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My experiment was to take Viagra in the least sexy locations I could think of, to see if the drug would still work as advertised [read Part 1 here]. It was time for our final test:  The religion founded by L. Ron Hubbard has not enjoyed a positive reputation, mostly due to the church's legal action against the entire Internet. Tom Cruise hasn't helped. Still, I went into the experience with an open mind. Also, with an open Viagra bottle, as I popped the last of my tabs while walking up the steps of an old brownstone into Scientology headquarters. Inside was a large common area with a front desk, a flatscreen TV, and books. Rows and rows of L. Ron Hubbard's books, all protected in plastic hardshell cases. It looked like a sci-fi nerd's private library. I was greeted by Barry, a college-aged guy at the front desk. "I'm here for the free film," I told him. Barry looked confused. "What free film?" "The one your website says you show every Monday and Thursday." "Hmm." He called into a side room. "Gary, do we have a free film tonight?" Gary came out, eating a hoagie sandwich. "I don't think so." He chewed some salami. "I can get Joe to show you some videos, if you want." "Okay," I said.  As I was putting together that the "free film" was a gimmick to get new recruits in the door, a guy in his twenties came to help me. "I'm Joe," he said, shaking my hand and smiling. "So how can I help you?" "I'm just looking for some direction in life," I said. "Trying to bone up on what Scientology has to offer." "Sure," he said. "Have a seat." I sat down on the common room couch, and Joe popped in a DVD, showing me a four-minute video about a real-life Church of Scientology: I thought the girl with the nose stud was kind of cute, and soon I was feeling the familiar rush of blood to every extremity. Before I could fantasize, though, Joe put on another video that killed any stiffy in a jiffy. This one was a puff piece on Scientology founder L. Ron Hubbard, in which they treated him with the same reverence as Muslims have for Muhammad ... if Muhammad had been a science fiction author who lived on a boat. "What did you think?" Joe asked after it was over. "Stimulating," I lied, looking at my groinal region for any signs of life. "Would you like to take a Personality Test?" Joe asked. "Would I ever!"  "Great," he said, leading me into an adjoining room. "It's two hundred questions, but it'll only take you about fifteen minutes." He left me alone to answer a multiple-choice test with bizarre questions such as, "Do you browse through railway timetables just for pleasure?" ad "Do you often give away items that are not yours?" It was like a test given by Captain Oveur from Airplane!  "Joey, have you ever seen a grown man naked?" I did my best to answer honestly, although I could feel the Viagra engorging my face and neck, starving my brain of precious thinking blood. Considering that men already route most of their thinking blood to their groin, this makes Viagra an incredibly dangerous drug. Half an hour later, I still had a baby seal sleeping on my chair, but I had at least finished the test and handed it to Joe. "While I score your test," he said, "would you like to watch a movie?" "That's why I came," I said.  He ushered me to a small movie theater with cushioned seats. I was soon joined by Maria, an attractive Latino Scientology worker, who chatted me up for a few minutes. The Scientology orientation film started up, and it was just incredibly cheesy. The plot told the story of L. Ron Hubbard's groundbreaking Dianetics philosophy, and how the evil overlords of psychiatry and medicine sought to keep it hidden from the public. Throughout the film, Hubbard was never shown directly, only from the back, as a golden-haired saint who never spoke a word of dialogue -- their own personal Jesus.  No response from south of the Equator I was trying to be impartial, but this film had none of the character development, plot nuances, or seat-grabbing action of Battlefield Earth. It was truly awful, and I thought it did more to hurt the Scientology cause than to help it. Even my penis agreed: I was sitting in a darkened room with a hot Latin woman, and there was no pants-tacular. On the other hand, this movie could be a great cure for premature ejaculation, as it apparently kills any form of sexual desire. After the film, Joe sat me down at his desk and showed me the results of my Scientology Test:  Note H through J are in "Unacceptable State" I scored highly on everything except my "interaction with others." He explained that Scientology could help me get rid of these painful experiences or blockages that caused me problems in relating to other people -- a cure, in other words, for being a dick. "We use a process called auditing," he explained, "where you sit across from another person who asks you a series of questions. As you answer these questions, you gradually become freed from painful experiences of the past." "Like psychotherapy," I said. He stiffened. "NO," he said firmly. "NO. Therapy is a 'feedback' mechanism, and auditing is a set of questions to discover the answer within yourself." "That sounds like psychotherapy," I said. "I used to see a therapist. She was really helpful. Would Scientology be helpful like that?" "Much, much more helpful," he shot back, his eyes wild. "Another way that it's different is that we use a device called an 'E-meter,' which can read your mental state by measuring tiny changes in electrical current as it flows through your body." "Cool. Can I see one?" "Sure," he said, disappearing into another room and returning with a device that looked like a multimeter attached to two tin cans.  Pictured: not my hands I held onto the metal cylinders, and he switched on the machine. The needle jumped to life. "So think about anything," he said, fiddling with knobs. "Any people or situations in your life right now." The machine was silent for a few moments, then suddenly the needle jumped angrily. "There!" he said. "What were you just thinking about?" "You." "Oh. Well ... ah, I don't know, maybe I stress you out," he said, chuckling nervously. "Let's move on to other questions." We talked about my parents, my wife, my job, my friends, while he adjusted the controls like a sex addict on a Sybian -- but nothing was able to move the needle again. "Hmm," he said, "You know, let me get Gary. He's better at this."  "Sometimes a volcano is just a volcano" Joe walked out of the room, leaving me alone, and I knew what I had to do. If I delayed my decision even by a second, someone might walk in, so I acted quickly, unzipping my pants and flopping out Li'l L. Ron. I touched the two cylinders to my flaccid manhood, hoping the E-Meter would shock it to life. For all I knew, "E" stood for "Erection." I was reaching into my pocket for my camera, when suddenly Gary and Joe walked back into the room. I nearly jumped out of my chair, trying to hide my camera and my cochlea. "Let's see," said Gary, sitting down on the other side of the desk with Joe. I had my legs crossed, with the cylinders in my lap, too low for them to see what was going on. "Okay, let's start thinking through some difficult situations you've been in recently." I couldn't believe I was doing this, but while my wiener was hanging out, I might as well go for it. I gripped the cylinders, made a face like I was concentrating, then touched them discreetly to my manicotti. The meters jumped wildly, like Megadeth blasted through a studio mixer. "That!" Gary exclaimed. "What was that?!" "I was just thinking about a difficult situation I've been in recently." "Say more." "Well..." I started slowly. "It was, uh, really awkward, but kind of funny at the same time." They were still staring at me, so I had to keep talking. "I was with these two guys I know. And I had this, ah, this secret. It was, well ... the exact secret is kind of personal, but I was making jokes about it, and they didn't quite understand the level I was working on, if you know what I mean." Joe nodded as if he knew exactly what I meant, while Gary frowned, adjusting the knobs. "So this has been causing me a lot of distress lately," I continued, "but what I'm realizing now is that I was the one with the problem. I mean, it wasn't their problem, it was 100% me." I began to move the cylinders back up to the table, but it was kind of a hot day, so my penis was stuck. I pulled it off the cylinders with a barely audible schlurp, and moved them back up to the table. "Wow." The two young Scientologists were smiling at me. "That's just the beginning," said Gary. "That's wild," I said. "It's like the answer just dropped into my lap." "Feels good, right?" "You bet it feels good." All in all, I spent two and a half hours with the Scientology folks, dosed up on Viagra. And my scientific investigation had, at last, found an answer: there are some settings so unsexy that even Viagra can't overcome them. For a religion that attracts so many dicks, you've got to admit that Scientology is amazingly resistant to boners. If you enjoyed this article, be sure to read The Viagra Prank, the stunt that started it all. |
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