They had to cut a "rotten cheese" joke from the last one after leprosy advocates complained it was somehow offensive to people with green, moldering skin.

Can I press the button for the Hand of Fate this time? I want to see him splatter against the wall.

I'm guessing the Elvis bit refers to his predilection for watching lesbian sex while eating buckets of fried chicken. It's a tenuous connection, but the Sapphic angle is really the only thing I can associate with Pamela at the moment.

Had a bit of drama this week - it seems the Medical staff "accidentally" prescribed me a drug containing an abnormally high amount of psilocybin, and I experienced a massive panic attack. (I'm hazy on the details, but security tapes seem to show me scrambling down the hall naked and shrieking like an animal, leaving…

Look, if the ladies want to paddle their canoes in the privacy of the dark, who are you to judge? The sound's cranked up so high in these modern movie houses, you can barely hear the squishing noises.

On the plus side, the Devil is played by William Atherton - a man with no genitals, and therefore one Kirk Cameron won't feel threatened by.

Neckbeard's heartfelt, non-sarcastic dedication to the Party leaves us little recourse. I say we throttle that decadent pig and his family with chicken wire, then airbrush them out of the recent summit photographs.

I'm going to have to go with Thoth on this one, Eddie - the god of scripture and originator of all human knowledge seems the logical choice. Besides, no matter which tomb you open, you're bound to have your eyeballs boiled alive by a crocodile-headed scorpion or some other ghastly, nonsensical curse. I recommend…

Vincent, if you recall, also performed monstrous experiments on his dog to turn him into a giant, slavering beast. I'm beginning to think this is Burton's very expensive method of self-therapy for something horrible he did to the family pet when he was a child.

Oh, yes, just try and piss off Disney's elite horde of rabid copyright lawyers. They'd have had his black-and-white striped nuts in a vise if he didn't play along.

At least Fellini's Satyricon had variety when it came to Uranian spectacle. Fat, hairy guys, skinny little doe-eyed whelps, muscle-men, albino ladyboys… something for everyone under the rainbow. This is just lazy.

I was thinking more along the lines of, "Hey, everyone, I'm a cowboy! Howdy, howdy, howdy!"

I'd like to see a comedy pilot where Dane Cook steals fire from Olympus, and gets chained to a rock for the rest of the series while the sun roasts him alive and vultures claw out his intestines.

And remember, the human epidermis never reconstitutes itself after being stretched around a larger frame, so it'll only get worse with age. In possibly ten years' time, he's going to look like Ad'har Ru'afo.

The frequent lapses into toilet humor as of late are particularly irksome. Are the producers really content to let the show sink to the grotesque scatalogical depths of the countless Ren and Stimpy clones to emerge over the past decade? It might be tolerable if the writing was halfway competent, but…

Sexually awkward mystery wonks in America already have Rizzoli & Isles to fap to. Must we flood the market?

He taught us about how unwarranted physical contact of any kind is bad, why we shouldn't climb in washing machines for fun, and how sloths are a metaphor for the developmentally disabled. Truly, he was the voice of reason for a generation.

…Or a rope and a stool.

I'd venture to say they didn't want a repeat of Roberto Benigni's acceptance speech. Celebrities want to feel like they exist in a higher state of being, and being enthusiastically hugged or climbed on by a foreign man-child destroys that carefully crafted illusion.

Really, Mr. Sava, I must take umbrage at your comment that Arkham "isn't equipped" to house the new, modern class of criminal. The diligent, hard-working staff here has made sure that the living quarters are suitable for any inmates with "pre-existing medical conditions" - the flame-retardant cell they use to house…