So we each woke up this morning, chiseled the dried vomit off our cheeks and thought, “Holy shit. 2005’s just about over and the bird flu didn’t get us.”
This means we get to look forward to another fucking post-millennial year. ‘Cause everything since 2000 has just been gravy. Hurricanes, looming pandemics, Bush, a long war, earthquakes, Olsens, Vaughniston, legalized sodomy, more Bush, Nancy Grace, 9/11, civil war in the Sudan, The War at Home. This decade just keeps getting worse.
So, with incipient disaster on our minds, join us in looking forward to what we’re pretty sure we’ll be complaining about throughout 2006. Happy goddamned New Year.
1. Pandemic-omonium! It won’t be H5N1, but whatever’s festering in Brittany Murphy’s inner thigh suddenly mutates and becomes airborne, traveling easily from person to person. As opposed to just traveling easily from Brittany to some dude.
2. Celebrity injury extravaganza!
- Nicole Kidman trips on the stairs and shatters.
- Janet sits on Mariah while fighting over the last chicken wing at the craft services table while rehearsing for Divas Live.
- Orlando Bloom’s lung collapses when he is crushed under the weight of his own failed potential.
- A mini-epidemic of carpal tunnel syndrome breaks out among screenwriters trying to write the next great blockbuster gay love story (and jerking off while writing the sex scenes).
- Anderson Cooper chokes on his own journalistic righteousness (that’s the official story; he’s actually trying to deep-throat Bill O’Reilly’s Polk Award).
- Eva Longoria is hospitalized after shouting, “Cinco de Mayo?! Should be more like Cinco de Take a Shower!” at the Los Angeles Festival de Cinco de Mayo, thereby inciting a riot. Unfortunately, the hospital’s Latino staffers spitefully refuse to bathe or feed her.

A plucky eleventh-grader has a 

God bless Minnesota. After a mind numbing week with my wonderful family and an abundance of mayonnaise-ridden holiday food, I can honestly say the only thing I’ve lost is any and all contact with the things I like to write about and you like to read about
We’re obviously a couple days late in commenting on the
‘Cause it’s the end of December and everyone else is doing it.
It’s been a long, hard, sweaty year, and the PEN15 needs a break. As you may have noticed, we haven’t posted much this week. And we don’t plan on posting much next week. Why? Because Jordan is in Minnesota trying to sleep with all the straight boys he had crushes on in high school, and I’ll be in Pittsburgh trying to wrestle the last drops of Cutty Sark out of my mom’s clutches.
Jordan and I were so amused when Desperate Housewives actor Page Kennedy (the big dude chained up in Alfre’s basement) was abruptly fired for “improper conduct” (read: flashing someone, possibly Marcia Cross), we
First, the low rise jeans phenomenon made ass cracks a viable accessory. Then nip slips became a red carpet mainstay. Now, erstwhile Tru Calling star Eliza Dushku drags us kicking and screaming into the next frontier of celebrity exhibitionism. On opening night of her new play Dog Sees God: Confessions of a Teenage Blockhead, after the curtain went down, Dushku’s meat curtains came out. She showed up to the party in a dress that exposed her
I just don’t like Bono. Really, I’ve tried to like him. In spite of the supposed brilliance of his music and all his good-cause-doing, I think it boils down to me just not caring for people who take themselves that seriously, which generally equates to people who wear sunglasses indoors.
