Don't operate on me, L. Ron!

I'm lying on an operating table. L. Ron Hubbard is standing over me. He's dressed in a surgical smock and wielding an enormous hacksaw.
"I'm going to operate on you now", he says.
"No, L. Ron! Don't operate on me!" I scream.
"Don't worry", he says, "I'll numb your senses with petroleum jelly."
He tosses lumps of a clear, jelly-like substance at me. It smells strongly of gasoline. I start to get dizzy. Everything fades out.

I wake up feeling upset and hurt that L. Ron Hubbard is operating on me, and nobody came to stop him.