DREARWATER FLA. 22 June 2000 (SPI) Noted Cult flunky "Magoo", the front of his white pants marred by a growing yellow stain, publicly declined the opportunity of open, fair debate with "Maggoo-Poo" offered by XENU-TV.
"Magoo", with his trusted friend "Africa", who had to excuse himself to vomit in the gladiolas, chewed on his nails nervously as he made the announcement on the steps of the newly constructed Super Dev-T Building.
"You see, when it actually comes to addressing issues, I'm a total zero- Scientology's tech only enables me to post two-letter spam and badly developed crap about "Lie Therapy" and impotent attempts at Tokyo Rose demoralizing"
Actually, Magoo only got the first part of the above out, his friend "Africa" taking over the last half of the sentence.
"You see", continued 'Africa', " we were never actually interested in communication or interaction, just childish attempts at disruption in the hopes that discussion of our cult's record of fascist tendencies and criminal activity could somehow be slowed down or stopped.
We'd spend hours on end following up every post with a nonsensical piece of blather about LIE THERAPY or the critics' allegedly empty lives, then cry an ocean of crocidile tears about communication when our sporgery was killfiled. An actual debate would entail critical thinking, rather than simply making childish comments about someone's weight, which is clearly beyond our abilities, which were honed by L.
Ron Hubbard's fabulous tech".
"This is more our style;" said Magoo somewhat embarrassed by the puddle forming around his feet, "someone mentions Ron Hubbard's bigamy or real war record, and we post CRITICS ARE POO-POO-HEADS."
It should be noted for the record that "Africa" and Magoo's other friend "Get Real" were actually only little faces painted on Magoo's hands, in the manner of Senor Wences, the recently deceased entertainer, whose contribution to human well-being and happiness is widely regarded as dwarfing that of third-string sci-fi pulp writerL.
Magoo, with his "friends", left for a hearty lunch of rice, beans and hot sauce, the sound of his squishy wet sneakers fading in the distance.