Jeremy Eaton
Friends, I have experienced an epiphany. I'm finally beginning to figure out why people are always coming up to me on the street, spitting in my face, and then ramming their tongues down my throat. It turns out, when it comes to me, their feelings are "conflicted." They love the curvature of the honey-baked ham residing inside my trousers, and hate the cruel yet festive humor seeping from my columns like the ooze from a rendering plant dumpster. This is why, whenever I'm on the dance floor, you may see me with either a knife to my throat or a hoochie mama/boy riding my ass like a mechanical bull.

And that's okay! Because as the old adage goes, "There's a thin line between love and hate." And never before has the line been so thin as it is between myself and "Boston Rob" from Survivor: All-Stars. Omifreakin'god, do I hate this belligerent, cocky sonofabitch. And yet, I also want to kiss him--deeply enough to remove his pelvis bone with my tongue.

Alas! How did I arrive at such a conflicted emotional state? I'm not even a big fan of Survivor: All-Stars. And yet, like a heroin-addicted moth drawn to a burning methadone clinic, I am pulled back in week after week. All-Stars is, of course, a reunion show of past Survivor contestants who are once again dropped on a deserted island where they compete against each other, starvation, and the handfuls of sand inside their ass cracks. And while all the contestants are equally loathsome, NO ONE crawls under my skin like that example of human scabies, Boston Rob. And here's why....

*I HATE PEOPLE FROM BOSTON! They all talk with that funny accent that sounds like somebody's beating a cat to death with a vacuum cleaner hose. "Ah'm Bahstahn Rab! Ah'm from Bahstahn! Ah'm in love with Ahmbah!" We live in America, for the love of Christ! If President Bush really wants to crush the terrorists, he should send people from Boston to annoy them to death!

*BOSTON ROB THINKS HE'S SOOOO GREAT! "Oooh, look at me! Ah'm Bahstahn Rab! Ah win all the immunity challenges! Ah control all the players! Ah'm built like a brick shithouse! And even though ah haven't brushed my teeth in four weeks, ah still get to kiss the prettiest girl on the island--because ah'm Bahstahn Rab, and ah'm soooooo GREAT!" And you know what's even worse? HE'S RIGHT! He is soooo great! He does win all the challenges, he does control all the players, and that brick shithouse of a body makes my pee-pee leap out of my underpants, and go squirty-squirt-squirt!

Why? Why? WHY?? Why has God cursed me to admire and sexually lust after this Bostonian tub of crap? Why will I be glued to my TV on Sunday, May 9, at 8:00 p.m. on CBS to see the grand finale of Survivor, praying that Boston Rob gets horribly humiliated, yet somehow ends up naked in my bed? And most importantly, WHY am I telling you this?!

Damn you, Boston Rob! If there is an ounce of justice in this world, I WILL SEE YOU IN HELL! (And after you get settled in, maybe we can go out for an iced cappuccino?)