Once upon a time there was a little boy named Chuckie. One day Little Joe was listening to REM when he realized that he couldn't find his religion. He tried to retrace his steps. He checked under his bed and in his backpack. He even checked the lost and found at school. No religion at all.
He was walking home feeling all bad about himself when he met none other than Tom Cruise.
"Hey, Chuckie," said Tom Cruise.
"Hey," said Chuckie. "My grandpa liked you in that plane movie."
"You look down, Chuckie. Is anything wrong?"
"Well, Mr Pilot, I've looked everywhere and I can't seem to find my religion."
"Well, what did it look like?"
"Well, gosh..." Chuckie thought and thought, but he couldn't remember.
"Well, did it look like this?" Tom Cruise asked, pulling out his copy of Dianetics.
"Yes," Chuckie said, "maybe. It had a book involved with it somehow."
"Well, I can't give you my copy," said Tom Cruise, "but I could get you another if you get audited."
"Then I'll get audited," said Chuckie, "I'll get audited and never listen to REM again."
"That's great," said Tom Cruise with a smile. "I just need five thousand dollars."
"But I don't have five thousand dollars," Chuckie exclaimed. "I'm just a little boy!"
Tom Cruise smiled, sliding a benevolent and nonthreatening arm over Chuckie's wee shoulder. "Well, lad, maybe you can come work for me."
"Gosh," said Chuckie. "What would I do? Clean windows? Whitewash fences?"
"Do you like cars?" Asked Tom Cruise.
"Gosh, do I," cried Chuckie.
"Do you like buses?" Asked Tom Cruise.
"Gee, they're my favorite," Chuckie bellowed.
"Then you can work on my luxury Scientology fleet! Forever!"
"Uh, what?"
"I mean for the summer. For the summer."
And this is how Chuckie finally found out that Scientology is a fat load of bunk peddled by overpaid Hollywood brats. Unfortunately, he couldn't do much about it because he was under contract for a million billion years. It was entirely Chuckie's fault, of course, as he should have had a lawyer, which just goes to show.
THE END
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