With the high profile separation of Tom Cruise and his orange crate from Katie Holmes appearing all over the media, Scientology is once again back in the news.
I have always said, each to their own with their beliefs, and whatever makes people happy, providing they leave me alone, I've no worries.
However, a belief in little green men, thought up by a science fiction writer (L of the Ron Mother Hubbard) who openly said "the best way to make a million is to start a religion" and who himself disappeared off in a camper van around Western America in 1980, defies belief.
The current chief executive of the business, a David Miscavige (puns on the "Miscavige of Justice" are no doubt rife) is also of the less-than-tall community. Rumour has it that the two of them often compare orange crates before standing up at one of their cult conventions to extoll the virtues of parting simpletons from their hard-earned cash.
The money would be far better spent on the homeless, rather than helping Miscavige and his henchpeople further enlarge their huge property and cash portfolios.
However, to a degree, all religions and beliefs have their own cultish buffoonery.
Some might say virgin births and eating a cannibalistic-representing cracker, dispensed by man in a dress who, despite being celibate, preaches regularly on family values and goes to Wimbledon to watch the ball boys rather than the tennis, a bit weird.
Other would also question the presentation of 72 virgins to a dead man as being a bit strange. And without questioning the proof for the existence of these 72 pent up women in the first place. One can only assume the 72 virgins, after all these years, are now verging on the state of 50 shades of grey. Heaven help the man they actually get hold of.
And even a bearded man allegedly going up a mountain and coming back down down again with two rather heavy tablets of stone, ready engraved with commandments. Can anyone explain the whereabouts of the stonemason? Have you every tried to get a tombstone engraved halfway up a mountain in the desert. While I haven't attempted this myself, take it from me, it doesn't happen!
And wandering 40 years to cross a couple of hundred miles? And to turn left instead of right to where the oil fields were? What sort of a sage was this Moses bloke anyway?
A bit like having a 22 year old judge on X-Factor.
I have always said, each to their own with their beliefs, and whatever makes people happy, providing they leave me alone, I've no worries.
However, a belief in little green men, thought up by a science fiction writer (L of the Ron Mother Hubbard) who openly said "the best way to make a million is to start a religion" and who himself disappeared off in a camper van around Western America in 1980, defies belief.
The current chief executive of the business, a David Miscavige (puns on the "Miscavige of Justice" are no doubt rife) is also of the less-than-tall community. Rumour has it that the two of them often compare orange crates before standing up at one of their cult conventions to extoll the virtues of parting simpletons from their hard-earned cash.
The money would be far better spent on the homeless, rather than helping Miscavige and his henchpeople further enlarge their huge property and cash portfolios.
However, to a degree, all religions and beliefs have their own cultish buffoonery.
Some might say virgin births and eating a cannibalistic-representing cracker, dispensed by man in a dress who, despite being celibate, preaches regularly on family values and goes to Wimbledon to watch the ball boys rather than the tennis, a bit weird.
Other would also question the presentation of 72 virgins to a dead man as being a bit strange. And without questioning the proof for the existence of these 72 pent up women in the first place. One can only assume the 72 virgins, after all these years, are now verging on the state of 50 shades of grey. Heaven help the man they actually get hold of.
And even a bearded man allegedly going up a mountain and coming back down down again with two rather heavy tablets of stone, ready engraved with commandments. Can anyone explain the whereabouts of the stonemason? Have you every tried to get a tombstone engraved halfway up a mountain in the desert. While I haven't attempted this myself, take it from me, it doesn't happen!
And wandering 40 years to cross a couple of hundred miles? And to turn left instead of right to where the oil fields were? What sort of a sage was this Moses bloke anyway?
A bit like having a 22 year old judge on X-Factor.
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