ey, remember 2005? It seems like only yesterday it was everywhere, sweetie… the fashions, the fads, the music (which you can download for free). Everybody was watching Lost and Googling Linsay Lohan. This year, it’s repeats of Lost and the Pitt-Jolie baby. But that doesn’t mean we’re going to forget those more innocent times.

The world started 2005 believing the biggest events to come would be the trial of Michael Jackson and the debut of Star Wars, Episode III, but were they ever wrong. Goddamn, sweetie, were they wrong.

Even if the big Star Wars finale was the biggest grossing movie of the year, the movie everyone was talking about was gay cowboy non-musical extravaganza Brokeback Mountain. A studio-financed My Own Private Idaho, the film featured a classic lovestory all Y-chromosomed up for today’s modern metrosexuals. I, for one, loved this shit out of it, hon.

It sure beat the hell out of the “biggest movie of 2005,� as everybody promoted it—only to have it being the biggest underwhelming movie of all time: King Kong. The movie under-performed to all expectations, possibly due to somebody leaking a copy of the movie to the Internet and an early cut of the film to the theaters in 1933. Remember 1933? Prohibition and flappers? That’s another column, sweets.

The country went crazy for TV, too. America was desperate for Desperate Housewives and lost our minds for Lost. We also continued the C.S.I./Law & Order craze as they collectively dominated three-five nights a week of televisions. And how about those new television shows we all went crazy for? That’s right—there were none.

And remember the music everyone was listening to in 2005? Neither do we. There was some Kelly Clarkson, some Kanye West, and 50 Cent mumbled some shit here and there. Where’s the club beat, bitch? Notice I didn’t say bi-atch? Too toooo 2004.

As for the news itself, there was no bigger story than the sad destruction of partyzone and Girls Gone Wild unofficial headquarters of New Orleans at the inhuman hands of heartless bitch Hurricane Katrina. As if that wasn’t enough, several frontin’ hurricane wanna-bes also tore shit up elsewhere.

The other big news stories were the continuing death of innocents for the unnecessary war in Iraq, but we leave that coverage to the no-spin zone doctoring of Bill O’Reilly. We were sadder about the death of one of the 20th century’s most pivotal religious figures, Johnny Carson. And how about the others we lost? Bob Denver, Chief Justice William Rehnquist, Lou Rawls, and John Paul Pope, some kind of Christian prophet.

After years of a firm status quo, 2005 saw the shake up of not one, but two Supreme Court justices retiring (one for good) to open up the doors to the future’s arch-conservative oligarchy.

And who can forget the unforgettable catch-phrases of 2005? “Michael Jackson’s Jesus Juice�? “Cronyism�? “Mark McGwiroids�? None of these quite caught on with the national consciousness. No, 2005 was truly a year when nothing stuck in your brain. But the commune did take a severely long vacation, and that was da bomb, baby-doll. Let’s hope for more of that in 2006.

ensions ran high in the world court this week as prosecutors continued what will undoubtedly be the greatest trial of the century, at least for a long time: The world vs. Kris Kringle, also known as Santa Claus, also known as Father Christmas, et al. It was a trial marked by emotional outbursts and brutal accusations of crimes against humanity.

Kringle, led into the courtroom with his ankles shackled together and a series of elaborate handcuffs binding his hands, sat quiet through most of the prosecution's presentation of evidence. For the defense was world-famous Swedish lawyer Jorgen Fiord, who successfully defended Argentine dentist Emilio Rodriguez in 1996 against charges he was the infamous "Tooth Fairy."

"This man, sitting right here—though he may appear jolly, and have the very glint of holiday joy in his eyes, is at best a worldwide fraud and perpetrator of lies," presented attorney Manfred Hauser for the prosecution. "At worst, he's the greatest terrorist in the history of mankind."

Hauser was referring to the charges levied against the alleged jolly old elf: the first, pretending to provide toys and presents to all the children of the world, when in fact they're bought and delivered by the children's parents; two, attempting to set up a non-profit "holiday" religion by infringing upon the beliefs of Christianity; three, initiating and operating international pyramid schemes of "helpers" on street corners and department stores everywhere; four, cruelty to animals, i.e. specifically the training and illegal housing of endangered reindeer; and five, violating labor laws and international laws against slavery, specifically regarding the livelihood of diminutive people.

Kringle had the entire world on the edge of their seats, awaiting how he would plea, when he finally entered a statement of "not guilty" two weeks ago.

The trial has been the focus of the entire world ever since the world-famous "Santa Claus" was taken into custody last year, Sept. 19, 2012, by Russian soldiers while leading a Chechan rebels' rebellion during his so-called "off season." Tipped off by local naughty boys, soldiers found Kringle hidden beneath a collapsed chimney that he may have been using as a home for as long as six weeks. The U.N. had planned to try Claus in October of this year, but thought given the circumstances they could postpone the event until the holiday season.

The highlight of Thursday's trial included the testimony of an anonymous elf, known only to the jury as "Sprinkles," alleging Kringle used magic powers to extend the days just so he could make his elf workforce work 28-hour shifts. The testimony took a turn for the lewd as the witness alleged, through sobs and comically high-pitched crying, Santa Claus made the workplace even more uncomfortable with the use of a device called a "mistletoe belt buckle."

"Humbug!" exclaimed Kringle, standing up and shaking a green-gloved fist at the video screen. "Complete and utter humbug! And there's no use disguising your voice—I know it's you, Butterscotch! He's a liar, your honor! Check his closet and you'll see—nothing but coal!"

Kringle denounced the trial as a sham, and tried to remind the court of the reason for the season, but was warned by Judge Avril Harkrieger he would be bound and gagged if he didn't keep quiet, and maybe would anyway, if the judge wanted it bad enough.

Each day the trial has been marred by protests outside, middle- to upper-class kids demanded Santa's release, and several children living below the poverty line demanded years worth of retroactive gifts.

Reader questions come to yours truly in all sizes and forms, from folded paper ninja throwing stars scribbled with questions about loneliness, to strange marriage proposals that wander off on a tangent like "Will you marry me and what the fuck's up with dollar bill changers on vending machines?" But my favorite has to be messages left on the commune's answering machine, like the following:

"Yo, I was just thinkin' about something. I flush my toilet, it goes out in the ocean, right? I mean, not my actual toilet, though that would be kinda funny if I was still sitting on it. Actually, funnier if it was my wife or my friend Ronnie and not me. Not both of them, cuz what the fuck are they doing on my toilet together? But you know what I'm talking about. The loaf. So that shit goes out in the ocean, or like if I puke on the sidewalk in front of Dairy Queen and the dude hoses it off into the drain, that goes into the ocean too, right? And if they're flying elephants on a cargo plane over the ocean and one dies, they just shove it out the back and it falls in the ocean, right? Fast, too, no need to waste a parachute on a dead elephant, you know what I'm saying? Whoooooooo-KERSPLASH! Wow. Anyway, so if all this crap goes in the ocean, what the hell are we doin' swimmin' in there? I'm gonna kick somebody's ass for not telling me the ocean was the world's toilet."

Not exactly the Maserati of reader questions, but it is the least stupid one I've received this month. Roll that factoid around in your head when you can't sleep at night, and see if suicide doesn't appeal. So before you roll your eyes too violently, remind yourself that in an alternate universe, you're reading my latest column on why some ninjas wear red, and whether or not that's supposed to be camouflage for fighting inside volcanoes.

I'll begin by answering one of the questions that came up later in the above caller's ten-minute ramble: Yes, if God took a piss, he'd probably take it in the ocean. It only stands to reason. As a matter of fact, everything that has ever taken a piss, ever, eventually all that ended up in the ocean. Keep that in mind the next time you're water skiing.

How do marine animals cope? Well, they're pissing in there too, so it's not like they can throw stones. The ocean is basically like one gigantic hot tub, and you know nobody crawls out of a nice warm hot tub and scurries wetly into the house just to piss in the sink like a civilized person. The ocean is like one big let-it-all-hang-out party where anything goes, which is why the church has always taken a hard line anti-ocean stance.

The reason all the animals in the ocean don't get diseases from swimming in pee all the time, like you or I would from using the pool down at the YMCA, is that ocean water is jam-packed full of phytoplankton, which is nature's answer to 2000 Flushes Blue. Phytoplankton are tiny, microscopic bugs that don't care what they eat. Seriously, they're so small everything looks like food to them. Try shrinking yourself down to one-tenth the size of a pinhead and see how well you can tell the difference between a turd and a Coney Island corn dog. Hell, try to tell the difference at your normal size.

Phytoplankton turn the world's shame into the basis for the oceanic food chain: themselves. Everything eats phytoplankton, usually on accident since they're so tiny and the water's packed with them like pedophiles at an Aaron Carter concert. Lazy fish just swim around with their mouths open all the time, receiving sustenance from the millions of phytoplankton that get stuck between their teeth. This provides a golden opportunity for marine pranksters like the sea otter, which love nothing more than floating unwrapped candy bars on the ocean's surface just to freak out open-mouthed-swimming fish.

Even phytoplankton won't touch whale shit, however. Once they settle, these colossal loads, known as "coral," provide shelter for thousands of other marine organisms that have no idea where coral really comes from. Everything else though, stupid phytoplankton gladly devour and ask for seconds.

So, the obvious question is, could you just buy a bunch of phytoplankton to keep in your toilet, freeing you from the constant daily grind of flushing and refilling the tank with a hose from the yard because the water company cut off just the water to your toilet to spite you for an unpaid bill and it doesn't rain enough this time of year to justify leaving the lid off and your bathroom window open? In theory, you could. In theory, you could also collect all the little broken bits from the bottoms of bags of pretzels and repackage them as a salty new breakfast cereal, but I wouldn't count on that ship coming in any time soon.

In actual practice, the problems with the phytotoilet are two fold: One, they stopped selling little packets of phytoplankton through the mail after Sea Monkeys really took off and fickle kids forgot all about the magic of microscopic pets. And two, even if you could get them, eventually your toilet would just become completely clogged with phytoplankton themselves, and then it's back to the soul-deadening grind of flushing after each use. Unless you trained your cat or ferret or something to eat phytoplankton, but that might be messing with evolutionary forces that could have disastrous effects millions of years down the line, I don't know.

So the next time you're swimming in the ocean, look for phytoplankton. Because if you don't see any, you're probably swimming in piss. I'm just kidding, they're microscopic and you're definitely swimming in piss. Until next time, I'm Griswald Dreck.

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