Evening, turds. It was another banner week for Blogtown—which means no one read it, even fewer commenters said anything worthwhile, and the imbeciles tasked with running it shamelessly cut and pasted actual content from other, less depressing places on internet. Congratulations all around, halfwit dicklickers!

• The prudish Sarah Mirk watched eight hours of pornography... and at least two of those hours were courtesy of yours truly. Wink wink, Ms. Mirk.

• Junior Reporter Denis C. Theriault made the horrifying discovery that that the filthy, dreadlocked dipshits of Occupy Portland are attempting to reproduce. Mayor Sam Adams: You have tolerated these feral mouthbreathers for entirely too long. As I have noted in numerous voicemails to your office, I urge you to immediately and thoroughly carpet bomb these naïve hippies' squalid, STD-filled mudhole.

• Or, Mayor Adams, you could do what the perpetually cocaine-addled Wm. Steven Humphrey suggests: Put those filthy, dreadlocked dipshits to work. I remind you that carpet bombing is far more effective.

• Alex Zielinski reported that Portland's suicide rates are on the rise—yet, in an omission typical of her incompetence, she failed to note that "Portlanders being subjected to Alex Zielinski's amateurish reporting" is no doubt one of this trend's contributing factors.

• Marjorie Skinner wrote something inanely adulatory about an embarrassing piece of novelty clothing made for rich people. I'm not even going to bother looking it up.

• Alison Hallett earnestly suggested several "great-sounding" arts events Blogtown readers might enjoy attending this weekend! HAW! Oh, Ms. Hallett! You've made this old man laugh yet again, my dear. You have such a tiny little brain!

• Ned Lannamann posted an advertisement. Keep checking the mail for that Pulitzer, Mr. Lannamann.

• Erik Henriksen gave Portland's virgins a chance to write poetry about hobbits. I have little doubt he painstakingly printed out each of these poems and is currently frantically masturbating upon them.

• Ezra "Ace" Caraeff was finally fired. GOOD RIDDANCE. If you bartend as well as you write, Mr. Caraeff, your new bar will doubtless fail spectacularly; until that humiliating day, I expect free drinks. It is the least you can do after making me read all of your insipid bullshit. I will take a pint glass of J&B, barkeep—and if you know what's best for you, you will keep them coming.

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