I break bones and laugh.

Sean Penn wants me dead. Well, me and anyone else, I guess, who has the temerity to criticize his charitable efforts. We may have the spleen or spine or nerve to criticize him, but he's thinking about an entirely different body part.

Penn says he ignores the negative chatter. "I guess I’ve been so away from it all–-and our tent camp in Haiti--that I haven’t had an awful lot of time to pay attention to them," he says. "You know, do I hope that those people die screaming of rectal cancer? Yeah. You know, but I’m not going to spend a lot of energy on it."

I kind of love that last part. Yeah, I want them to be eviscerated and then tossed into a giant vat of rice pudding, but whatever. Nothing too complicated.

And also, to be fair (mostly to me!), I have no idea what he's doing in Haiti. But I know what he did in New Orleans. Remember when he got there?

[Larry] King: How soon after?

Penn: I got there on day four.

Matt Taibbi wrote in Rolling Stone, "It's a little before midnight on Friday, September 2nd, and I'm sitting in a hotel bar in Houston...Now he and Penn are talking about commandeering private jets, helicopters and weapons for a grand mission into hell that begins tomorrow."

Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans on 29 August. Day 4 would have been the first of September. So the idea of Penn's plan didn't even germinate until 2 September, the early hours of day 5. For you longtime readers, here's a reminder of where I was when he was thinking about going to New Orleans: "...I didn't really sleep again until 2 September, when I got to my room in Philadelphia."

By the way, why did they want to go to New Orleans? The "he" in the earlier quote from Taibbi is Douglas Brinkley, who left his cats and housekeeper in New Orleans when he evacuated. So, Taibbi writes, "...here we are, a bunch of half-drunk, affluent white people quaffing eleven-dollar foreign beers and planning what appears to be a paramilitary mission to rescue two cats and a maid in the wreckage of New Orleans."

The Penn party actually didn't get into New Orleans until after midnight on the 3rd ("When we got into New Orleans, it was already midnight the first night we got in..."). He was out and humanitarianing in New Orleans only on the 4th. So he didn't do anything in New Orleans until DAY SEVEN, went there originally on a personal mission, wore a bulletproof vest (unlike everyone else in his boat), and struggled to get through those raging eight inch floodwaters that whole day he was there. I didn't even mention the shotgun he carried or having to bail out the boat with a Solo cup. So, it's possible that he doesn't want me dead at all. He does have a problem with accuracy, after all. Maybe he just wants us all to have uncomfortable beds or to be slightly dyspeptic. Who knows?

And for the record, I don't have anything against anyone helping people, although I do think that in cases like this, it's far better to direct money and resources to people with the experience and expertise to do real good, rather than just charter a plane and bail out somewhere over Port-au-Prince. Or Baton Rouge. But I don't think saying so is going to make any difference to Sean Penn, so shine on, you crazy diamond. Can someone get him Andy Dufresne's rock hammer? He's got some tunneling to do.