I just finished reading "Lonesome Squirrel" by Steven Fishman. Fishman, you'll recall is the one who first leaked various OT materials in the Wollersheim case. It was his testimony that caused the cult to claim copyright on it, thus attesting to its authenticity. Without him, Xenu would still be a darkly kept secret.
Sadly, he is, by his own admission, bat shit insane. His words should not be considered wholly factual. However he writes extremely well, with much lurid imagery. Even the scilons appreciated this. Early in the work, he says that he was getting many compliments from them for the success stories he would write.
He trolled the girl who would eventually be his first wife by telling her that his computer (this was in 1982) could contact her dead grandfather. And it only goes downhill from there.
Below are a few of the better gems from his work. The remainder can be found at:
http://www.xs4all.nl/~fishman/ls/=================
Why did she marry me?
Metra never loved me. No, she did not even like me. There was a more pressing reason than that.
Pop Pop Abe once promised her via my computer that he would return to life as her firstborn son, who she was going to call Michael.
Metra liked to draw. She actually had no talent, but she was an excellent tracer. She bought a tracing reproduction machine which she used to call 'Lucy', and she would create drawings of her son Michael, not as an infant or youth, but as an adult man; and at some point she also began to fall in love with her own drawings, and would daydream endlessly about her Michael and a cast of imaginary characters that Michael 'knew', which slowly replaced her fine judgment and reality.
And so, her mission in life was to marry her Pop Pop's choice for a husband and thereby provide the vessel for his return to life through her pregnancy.
This became a ritualistic obsession. There was a morning where I only had about five minutes to load a long letter of Abe's into the computer, and one of the items I had to talk about was the day that Metra was supposed to conceive her son. Well, I didn't have a calendar in front of me, and I calculated the date wrong, and it came back to haunt me, because I had to wait three days after my wedding night to have intercourse with her, since she was deathly afraid that she would have the 'wrong' baby, and that it would not be the life cycle of her grandfather if her timing were off.
Can you imagine how frustrating it was not to sleep with your wife during the first three nights of your marriage? Would anyone in the world believe what was happening to me? I know what the Quakers meant when they have publicly stated that "the only purpose of sex is for reproduction." After the famous night that Metra was certain her grandfather was conceived, she was in no hurry to try it again.
During the sexual act, there was no foreplay, no passion, and no romance. She felt totally inhibited because she was convinced that her grandfather was watching us, "waiting to come in at the right time."
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"That's all right, Jaime", I snapped. "There is nothing that you can say or do to upset me tonight. I just learned that I am not a body, but a thetan!"
Jaime picked up Arielle, and took two of the puppies in her other hand to put in our daughter's crib.
"Did you hear what your nasty, naughty Daddy just told us?", Jaime whispered to Arielle in a nursery rhyme voice. "Daddy said he's not just a nobody, he's Satan!"
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On the appointed day, I met the B-1 Intelligence Unit that flew in from Los Angeles, and we raided the Mission of Hawaii at 1282 Kapiolani Boulevard. We relieved the Mission Holder of Hawaii of his duties, confiscating his charter, his Mission bank accounts, and even his auditing certificates. When he refused to vacate the Mission, the Deputy Guardian of Hawaii declared him a Suppressive Person, and then bounced him out on his ass. A fight ensued, and five out of the twelve Guardian heavyweights that went on the bust successfully floored him, knocking him to the ground on the lawn in front of the building. I did not participate in the fight, because as I have told you before, I simply abhor violence, even though I recognize that often it is very necessary to preserve the Technology. However, I do not want you to think that I was in any way a coward. I got my ethics in by urinating in his face while he was laying down on the ground after the beating. It was the least I could do to show my disapproval for his obstinateness.
When I returned back to Florida, Fred Hare called Kevin to be sure that I was invited to the victory party at Flag which celebrated our numerous successes in Hawaii, including the fact that the Mission Holder had finally done the right thing and killed himself.
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That being the case, Nancy ran the repetitive command of "CCH-6 on a Body Part" for the next three and a half hours, which was, "Touch your penis. Thank you."
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"One other thing, sugar piss", I said. "I don't give two shakes of a wolf's tit how you feel about me. You can call me the worst scum bag in the world and I won't care. But if I ever hear you say one derogatory word which is critical of either L. Ron Hubbard or Scientology, I will personally stick your head in the toilet three times and take it out twice; and I promise you faithfully that you will be kissing my stool sample while I'm doing it!"
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There was another thing clawing away at me. I was terrified of meeting Richard Ofshe. I heard rumors that he once had sex with Larry Wollersheim, and just thinking about such a vehement fact made the flood gates of my irritable bowels open up without warning or hesitation into my Hanes briefs.
"I'd better start wearing bladder control garments if I am forced to keep coming face to face with dangerous psychotics", I said to myself in overwhelming embarrassment.
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"What Scientologist could ever stay away from his Org?", I laughed. "Even the suppressives know how dedicated I am."
"One who has been declared a Suppressive Person", he answered with a lashing tongue.
A sensation of terror overpowered me. Expulsion from the Church was a subject that I approached with horror, as if I were walking on a mine field of plutonium that was about to blow up in my hemorrhoids at any second.
"Has that happened?", I whispered from the valence of the valley of the shadow of death.
"You are this close!", Frank squinted as he held his forefinger and thumb so tightly together that he could have easily squashed a microscopic fissure-full of flea semen.
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I spent the day all alone watching Ron on my television screen, long after the videotape had ended.
"Who the hell needs people anyway?", I asked caustically. "I can masturbate just as easily by myself."
When all was said and done, it was just Ron and me, against the world.
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"Frank, if I were a girl, I'd marry you!", I jumped for joy. I was always an admirer of sheer brilliance, no matter what the Source.
Frank, however, did not share my enthusiasm. If I were a psychiatrist, I would have called him slightly paranoid, but since I am a Scientologist, I thought of him as "causatively responsible."
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Marc Nurik suddenly gave me the word, and it made me shudder with trepidation.
The Emperor Xenu's wife wanted to see me.
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Margaret did cause an ARC Break, however, was when she asserted that Scientology had abandoned me. She had a hell of a nerve! Just because the Office of Special Affairs wanted me to plead guilty to the wog criminal nonsense and then the International Justice Chief insisted that I kill myself to straighten out my life didn't mean that I was abandoned! The Church was taking responsibility for me by helping me to get my ethics in, and I certainly deserved a lot worse.
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"Anyone who has sex with kids is disgusting!", I yelled. "There are very few twelve year old girls that I would ever be interested in. The best ages are between thirteen and seventeen", I explained.
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"You need to leave irrefutable evidence which will allow the psychiatric Feds to fully duplicate with certainty that you are the criminal!", he decreed. "There is no other way to get into the Sea Org, and that's a fact!"
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Forlorn and alone, I cursed the day that I met myself.
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"May he suffer the worst type of cancer, causing his penis to burst in his face with the most agonizing pain; and may he spend every day of his miserable immortality shrieking and gasping, stuck in an engram of the Wall of Fire with pictures of exploding volcanoes erupting inside his ass until he drowns in a bloody pool of his own evil vomit!", I postulated without anger.
Incredibly enough, Richard Ofshe had once told me that Larry was just a "regular guy." One of us was crazy, and it sure wasn't me!
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