In the months, days, and hours leading to my brother's birth, I repeatedly, loudly urged my mother to submit to common sense and get an abortion. Be it in a doctor's office or a dumpster made no difference, I insisted, so long as it was done. Alas, my pleas fell on ditzy, hormone-addled, feminine ears, and look at what happened. Shut the fuck up, Hank.

• Ezra "Ace" Caraeff worked himself into a tizzy about "The Big Float." I did not read this. I assume the estimable Mr. Caraeff is, once again, giddily playing with his bowel movements.

• Determined to drive away his four remaining readers, Wm. Steven Humphrey picked up his old habit of locking his office door, lowering the window shades, and leering at Justin Bieber. Portland Police Bureau: PLEASE RETURN MY TELEPHONE CALLS.

• Marjorie Skinner wrote something about a chocolate bar and someone named Naomi Campbell. Did you find this interesting? You should be beaten with a pipe.

• Occasional Blogtown readers are perhaps under the impression that Alison Hallett long ago hit her nadir of pathetic loneliness. Not true.

• Starry-eyed and stupid, Denis C. Theriault stammered in bewilderment after encountering someone his own age who does not precisely share his political views.

• Bereft of irrelevant bicycle news, Sarah Mirk instead wrote something irrelevant about a building so ugly it will give your eyes herpes.

• Erik Henriksen's contributions to Blogtown consist of little more than shit-nuggets loosened from an empty cranium, his weakling mind rotted away by children's "pop culture." He is clinically retarded.

• Ned Lannamann went to a bar, looked around, and decided it would be a worthwhile activity to prattle on about it. Think again, dipshit.

• Tony Perez panicked over the possibility that his precious Stumptown Coffee might lose some hipster credibility. "Say it ain't so!" Mr. Perez squealed in terror, perhaps forgetting that 7-ELEVEN HAS COFFEE TOO, YOU FUCKING IMBECILE.

I will return next week, and not one moment before. I urge you to do the same.