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Uh-Oh! Fever's Drinking Rum Again! We're Doomed!!

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It's usually about this time that I give you my year in review column. But, in a Rum fueled brainstorming session I thought; "Ya know, Doc, why in the hell would you give your readers the Best Of 2003 before it's even 2004 yet!? Leave that s*** to the 3rd rate, pandering rags like Rolling Stone." So, I am. You'll get the Doc's look at 2003 next month.

So, now, I face a problem. What in the hell am I going to write about for December??? It's already the 10th and I still haven't done s***. Keavin is calling the Lab everyday, screaming in broken gibberish about deadlines and site continuity and all sorts of Bad Crazyness. Thank god for caller I.D., otherwise I might ACTUALLY answer those calls instead of leaving them for my Machine. Then, of course, antiGUY is blowing up my cell phone. Leaving wild, Whiskey fueled voicemails bitching because Keavin keeps calling HIM babbling about "That damn drunk, he won't answer his phone!"  Personally, i'm hoping they'll both think i'm in Prision for some heinous crime.  That way I can buy myself some time and maybe i'll be able to come up with SOMETHING.

My Attorney keeps calling too. But, unlike the others, i'll take his calls. Our conversations never really go anywhere...just me mumbling about the vast Government conspiracy that's directly behind my writers block, cursing the names of Ashcroft and Cheney. My Attorney spends his end of the conversation assuring me that there is NO Government Conspiracy that's keeping me from getting my columns in even remotely on time and that perhaps I need to switch to a less potent form of beverage. Which, of course, results in me cursing him and hanging up the phone angrily. He should KNOW better by now than to make those kind of statements. I pay him all to well, DAMNIT! And he should know better than to question my Rum intake! Jesus!!

So, I guess...seeing as how NO ONE and NOTHING can seem to break me out of this funk. This writers block. I won't write a column for December.  I mean, sure, I could very easily sit here and write about any number of things...things like Courtney Love getting one step closer to realizing my dream for her (and that, of course, would be her being DEAD), Or Fred Durst continuing to prove what people such as myself have said for the longest time (he is the biggest Douche Bag in history.) Or I could always rehash the continuing dumbing down of America...bitch a little bit more about ol Jessica Simpson and The Wooden Guy and a nation of White Guys convinced that their From The Ghetto when their really from Rolling Pines Sub-Divsion (i.e. THE SUBURBS!)...or, I could get sad and lament the loss of Johnny Cash and Warren Zevon (two men of Genius. I dare anyone to question that assertion!) But, what would that accomplish? Oh, sure, Keavin would stop calling me for a few days and be able to rest, sanely, for the Holidays. And, antiGUY would get his sanity back and go back to what he loves best (Whiskey, of course.) But, that would just cheapen everything now wouldn't it?

So, NO! No column. No Year in Review. NONE OF IT! I am half drunk and crazy...so, of course, my reasoning is perfect. Besides, my anal retentive ass hasn't finished my Best Albums of The Year list yet. AND NOTHING HAPPENS until that is done!

Merry Christmas. This next shot of Rum is for you.

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