Without warning, a hurricane blew across the Caribbean. The luxurious yacht soon foundered in the huge waves and sank without a trace. Only two survivors, the boat's owner and its steward, managed to swim to the closest island. Observing that it was utterly uninhabited, the steward burst into tears, wringing his hands and moaning that they'd never be heard of again. Meanwhile, his companion leaned back against a palm tree and relaxed.

"Mr. Swelling, Mr. Swelling, how can you be so calm?" moaned the distraught steward. "We're going to die on this godforsaken island. Don't you see? They're never going to find us."

"Let me tell you something, Jones," began Swelling with a smile. "Four years ago I gave the Church of Scientology $500,000, and $500,000 to the International Association of Scientologists. Three years ago I did very well in the stock market, so I contributed $850,000 to each. Last year business was good, so both got a million dollars."

"So?" screamed the wretched steward.

"It's time for their anual fund drives," the yachtsman pointed out, "and I know they're going to find me."

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