Regular readers may wonder why I haven't been poking fun at the internet's rabid warfans recently - after all, my archives are filled with nonsensical gabble aimed at the chest-beating wannabe-Norse Gods of Gates of Vienna and the apocalyptic hysteria of LGF.
The answer is simple - no longer can I read their fevered prose. They've finally mated with the multinational chimera that is the Murdoch media empire, and have all simultaneously accepted Flash advertising* for Sky television. For some reason, this instantly crashes my browser every time I click on one of their sites.
This is a nothing short of a catastrophe. Taunting those who take themselves so seriously is rather like taking candy from a baby, albeit a very large, angry baby that takes a very dim view of immigration and is sexually aroused by machine guns.
Now I find myself lurking in David Duff's comments for entertainment affecting an air of detached boredom; casually exuding smarm and condescension while slyly pushing metaphorical turds through his electronic letterbox like a rat-faced teenager.
At this rate, I'm going to have to go door-to-door annoying people, so if any readers feel like taking pity and providing me with technical advice, I'll be delighted to hear it - layman's terms, mind.
*Have you accepted a few pennies a month in exchange for garish Flash advertising? Does it fire your dead, grasping soul with avaricious glee as you finger the dank, dirty dollars that plop wetly into your bank account as payment for your service?
Do you seek to fill the aching hole at the centre of your very being by converting this grimy currency into a neverending procession of bleeping, fiddly technological doodads as evidence of your personal worth?
Then cut out the middle man through the wonder of the internet - draw a large smiley face on your arse, present it to a live-streaming webcam then turn on "The Birdie Song" and get a-jigglin'!
Why suffer the degradation and loss of self-respect that comes with being a cog in the merciless machine of a fantastically evil Australian hobgoblin when the same filthy lucre is merely the wink of an eye away?
Better yet, why not just sell yourself to drunk punters on Skid Row?
Advertising - It's a mugs game. Don't do it.