We here at the Splog love our readers, and if the server-crushing mass of email we get is any indication of their unbridled affection, our readers love us too. What’s really great is that our readers seem to really get us. We don’t get a bunch of generic and shallow emails praising us in albeit nice, but ultimately hollow ways. No, we get really pointed and useful information that just tells us that like, you get us, man. The research you guys have done in the area of herbal penis enlargement is, to say the least, extensive, and Casey really appreciates it – almost as much as topherchris appreciates all those hot stock tips. I for one have helped countless Nigerians liberate literally millions of dollars from the clutches of more military regimes than I can even count at this point. That reminds me; I need to talk to my local mail carrier about some checks I have yet to receive.

So yeah, thanks. On the topic of the emails we get, today I was directed by a reader who, judging by his or her email address - poooty@pootypootpoot.com - must have a Google alert set on the word flatulence, to this post in the tbo crime blog. Yes, indeed, it appears that a man named Brian Wilcox was treated for excessive flatulence, groin numbness and tooth decay while in custody for . . . wait, that’s not actually important yet. Let’s allow ourselves a little indulgence. Hehehe. Someone said fart. Hehehe. And groin. It’s like the total opposite of Ow, my balls. Hehe. Ow, I can’t feel my balls.

Yeah, I hear that can happen when you have to sit on a concrete prison bench for hours at a time because you took pornographic pictures of your own daughter and uploaded them to Photobucket. Oooooooh, shit. That pretty much kills the fart funny, huh? Also, fucking Photobucket? Lulz. Myspacers everywhere sensed a disturbance in the emo. Anyway, yeah. Not funny. The Times does a good thing by having the less wocka-wocka version of the story over here. Holy shit; I can’t find a single fart joke in there. What’s with all these facts? Oh, right. Times 1, TBO 0.

Lastly, I can’t be the only one who noticed, much to my own personal horror, that that dude looks exactly like a Victor Victoria-era Julie Andrews. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go take 37 showers, meditate on unicorns, and stare at this dolphin chaser for a few hours. *shiver*