Ah, Scientology. The so-called ‘religion’ founded by the greatest author of fiction books to have ever graced this world. Oh, L. Ron Hubbard, how we dearly worship you, even though you are now a pile of bones somewhere on the planet. Let us all take the time now to praise Xenu for granting us, you, so that you could spread this amazing and vibrant cult across the planet, alienating the minds of the poor fools that choose (chose) to devote their wealth - sorry, I meant lives - to the Church of Scientology. They are a true inspiration to us all and are the prime example of what Xenu the fictitiously marvelous envisioned us to be.

On with the story. We have retrieved this from the deep repositories of the ancient Catacombs of Scientology from the homeworld of the mysterious Xenuses, located approximately 241 light years or 5291 Scientology years away from our blessed planet. The retrieval process required using the forbidden dark magic of psychiatry and some neutral magic of hypnotism to lull this annal from within its confines. In order to do this, we were forced to infiltrate the Scientology church in Hollywood, where we held an innocent Tom Cruise at gunpoint and threatened to blow him up with a hydrogen bomb in the nearest active volcano if he did not fulfill our demands. Oh, we had a guy masquerading as Xenu while we were at it. He was the one holding the gun - er, superior weaponry, by the way. Not us!

WARNING: By continuing on, you must know the truth of your existence, else lightning will strike you and you will suffer the wrath of the dead L. Ron Hubbard - come back as a holographic projection with a life-size volcano being held in his left palm - for all eternity in Galactic Confederacy space.

I…write for my lord Xenu. He, in his great will, has inferred me to keep a vast amount of logs and biographies on him, his plans and his actions. He tells me it is for a future day and has further added that should I fail to do so, I will be incarcerated after 12 Scientology years of physical torture and rape. I fear for my life and so I have no choice but to submit myself to his horrific writing instruments liberated from these grumpy people called the Klingons. Boy, were they not happy being conquered right after they’d gotten owned by an enigmatic ship called the Exclusive Brethren travelling at over Warp 1601 speed.

Nonetheless…I am not without limits in this biographic compilation. The great lord has told me not to write on his…sex life. He says it isn’t normal to be involved with er, children. Oh well, this sharp needle that’s over 6 inches long and is poking into my excretion area couldn’t possibly be worse than being sent into a radioactive substance to degrade for slacking.

I have been a direct servitor and watcher of my lord in action for eons; I have watched him ravage worlds and manifest his soul into them. I have seen him deploy vast amounts of volcanos and blow them up using the lucrative power of hydrogen. I have been his loyal servant and observer, and now I dictate his life through the written word.

I am here now, on this smoldering ruin of a forming world. Earthquakes shake the very ground I stand upon and I attempt to calm myself through the operating thetan. The toxic gases pervert my senses and invade my nostrils, defiling my sense of smell. I feel my stomach gurgling and I am washed with a wave of nausea.

I am a trained thetan, my level far exceeding those of ordinary people. And yet, it fails me. Why? My attempts to calm myself and extricate myself from the events transpiring before me are met with failure. I have been trained all my life in the art of Scientology, in it’s beliefs and purposes - what have I done to deserve this?

I collapse onto the rocky ground which I can feel rumble and shake deep below in its volcanic core. My lord approaches. He stares at me, his face blank of emotion. I make eye contact with him and I tremble. He is a terrible sight to behold, my lord. He wears a simple rudimentary shoulder padding and chainmail. He leaves his reproduction organ in plain sight for all to behold and he covers the rest of his thighs and legs with iron plating. He loves to look primitive. His steel boots match his iron plate leggings, but they gleam with some unholy aura. That in and of itself is not terrible to behold - it is his face.

His face is a mass of black, depthless skin and if you look closely into his eyes you will see a swirling void reflecting the universe and it’s galaxies. They are like a black hole of antimatter; should you stare long enough you will disappear entirely. His lips are pitch-black and it is only through the parched lines on them that you can make them out at all. His nose, well, he cut it off.

My lord stops in front of me and he maintains the eye contact that we have. From a corner of my own eyes I see him curve his lips into a grin. He is trying to suck me in.

I continue to stare into the void of his eyes but I struggle to maintain myself. I am becoming lost within them and I feel my life being extracted from me. Memories of my childhood upbringing in the Church flood through me - harsh, brutal recollections of the abuse, torture and rape the scientologists executed upon me. The pain of it all courses through me and I feel myself once again being violated. I am on the verge of tears and then, unexpectedly, my lord breaks eye contact with me. He raises his right hand and slaps me hard across the face and I pelt towards the rocky ground. He moves away then, walking back over to his other servants.

I groan in pain. I know what he wants. I am not permitted any moment of rest and I must continue to write my biography on his life.

I watch as he speaks to another of his servants. He sneers.

At last, I look past the rock of the ground and take in my surroundings. I gasp. Volcanos - mountains with gaping holes at their peak that billow boiling ash and lava when they ‘erupt’ - stretch out for as far as the eye can see. Steam billows from them, a sign of their likelihood of eruption.

The next sight I see would truly shock me and leave me with guilt and an everlasting sadness. My people are lined up like slaves all around the perimeter of every volcano and are chained by their wrists and ankles to it. I realize now what he intends. These are all members of the Church of Scientology, the church I was raised in, the church he despises. He intends to kill them all.

Drawing upon the faceless power of his great shielding weaponry, he encases us all in a perfectly transparent shield. He signals to his other servants as I watch on. He turns around to face me suddenly, and I jump to attention, meeting his eyes once more.

I hope you’re writing this down, he relays to me telepathically.

Sneering once more, he makes a hand gesture to his servants and without further delay, they whisper a word in the language of the faceless Void of Psychiatry. I look once more to the volcanoes that stretch around us and see giant round balls of a metallic build materialize in the boiling air above the volcanoes. I don’t want to look. My lord notices this and silently he communicates a single word to me.

Look.

To me, it is a command which I must fulfill. And so I do. I watch as my people cower in terror at what they see. My lord cackles and then he signals his servants to bring the hydrogen bombs down. They do. I shudder in the icy anticipation of what was to happen next.

Boom! Wave after wave of volcanoes shatter with the force of thousands of tons of hydrogen exploding and my people shriek in agony as they are literally torn apart by the volcanoes. I collapse to the ground and writhe in horror. As explosion after explosion rocks the world and my earbrums nearly burst, for even the ’soundproof’ shielding cannot block out the noise, my lord laughs hysterically.

My lord hates scientologists and the Church of Scientology.

This was taken from the Annals of a Dedicated Servant and Ex-Scientologist on Xenuses. As the book is over fifty years old (way over!) we’ve taken it and made it the own property of KhellMirror.

To be continued…soon!

If you liked reading this article, don’t forget to Digg it as thanks.