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Hi, everybody, Mark Lisanti here. I know that some of you were a little shaken up (read: delighted) by my sudden and unexplained absence, but unlike the father that refused to pretend that he was just "going out for cigarettes" and plainly told a five-year-old Defamer "I never much liked you, kid, and I'm leaving forever because of you—do you hear me?—it's your fault, you little bedwetter," I have returned. I will immediately resume disappointing you in the manner to which you've become accustomed.

Oh, and one little matter of clarification: Seth Abramovitch, the guest editor these past two days, intimated that I spent my brief hiatus in a Scandinavian gender-reassignment center, having a certain body part lopped off. In fact, I had another one put on, which I'm convinced is going to be the hottest Hollywood surgical procedure of 2006. Imagine that next dick-measuring contest in your agency boardroom. Plop! goes your opponent. Your turn: Plop! Plop! That hot client is yours. I'm still not sure what the application to blogging is, but whatever. I have a new friend.

Thanks again to Seth for filling in. For now, he returns to his top-secret day job; all I can tell you about it is that it involves a claw-foot bathtub full of hot wax, a pair of WWI-style airplane goggles, and David Geffen's taint. But judging from the way some of you turned the Defamer inbox into the sauna at the WeHo 24 Hour Fitness, he was quite popular. I promise to forward any straggling propositions his way.