Listen up, people! This week I decided to use Jamboree as a chance to drop a knowledge bomb on yer asses. Oh, sure... I got some plans to talk TV, too... but first things first we gotta get on the same page about some serious shit heading our way. What am I talking about? Guess you'll have to tune in to find out. Want a hint? Tough tits! Hints are for pussies.

So, prepare for some smartie shrapnel to get embedded in your brainage. This week is gonna be the best goddamn episode of TV Jamboree to date. And I guarantee it'll be 100-percent Sloshie-free. And at least one Sloshie WAS hurt in the making of this episode. Ha!

About fucking time. I'm finally rid of Sloshie and can run this show how I damn well please. All my chumming around with those crickets has definitely paid off. For a union they really were lacking leadership and a clear objective. Glad I could steer them in a productive direction: puppet disposal.

And now, Jamboree... how to bring the whoop-ass to the masses? First things first: this place is seriously lacking in stripes and stars. I'm gonna fix that pronto. Let there be no mistake that the place where this robot's heart would be belongs to none other than the good ol' U-S-of-goddamn-A. Also, a show ain't a show without some explosions or guns. I'm fixing that, too. All pussies best stay the hell out of my way from here on out.

I'm gonna think about what the focus of my next episode is gonna be. I'll keep you retards posted.

Good thing I talked to Sonny again. He and his cricket pals are pretty ticked off they weren't hired to help clean up and rebuild the set. I assured them this was all Sloshie's fault. I mean, to NOT hire F.O.R.K. once is insulting, but twice? Man, those krickets (sic) are PISSED!

It would be a shame if they suddenly attacked and killed Sloshie. Then I'd have to do the show all by myself.

The government should do something to prevent more of these things from invading our home planet. I mean, at least set up deflector shields so the spaceships bounce off and land somewhere we don't care about. Like . Or Japan. Or . You know, some place that deserves a visit from retarded aliens.

Maybe I'll get in touch with some of my old buddies from the Pentagon. Those bastards owe me.

Not sure how to crack this stupid UFO open. I've been trying for hours but the thing is made pretty well... which is why I KNOW this ain't no Gerry flying machine. Plus there ain't no swastikas on it. At least not on the outside. I'll know more once I crack it open.

This basement is pretty trashed. Sloshie's gonna have a bitch of a time cleaning it up.

Oh, that's if he's actually alive. Some of the ceiling caved in on him. So, he may be dead or something. Whatever.

Did I kick the shit out of Nazis so I could end up taking shit from some sissified sock puppet? Did I watch my brothers die on the battlefield so I could suffer the death of my pride on a weekly basis?

If things don't change someone is gonna get hurt. And I'm willing to bet on the dead corpse of a kamikaze pilot that someone ain't me.

Have I mentioned my clips on the show somehow never seem to work? I'm gonna figure that out, too.

Hey, Sloshie... better check the forecast... looks like a 90-percent chance of a beating is approaching from the south...

Sometimes life isn't one big box of shit stuffed with crap. Why? Did you watch the show? Well, if you missed it, go watch it. I'm not sure if elephanticide is a word... but it is now.

It felt good to kill something after so many years without blood on my hands. And besides the fact that the big stupid elephant was asking for it, maybe this will finally give that little green pansy some balls. Ain't nothing better than a well-fueled rage bomb to motivate even the weakest of wussies to become a real soldier. Let's hope Sloshie learned his lesson. Of course, I'd be happy to teach it to him again if he didn't. Many, many times, in fact.

Speaking of Sloshie... he hasn't been around lately. I stopped by the set to give him his weekly swirlie and he was nowhere to be found. Very suspicious. I'll have to keep an eye out for something retarded.

Keaton Transworld are a bunch of pussies. Seriously. I light their goddamn set on fire and they don't even do anything about it. Well, that's not entirely true, I guess.

They dragged me and that little bitch Sloshie into some lame-ass interrogation room and then they didn't even torture us! I was all set for some good old fashioned fuck-you face time, but all they did was talk to us. Talk! What a bunch of pussies. My respect for them just dropped faster than Little Boy from a B-29.

Whatever.

One small piece of unfinished business: the egg. At the end of our pilot episode a crate cracked open and this big egg rolled out of it. It looked really familiar, but I can't place where I'd seen it before. I stashed it on the set so I don't forget about it.

Oh, and I ran into Sonny again. Just as I thought, he was really pissed at Sloshie. He asked if there was any update about hiring his union crickets for the show. I told him Sloshie handled that and only had one question for them, "Are they still gay?"

I've never seen a cricket turn red before. I can't wait to see what Sonny does about this.

I've got ants in my pants! It's almost show time! I am so excited my cute little heart feels like it might explode all over your faces!

The TV Jamboree set is finished, and I think it looks pretty spifftacular! It DID take me almost a week to stack all the junk lying around this basement against a wall, but it's done! Hooray!

I should mention the basement getting cleaned up would have gone a lot faster if Slammo had helped. The last time he was here he asked me for five dollars. When I said no he gave me a wedgie and then took all my money. What is his problem, anyway?

OH... I forgot to mention... Mr. Trunkalump is coming! I am so excited! You'll all meet him and his world famous Cavalcade of Carefree soon enough! I love those guys!

Did someone just call five minutes? Places? Oh, I am so excited!

Alright, so Sloshie tells me that my contract with Keaton Transworld says I have to write these damn things. Maybe I shoulda read those contracts. Of course, if I want out I always have the "I'll kick your ass clause" at the ready. Pansies.

So, for my first formal entry, I'd like to talk a little about what it was like to be locked in a basement with Sloshie for more than 20 years:

Imagine, if you can, sharing a room with a bunny. But this bunny can talk. And when it talks, razor blades fly out of its rabid little mouth and slice your eyeballs open. Then, this asshole bunny giggles and pees into the open slits. And while you writhe around on the ground with bunny acid pee in your razor-slit eyes, the bunny starts smearing crap all over you. And then it hops on you. And juggles puppies.

So yeah, you may say I've learned to hate Sloshie. I should have killed him while I had the chance.

Uhm... yeah, so, whatever. What kind of retarded losers read this internet crap, anyway? Wake me up when the Nazis invade America. Fuck this.