The Douchbagginess Of Travolta

John Travolta and his hideous wife Kelly Preston journeyed to Hawaii to appear at some event on behalf of Scientology's sham rehabilitation program Narcanon. But I'm not going to use this post as another occasion to slam Scientology - I'm just going to make fun of the way John and Kelly look. First of all, John. Vertical stripes and black. But on you, the slimming effect is negligible. We can still clearly tell that you are a fat fuck. Also, the hair. Big Propecia user are we? And what the hell is going on with your face anyway? Did you forget to remove some of the prosthetic applications they glued to it when you were filming Hairspray? Oh, and the hand-signal. Some sort of Scientology thing? A secret message to the Thetans? "Put the space-lasagna in the oven for me, I'll be home at seven."

And Kelly - no, I didn't forget about you sweetie. Looks to me like you've been working out a bit. Is that so you'll be strong enough to drag John out of the tub when the inevitable heart attack happens? But what then Kelly? You won't be calling an ambulance, we know, because you Scientologists don't believe in modern medicine. Perhaps while John is convulsing and foaming at the mouth you will just prevail on Xenu to spare him. "Please save my fat-ass husband from the bad Thetans who are casting their evil spell on his heart." Dumb bitch. Don't you know John's cholesterol is through the roof? Fucker doesn't need niacin or a sauna, he needs an angioplasty, maybe a bypass. And speaking of veins - dang Kelly, nice Angelina-arms. That must be what happens to you when you eat nothing but organic food. Of course, you save the organic stuff for yourself, don't you Kelly? But you let your autistic son sit in front of the TV all day scarfing Cheez-It Twisterz. That's cause you're trying to kill him early so you won't have to suffer the shame of his existence anymore. At this rate you won't have John or Jett - and then you'll be happy, won't you murderess?