hiter-than-white white man Red Bagel, founder and sometime-Editor of the commune was awarded his own publication's "You the Man of the Year" Award for the sixth year in a row, to no one's surprise. Bagel has been missing and presumed paranoid since the November re-election of evil incarnate George W. Bush, and Bagel's brother Gay presented the award posthumously to his own brother at a ceremony at the commune offices in Flatbush, New Jersey, even as Bagel's Caucasian manservant Rascal insisted his "master" was alive and willing to accept the award behind closed doors.

Gay Bagel, a miserable shell of a man, praised his brother with backhanded compliments on Red's lifelong career of spending a lot of time on something never once profitable.

"What can we say about Red that has not already been said in the poetry of stoned hippies everywhere," said Gay Bagel, reading from a fill-in-the-blanks form eulogy he acquired from the Internet. "My brother waged a war against the mentally stable everywhere in his attempts to spread the word of liars and morons. Without him around, the world is a little less prone to idiocy. But I've come here to bury Red, not to praise him, if I could but find the body. If I found him alive, then I would have come to bathe him and get him a clean suit, or at least have him cut his fingernails and stop dragging the name Bagel down into the sewers he smells like. I suppose all I really want to say here is: Red, if you are alive, anywhere, there are a lot of bills that haven't been paid yet and nobody can figure out how to get into the commune lockbox. All you here are witnesses—the man is this much closer to being declared dead, and soon I will be the boss of all of you."

And for the first time, the entire commune staff burst into tears at the thought of Red's passing.

Despite the sombering moment at the event, things cheered up when Rascal, representing Red Bagel himself, took the stage and promised us all our fearless editor was in the best of health, and thankful for his sixth consecutive win, making him the only person ever to win the YTMOTY, or "Yitmotty."

"Crikey, don't it beat all?" rattled the Australian manservant, who wore his best T-shirt to the ceremony. "Red misses y'all, I can assure ya, and soon as he feels it's 'all clear' to return to the surface, he's gonna join us for a three-week binge party of nothin' but lager, mates! Now… what say we drink up, for Red's sake?" Rascal, already drinking heavily before the announcement, devolved into a parade of Australian caterwauling understandable to no one, Australian or otherwise.

The event continued on into early evening hours, until most of us had drunken ourselves into a haze and all efforts to keep Omar Bricks away from the stereo finally failed. As 1980s nostalgia bombarded us through twin speakers, a few reporters spoke well of Red Bagel and his missing ass.

"There will never be another like Red Bagel—a man entirely devoted to his vision of a better America," said former Acting Editor Ramrod Hurley, now acting like a drunk. "An America of tomorrow, without fear and prejudice, without the suffering of the common man, and with a government forthright and honest with its own people. And now that he's gone, I call dibs on the boss job."

Hurley was bound, gagged, and wrapped in garish paper. The stamp on his head ordered us not to open until X-Mas, and I had to heartily agree.

he pharmaceutical niche player Algor released startling fourth-quarter projections this week, a reversal of fortunes many in financial circles attribute to the company renaming many of its medications for the treatment of sexually transmitted diseases. Realizing that social embarrassment may play a part in the afflicted avoiding treatment for their cursed states, Algor saw fourth-quarter sales of their best selling herpes treatment ClearVue skyrocket after the drug was changed from its longstanding name of HerpEase.

Finally bending to pressure from marketing experts, Algor has begun renaming its other not-quite-popular-enough drugs under the now commonplace industry practice of drug names that have nothing to do with a condition or its treatment. By the beginning of 2005, the company hopes to offer a complete line of attractively-named treatments for the unfortunately STDed.

GonorRid, the company's industry-standard drug for the treatment of puss-laden malcontents suffering from gonorrhea, will be shipped to pharmacies under its new label of SmoothOperator beginning in January.

A similar fate awaits the company's pride and joy, Crabex, Algor's floundering treatment for pubic lice. After months of focus group testing, Algor has recently decided to rename the drug PartyZone.

Last but not least is SyphiLess, the company's breakthrough treatment for syphilis sufferers. Though Algor has yet to make an official announcement on the renaming of this drug, early leaked reports indicate that the drug will be called either Blissex or PissFree in 2005.

But will Algor's new approach be a success? To answer that question, we went straight to STD sufferers for the real dirt.

"Oh yeah, I'd definitely buy more if it was named something like Smurfies or something, that would definitely boost sales," according to porn impresario Tori Anus, a frequent Crabex user. "Then I'd stop getting those dirty looks from the dried up old bags at the Wal-Mart pharmacy. They'd just think I'd been fucking Smurfs or something."

Determined to dig deeper into the beans of the story, this reporter conducted further research among the loose women of 1-900-HOT-DATE, likely to be experts on the treatment of cock-borne illness. In addition to providing hours or stimulating conversation, Misty and Chakra also provided great advice about writing off the cost of the toll call as a business expense.

"Algor definitely has a hot idea on their hands there," insisted Misty, a buxom brunette with smoldering green eyes. "You're getting me hot just talking about it."

"Hot and naughty," agreed Chakra, a Thai-Scottish delight who insisted on conducting the telephone interview in the nude.

No doubt the executives at Algor have done similar research, since it's loads more fun than the alternative of company execs experimentally contracting STDs themselves to see if they feel embarrassed about getting treatment. So the New Year looks to be a happy one for Algor shareholders, who haven't heard news this good since the company changed its name from Cock Rot Ltd. in 1999, amid reports that investors were too embarrassed to purchase their stock.

I know this is going to hit some of you hard, like little Ruby Gilcrest of Foley Hills, West Virginia, and George W. Bush, but Christmas is cancelled this year.

Dump it all on me if you want, but you brought it on yourselves. At least you adults did. It's bad enough this crap has been getting more and more commercial every year, but now I have to hear these heartbreaking sob stories about how shopping is down and stores are worried about meeting their financial predictions for fall quarters. Oh, cry me a river, you soulless coal-receiving jerks. I'm tired of the whole shebang. Ask my back what it needs this year, and it won't say hauling all the world's toys around in a single night and jumping down chimneys.

So for all you inconsiderate ingrates out there, consider yourselves the reason there's no Christmas. All this talk about a year without a Santa Claus irks me something fierce. You want it? You got it.

I know a lot of people, even Mrs. Claus, think this is about The Polar Express, but it's not—I'm not that petty, jeez, give me some credit. But if you want to talk Christmas movies, how about that Surviving Christmas crap? Or Christmas With the Kranks? Obviously a lot of you are wanting Christmas canceled anyhow. If I'm good at one thing, it's giving people what they want.

Okay, I admit it—I'm a little bugged about The Polar Express. You're saying I'm so disturbed about kids losing the Christmas spirit I have to kidnap them in bunches and hold them hostage at the North Pole? I think you're the ones with the problem, Hollywood. You make films about Christ getting the himself beat out of him for three hours, I'm the one who's off his nut? Screw you. If this is what you do to your icons, then you can deliver yourselves your own presents.

By the way, you think it's a compliment being portrayed by Tom Hanks? I suppose I should be thanking you. The biggest name I can usually get is Ed Asner or Wilford Brimley. I don't rate a little star power, people? Jude Law too busy, and did you refuse the money for Bruce Willis? I've always thought you guys played me too soft, too "ho ho ho," but when you do play me tough, Tom Hanks is the guy you call? I wish I did abduct people now. I'd pinch De Niro and Scorsese both, make the best Santa Claus movie you never saw.

The fact these movies all bombed shows just how much love you all have left for Christmas anyway. Not that I can blame you. Human misery is everywhere in the world, people are dropping like flies in Iraq, the Ukranians are in the midst of government turmoil, reality TV is still king. To all those people who begged me to help decide the November election, whether you were serious or not, look—I'm not the voting population of Ohio. I can only work so many miracles when you people are so intensely divided. I deal in wish fulfillment, and I don't play politics. If you're good, I work to give you what you want. Try working it out with the rest of the people in the country, because it's Santa Policy that I don't grant one wish that directly contradicts another. This is also why I never deliver baby brothers or sisters.

I hate to take the "God" route with you all, but it's time you started solving your own problems. Maybe instead of writing on your cutesy little Xmas list that you want "an end to world hunger," you should wrap up a box of shredded wheat and send it to Rwanda. Let's not put everything off on me.

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