If you don't read Rehabilitating Mr.Wiggles you are either not aware of this fantastic comic strip or are a descent human being. Knowing many of you, I am going to bank of the former.

This, however, is not an intro to Mr.Wiggles for the uninitiated, for that requires several paragraphs explaining that AIDS, child molestation, genital mutilation, and homicide are no laughing matter, even if spoken by a teddy bear.

So, in that spirit is the New Year's strip, without apologies.

• Edit*

Christ, you can't read that. Go here to read it

wise words indeed.

My resolutions are

1) to pirate music a little less and pirate ships of bounty a little more.

2) help propel cybernetic crime fighting by injuring a police officer

3) not laugh so hard when people tell me The Bionic Woman is a good TV show.

4) don't necessarily drink less, but drink better.

5) write more and be less picky. I haven't updated my poetry blog since april (the site has been down for a month *cough*) because I am still wrestling with spacing and punctuation on three dozen pieces.

see you cats and kittens in a bit.

ZOMG!

Stop the press! I have a great addition to the Society page of the newspaper.

My first celebrity encounter was with Leslie Feinberg, author of [i]Stone Butch Blues[/i. I was working at Feel-Rite and she had a special order. Oh ya, I handled Leslie Feinberg's package. tee hee hee

Well, last night (e:Jim) and I went to Saigon Cafe for din-din. We had to wait a few minutes for a table and a party was getting up and took forever getting out. Among them was an old man singing unintelligible tunes softly. We heard he was celebrating his 98th birthday.

Hm, who else is celebrating their 98th birthday? According to a billboard in front of the historical society it is Milton Rogovin's 98th. So, ah ha! We stumbled upon the birthday party of the Buffalo's most influential, living artist.

His mustache moved me to tears.

Hi,

Any queer worth his salt should not only know but love and adore Gore Vidal. He was throwing down with Bill Buckley while toe tapping senators were still in diapers (not a joke about David Vitter).

Well, imagine if you would that his epic film Caligula were remade for todays theater goer at the edge of collapsing Imperial culture. And just when its star studded cast including Helen Mirren and Benicio Del Toro in sumptuous togas by Versac hooked you in you realize it was all a beautiful dream.

"Somewhere between pornography and ironic post-modern art lies Francesco Vezzoli's trailer for an imaginary remake of the notorious Caligula."

It is so, so not safe for work. But it would be worth getting fired for I think.



enjoy

Hi,

There is a hilarious story behind all of this, but only (e:Jim) knows all the players and so I will spare you it.

Well, there are four, count them four cats living in my bosses attic until the 1st. They need a new home before they are fed to the dogs. They are spayed/neutered and have all their shots. I can't say what their temperament is like.

Hm, you know. I think I will tell a little tale.

So, my boss and her husband were getting ready for a quiet life as their two children moved out. Just the two of them in the house they could take weekends in Canada, go together on conferences for his job, a blissful life together.

But then, she came into their life.

She was a butt ugly German Sheppard mutt who would gnaw on anything with razor puppy teeth. Their son had found her and took her in to his cramped studio apartment in Cleveland. The dog was nice (she wasn't) but she didn't get along with the cat. So, she ended up living not in Cleveland in a cramped studio apartment, but in Buffalo in a large home with his two parents.

But that was it. No, more, pets.

Then the son had to move to Baltimore, and kitty couldn't come.

So, a cat with a meow like a dying squeak toy came to move in with the dog she didn't get along with in a home with two people who wanted neither.

But that was it. No, more, pets.

Last year on Christmas morning the son noticed a dog outside the window. He was an emaciated yellow dog not quite lab. The concerned young man he is saw that the dog had no tag. With his heart full of Christmas generosity he brought the smelly gutter dog in and fed him the fat Sheppard dog's food.

Christmas ended and the son went back to Baltimore, with the dog still living in the house. The husband put his foot down. No, not another dog. No, no way, not how. I like him, so I helped them get rid of the dog. I took him to get scanned for an information chip. I then took him to the SPCA and turned in a found dog as a man with tears in his face brought in a beloved old pet to be put to sleep.

But that wasn't the end of the scraggly yellow dog. For the daughter, in the few hours she spent with him, fell in love with the dog. She went and adopted the scraggly yellow dog.

Of course, she had cats. The yellow dog came over to play with the fat dog. Then the yellow dog spent an evening or two over the house. Now, the yellow dog and the fat dog live together full time.

But that was it. No, more, pets.

Through another long, long story the daughter can no longer keep her FOUR cats. They are in the attic and headed to the SPCA soon. That is, unless one of you wants them.

But you can already see the plan erode. Sure, the deadline has been set to new year's day. But we all know they will still be here by July 4th. So please, wont you save a marriage and adopt one?

Hi,

I can't talk for long so this will have to be brief. Jim has left his laptop to go do something like eat or hydrate himself for the first time in days. I don't know when he will get back but if he finds me sending this message it is all over for me.
I have been at my parent's house since friday night. There is more food here than anyone could possibly eat. Seriously, I was going to make dates stufed with toasted pecans wrapped in bacon for an appitizer this evening. There were two 5lb bags of pecans hidden underneath mounds of 5lb bags of walnuts and almonds. I think if you added them all up their combined weight would be that of a grown man. A grown man complete with beard and pot belly no less!
The holiday madness rages on constantly. Here on Friday, Saturday family visited and the place was hopping with dozens of people. It was great. Later I got to hang out with my good friends Mike, Joe, and Hannah. They are high school chums and we do what we always do when we hang out during the holidays. Drink like fish.
As this is a vinyl sided suburb the only places to go are instantly familiar to you and everyone else in America. So, we went to Chilies, one of a few chain restaurant options with monopolize the local cuisine. Drat, a 45 minute wait. Thankfully as everything is in a strip mall it is only a two minute walk to the liquor store. We passed one of the hobo sized bottles of cheap rum back and forth in a crumpled brown paper bag. We drank in a tiny gazebo just out side the restaurant. A quaint pastoral touch out of place but drink-ready none the less. Well, from the time we got in the queue, got the bottle, and drank it only eight minutes had passed. Damn.
Well, we did this two more times. Each time walking into the liquor store with an increasing sense of self-deprecation. We didn't genuinely feel bad until we took the last bottle of coconut rum. And we certainly felt worse when we later bought some other beverage which tasted as much of rum as it did of Listerine.

Something happened later I seem to think. But I could be wrong. But I have been cooking for a few hours. Recipies that I would never cook for myself or loved ones, but which are required during the holidays. But I will spare you a description of butter and bacon grease dripping from things that are neither vegetable nor whole grain. I can feel my colon slowly becoming a vestigial organ.

you folks have a merry religious or secular time.