Hey gang! I’m curious about a lot of things. One of those things is how Infected enters your body, through your eyes or ears? Do you watch the Peep Show, or do you listen to the podcast? If you don’t watch the Peep Show, why not?

And if you haven’t experienced Episode 9 yet, shame one you. It’s a real wild show, boiling over with wisdom and titillation. Share it with your family, office, or youth group (if the members of your youth group are over 18, which would be really creepy).

I’ve received lots of great pictures of Joey being very badly hurt at probemartin@gmail.com. I have not received many pictures of you wearing an Infected t-shirt for our family album, which is inexplicable because the shirts are almost sold out, so many of you must have one. Maybe the prize of an Infected t-shirt for the best picture of someone wearing an Infected t-shirt wasn’t a very smart idea.

Many of you have written to rickeykang@gmail.com Some dude said something disrespectful to Rickey and was killed when Rickey sent some bad-ass energy through the telephone lines and made the dude’s computer monitor explode. I would like to apologize to that person’s family, but he was stupid for writing that. Now you can also get in touch with the mind behind View from the Canyon, entertainment reporter Johnny O’Bannion at johnnyobannion@gmail.com Have a scoop about a celebrity? Tell Johnny!

Oh, one more thing. Infected now has a MySpace page. There’s really nothing up there yet, but feel free to join up. Unless you’re a pedophile or angry school shooter kid. Let’s keep it positive.

Joey Shit Bird is having problems with his compruder. Something about compression, or did he say depression? So I’m displeased to announce the next episode of our culturally important visual podcast, Infected by Martin Sargent, will be released tomorrow, instead of today as scheduled.

But let me tell you, this episode is a real doozy! Now I’m no Leo Laporte, but I’d guess that Joey’s compruder probably broke down because it couldn’t process something so luminous, so sparkling, so profound as this episode. And Joey has a super powerful machine. One time, he used it to create a woman like those guys did in that movie Weird Science, but something went wrong, like he hit the wrong key or something, and only managed to create a girl’s left knee. A fat knee with a big scar on it from when the girl fell down in the cafeteria and dropped her heaping tray of food, and the whole school laughed at her. Joey keeps that knee in a bucket of saline solution under his bed and does terrible things to it. He calls her Nina, and she’s all he’s got in the world.

New episode tomorrow!

Oh, and I set up an email address for Rickey Kang. To reach him, click here or write to rickeykang@gmail.com at your leisure. He doesn’t have a computer or anything, but he can read emails by placing his open palm on any telephone pole and closing his eyes.

I don’t like to see anyone spend the holidays alone so when my pal, self-defense expert Rickey Kang, said the bar he drinks at was shutting down for Easter, I invited him to spend the holiday with my family. Clearly, I’ve got to stop drinking rye and getting on the phone, because a sober Martin Sargent NEVER would have invited Rickey to a family gathering, especially one of a religious nature. I mean, Rickey’s good folks, but there are some people you drink with, and other people you do non-drinking civil shit with. Rickey’s the kind of guy you drink with. He is definitely not the kind of guy you have over to eat a ham with your aunts and uncles.

But I wasn’t stressing out about it too bad. I mean, it’s one thing for Rickey to say that he was gonna get on a Greyhound and come here all the way from Gainesville and another thing entirely for him to actually do it.

You’ve got to understand, I figured he’d be dead drunk from Holy Thursday all the way past the time the boulder got pushed from out in front of that tomb and we’d never see him. I didn’t even think he’d remember our conversation, and truth be told by Easter morning, as I found myself ass-deep in scalloped potatoes and fancy green bean preparation, I had pretty much forgotten about it too.

That is, until right about the exact second I heard something rustling around in the trees in the backyard. And then a voice, “Martain! Martain! This your crib, dawg? Nice! Pretty fucking sweet.” Rickey Kang was in a tree in the backyard. On Easter Sunday. Four hours before the family was supposed to arrive. Awwww, fuck sticks..,.

Well, what are you going to do? Dude takes a Greyhound all the way from Gainesville you better act like you’re thrilled to see him, so I gave him a can of Miller Lite and asked if he’d help me decorate the Easter Eggs for the children to find later on. Rickey shot-gunned the beer, grabbed a brush, and proceeded to paint nearly two dozen eggs in lightning quick fashion, each one a perfect replica of a different Iron Maiden album cover featuring that maggot-faced zombie, Eddie. It was pretty fucking cool, if a little Satanic for Easter Eggs.

I figured the kids wouldn’t care and so long as my bat-shit holy-roller cousin Sheila didn’t see them, I was just happy I didn’t have to paint a bunch of queer flower and ducky patterns on the wrecked soul casings of some chicken embryos I had just boiled for three minutes.

I needed to concentrate on glazing a ham so I told Rickey to go out in the backyard and hide the eggs. He grabbed the rest of the six-pack of Miller and headed out back, saying he was a fucking genius when it came to hiding shit after living briefly in a half-way house in Mobile where he had to hide all his cool stuff from the other fuck-up residents and his beer and dope from the counselors.

By the time the family arrived, Rickey was passed out on the sunny lawn. Five empty cans of Miller were clearly visible lying around him, but the eggs were no where to be seen as the kids started hunting for them. Now these little cousins of mine aren’t exactly sharp, but they are by no means retarded, and after ten minutes not one of them could find an egg. And then Little Jamie started crying, waking up Rickey.

He lunged to his feet in full fighting stance and started yelling about how he was going to tear the tongues out of all the children’s heads if they didn’t shut the fuck up.

“Ain’t you lil’ fuckers found any eggs, yet?” Rickey said. “There’s one right in front of you, little girl.” With that, Rickey lept over to Jaime and lifted a 5×5 sod-covered trap door from the lawn revealing a deep spider hole. Sure enough, lying at the bottom of the 9-foot pit was an egg, painted to look just like Maiden’s “Number of the Beast.”

“Now why don’t you stop your whining and climb down there and get it, little girl?” Rickey said.

Well, it turned out the rest of the eggs were hidden in places equally difficult for three to five year old children to find. There was an egg inside an old oak tree that Rickey had hollowed out with a pebble, another deep in a sewer pipe, one inside an electrical box on top of a telephone pole, and even one within the body of a possum that Rickey had caught, force fed with the egg, and trained not to run away or die from suffocation.

It was time for dinner, so we had all sat around the table, Sheila asked us to all hold hands so she could say grace. About two sentences into the prayer, Rickey said, “Who you talking to, lady?”

“What do you mean, who? Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who died for our sins and rose from the dead today, on Easter,” said my shocked and pissed off cousin.

“Okay, okay, lady, Jesus is cool. Pretty bad ass the way he whooped all them money Jews in that temple. Used a mother fucking cat-o-nine-tails in this one picture I seen. But that whole rising from the dead shit? And don’t get me wrong, I love Jesus and think he’d a made a kick-ass sparring partner, but I don’t see what’s so crazy about coming back from the dead.”

The table was silent.

“I mean, my old master, Tu Van Trang, he come back to life five or six times until his liver finally went. One time I seen his whole body burned to shit with gasoline from these swamp Indians he had some problem with and next night, I go to the Dixie Spinner? Who’s sitting at his usual barstool drinking Rumpleminze but Master Tu Van Trang, drunk and happy as a hooker at a truck stop during a hurricane warning.”

The family, except for my uncle Don, who was well sauced up on vermouth, was pissed. Especially Sheila. So I told Rickey I’d fix him a plate and sent him over to the Tattle Tale Room where I’d meet him to drink when everyone left.

“Fine with me. Ain’t no one here got any Easter spirit anyway. Christ’d be pissed at y’all. And hey lady, what’s that bulge in your fat-ass jeans?”

With that, Rickey strutted slowly out of the house, grabbing someone’s half-drunk beer from a side table before exiting. He didn’t even look back to see Sheila pull a Easter Egg with a perfect rendition of the classic Maiden album “Killers” painted on it out of her gunt.

I apologized for Rickey, even though I didn’t mean it, and Sheila finished saying grace, even asking God to save Rickey’s wicked soul. Then, before offering everyone a piece of glazed ham, I raised my water glass to make an Easter toast. You should have seen the looks on everyone’s faces when, upon taking that sip, they realized their water had somehow, miraculously, turned to some kind of shitty, warm beer.

Rickey fucking Kang, man. That dude is just spooky.

Do you like girls? Of course you perhaps do! But do they like you back? Yeah, that’s the tricky part. No matter how powerful your World or Warcraft paladin has become.

Well, you’re in luck! The latest installment of our wildly successful visual podcast Infected by Martin Sargent is all about girls! How to get them, how to keep them, and how to deal with life when they eventually break you (such as some tips on scoring some free porn to help heal the festering holes in your soul).

If you already subscribe to Infected via iTunes, you NEED to subscribe to our new video peep show edition. That’s the one with all the pictures and animations and shit. It is some genre accelerating stuff.

Please subscribe here.

And remember, vote for us at Podcast Alley and all the others. But only if you think we deserve it. No sympathy votes, even though Joey needs all the sympathy he can get.

And the Infected shirts are almost sold out. I think the XXXL ones are already gone. Wow (no pun intended). Don’t miss out. One of those stylish shirts, after all, could help you with that girl situation.

Above all, thanks for listening and watching, and please email any thoughts, suggestions or artwork of Joey getting hurt to ProbeMartin@gmail.com (all the decent addresses were already gone).