The Truth About Tom Hanks

He’s charming, polite, talented, funny.

He can act, sing, dance, dress in drag, charm Meg Ryan, play the piano with his feet, and create the universe.

Tom Hanks. Everyone loves him—from Nazis to nuns, from balding bowlers to bow-tied bill collectors, from crazy killers to lazy millers, and from conservative bicurious triathletes to liberal Liberian librarians.

He’s God’s gift to the world of entertainment.

He can play a homosexual astronaut trapped inside of a thirteen year old lawyer’s body, an intergalactic volcano deliveryman trapped inside of Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, a cross dressing Alabaman ping pong coach who thinks he’s the Christ’s first cousin 73 times removed, a grouchy Louisianan baseball manager who thinks his dog is the reincarnation of Babe Ruth, a half half-dolphin half-human who’s half in love with a half half-watermelon half-mermaid, and a half AFL quarterback half half-and-half salesman who’s having half the baby of a half quarter horse racer half half-owner of a half café half cafeteria.

Even if a movie consisted of him doing nothing other than eating apples for two hours, it would still gross over a $100 million.

He could literally take a shit on screen and still manage to be charming and entertaining.

But how?

How can one man be so fucking talented and likeable?

The answer’s simple (and obvious, if you ask me).

What is it?

Wait for it…

Wait for it…

It’s coming…

Are you ready?

Well here it goes:

TOM HANKS DOESN’T EXIST!

That’s right.

There is no actual Tom Hanks.

He’s nothing more than an idea—a creation of a secret society of termite-like aliens from Jupiter’s third moon’s fourth moon’s half-invisible fifth ring.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking: If Tom Hanks doesn’t exist, then who the fuck is the guy in all of his movies?

I’ll tell you.

He’s nothing but a product of our minds—down to his dashing smile, beautiful eyes, heavenly hair, and mesmerizing voice.

Filmmakers simply roll tape with no one to play Tom Hanks’s role—and we’re the ones who add him.

But how do they get us to add him?

They don’t.

I never said they do.

The aliens do.

And how do they do it?

Simple.

By sending out Tom Hanks broadband fiber optic data signals through the very air we breathe!

That’s right.

In 1922, super inventor Nikola Tesla developed a method of covalently bonding thoughts to oxygen atoms using pigeon urine, Pure Land Mahayanan Buddhist chants, Tesla coils, radio waves, and laser-particle particle-laser beams.

Realizing that the technology could get into the wrong hands and cause some local hooligan to become an all powerful casino owner, he decided to keep his discovery a secret and have it die with his own mortal body.

But a group of aliens who had his laboratory under surveillance were able to learn some of the secrets behind the technology, and gradually piece everything together over the next few decades.

By 1980, they created the idea of a super entertainer with unlimited appeal, and “Teslinghoused” him to a new television show: ABC’s early 80s sitcom Bosom Buddies—which was originally titled Bosom Buddy, and starred just Peter Scolari as the lead.

The show’s producers were stunned when another actor appeared on screen alongside Scolari in the video editing room—but they decided to simply go along with it, and give him the name “Tom Hanks” (an anagram of “Thanks Mo[na Lisa]”—which has absolutely no meaning whatsoever).

As the years passed, the same actor appeared in numerous TV shows and films (including 2000‘s “one man” movie Cast Away, which was actually filmed as two hours of no one doing nothing on an empty island)—and in a span of a couple of decades, the aliens managed to make their creation the highest grossing actor in the history of the universe (—just edging out Barack Obama, who —as we all know— was a gigantic movie star for years in Omega Centauri, Centaurus A, and IOK-1.)

But if Tom Hanks can just appear out of nowhere in a film and turn it into a gigantic hit, then why haven’t filmmakers been rushing to make Tom Hanks movies and benefit from his star power?

They have.

I never said they haven’t.

In fact, 90% of box office flops are Tom Hanksless Tom Hanks films.

But how do I know all of this?

Easy. I played Splash and The Money Pit simultaneously and backwards, and heard a message in Aramaic detailing everything.

I then tested the theory by holding my breath while watching Sleepless in Seattle—and lo and behold, Hanks disappeared! Most of the movie turned into Meg Ryan getting emotional for no fucking reason.

But that leaves one question that has yet to be answered.

Why?

Why would a group of aliens go to all of that trouble in the first place?

Beats me. That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to figure out for the last ten years!