Shopping With Mel

You sit on the couch, looking at the picture of L. Ron Hubbard. You can't quite tell whether it's a painting or a photograph. You get up to have a closer look but, even stood right in front of it, you find it impossible to tell. You peer at the picture's surface, trying to spot some brush-strokes or pixels which might give you a clue. Doing so, you notice a smell. The picture smells like meat, specifically a Shake Shack Black Angus Burger. You lift the picture away from the wall slightly and take a small bite from the corner. It is delicious. You take another mouthful.

Looking round, you notice that there is another picture on the opposite wall, behind the couch, this time of a beach scene. You cross the room, pull it from the wall and take a large bite out of it. It tastes of strawberry ice-cream flavoured Skittles. You then see that the couch you'd been sitting on is a large marshmallow. You drop to your knees and begin to tear mouthfuls out of the up armrest. If this is what being a Scientologist is all about, you think, you're sold.

It is at this point that you notice there is someone stood in the doorway watching you. You look up to see a large, muscular man glaring dully in your direction. In his hands is a large glass jar containing what appears to be a human head.

Not quite understanding what's going on, you being to try to explain that the few items which furnish this room are edible (and delicious) to the large brutish Scientologist.

'SILENCE!' It takes a moment for you to realize this has been spoken not by the man in the doorway but the head in the jar he's carrying. Suddenly you recognize who the head belongs to. It's the head of L. Ron Hubbard and he looks very pissed off.

Tell him you thought he was dead. How had he been able to preserve his own disembodied head?

'I said silence! What insolence is this?' says the head of L. Ron Hubbard. 'What do you mean by eating our sacred furniture? You, a fallen man; a heretic; a guest in our admittedly appetizing house? It's almost as if you had no idea that we Scientologists keep our places of worship populated with unexpectedly edible objects in order that we may resist temptation at all times. This will not stand. GUARDS! SEIZE THIS MAN! KILL HIM!'

 You hear footsteps, no doubt a number of suited Scientologist heavies heading your way to do the murderous bidding of the head of L. Ron Hubbard.

Do you want to:

accept your fate and die?
flee out into the corridor?