Jesus revolutionized faith.
Kahn revolutionized war.
Columbus revolutionized the map.
Gutenberg revolutionized learning.
Copernicus revolutionized the heavens.
Newton revolutionized physics.
Shakespeare revolutionized drama.
Beethoven revolutionized music.
Darwin revolutionized creation.
Bell revolutionized communication.
Edison revolutionized darkness.
Einstein revolutionized Newton.
Picasso revolutionized art.
Joyce revolutionized language.
Welles revolutionized film.
Salk revolutionized medicine.
Leary revolutionized the mind.
Willie Tyler & Lester revolutionized comedy.
Berners-Lee revolutionized porn.
Bush revolutionized evil.

And on Sunday, February 19, 2006, Martin Sargent revolutionized podcasting. Get Infected by Martin Sargent NOW AVAILABLE IN PATENTED TECH-TRONIC SARGE-O-VISION!!!

In the course of my storied television career, I have been fortunate enough to receive some pretty good ink, as we in the business say.

One of America’s finest and funniest television critics, Tim Goodman of the San Francisco Chronicle, gave me and Unscrewed a splendid review.

And, despite some strange inaccuracies, misquotes and word choices, I was thrilled to have the New York Times (the daily publication of which I consider one of the greater achievements of western civilization), print a feature article about me.

Other fine reviews in respected newspapers and magazines (as well as websites) have appeared over the years. In each instance, I was deeply honored (as was, I hope, the fantastic staff of writers, producers, editors etc. I had behind me).

But none of the abovementioned accolades is anywhere near as thrilling, touching, honorific or special as what was written today in “Blackwolf the Dragonmaster’s Diary of Magecraft.”

Blackwolf, of course, is New York City’s Unofficial Wizard. You might have seen him exchanging verbal magic missiles with Triumph the Insult Comic Dog outside the NYC premiere of Star Wars: Attack of the Clones (certainly one of the finest moments in the history of television). I hope, by stealing his words and printing them below, he doesn’t wave his enchanted staff towards the heavens and cause firestorms to rain down upon me, but here goes:

Your humble Dragonmaster is just now recovering from a strange and rather chilly Tuesday. Washington Square Park saw me playing in the snow with ol’ Poopstar. The fresh hound and I were joined by a film crew from G4, cable’s all-videogame, all-the-time network. Our mission: to film some intros and commercial bumpers for the apparent network debut of The Best of Triumph the Insult Comic Dog — although I did wonder if freezing me Wizardly butt off was all that worth it!

Look, do you Mortals think I like the sleet and slush? No! I frequently check in with the Weather Channel on occasion, but I prefer my robes and my new cloak somewhat untouched by the forces of dirt, thank you very much. In any case, let me tell you G4 folks shame on you for losing dear Martin Sargent; were it not for the stupidity of certain G4 execs, Unscrewed would have remained on the air indefinitely. As it is, I have to put up with more annoying dreck on the air anyway; and the Olympics are beginning to bore me. I may just take tomorrow off and snooze meself silly!

Huzzah! Such wisdom could only flow from the quill of a 900 year old, powerful mage! Thanks, Blackwolf Dragonmaster, Duke of Talisker, for enchanting–and uplifting–my soul. I feel as though I have an 18 charisma and that the great Dungeon Master in the sky just informed me that upon rolling the 20-sided die of life, I successfully made my saving throw.

I only wish I was in New York City so I could watch the Olympics with you. Perhaps you could cast a spell to speed the skates of America’s ice wizard, Apollo Ono.

Fifteen years ago today, America sounded a little better.

As a nation, we had bravely climbed to the peak of a soaring musical summit. Yes, the view from that mellifluous mountaintop was breathtaking, yet the eyes could not help but be jealous of the ears, and the ears could not help but wish they could borrow tears from the eyes, to properly express themselves.

For fifteen years ago today, the ears had the amazing fortune of receiving the cargo of great art in their waxy harbors, great art that had sailed atop aural waves no less significant than the waves the proud ships Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria rode in their journey to discover America. And sadly, after planting our flag of musical discovery on the top of Mount Genius, we, as a nation of music appreciators, have descended. It doesn’t take a songbird like Randy Jackson to tell you that, dawg, the notes have become flat, and we just ain’t feeling it, yo.

I need not, of course, remind you that fifteen years ago today, the album “To the Extreme,” by top lyrical gangsta Vanilla Ice, reached its rightful place at number one on the Billboard chart.

Sickeningly, despite his singular ability to rock the mic like a vandal, in addition to possessing the skill to light up a stage and wax a chump like a candle, today Mr. Ice is often regarded as a laughingstock by the crasser elements of our society.

I mention all this because, like Mr. Ice’s “To the Extreme,” Martin Sargent’s Infected was also at one time a recording behemoth. Yes, we too were chart toppers, reaching number one on the iTunes podcast rankings. In a word, we were cooking competing podcasters like a pound of bacon.

But the Infected Infantry is in great danger of following the unfortunate, undeserved path of Mr. Ice and his posse. Already, we have fallen precipitously from the pinnacle of the iTunes rankings, and risk losing more hard won elevation if we can’t build our audience.

How could this be, you ask? Friends, there is one thing holding us back from reclaiming dominance from sucka podcasters like Leo Laporte and Kevin Rose: Joey.

Yes, Joey.

We recorded, for example, a special Animal Lovers edition of Infected on Sunday evening. It’s now Tuesday afternoon, and why haven’t you heard it? Because Joey, whose charge it is to prepare the raw version for broadcast, be acting ill, he’s so fall of eight balls.

Infected Infantry, I’ve done all I can to bind Infected’s one broken limb. To our tiny recording Sherpa I’ve spoken sternly, stopped providing him with CapriSun, and burned him with cigarettes. I now turn it over to you. Unleash your wrath. On the message board below, tell Joey that he must flow like a harpoon daily and nightly to get Infected up!

Yes, there is a problem, and yo, together, we shall solve it.

Oh sweet Christ, how I longed to once again smell her hair! To have her hold my head to her ample, mocha bosom and tell me that no matter how bad things got, she would always be there for me. To have her look me in the eyes, and without saying a word, let me know that our friendship was precious and pure, like a baby’s lungs.

Alas, none of these things happened when I was reunited with Laura Swisher over the weekend, but it was a rollicking evening nonetheless. Oh, how we romped!

The occasion for the reunion was my guest appearance on Laura’s podcast, “Weezy and The Swish.” The Weezy in the title is comic, philanthropist and radio titan Louise Palanker, who I was meeting for the first time. Weezy’s house, where we recorded the show, is far nicer than mine, so I instinctively hated her (quite deeply). But her warm heart and devil-may-care attitude quickly won me over, so I decided not to steal anything of great value when I left the recording room to drizzle the Sarge Stick. I did, however, leave her an upper decker on principle.

In any event, do listen to episode 35 of Weezy and The Swish. That’s right, I’m on episode 35. Perhaps I’ll wait until Infected’s 35th episode to invite Laura on. At our current production schedule, that will be during Jeb Bush’s second presidential term.

(Thanks to Laura, Weezy, Matt S. and Matt H. for having me on their show!)