On averting catastrophe

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Planning and Urban Development, St. Paul, Minnesota
Re: Scientologists

Dear St. Paul city government,

Thank you for ruining my breakfast. I won't tell you which Hollywood starlet was fellating me under the table this morning (we'll just call her S. Johansson), but suffice it to say, my routine was abruptly cut off when I read the newspaper and discovered that your city is selling an abandoned dinosaur fossil warehouse to the cult of Scientology. I was so livid, I could barely reach my fourth ejaculation in S.'s mouth.

What a stunning lack of foresight! Don't you realize what a blight on the greater St. Paul area this building will now be? I can't think of a more potent recipe for mysterious chicanery and insidious plotting. You might as well have raised a Victorian style home on an old Indian burial ground and murdered a set of sextuplets inside.

An abandoned warehouse full of dinosaur fossils in the middle of your city wasn't enough to raise the creep quotient? Your urban planners weren't content with the high risk of misty, living tyrannosaur bones terrorizing the low-income housing projects and interstate bypasses? How many bloodthirsty cavemen could have thawed out and launched a killing spree on the downtown strip?

It's like you people have no brains at all. I'm so mad right now, I just came in S.'s eye!

And now you've handed the deed over to a celebrity-addled science-fiction cult. You've traded talons for Thetans. Come November, I only hope the electorate remembers who's responsible for the robe-clad, money grubbing personality auditors terrorizing the streets. How many power lines will be clipped when John Travolta lands his jets on your highways? How many people will be driven insane with curiosity when they pass a wandering Jenna Elfman and are left to wonder which show she used to be on?

Pray those meddling kids in their mystery machine put a stop to this before it becomes too unwieldy. Your only hope is that the alien prince inside the cult's inner sanctum turns out to be crazy old man Hubbard in a rubber mask.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman