It is easy to see why The Stranger approached me to analyze their newspaper. The publication of my most recent tome, Scienetics—a handbook of Scienetics therapy—culminated 15 years of research and intensive analysis. Tested on a series of 87 unselected cases, the new science produced 87 rehabilitated people—people who had been suffering from allergies, sinusitis, iced-cream headaches, and many other symptoms, and, on the mental side, from psychoses, narcissism, and homosexual tendencies. Who better to examine the messages—both subliminal and proliminal—produced by a media organization than myself, a published author and honor-bedecked veteran?
Enough dillydallying; let us begin! But first, a little more about myself and the obvious importance of my work. On the surface, the stepping forth of Scienetics upon the vast, ornate stage of man's accumulative knowledge may seem startlingly abrupt. However, I can provide proof that demonstrates that more than one decade of patient and careful work and analysis were devoted to the subject prior to Scienetics' publication, and that Scienetics itself is built upon the tawny shoulders and muscular, ropy backs of mental giants. From the earliest rabbi, up through the philosophies of Smith, Jefferson, and Marx, through the monklike etchings of Nietzsche and Wilhelm Reich, a long journey led to an apex whereupon a single vista could distill the entire view of the mind into one unified, Kinkadean vision of dusky-lit villages and impsome trails meandering through the eventide wilderness. If man is master of all he surveys, I have surveyed everything in all creation and will summarily reveal the truths to you in time (as a bit of a taster's preview menu: The truth involves a personality quiz, earthquakes, and an army of malevolent extraterrestrial drug dealers).
But I digress.
The Stranger's front-of-book (or FOB, as we called it, back in my days as a magazine-man, or magaziner, as we called ourselves) is squarely obsessed with being what we in Scienetics call "confrontationalistical." Consider the title of GOLDY's feature, the crass and hate-filled "Fuck the Vote!" This is the work of a man who was presumably bullied inside his mother's womb, and his foul language suggests interior turmoil that persists to this very day. To "rage against" the "machine"—a phrase I have just coined myself, now, sitting in my study, surrounded by the texts of 4,000 years of accumulated human knowledge—that governs Washington State suggests a quixotic drive that can lead only to self-destruction.
Likewise, the section devoted to artistic pursuits is similarly confrontationalistical. Consider ERIN LANGNER's misguided screed against the marvelous King Tut exhibition at Pacific Science Center. The popularity of this exhibit—more than 90,000 tickets presold, my sources inform me—suggests that the curators must be doing something right. I recommend at least 350 hours of Scienetics therapy for Ms. Langner, that she may come to understand the importance and significance of collective will. As to Goldy, and to the rest of this newspaper—alas! My meager word count draws to a close!—I suspect that it may be too late for them. A quick survey into their financial data suggests that several shell corporations owned by certain, shall we say, off-world interests have established this organization as a hive of anticonsciousness forces. You can rest assured that Scienetics will stay far afield of The Stranger from here on out. 
