oodbye, 2004. Thanks so much for biting the dong and hanging around for at least eleven months too long, until it finally took a forty-story tall wall of hauling ass saltwater to wash your taste out of our mouths. Thanks for finally dragging your skanky, broken ass off our calendar at last, and don’t think we won’t be calling the Goodwill in the morning to come pick up what’s left of your shit. The new year is here, and it doesn’t stink quite so strongly of Jovan Musk.

2004 dazzled us like strange, incomprehensible kabuki theater, in which a talking gonad was somehow re-elected president and the biggest group of losers this side of Color Me Badd accidentally won the World Series. Martha Stewart went to jail and Kobe Bryant didn’t, teaching America’s children a valuable lesson about the horrors of overly tasteful home décor. The country had to grow up fast with the revelation that Janet Jackson has breasts, while her brother Michael strangely has no interest in the same. Americans everywhere were up in arms about an unjustified war in Iraq… no wait, sorry. Americans everywhere were up in arms about a fertilizer salesman who snuffed his wife, vigilantly demanding to see justice done before more Modesto singles could be put in harm’s way.

Meanwhile, on the bright side of political news, Ronald Reagan and Yasser Arafat both died in “unrelated� incidents, leaving more Ben Gay for the rest of us.

There were also the usual run of celebrity mercy killings, though 2004 couldn’t even get those right, as nobody was especially eager to see Ray Charles, Marlon Brando, Rodney Dangerfield or Christopher Reeve go. Though the thought of the four of them all on the same bus to the afterlife offers many amusing possibilities, which isn’t a half-bad idea for a sitcom or at least a winning bar joke. Note to self: write down this million-dollar idea!

2004 was the year gays started getting married, Britney Spears couldn’t stay married, and somebody accidentally married J-Lo. Though thanks to a timely UN intervention, Ben Affleck remained single at year’s end.

But mostly, 2004 felt like a dead hooker rolled up in a carpet, which shrinks mercifully in the rearview mirror by the minute as we peel out bravely into the future. Both of the top grossing films of the year were sequels, which seems like a golden treat when you realize the third-place film was about Jesus getting the holy shit beaten out of him. And the top-selling album of the year was by some kind of disgruntled movie theater employee, likely having had to sit through one too many screenings of The Passion of the Christ or, even worse, Catwoman.

However, movies couldn’t sate our thirst for horribleness in 2004, so the real world had to oblige us with the Madrid train attacks, ethnic cleansing in Sudan, and the tragic first-ever meeting of the Russian PTA. By the time the south Asian tsunami rinsed what was left of 2004 down the crapper, few were sad to see it go. Unless they were wealthy, horny Republican NBA stars with points on The Passion.

We’ll miss you, 2004. Like we miss polyester underwear. Don’t let history hit you in the ass on your way out.

he whole wide world heaved a giant sigh of relief this week with the news that disaster had been averted: despite Mother Nature’s best attempts to rob us of one of our most beautiful people, pretty Czech supermodel Petra Nemcova has survived the Asian tsunami. Accidentally trapped in the midst of the ugly foreign tragedy while on a glamorous beach vacation, Nemcova soldiered through the big wet mess by clinging bravely to a tree while her photographer boyfriend was tsunamied to his apparent death. Nemcova sustained only moderate injuries in what international aid workers are calling “a miracle from God.�

That same miracle, however, killed over 155,000 foreign peoples, most of whom can charitably be described as “nobodies.� To date, the bodies of over 155,000 nobodies have been found in disaster recovery operations throughout southern Asia. The search for celebrities continues.

In the wake of the recent tsunamic free-for-all, American President George W. Bush has vowed vengeance against all nations suspected of harboring or supporting the deadly ocean waves. Early reports indicate that the Middle Eastern nations of Iran and Syria are already on the president’s tsunami “shit list.�

Other nations known to have studied tsunamis in the past, including Jordan and Turkey, are reportedly also under close watch. Lending credence to the theory that oil and evil go together like beef and cheese, Bush also suggested that Saudi Arabia is skating on thin ice regarding their own tsunami-harboring status.

“This terrible tragedy has earned the president precious political capital, and he intends to use it,� explained the Secretary of State Colin Powell, indicating that American troops were even now readying to kick the Iranians’ tsunami-loving butts back to Tehran.

Little is known about the elusive tsunami, whose name comes from the Japanese word for “big fucking milkshake.� First described in the 1964 pop hit “Love Tsunami� by Little Johnny Maxwell, scientists have been unable to determine where the giant killer waves come from, or where they hide out between attacks.

“A tsunami is apparently some kind of big wavy thing,� explained University of Minnesota geologist Hans Goering. “I know, woo—scary. But apparently a lot of those people didn’t know how to swim or something. In addition, we believe that this event may have featured an unprecedented number of surfing fatalities. Kids should take heart and remember to always wear a bicycle helmet while surfing. Also, don’t fall asleep in a hut on the beach.�

Nemcova’s miraculous survival has brought hope to millions in the region, who take heart in the fact that despite the widespread misery and destruction prevalent in so many countries bordering the Indian Ocean, no famous or really beautiful Americans were killed in the tsunami attack. Meanwhile, international aid groups continue to search the wreckage day and night for signs of anyone you may have heard of.

I don't follow the news. At least not the word news. I didn't know there was word news, until I woke up last week and realized I don't have any idea what anyone is talking about anymore. Apparently some time recently they decided to add a million new words to the language and I'm the only one who didn't get the memo. What are all you people watching, MTV? Was it on Oxygen? I don't get Oxygen. I mean, I'm supposed to have it, but it comes in like half Mexican sitcoms. I don't think that's what Oxygen is supposed to be. They must be the ones in charge of announcing the word news.

I don't know who the Governator is. Somebody this morning told me that's the nickname for Arnold Schwarzenbruger. Is that a real word? Schwarzenbruger? Who's that? If he's a host on Oxygen I'm going to call my cable company and bitch them out, I'm missing everything.

I have no idea what a flexitarian is. I'd guess it was someone who eats only little flecks of food, like to lose weight, except I think then it would be spelled differently. But then again sometimes they play fast and loose with the rules when they're spelling new words, they get a little wacky. "Creative," some call it. I'm one of the ones who call it a "bullshit." But regardless, I think flexitarian must be some kind of new diet, like to gain some showy-offy muscle. I talked to a guy on the subway the other day who said he was a Mexitarian, he only eats Mexican food, and man did he smell like it. But I don't think that's the same thing at all.

Apparently my neighbor is a metrosexual, and I'm scared of what that might mean. It definitely involves sex, and that's rarely good. My only association with "Metro" is that Berlin song from the 80's. So maybe the guy only has sex on the train or while listening to hits from the 80's. God that's creepy. I'm hoping I'm way off base on this one. Maybe he only has sex with people he just met.

According to her yearly Christmas letter, my sister is a freegan now, not that she included a glossary at the end of the letter for those of us who are Oxygen-impaired. So I'm not sure what to think of her now. Could be good, could be bad. Does she only eat free-range chickens? Fat-free foods? I just wish she'd make up her mind, pick one thing to be and stick with it. Last I heard she was a MILF.

I thought I was just being paranoid until I got this message on my cell phone the other day, which I think might have been in English:

"Hey, yo. Sorry I missed the thing, I swear to God I'm like a walking piñata today; I'm hinky as all hell. First I get stuck behind this asshat and his little dog, too, on the sidewalk. I almost had to kick that little chow in the neuticles to get by, it was ricockulous. Then this manscaping muggle scared the kablokeys out of me on the subway, and he wouldn't stop yammering on about how he had to sell his McMansion because his dot bomb took a shit after nobody wanted to buy some retro blobject he'd invented that ran on assoline and now he had to move back into his starter castle. What a chunk. Anyway, I've got to meet my hick Preslyterian therapist at my tanorexia support group at four, so bye."

I don't have any idea who the call was from, but the girl at Verizon said they were probably just trying to call somebody in my "phone family." Eh? At that point I resolved to just abandon English and learn to speak Spanish instead; less new words to memorize that way. ¡Deséeme la suerte!

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