Calling all my enemies: Guess what, buttholes? I DON’T HAVE HEP C! That's right, bird brains: I just got back from the doctor and—boo-hoo for you—I don't have a single Hep C virus in my body. Ohhhh... are you disappointed? YEAH, I JUST BET YOU ARE. I see right through your bull hockey. You and all the rest of my haters just couldn’t wait for something—anything!—to knock me off my perch as one of the highest paid and most popular entertainers in America. And you actually thought Hep C was gonna do it? HAHAHAHAAAAAA! WRONG! No Hep C test has a chance against Ryan Seacrest!

And while there are far too many of you to mention here, I’ve got a few words for the Hollywood garbage piles who thought I was finished.

TO DAME JUDI DENCH: You know what? You're cute. You're absolutely cute to think that using a filthy tattoo needle to draw a crouching jaguar on my thigh while at Elton John's Summer Solstice party would give me Hep C. Look in my eyes, Judi! I’m fucking Ryan Seacrest! And I put my foot up Hep C's ass!

TO WERNER HERZOG: First of all, that accent is fake as fuck. Secondly, our trip last year to Six Flags Over Texas wasn’t, as you put it, a “sojourn into misery; a thin layer of ice above endless chaos and darkness.” It was actually pretty fun! That is, until you gave me your toothbrush which YOU KNEW had dried blood on it. Well sorry, mein Herr: Your foolish attempt to give me Hep C FAILED. Put that sauerkraut in your pipe and smoke it!

TO RAVEN-SYMONÉ: Raven, you disappoint me the most. Who was it that marched up to Michael Eisner’s office at Disney and convinced him that YOU should star in That's So Raven? (That would be ME.) Who went to WHITNEY MOTHERFUCKING HOUSTON, sang your frikkin’ praises, and begged her to produce your 2003 musical film The Cheetah Girls? (That would also be ME.) And yet... who was it that told me it’s “perfectly safe” to share a glass of chardonnay—which contained infectious fluids, I later learned—with Aerosmith’s Steven Tyler... A KNOWN CARRIER OF HEP C? Ohhhhhh... Et tu, Raven-Symoné? Et tu?

And to the rest of you two-faced traitors, I hope you’ve all learned a valuable lesson: “Never bet against Ryan Seacrest, shitbags!” Go ahead! Stick me with as many dirty needles and blood-soaked razors as you want, but never forget this: I am Ryan fucking Seacrest, motherfuckers! AND I AM INVINCIBLE! (At least when it comes to Hep C.)