Okay, sorry I’ve been delinquent in posting anything on SargeWorld in a while. I’ve been on a secret mission involving Space. More to come about that in future postings.

Hopefully you’ve all had a chance to listen to Infected Episode 10. And, hopefully you’ve watched the .mov Peep Show version of the first five minutes or so, which shows Rickey Kang’s epic battle with God. If you haven’t, you’re a real rectal thermometer. There hasn’t been a fight that exciting, that brutal, since King Kong Bundy vs. Hulk Hogan in a steel cage match at Wrestle Mania II.

Where is King Kong Bundy these days, anyway? I’d like to know! He was a great American. Not too many guys can pull off a two-strap ballkini like Bundy could.

I’m writing this on a jet airplane flying back from Moscow so I can’t use Internet to research the answer to the vitally important question of his whereabouts. You’d think these Soviet government jet airplanes would have Internet, but the Soviets are kind of backwards. They don’t give you peanuts, either. But the captain let me wear his cap for a while, which was cool.

Anyway, I’ve been so busy with my mission I never posted the pictures all you unbelievably untalented artists drew of that little bird turd Joey being very badly hurt (the ones that we discussed on Episode 10). Well, here they are, plus all your other submissions. Thanks for making my website look like an ad for an art camp for retarded children.

Think I’m being harsh? Look at this and think again:

I know, it’s not Joey being very badly hurt, but it hurts me very badly to know that you people put so little effort into these drawings. My ass has made better drawings on toilet paper.

OK, back to the torture of Joey:

This was actually the one we liked best. I call it J.R.K., or Joey Rabier Kennedy. It shows Joey getting shot in the head near a grassy knoll. It’s crudely drawn, but compared to any of the others, it’s sophisticated in concept. This kid must have at least made it past 5th grade history to know about this. Clearly, he’d never give up 3 hours of Halo 2 to watch the Oliver Stone film. Congratulations! Your picture was the least shitty of them all.

Wish I could say the same of this one:

Actually, the concept is strong: Joey as ineffective scarecrow. Other than that? Horrible.

So is this:

Looks like somebody downloaded some free PhotoShoppe knockoff software coded in a backwards, third world jungle country with a 99% illiteracy rate. The artist got one thing right: Gator would kick Joey’s tail in a fight (but Joey might retaliate days later with homemade explosives).

Speaking of explosives, here’s Joey about to die from getting hit by a nuclear missile.

Good thing somebody took the time to build a sign telling others a nuclear war was “in occurence.” By the way, Joey does not wear short sleeve shirts. He doesn’t want people to see the feathered quills growing from his armpits.

This is Joey in a horrifying H.R. Giger painting, or with his babyhood playmates. I don’t know which.

And here Joey’s inserted into other disturbing art.

Joey used to wear thongs like the one He-Man has on. I don’t miss those days.

I’ll bet Joey masturbates to Teela. That’s what you do when comic books are your main sexual outlet. Here, we see Joey’s female troubles depicted in shockingly poor art.

If you recall, the assignment was to show Joey being very badly hurt using whatever horrendous means you could think of : lasers, acid, explosives, wolves, etc. Two of you, quite appropriately, chose Dick Cheney as the murder weapon. It makes sense: Joey is a bird and Cheney hunts birds. And, Cheney is an evil, bloodthirsty ogre.

That one’s actually pretty good, but this one is better:

I’m fairly certain that’s what John of Patmos was talking about when he wrote The Book of Revelation.

Others seem to also equate Joey with Biblical lore, or maybe Madonna drew this while planning her latest concert.

And Joey’s associations with the church don’t stop there. If you’re starting to get offended, the worst is yet to come. You should probably leave now (though this is the last of the moronic, blasphemous drivel).

Okay, after that, how about a nice, clean picture of Joey as a bird, getting pierced with a sword? Ahhh, that’s better.

I’ve done a fair amount of hallucinogens, and I’ve also lectured on several topics in art history in both Florence and Paris, yet I still can’t figure this next one out. Maybe that because there’s nothing to figure out. The prevailing theory is the guy just happened to have a lousy drawing of a bear playing guitar and a skull getting smacked by soundwaves and added a flying beak, just so he could say it was Joey. Does your ass smell too, because you’re too lazy to wipe it?

Okay, I’ve had it with this and I’m sure you have too. If you haven’t, you’re royally fucked in that misshapen water-head of yours. Anyway, three of you sent in pictures of Joey being sodomized by various people and things. I lost one of those, but it wasn’t very good anyway. I think it was a corn silo or something up Joey’s bird ass. Here are the remaining two. Both pathetic.

Nice job everyone. Way to go the extra mile. These are all hanging on my refrigerator, and I might have a little art open house for the local nitwits and invalids.

Remember, the assignment from the last podcast was to draw Gator hitting something in his truck. Can’t wait to see what you come up with. Send your submissions to probemartin@gmail.com Also, send in photos of yourself wearing your Infected t-shirt. The response has been overwhelming, but I’ll hold off on posting the Infected family album until I receive at least ten.

Thanks for reading, thanks for listening, and thanks for drawing. I lost all your names, so please claim your drawing on the messageboard.

Now go take on the day.

You ever been stuck in an airport, and the wildly inefficient airline keeps delaying and delaying your flight, and you keep getting more and more pissed off, because the airline won’t tell you any information about why your flight is late, and whenever the airline actually bothers to get on the loudspeaker and tell you something, you’re convinced that what they are telling you is utter bullshit?

That’s how I feel waiting for Joey to finish editing our latest edition of Infected.

And you know how when you’re stuck in that airport, going bat-shit nuts with anger and frustration (especially if the bar is closed), you try to pass the time as best as possible with little distractions, because if you don’t take your mind off your predicament you might snap and hijack one of those eight-seater golf carts they use to get old people to their gates and drive it right through the plate glass window of that Chili’s Restaurant they have in there that dares to charge nine seventy fucking five for a margarita, four dollars more for an extra shot of tequila, but gets away with it because they have a localized monopoly on your liver?

Well, to keep from stealing that golf cart and possibly using it to maim a fat Midwestern family in Terminal C, you and I are going to try to pass the time until that piece of shit airline learns how to take a little pride in its work and gets us to where we want to go, namely to SargeWorld International, where Gator’s been circling around waiting to pick us up for a week, the as yet unreleased Infected Episode 10 blaring on his radio.

But what shall we do to pass the time? Oh, I have a capital idea! Remember way back on Episode 9, we asked you to draw pictures of Joey getting very badly hurt and send them in? Well I don’t know about y’all, but for me this feels like the ideal time to post all those pictures of that little shit bird getting cut, lasered, decapitated, shot, sodomized, and all manner of other unpleasantness.

So let’s do it, but let me just say at the outset, though I’m powerful proud of the Infected Army, most of you can’t draw. In fact, based on these drawings I get the impression that most members of the Infected Army are either in the 4th grade of retarded. And don’t accuse me of ripping off that classic Maddox bit. He was making fun of children’s drawings. These are the drawings of grown men and women. Let’s take a look.

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This first picture is from Lennie B. Yes, it’s one of the best ones we received, but if your four year old did it you’d definitely take him to a specialist to find out if he’s been eating lead.

In Lennie’s drawing, I am killing Joey with a “lazer.” Lennie can’t spell or draw. If you notice, it’s not really me but a polar bear version of me. A polar bear with a laser cannon fused to its head. Joey is a narwhale. Joey appears to enjoy my killing him with the laser, but not as much as I’d enjoy it in real life. I will never take acid with Joey because I’m sure this is what I’d see, and I’d sob.

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This next one is from Ryan. In his drawing Joey looks like an owl. A owl transsexual, like the old ones that whore on Polk Street in San Francisco. Not owls, old transsexuals. Though there is a bar in San Francisco owned by an ancient queen named Bobby called The Owl Tree. It’s a great bar, with free snacks. Gardetto’s Snack-Em’s. Bobby is a bitchy, nasty drunk and kicks people out for no good reason. Like this: “Get the fuck out of here, now! I said now!” If I were Bobby, I’d kick out Joey in a fucking heartbeat, though Joey might offer to rim him for a free appletini.

Ryan, the guy who drew that owl picture lives in Media, NY. Medina is a village on the Erie Canal sort of like the one I grew up in, Spencerport, though much of Spencerport has burned down over the years. I used to do a fair amount of bad stuff hanging out with my friends on the banks of the Erie Canal. By the looks of that owl, so does Ryan. Oh, and maybe the DDT Ryan shows being sprayed on Joey’s hair is what makes it so luxurious.

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George’s drawing is more complex than it first appears.

Elements include grass, George kicking the shit out of Joey, Joey, and most importantly, Joey’s blood. George will probably shoot a few people at his high school one day. George, don’t do it. You’re far too talented an artist to throw it all away.

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I like this next one but only because I’m in it, wearing my Friendly Bear suit. Notice how I don’t care that Joey is tied to a post behind me, with a sword in him.

Oh, and you can tell that that’s Joey’s head PhotoShopped onto someone else’s body because Joey would never wear khaki pants and a flannel. Subversive hackers like Joey only wear black trenchcoats and boots. It’s how they score chicks.

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The next one, from Michael, makes me sad. First of all it’s a really shitty drawing, and second of all I’m fairly convinced Michael wasn’t even trying to draw Joey. Where are the glasses? Why is his hair straight? Why isn’t his blood green like a bug’s should be?

I think Michael was just drawing a picture of his teacher or the school bully getting very badly hurt and sent it in, trying to pass it off as Joey getting very badly hurt. I’ll bet Michael didn’t have time to draw Joey because he spends about 14 hours a day playing Halo 2. Joey deserves better, Michael. I’m going to set you and him up on a playdate.

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There are fifteen more drawings of Joey getting very badly hurt, so don’t feel bad of you don’t see yours. I’ll post more over the next couple of days, including those of Joey getting ass-raped. And to those of you who sent in photos of yourself wearing an Infected t-shirt, I’m making the Infected family album and will post it soon.

Thanks for all of your support, and I apologize for the now 1 full week delay of our latest episode. But what can I say, a filthy little bird flew smack into the cockpit windshield and fucked everything up.

On Monday, Joey went to the big immigrants’ rights rally here in Los Angeles.

Not because he’s half Mexican, certainly not because he’s half French, not even because he’s afraid the government might pass a law deporting him to whatever bizarre netherworld the hideous space creatures who impregnated his mother hail from. No, Joey went there to videotape the goings on, hoping to take the massive crowd footage and, using Adobe AfterEffects, convert all the marchers into orcs for his urban medieval fantasy film, “Wizard, Please.”

It sounds all well and good, but for me, Joey’s little project had deeply personal ramifications. It meant that for all of Monday, May 1, 2006, Joey was not here to be at my beck and call, to help me construct and stain my birdhouses, to rub me with liniment when I needed to feel that soothing heat.

It was a day without a Frenxican.

Honestly, I hadn’t realized how much I’ve come to rely on that curious little imp. Like the sun, Joey is here every morning when I rise. When I first open my eyes, there he is, standing at the foot of my bed…

…staring at me.

Upon seeing that I have climbed back over the wall of sleep to skip merrily through the garden of consciousness, picking the ripe berries of a new day, he asks me what I’d like him to prepare me for breakfast. The answer, of course, is always the same: a pound of Farmer John thick cut bacon, cooked very rare—the whiter the better, please and thank you! He knows what I want, but it’s nice that he asks anyway. That’s Joey.

On Monday, while Joey was away, filming his quasi-countrymen, I so missed the smell of sizzling bacon as I put on my slippers and robe and did my morning stretches. Knowing that he’d be gone, the night before Joey had thoughtfully sliced a cantaloupe for my breakfast, but I couldn’t touch it. I desperately wanted bacon, but had no clue as to what the recipe was!

Instinctively, I did a Google search on bacon, but the first thing that came up was not a page about my favorite morning treat, but rather one about the great English philosopher Sir Francis Bacon, 1st Viscount of St. Albans!

Well, the MIDI music on that web page was so merry, so beguiling, I forgot all about my breakfast and danced the morning away.

The moral? If you, too, would like to feel joy, if you need to get your mind off a pressing problem, such as how to prepare food for yourself, or how to deal with the loss of a girlfriend, job, or that you’ve been trapped under ice, do a Google search on ‘bacon,’ click on the first result, turn up your speakers, and DANCE!!!