Back in the McBeardo Groove. HARD.

Mucho stuffo has gone on in The Private Files of W. Michael McBeardo in recent times. Hence these disgustingly uncharacteristic long lapses from a mick mensch who prides himself on prolific output.

Some business came to a frothy head that had been tumbling down the pike for a while.

Upon returning from my Jersey Shore vacation in late August, I began suffering from pulsating migraines and violent nausea, relentless in their intensity, around the clock.

This past Monday, something happened, and on Tuesday, I woke up joyfully devoid of head-horror and gut-death … and that was WITH Perez Goddamn Hilton reeking up the Howard Stern Show.

Thus I am back. Here. HARD.

So let’s rattle off what you haven’t missed, because I didn’t write about it: I severely enjoyed the Herzog/Cage Bad Lieutenant; I’ve been working my way through the actual Ozsploitation nuggets featured in a the smashing documentary Not Quite Hollywood (the best so far being Long Weekend ; all things Mad Max aside, of course); Inglourious Basterds is my favorite movie of the 2000s (runners-up include American Psycho, Battle Royale, Inside and Martyrs); the Thanksgiving episode of Dexter was one of the greatest exercises in horror I’ve ever seen; and I will always and forever love, adore, and feel profound gratitude toward Mr. Skin.