SARGEWORLD

Martin and The Gator roll back time to the golden age of Amiga computers, the 8-bit Nintendo and Windows 1.0, set to the white hot rhymes (emphasis on white) of our remarkably talented guest Denny Blaze, The Average Home Boy. All this plus murderous lesbians! If only life during the Reagan Administration was really this much fun. It’s Infected 1985.

Well, Father’s Day is tomorrow, and I sure hope it goes better than Mother’s Day. What a disaster!

As I do every Mother’s Day, I spent all morning in the kitchen over a hot stove, preparing a fine brunch.

It was to be one of the extravagant feasts I’ve become famous for throughout the Greater Los Angeles Area, especially among the hot young woman set. Of course, I could have plopped a cold can of Spaghettios on the table and these women, the overwhelming majority of them successful actresses and models, would find The Sarge irresistible. But that’s not my style.

Back to Mother’s Day. The menu I planned was ornate.

An opening cocktail of fresh strawberry bellinis followed by shrimp salad in avocado cups with Dijon vinaigrette. The main course consisted of stuffed roast leg of lamb, Serrano ham and Manchego cheese roulade, asparagus bundles bound with bacon and scallions, and Greek roasted new potatoes. And for dessert, orange-glazed blueberry scones with yogurt cream sauce. It should have been a perfect Mother’s Day meal.

But after we all sat down to enjoy the extravagant feast I had so lovingly prepared, things started go south right at the first course. G-D bellinis!

See, my family drinks. Mom especially. And she and dad just started pounding those delicate cocktails, and when they were gone, mom brought the bottle of gin out of her purse. She got so bombed that she tried to light an asparagus spear, thinking it was one of her GPC Menthol 100s.

I hadn’t even served the orange-glazed blueberry scones when mom and dad were passed the fuck out on the floor. Brunch was ruined, and my obese brother Mathew and his wife Kyle just sobbed while my mom’s illegitimate son, Plinko, who she conceived while camping out in line at The Price Is Right, split without saying a damn thing. Thanks everyone! Way to make me feel appreciated.

Well, I was so upset, I decided to go for a dip in the pool to cool off. But I made the mistake of not waiting at least a half-hour after I ate and got a cramp. It was awful, almost as terrifying as when I was nearly taken by the sea after getting caught in a riptide last year.

Luckily, my obese brother Mathew was near and used his fat strength to hoist me out of the pool and, instead of performing mouth-to-mouth, administered the cure all my mom had used on us as kids for everything from a stubbed toe to spinal meningitis: whiskey.

I guess that did the trick, and by the time I fully came to I was nearly as bombed as my mom and dad so we all drove to the Indian Casino and played slots. I won $15, which sort of saved Mother’s Day, but not quite.

Let’s hope Father’s Day isn’t such a boondoggle!

In addition to being America’s foremost authorities on technology, Martin and The Gator are great readers. And they bring this passion for the written word to the first annual Infected Festival of Books. Drew Curtis, founder of Fark.com, stops by to talk about his new book, It’s Not News, It’s Fark: How the Mass Media Tries to Pass Off Crap as News. Plus there’s Rickey Kang, Johnny O’Bannion and a new game: Black Feminist Book or Black Themed Porno? Curl up next to the fire wearing your inside pants with a nice snifter of tawny port and crack open The Infected Festival of Books!

Extraterrestrials. Do they exist? According to our esteemed guest Michael Horn, the authorized American media representative of perhaps the world’s best known contactee, a Swiss, one-armed farmer by name of Billy Meier, you’re G-D right they do. And he shows us indisputable photo and video evidence to prove it. It’s mind-bending stuff, as are the episode’s otherworldly visits from self-defense expert Rickey Kang and entertainment reporter Johnny O’Bannion. It’s the Infected UFO Abductathon. Believe!!

Michael Horn & Billy Meier

Everyone poos, but not everyone thinks so deeply and speaks so impassionedly about poos and their impact on the soul of our great nation as Martin and The Gator. Except, perhaps, PoopReport.com founder Dave Praeger, who joins us this week to discuss his new work of scholarship, Poop Culture. Also, Scott Herriott tells us he once horribly shat his khakis while driving down the 405 freeway. Dropping mud will never be the same after you’ve watched this, The Infected Poo Spectacular, our finest achievement to date.

This morning, I started Mayday as I always do: by bathing my face in the early morning dew of my garden, the cold, earthy wetness cleansing my furrowed brow. After this purifying ritual, I looked with lighter eyes across my tiny field at the old husks and dead stalks from last year’s planting season, my heart filled with yearning for the coming renewal.

Then, after donning my loose-fitting hempen garb and adorning it with the most colorful of sashes and spangles, my close Earth Friends and I, as we do yearly on this day, danced around the Maypole. Oh, how we merry dervishes flamboyantly pranced and flitted around that sturdy, streamer-strewn pole! What a sense of rebirth it brings as we gleefully kick off the spring season, drawing us into to warm bosom of our nurturing omni-soul, Gaia.

It’s an exceedingly redemptive ceremony, and cleansed far more from my spirit than merely the final sin of the cold and dark winter months, namely sneaking into my neighbor’s yard last night and dismantling his 5-year-old’s swing set to garner the materials required to construct the Maypole (we just left the one from last year in the neighborhood park, for someone else to clean up—Mayday shouldn’t be about fuss). But that little fucker from next door was screaming and hollering so loud when he saw his swing set was gone it almost ruined our pageantry, but eventually the noise from the drum circle drowned him out, and our festival seethed with good spirit.

After the whirling pagan bacchanal, which resulted in one of my more obese hippie friends, Gourd, ripping his quadriceps on account of this being the first bit of exercise he’s done since last Mayday, except for certain Nintendo Wii games that left him winded and were promptly returned to Target, it was time to tend my garden.

Lo! It’s been a long, tough winter for the Sarge, so it was good to rip all the dried husks of flowers and fruit plants out of my garden patch. Last autumn, these flowers and vegetables were beautiful and delicious, providing loving nourishment to my soul and body. I did everything I could to make them all prosper, and most made it to my vase or table. But the most beautiful flower in my garden, the one I had cared for most lovingly and had wanted to wait until it was at its very peak before harvesting so I might treat it in such a way that I could keep it for all time, always beautifying my life, I found dead one morning when I went out to water it, eaten by horrible vermin and chilled by an early frost. I tried to bring it back to life with the pure springs of my tears, but it never came back to me, though many times it acted as though it might, sprouting a green sprig or petal that gave me hope but soon shriveled and fell lifelessly to the ground. Over the winter months I watched from my window as my once beautiful flower crumpled into a dried brown husk: empty, lifeless and prickly to the touch. And today, Mayday, it felt good to tear it from the earth, but it was not without fond memories of the joy it once gave me.

And now it’s time for the new planting to begin. The soil at the Sarge Shack is fertile, and the sun is shining warmly upon it for the first time in months. It will be good to grow new life. It will take time for my plants to mature, but with the right care and nourishment mature they will, and blossom into a bumper crop of delicious and fragrant blessings, and this season I’ll take care to nurture the most beautiful of my flowers with even greater love and care, so it can be with me for all time.

Spring has sprung, Infected Army, and you know what that does to a young man’s fancy! Let us all cultivate our gardens, and have a warm, prosperous season as we bring new life towards the harvest time.

There’s a new episode of Infected available for your amusement and education, so go download it now. It features an extended interview with former ZDTV/TechTV funnyman Scott Herriott, who has spent large swaths of his life exploring the deep forests of the Pacific Northwest in search of Bigfoot. Get the documentary about the hunt, Squatching, here. In this episode, Scott shows us footage he’s captured that he believes proves the existence of the hairy beast. Plus, he talks about his series of three documentary films about hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, all available here, and This Exit Only, a film about the cripplingly funny weirdness you can experience all over America just off the highway.

Don Ho, the great crooner and even greater man, has passed on. He spread the spirit of Aloha through song. I had the tremendous pleasure of performing with Don Ho last year in Honolulu. The experience left an indelibale mark on my spiritual life. He may have died of heart failure, but in my mind, and in the minds of so many others, his heart will always beat strong. God bless you, Don Ho. You will be missed. Thanks for everything.

My writers, producers and I came up with a lot of great bits on Unscrewed with Martin Sargent, but personally, my all time favorite franchise was Dear Blog. In this recurring bit, I would perform dramatic readings of real Blog posts we found online, acting as if I were typing the blog myself, and set them to overly dramatic, lilting piano music and, initially, dissolve in and out of camera shots of me at my desk in candle light, surrounded by roses, stuffed animals, and other ridiculous items. I always wore a silk scarf.

Later, we took Dear Blog into the field, and shot the pieces on the beach, in parks, and other spots where one might engage in some deep soul searching.

Well, I’m pleased to say that someone named Tim Lopez has posted a whole mess of these classic segments on YouTube. If you fondly remember Dear Blog, or want to experience it for the first time, all the links are below. Thanks, Tim, for bringing back some very warm memories.

“Boys Down The Hall”
“Jury Duty”
“Canker Sore/Omelet”
“Bitch at the Dinning Hall”
“Lost my Post”
“Ugly”
“Bus Ride”
“Guy at the Dinning Hall”
“Grand Theft Auto”
“Porn Shop”

It’s true! Go get it! Yes, your prayers have been answered. And if this is what you’ve been praying for, you will burn in the lake fires of hell.

Infected is a show about the Internet. Therefore, as responsible journalists, it’s incumbent upon Martin and The Gator to cover a major element of the online world: pornography. In this special porn edition, Gator’s favorite adult film star Nicole Sheridan…

…stops by the SargeShack, as does Kory Kupiszewski, a young perv entrepreneur who’s trying to start the iTunes of smut. Watch the episode to learn how you can get a free racy download from his site MovieQuickie! Adults only, please.

Thank you for your continued support,
Internet’s Martin Sargent