You do him "Cartman Style", that's what. I'd invite him to my chilli-con carnival and let him be a judge. Then, after he eats the chilli that I made, I'd tell him the truth about the chilli. It was actually made of his dead parents. Then, as he cried, that band Radiohead that he loves so much would walk by and call him a little crybaby. Then, I'd drink his tears because they're so yummy and delicious.

Lock him in a padded room, which gets its oxygen and water supply from the sewer, with nothing but a cheese grater. If all goes to plan he should cheese grate himself and eat it to survive.

I hate you badgenome, I pissed in your car and slepted with your mother...>:)

Without a memory card

Now that's just sick.