When we last left toilet-stuffing spongeblob Peter King, he was indulging in semi-brief, quasi-LeBronish Favrian semi-arguments, and imploring you to find a rich uncle to spot you ten grand to help Dr. Z. I, alas, have no rich uncles. Anyone who’s seen “Chris Rock: Bigger and Blacker” knows that uncles only come in four varieties: gay, alcoholic, stealing, and molester. So don’t go assuming I have a spate of uncles who are flush with assets, Peter. NOT ALL OF US HAVE AN UNCLE WHO LIVES IN THE BACK BAY.

So what poorly digested thoughts will Peter be excreting out of his mouth-hole this week, baffling auto-flush units the world over? Read on…

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