2005--New And Improved!

2005 doesn't really sound like a year. More like some space-age lubricant or someone's ill-conceived idea of a Stanley Kurbrick sequel.

But here we are. In the future. And it's scary as hell.

I won't dare list all the crap we need fear, as putting it all in one place might just crash this site under the weight of impending doom. So instead, let's just marvel at some of the amazing stuff that made 2004 one of the top 2000 years in entertainment since the birth of Christ. (Years 3, 8, and 45 didn't make the cut)

First thing: 2004 was the year Christ died. Again and again and again and in horrifying, excruciating agony for the ghoulish, self-congratulatory, masochistic hoots of the Christian movie-going masses. Yay, Jesus! Way to take a whipping! And then, just to prove who's our daddy, they run out and re-elect the most dangerously incompetent president since Merkin Muffley in Dr. Strangelove.

In 2004, we learned that Kobe Bryant is really quite the softy. The transcript of his first interview with Colorado police includes such gems as his initial denial of having sex with the victim, his predilection for choking his non-wife sexual partners from behind and finishing in true Peter North style, and his assertion that the victim "wasn't that attractive." Why won't Nike return his calls?

This year saw two Brittney Spears marriages, but the first one (the panty-less one), was a lot more fun, wasn't it?

The other big wedding was Star "Planet" Jones, who married Al Reynold's in an affair with more sponsors than The Superbowl and the Iraqi War put together. At least she was classy and gracious about the whole thing.

I realize that I just mentioned the Superbowl, but not yet Janet Jackson. I'm really still just too angry about the backlash surrounding that publicity stunt gone nuts. And I've already covered it here.

On a lighter note, was there anything more morbidly joyous than the dissolution of the Liza Minelli-David Gest "marriage" under accusations that she beat him? If there is something wrong with obtaining mirth from the flailings of a temperamental alcoholic songstress, then I don't wanna know what it is. There is just too much genuine evil in the world not to stand from a safe distance and admire this spectacle.

And yet, this year's Schadenfreude Award goes to Bill "Loofah" O'Reilly, whose sexually retarded fantasies spun over the phone for a strangely receptive (or actively recording) producer of his television show, will most certainly make you wonder what he meant by "falafel."

I could go on forever. Haven't even mentioned the coke-snorting Olsen (you know, the thin one), the Boston Red Sox, Michael "Fictional Documentarian" Moore, Martha Stewart or Lindsay Lohan. But all indulgent lists, like all apocalyptic years, must some day end.

Today is that day. Happy New Year, folks. May the next one continue to make us smile.