassing if that helps) and start publicly laying into me. I suspect you won’t. I suspect you won’t even see this. But if you do, don’t dismiss it. Seriously. I’m trying to help you out here, many wouldn’t. Just think about it, okay?

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Tags: attacking the attacker, battlefield earth, blackfriars, cult, dianetics, ethan suplee, fair game, jason lee, l. ron hubbard, operation freak out, operation snow white, r2-45, religion, scientology, tom cruise, tottenham court road