cientology is in the news again this week, and not just because some green reporter made the mistake of sticking a microphone in front of Tom Cruise again. In a shocking revelation that has rocked the media world, fourteen year old actress and Cruise arm candy Katie Holmes has converted to the oddball religion, leaving the pope speechless and the entire Roman Catholic Church in disarray. But she’s not the only one, and this time it’s not only some weirdly shallow celebrity joining the ranks. In a lesser-publicized footnote, America’s entire scientific community has jumped on the bandwagon, too.

“It’s a natural fit, really,� explained Ralf Menu of the American Association for the Advancement of Science. “Science? Scientology? I’m actually surprised this didn’t come up earlier. I mean, from all available evidence, it’s really quite obvious that we exist on the seventh ring of the Dunabi, concentric to the Twelfth Dimensional Scrobang. No one seriously debates this.�

“I have to admit, I’d been curious about Scientology ever since I saw that commercial they used to play for Diatnetics,� admitted American Association of Cereal Chemists head Dabney Thomas, because he had to. “You know, with the volcano that’s all erupting and shit and answering questions like ‘Will I see my dog in heaven? Page 47.’ Ever since I saw that I was pretty interested. Because I had a dog when I was a kid, but he was a real bastard so I’m really curious if he got into heaven or not.�

The announcement comes at a crucial time for the funky techno-religion, founded by science fiction writer L. Ron Hubbard in 1951 as a beautiful tax dodge. Scientology has been struggling for credibility after years of reports that it charges members tens of thousands of dollars to reveal its deepest spiritual secrets, all of which turn out to read like a really horrible John Travolta movie. But the concensus seems to be that a lack of credibility is the price one pays for following a religion founded by a man famous for making up implausible tales full of far-fetched ideas and fantasies designed to sell books.

“It’s sort of like having a weight loss program founded by Cookie Monster,� mused religious scholar Barnaby Told, who actually does botanical research but is also quite religious, thereby qualifying him for the title. “That’s a tough credibility gap to span.�

This latest conversion will likely change the way that millions think about Scientology, however, and the agreement of America’s scientists might help as well. But not everyone is thrilled with Holmes’ epic conversion from Catholicism, about which Vatican officials say the pope feels personally betrayed.

“The pope has been listless and non-responsive all week,� explained Vatican spokesperson Arnold Grubb. “He’s not even into mini-golf as much as usual. He seems kind of heartbroken, honestly. I hope she’s worth it, Tom.�

Brit Sailor Apology Video Obviously Just Photo with Superimposed Talking Lips

“.XXX” Domain Reserved for Adult Content Sites, Online Moonshiners

“Female Sex Patch” Nothing But Dermal Tequila Shooters

Constipation Drug Pulled; Results Not Shitty Enough

Recently I was navigating the vast, frozen expanse of the Internet in an attempt to find out what exactly Ma Bell knows about yours truly. I'd heard some scary shit from Griswald Dreck about how people online know everything about your life, from how much mustard you like on your pretzels to how many times you've shaved your sack. I've always been a man who protects his privacy, unless there's a free prize involved, so I was curious to find out what exactly the nosy world knows about Omar Bricks.

My first stop was the Internet search engines, which proved fruitless as lunch at Arby's. The only match that even came up was for a building material wholesaler in Texas. To be honest I was a little disappointed, I'd been hoping for maybe a real-time webcam that showed me sitting there at the computer, looking at a real-time webcam that showed me sitting there at the computer… and on and on endlessly like that Pink Floyd album or that time in college when I put two mirrors really close together and stuck my head in-between them. But instead, nothing. No credit-card numbers, no lists of my favorite CDs, and no photos of me hang gliding naked in Mexico. I've never actually been hang gliding, but I thought someone might have spliced my face into an awesome photo of some crazy fucker freeballin' it over the desert cliffs in Cancun, you know? I could have gone for that.

After my rich fantasy basically had its underwear yanked up the asscrack, I decided to check out some alternative sources of information. Next came the online white pages. I figured maybe my home address would be up there somewhere with a link to a map and a note about the spare key that's hidden on top of my doormat. Some kind of scary invasion-of-privacy shit like that to really make the search worthwhile, you know? Well fill out that fantasy in your own heads as you so desire, because it turns out I'm not even listed. Apparently as far as the Internet is concerned, Omar Bricks isn't worth stalking or roping into a pyramid scheme. It's like I don't even exist in their eyes, which makes me feel kind of like a time traveler with no identity and it makes me wonder what I could get away with. I could probably paint my name in block capitals on the side of the bank after I walked out with my pants stuffed full of cash, and it wouldn't matter. What are the cops going to do, look me up online? Shit.

A funny thing did come up when I was searching the white pages, though. I wasn't in there, but I'll be goddamned if there wasn't another Omar Bricks listed! No lie! Some lucky bastard living out in Sudsbury, MA. What kind of bizarre mind-bending shit is that? Could we have been separated at birth? Just thinking about how I'd lived my entire life not knowing that there was another Omar Bricks running around kind of creeped me out. What if he was out there wearing a Thompson Twins tee-shirt or something and making me look like a total dink? This was a serious liability, the Omar Bricks street cred was in the hands of some guy who could be into collecting dolls for all I knew.

This needed to be investigated with a quickness, so I sent Omar a post card and before I knew it we had exchanged several letters about what it's like to live the Omar Bricks life. Turns out he was a pretty decent cat, maybe a little too into the quarters from all of the different states, but to be honest I was just happy he wasn't a famous ballet dancer or anything. Before long we made plans to meet in person and I flew out to Massachusetts for the weekend.

And it was a great trip, Omar and I hung loose and had the kind of fun that only two people with the same name can have. We went to the airport and had ourselves paged, then got into a fake karate fight at the ticket desk after a long staged argument about who was the real Omar Bricks. After security escorted us out we went home and Omar had a great idea about calling a radio call-in show. I went out to the phone in the hall and called the same show, and we spent a half an hour arguing for and against abortion with the show's host. The dude almost went out of his ass between the fact that both of his callers had the same name and were calling from the same town, and the fact that they probably don't get a lot of calls about abortion on AutoTalk.

After that we were pretty strapped for ideas until Omar realized we could really raise some hell by trading lives for a month and acting like nothing had happened. I thought it was a great idea, but Omar's girlfriend got all uptight about the whole thing and we had to settle for setting Omar up with double food stamps at the local welfare office. Not quite the grand caper we had envisioned originally, but still pretty handy when you need some baby formula or a rack of lamb or something.

After the weekend was over I had to come home, I think to the relief of Omar's girlfriend. I returned to a world that felt a little smaller and a little less Omar Bricksish. But although there's only one Omar to carry the load in these parts, it gives me peace to know that there's another O.B. out there, somewhere, keeping it Bricks. Not to mention that I started a couple of credit cards in his name while I was out there. Voice-activated deck chairs, here I come! Bricks out.

º Last Column: Just Say No to Rabid Dogs
º more columns

Heavens to mergatroid! Camembert is missing!

I wish this was in jest, good people. Instead it's injust. As in unfair, to clarify my brilliant play on phrasing. It's not fair that he should turn up missing and almost certainly dead so soon after everything started going so well.

Just a few weeks ago we began the exciting "Win A Dream Date with Camembert" contest, to which we've had a modest response you could say, "miserable" if you were Camembert himself, and shortly after that we received a new roommate in the form of my friend/guru Lee. Lee and Camembert got along famously, the way Madonna and Courtney Love do. At least they did, until Camembert turned up missing.

This is disaster, like that Pearl Harbor. The movie, not the bombing.Things were going so well for Camembert, or at least for me as his roommate, and I planned on bringing him along for the ride, too. Why did this, whatever has happened, have to happen now? Why not tomorrow? Though I guess that would have been pretty dismal, too.

Plainly stated, I came home from work at the commune days ago and could not find Camembert anywhere. He's pretty easy to find, he breathes loudly and sweats profusely when trying to hide. Plus, without being insulting the disabled as I've been accused of in the past, let's just say his wheelchair doesn't exactly fit into too many hiding spots. Camembert was gone, his wheelchair was gone, Lee was gone—

Lee! Piss on my lunch, I forgot entirely about Lee! Oh, well, Lee can take care of himself. Camembert cannot, and I have argued such at his disability hearings.

There is no telling what has happened. Camembert could be dead by now… or worse. It's a peculiar game. Why would someone kidnap Camembert, fence his wheelchair (as I'm assuming they would do; I would) and then not send a ransom note to me? Maybe they realize I have no money. What insulting pricks! I could raise the money for a ransom if I wanted to. They could have at least sent the note to me, inquiring if I could raise the money. Not that I'd gladly go into hock to save Camembert or anything, but for them just to assume I couldn't raise the money, that's just what I'd expect from an asshole who'd kidnap Camembert.

As I said, it makes no sense. I'm not sure what to do at this point. The man who rang up my breakfast at the donut place suggested I go to the cops and report him missing. No… that's just what they expect me to do. I've seen movies like this before, the last thing you do is go to the police, they always believe you're a liar or you're joking with them about seeing the alien or something. I think that was the kidnapping movie. Anyway, it's clear what I have to do: disguise myself and infiltrate the kidnapping organization and rescue Camembert. And, if possible, the wheelchair.

Wait! Do you think the fact Lee is missing could be related? Mother of mercy, it gets wilder and wilder all the time. It's like a puzzle wrapped in a riddle tucked inside an enigma buried under a heaping pile of what the fuck. It's a question I may never find the answer to. Whoever created this monster has put a face on a devil, confounded me with a mystery I can't—is this Monday or Friday?

Oh. It occurs to me Lee mentioned something about going to Mexico on some top secret mission I couldn't be informed about, something to do with buying marijuana and smuggling it back into the states inside a cooler full of dead fish, though I'm not sure of the details. So I suppose it's possible that's where he's at. And what the hell, for the sake of easing my conscience, let's say he took Camembert's van with Camembert inside.

That makes me feel much better. Except for the fact those two shits are living the high life in Mexico while I'm stuck here on a suck-ass Monday morning.

º Last Column: Lee
º more columns