Ouch.

This poor girl is having a hell of a pregnancy. I admire her for being honest. For the rest of us, it's free birth control to feed that gnawing urge... Me, I'm giving all my money to homosapien marsupial pouch research -- have a manageable-sized baby crawl out and crawl right into an Easy-Bake pouch. Plan it right and you don't even have to be awake for it. Wouldn't that be swell? A big shout out goes up to Adam and Eve for screwing up the gestation process. Oh, who's really to blame? I'm sure I'd have eaten the apple, too. And maybe even the snake...

Why not! Everything tastes like chicken! So even though it's probably an old joke, I guess chicken tastes just like snake, rabbit, squirrel, frog legs, and possum. Okay. I've eaten frog legs and alligator unknowns. And I'm working on making my own cabernet. If I go blind for less than 4 hours, then we'll know we got just the right pinch of secret ingredient this time.

Go to the "Drink" section; it's got the best stuff. My hypothesis: Delicacies seem to be born during times of widespread famine. Check out the prison punch known as Pruno here. Not as good as Champipple, but it'll have to do... dog.

Man, I could really use some good charma with a diamond in it. Look at all of it. It's times like this I wish I'd knocked over that liquor store like we'd planned, right Michael?

So Michael just moved into my old office and found only two of the three, evil curses I left:

"Your office is actually pretty comfortable. I forgot about the evil silver clip lamp, plugged it in, and it tripped a breaker or something and shut down everything in my office. I then threw the lamp away. Then, I was putting some magazines on a tall bookshelf that I moved into the office, and the giant yard rooster that you gave me fell from the top shelf and pecked me on the head. It drew blood. I was angry. The rooster is no longer with us. (sorry, it was a nice gift, and I enjoyed it, but it was time for him to die after attacking me thusly.)

So I guess that was the extent of the curses."

One more to go, poor Michael. That's how I kill my prey, you know, in curses of three. I'm really sorry the plastic chicken fell on your head and pecked it. I bet that's first time you've ever been injured by a big fake plastic cock.

I am so sorry you had to read that. No, really. This is supposed to be a family show, and look at me. I'm Graham Norton all of a sudden. I'm just in a bad mood because Sandra Bernhardt showed up as a guest and ate up all of my earthworms.

It all started with "raccoon feces" and went downhill from there, didn't it?