Thanks for sending forth somebody named Ludacris to represent how we've fared in the 21st century so far. Ludacris indeed.
Thanks for so many creepy people doing so much gallivanting around.
Thanks for People magazine, for about 25 years in a row now, naming someone less deserving than ol' moi as their Sexiest Man Alive.
Thanks for bringing us down out of the trees and having us walk upright on the savannahs so after a couple of million years we'd all get back trouble.
Thanks for the perv coaches who take up where the perv priests leave off.
Thanks to all of you who let your dogs use my front yard as a latrine.
Thanks for all the Hitler analogies. And thanks belatedly for Hitler too, BTW.
Thanks for the 31,847 documented butt-whippings that were administered to school children in 2010-2011 in just this one small state. Beating is so retro; when do we upgrade to tasering or waterboarding?
Thanks for the alternative of a whole slew of presidential candidates that don't a single one of them have a lick of sense.
Thanks for the Capitol being lit this Christmas season by the dimmest bunch of bulbs ever.
Thanks for what happened with the Splendid Splinter's head.
Thanks for the cowbell that comes with only one instruction in the trouble-shooting manual: Add cowbell.
Thanks for a lifetime of anti-dexterity that prevents me from being able to fix things that aren't broke.
Thanks for the Duggars making hay while the sun shines. Time'll come, maybe 50, 60 offspring from now, when they'll have to start slowing down.
Thanks for Martha Shoffner's cipherin' skills.
Thanks for Mark Martin's humility.
Thanks for Michelle Bachmann having aced 4th grade geography.
Thanks for the new crop of broken teeth from the new stash of holiday peanut brittle.
Thanks for the parental obligation to explain to the young'uns what the stiffener ads are all about — the ones that say take this pill so when the time is right you and Woody will be ready.
Thanks for the whole slithy tove of Cheneys still gyring and gimboling in the wabe.
Thanks for the big difference that cutting the state sales tax has meant in the price of groceries.
Thanks for so many people routinely murdering their children that Nancy Grace can't keep track.
Thanks for all the double dippers double dipping.
Thanks for the statistic that there are 35 serial killers doing their thing in the United States at any given time.
Thanks to actor Tim Moore for having anticipated by 50 years Herman Cain's run for the presidency.
Thanks for the rapture prophets who are going to get it right someday and fly off exactly on schedule.
Thanks for Ponzi, the cool guy who jumped the shark, and his scheme.
Thanks for the death of newspapering even if the nigh-empty husks remain.
Thanks for doubling the human lifespan but halving the quality of it.
Thanks for instructing Noah to take along two dog-peter gnats.
Thanks for having made the Earth the center of the universe around which the sun and all the stars revolve. Easier to understand, and returns us to our rightful place at the center of attention.
Thanks for skunks that get under the house and mate there odoriferously with trolls.
Thanks for all the birds and fish committing suicide in ritual protest against our poisoning of their habitat.
Thanks for a House Speaker who's orange.
Thanks for the last mosquito of 2011 licking its chops in the warm dark of my upstairs bedroom.
Thanks for what meth does to its users' teeth — a piehole manifestation of what it's doing to their souls.
Thanks for the crazy hairy ants coming on like gangbusters.
Thanks for all these deppity and swatter types so eager to pepper-spray somebody that they're picking on decorated war vets and 84-year-old grannies.
Thanks for the late Mayor Mack McKenzie's observation that evolution can't be true because "as much as we sit around and gab, we'd all have asses four foot wide and tongues two foot long."
Thanks for the ambulatory runic billboards that were mere prisoners before Betsey Wright took up their cause.
Thanks for the popular enthusiasm for torture, as long as it's us torturing them.
Thanks for Mark Pryor's depth.
Thanks for ballpoint pens as a reminder of a time when we didn't do most of our writing with our thumbs.
Thanks for the continuing stage fright of the elusive bird with the ivory pecker.
Thanks for the weird weather patterns indicative of climate change caused by humans who'll not admit fault until they're armpit deep in sharks and polar bears.