Description: Connection with the episode "Trapped in the Closet". He never did like to look stupid. And being trapped in the closet is pretty damn stupid, according to a certain boy with too many enemies.
A/N: Okay, look, I'm really, really sorry if I offended anyone, but remember, all characters in this story are merely based upon real people. Like Saddam Hussein was simply based upon the real Saddam Hussein.
He did not like to look stupid.
He had finalized this as he sat in his luxurious secret office, behind the polished mahogany desk. He was a movie star, and most movie stars were ridiculed regularly, but he wasn't most movie stars, he was the greatest movie star in America
He'd had his share of ridicule, and it had been punished with supreme efficiency. People had slandered him, even called him gay. They had been dealt with. Lawsuits were wonderful things, and lawyers that loved his money were even better.
He really did not like to look stupid.
His religion was special to him. It was strange and different. It attracted mass media, fame, and sensation. Money was prized in it. It was a great religion. Yes, Scientology was the best religion there was, especially as he was a member.
Scientology had had its share of ridicule as well. People called it a cult, said it was a lie. Either they didn't know that he was a Scientologist, he, the greatest movie star in America, or people were stupider than he thought. No one disagreed with him.
L. Ron Hubbard was supposed to be reincarnated wasn't he? He would be the first to find the prophet, no matter what. A little boy as L. Ron was front-page-perfect.
There was a huge crowd of Scientologists in front of the house of the little boy in the red poof-ball hat that night. It was a grand and glorious affair, and he, the greatest movie star of all time, was right in the middle of it, where he wanted to be.
And if the reincarnation of L. Ron Hubbard didn't like his acting, he wasn't sure what would happen. No one disliked his acting, no one, but L. Ron was all-powerful, and if he didn't like it, the world would probably come crashing down.
And if it didn't come crashing down, that was worse. A hundred times worse.
The closet. In a place like South Park, the closet was the best hiding place imaginable.
"Dad! Tom Cruise won't come out of the closet!"
So said the little boy in the red poof-ball hat.
Stupid. He looked unbelievably, hilariously stupid. The closet? Why had possessed him to hide in the closet of all places?
Oh yes, while he refused to come out of the closet, while the controversy over the Scientology miracle raged in the kitchen, while the little boy's fans rallied in the snowy street, keeping the nutty, sleepless, Charlie Brown-esque town awake all through that crazy night, while the news reporters reported inanely on his status, while John Travolta and R Kelly commented, coaxed and joined him, while the complications and tension grew higher, more bizarre, more cartoonish, until reality threatened to snap; the little boy in the red poof-ball hat, without exercising any effort, made him look stupid. Yes, he made the greatest movie star of all time look stupid.
And he had the nerve to pull morals on his religion. The boy had blasted his, his church because of his fucking conscience. How dare he? Was he a complete idiot? Didn't that filthy little kid know who he was?
Oh, maybe he should've expected it, the little boy in the red poof-ball hat made all celebrities look stupid, had busted up all their dreams. Oh yes, that little kid was celebrity poison.
And he had made him look stupid, which was the worst thing anyone could ever do.
"You made me look stupid! I'm going to sue you too!"
But when he had uttered that threat against that kid, that infamous, dreaded little boy that Hollywood talked of in hushed whispers, none of his movie stardom or gargantuan reputation or massive cash load commanded any awe, or even respect, for his threat. The little boy in the red poof-ball hat had just fumed and raged as though he wasn't even talking to the great, superb movie star, (who as he now knew, was the best actor on earth). He had just snapped and grumbled, as though he were still yelling at a failure in the eyes of the prophet, through the closet door, irritated because it was way past his bedtime.
Trapped in the closet...he had been trapped in the closet all that night, with the police banging on the door and the church members running around the street flashing their cameras and that little boy in the red poof-ball hat waiting, unimpressed, unfazed, and extremely annoyed; for the dazzling movie star's lawsuit.
"Well go ahead! Sue me! I'm not afraid of you! Sue me!"
So said the little boy in the red poof-ball hat.
The taunt kept him awake, ringing in his ears, driving him to distraction and making him desperate for revenge. It was a dare, an infuriating, jeering, incriminating dare, one that no massive success of Mission: Impossible III or screaming crowds of fans could erase from his public image or from his mind. A dare by a little 8-year-old boy from some daffy, naive loony bin of a village; that drove him to the edges of insanity.
He hated the little boy in the red poof-ball hat.
The little kid had made an utter fool out of anyone of any importance to him, who'd had any dealing with South Park. He had grilled John Edward, called him a "douche", humiliated him to the fullest, and got him sent to the Biggest Douche in the Universe awards, helped debase Blaintology, (right in front of the White House, to boot), got Puff Daddy to make an ass of himself and his 'Vote or Die" campaign when the great rapper tried to stop the little boy's treason to America, exposed Mel Gibson and blew his glorious multi-million dollar anti-Judaism propaganda into the ground, thoroughly blasted and discredited Al Gore, exposed Bono as a giant crap, and often with the help of his friends, he had destroyed worldwide hypes, exposed some of the most profitable scams in America, crashed the foundations of wildly successful cults, and committed hundred upon hundred of other unimaginable acts against the only worthy people and organizations in the world.
Including the great, the all-powerful, Church of Scientology.
Dozens of his powerful contacts and friends were only too willing to help a fellow rich celebrity in his cause. The church of Scientology in particular was wildly eager for action. Most of his friends were as bitter as he was, and had no problem with any of the plans, as long as it was done soon. Every celebrity who was worth two cents despised the little boy in the red poof-ball hat.
They had joined forces, had meetings, developed traditions, bribed minions, and in every spare moment, they planned revenge.
It might have been worked out, in a sense, but things didn't work that way in South Park, the moment they entered that disaster area of a town, it all turned into a spur-of-the-moment act of vengeance.
He got up with a sigh, and walked to the end of his study. He stared up at the intricately carved Roll of Lies, which they had drawn up, all bits of blasphemous filth the boy had said, adding to it with every new admission to their group.
"No dude, you're a douche."
"Any religion that makes you pay money is just a cult."
" "Vote or die", what the hell does that even mean?"
"Dude, this guy is freaking daffy!"
"...if people just listen to asshole douchey liars like you, we're never going to make any progress. You're not just lying, you're slowing up the progress of all humanity, you douche!"
"No dude, being Christian is cool, but focusing on how people died is what people did in the dark ages, and it ends up with really bad results."
"Scientology is just a big fat global scam."
So said the little boy in the red poof-ball hat.
The greatest movie star on earth ground his teeth, picked up his phone, and called for a meeting.