My job attracts its fair share of meth addicts, ex-cons, what have you. We care so much about customer service we will hire indiscriminately.

One of these people was a man named Herbert, or as he called himself, "Herbie". A quiet, vaguely turtle-looking man, he kept to himself when he wasn't talking about Disney movies or how Batman had no actual ninja training. He was a Mormon who went to BYU on the north shore of Oahu in the fine state of Hawaii. Sometimes he'd try to convert people or pass out free Books of Mormon to anyone who'd lend him an ear. He didn't do too well.

I didn't mind working with him much, as he had the most insanely in-depth knowledge of superhero origins I've ever seen, and every once in a while we'd have actual conversation about normal things. But then sometimes he'd talk sweetly to prepubescent girls in just the right tone to set off all kinds of alarms.

My co-workers and I reached a quick consensus: Herbie was a child molestor. It all added up: him asking for our "Ice Princess" cardboard standee, watching "Sky High" 12 times, bragging about being chaste by choice.

A couple weeks ago he disappeared from work. Nobody really noticed. Yesterday I got this fine bit of news.

http://starbulletin.com/2006/04/28/news/story01.html

That creepy fuck in the picture? That's old Herbie. That grin on his face? Concrete proof of his guilt. Maddox said it best.

I don't feel like writing reviews for a while. My efforts are focused on this screenplay I'm writing as Steven Seagal's comeback vehicle. It's gonna rock hard.