After six months wandering the wilderness like Grizzly Adams, with only a mountain lion and a native guide for company, I return to this feast of hatred and to deep, visceral disappointment.

Surely over the last six months at least some of you could have made more of an effort to rid the planet of our less worthy, soul-less porn folk? But no. Ryan is still just about here, Wankus has not, I'm told, turned to dust and blown away (with a street value of $170 an ounce) and Kurt still walks the Earth (although I understand it's a funny walk, what with having dicks up his ass). And medical science still seems to keep Brandon on his feet, despite assurances from various doctors I have bribed at great personal expense that his tenure on the planet would be reduced dramatically with a quick rat poison/herpes medication switch.

You've let yourselves down, you've let porn down and you've let me down. I want you to go to your rooms and think about what you could have done differently over the last six months. Shame on you.

I appreciate the effort. It's now clear to me that what this town needs is a good, old fashioned spree killing.

I don't know if I can wait for the AG to do all the groundwork for me.

Business 101. Take it. Soon.

Maybe Brenda uses that impressive company name because saying "Yeah, it'll be me and a camera" sounds, you know, a bit lame...

Don't forget his herpes-infested appendage, Conk.

Wait, the prospective fourth-rate divebar skanks don't want to know about that? Ah, ok. My bad.

I try not to think about his appendage. My therapist told me it was the cause of my sudden bouts of nausea.