I'm back from Hilton Head. Thanks for missing me. I really appreciate it. There's nothing like being missed by someone I don't really know. It makes me feel special, like little angels or something are watching over me. I love angels. They're a bit strange what with their bell-ringing addiction and whatnot. But still, I'd rather have angels watching over me than something else, like cyborgs. Cyborgs totally freak me out. I have a friend who has cyborgs watching over him. Poor guy hasn't had sex in years. It's awful. Why'd we invent cyborgs anyway? We should have stopped while we were ahead. Stupid us!

At any rate, thanks for missing me. Hilton Head was a delight. Lots of fun and sun. Can't beat fun and sun. Not even with a stick. Or a club. Or with Republican pro-America propaganda. Being with My Ex-Lady and her new boyfriend Francisco wasn't as trying as I thought it would be. It seemed as though my presence was more uncomfortable for them than their presence was for me, so that was good. To make matters better, Francisco got food poisoning and that curtailed his Speedo-wearing quite a bit. He was in bed pretty much the entire week. Loser.

It was great getting more quality time with The Chosen One and Lil' Buddy. We played miniature gold everyday. I killed them each and every time. I'm pretty sure I'm the best mini-golf player in the world. That may sound cocky, but I don't have any evidence that suggests otherwise. I killed them. It wasn't even close. Hole 16, the par 4 with the talking alligator? I eagled that son of bitch six times in a row. Eagled it. I'm so awesome. I told the old lady who owned the course about it, but for some reason she wasn't impressed. I think it was because she was a Jesus freak. At every hole there'd be a sign with some quote from The Bible in it. Freaked me out at first, but then I started whipping the course's Bible-thumping ass and soon forgot about it. Although, now that I think about it, maybe God or Jesus or whoever was playing a part in my dominance. I mean, it was like I was touched by something divine--that's how effing great I played.

So, yeah, kicking butt at Jesus mini-golf was the highlight of the trip for me. I also got a tan, so I'm slowly but surely rounding into to summer eye candy shape. Can't wait to go to toddler swim this week and strut my stuff. Those lifeguards are going to be all over me.

Speaking of which, my new lover Trinka was glad to see me upon my return. We had fantastic sex for, like, five hours. Then when I told her about my mini-golf triumph we had sex for, like, another six hours. That's eleven hours of fantastic sex. It was great to be reminded of how much I'm respected. My Ex-Lady acted like killing my sons at mini-golf was nothing. I don't get her. The course was teeming with Jesus freaks. Not the best conditions. Yet, I still won--and it wasn't even close.

Thanks to Gene Morgan for filling in while I was away. Despite lacking a shift key on his keyboard, he seemed to have had a good time here in Denmark. I thought he would. Most white guys with shaved heads and a thing for chicken wings do. That's what makes this country so special. And terrifying.

This post is dedicated to Judas.