Page Six is reporting that John Travolta’s son, Jett, most likely has autism.

Which would normally be a whatever story in my book. But, apparently, Scientologists don’t believe in autism (because they’re too busy believing in psychotic bullshit), so the Travoltas have been hiding their disabled son from the public for last few years, like a boy in a plastic bubble, waiting for him to snap out of it.

According to the Church of Scientology, people with mental illnesses are “degraded” and capable of curing themselves by working harder on the church’s teachings.

That’s it. He just needs to work harder.

I don’t have any problem with people converting to Scientology. They just shouldn’t be allowed to reproduce. Or make 20 mill a movie.

Here’s an interesting tidbit from Travolta’s IMBD trivia section:

“Jett was conceived during a weekend at the home of Demi Moore and Bruce Willis.”

No wonder that kid is fucked up. If being conceived by a dispicable celebrity power couple in the bed belonging to another dispicabl celebrity power couple didn’t give a kid autism, then having that information published on the Internet might just do it.

Or maybe he got autism the moment his dad named him “Jett.”

John Travolta named his son after his favorite toy. Jett. How gross is that? If my dad did that when I was born, my name would have been “Shortwave Radio Mande.”

Hey! Want to see something that will make you want to kill yourself? Check this out:

=$191,500,000.00 (+Profit Points)

That’s how much money John Travolta has made from every movie he’s been in since Pulp Fiction. And that doesn’t even include Wild Hogs!

AAAAAAAAH! I’m so upset!

I wish there was some way of gauging how stressed out I get thinking about John Travolta.