When I was still living in LA as a kid, i spent the night at my friend’s house one Saturday. She lived on a golf course and her big fancy house had maids and ping-pong. She took me to her church in the morning. Guess what church that was? The Church of Scientology.

I was only 11 but knew something was up. We were in the “Sunday School” section, where we just drew some trees after a mind-blowingly boring story about guess what… some trees. At the end of the adult service, we were paraded out in front of all the brainwashed Hollywood folk and prodded into singing this new-age hymn like little performing monkeys. As I was leaving, they asked for my address and phone number. Now, they had already added my name to the giant attendance poster in sharpee, even though i repeatedly told them not to since I was just visiting and went to a real church. Fuckers were aggressive. So I gave them a fake number and address for two reasons: 1) my parents told me never give personal information out to strangers, and 2) my parents were poor and a waste of their time.

This story is relevant for two reasons: 1) Leah Remini is a crazy-ass Scientologist, and 2) I am back in LA for a few days. This is Leah at the El Cantante premiere last night. I don’t know why these people ‘drink the Kool-Aid,’ but whatever Scientology has given Leah spiritually it hath taken away from her rack. Poor Leah’s cleavage now has this flattened, upside-down V thing going on. I blame Xenu. Also, she looks tired and/or drunk. Fucking Thetans.

Obediently yours,
Sugar Nell (ex-hooker, friend of Jesus)

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