To prevent the Dec. 21, 2012 Apocalypse predicted in the Mayan calendar, it is written that we each must sacrifice one Mayan virgin at the stroke of midnight tonight. Not to worry, though -- if Mayan virgins are in short supply in your area, the sacrifice of six Mayan sluts and one Mayan Virgil will suffice.

It's hard to blame social conservatives for their suspicions about Mitt Romney. Mark my words: As soon as he clinches the GOP nomination, he's gonna reveal he has six other marriages, two of 'em to men.

Prediction: Romney wins big in Iowa, Santorum surprises with second-place finish. Suggested headline: Romney Cleans Up After Santorum Surge. You're welcome, Des Moines Register.

Zuckerberg expands relationship-status options, adding: "Just Facebook and me," "Single -- wait, do cats count?", "Single but stalking," "Sexting several people regularly," "Clinging to my guns and my religion" and "Married but I'm pretty sure she has a divorce lawyer on speed dial." #2012prediction

Competition for Nebraska's GOP Senate nomination gets more intense as Stenberg takes aim -- finally, thank God -- at Bruning's despicable comparison of welfare recipients to raccoons. "Yes, he called them raccoons," Stenberg says indignantly in a campaign ad. "Can you imagine such insensitivity? Raccoons are bright, intelligent, lovable." Stenberg's poll numbers among Tea Partiers go through the roof when he likens welfare recipients instead to sewer rats. #2012prediction

People scoffed when Warren Buffett became the only investor getting into the newspaper business these days, but he expands his media holdings by buying a smoke-signal outfit, a telegraph company, a Dixie-cup-and-string telephone corporation and, finally, a cave-painting firm. By year's end, the Bard of Omaha has driven the Internet out of business. #2012prediction

On hearing Kim Jong-un is the new Supreme Leader, Michele Bachmann leads an Iowa campaign rally in an emotional prayer in memory of Diana Ross.

On this glorious 50-something-degree Dec. 28, I wrestled at some length with guilt over my urge to take a nap rather than go outside to play. Two hours later when I awoke, though, the guilt was gone. I guess I slept it off.

I will begin, slowly but steadily, to build the case for the insanity defense that I expect to need some day. #2012resolution

Ron Paul catches a huge break the day before the Iowa caucuses when yet another politician's embarrassing old newsletters revealing a sordid past emerge -- these suggesting that Mitt Romney once governed Massachusetts. #2012prediction

Huskers' new marketing slogan as they begin their first Big Ten conference basketball schedule -- "Nebrasketball: Poop Dreams."

Ben Nelson declines to seek re-election. Gonna be weird having a Democrat on the ballot next year.

Watched "It's a Wonderful Life" for, like, the 20th time last night. Still don't get it -- Pottersville looks like a blast.

Badgers announce they'll spot Nebrasketball the number of points Huskers' football team scored against them Oct. 1 (17) just to make things sporting tonight.

Steve Pederson hires Bill Callahan as head coach at Pitt, which then beats the Huskers in the BCS title game. Yes, the sun still comes up the next morning, though you wouldn't know it in Nebraska, as the angst-ridden state is consumed by a sinkhole overnight. Callahan stands at the edge of the Nebraska-shaped hole in the middle of the nation and taunts, "f---in' hillbillies." #2012prediction

I love the "Mission Impossible" movies and probably will see the new one -- but first must get past the fact that Tom Cruise is the only actor I can’t watch without being completely distracted by what an utterly crazy dipshit he is in real life.

When invited to participate in brainstorming, I no longer will take the "there-are-no-stupid-ideas” reassurance as a challenge. #2012resolution

I just cut myself and now seem to be bleeding some combination of chocolate, cream cheese, cider and cookie sprinkles. Must. eat. vegetables. now.

Dec. 25, 2011

Re: The War on Christmas

Christmas appears to have won. Again.

OK, for you twice-a-year Mass-goers, a quick briefing: It's "and with your spirit," not "and also with you;" look up "consubstantial" in the dictionary this afternoon and use it in conversation a couple of times so you're comfortable with it; and, most important, the Sign of the Cross now begins with a leap in the air and click of the heels.

If Heaven has a smell, I'll bet it's kitchen at Christmas.

I'm dreaming of a no-assembly-required Christmas.

Dairy State Congressman Sensenbrenner has to apologize when he sends a Martin Luther King Jr. Day gift of a case of chocolate milk to Michelle Obama, who forgives him for the color of the milk but remains outraged that it's not skim. #2012prediction

Michelle Obama accepted Sensenbrenner's apology, while gracefully acknowledging that the congressman clearly does have some expertise on fat asses.

Hoping to break my own record for most straight hours in sweats over the holiday break, I face a moral dilemma: Is it cheating to change into them for the last four hours of the workweek?

At last, peace on earth -- a way to end the tension and angst over holiday greetings and come together in unity and ecumenical peace, no matter one's traditions, beliefs or nonbeliefs. It goes like this: Use whatever greeting you prefer -- Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Season's Greetings, Happy Hanukkah, Kickin' Kwanzaa -- but append to each that classic Griswoldian coda. You know the one.

Finally, we all can get along now.

Or, as little Timmy Cratchit now would put it: God bless us everyone, shitter was full.

Just days before we celebrate His birth, House GOP leaders appear to have come to Jesus on the payroll tax cut.

Jackie Chiles joins the Sandusky legal dream team, later calls working with them "the most public yet of my many humiliations." #2012predictions

Our dumb Shih Tzu -- dumbShihT for short -- managed to sneak into the Christmas goodies and later threw up half his weight in banana nut bread in multiple spots on the family room carpet, mere hours before our scheduled rental of a Rug Doctor, instead of afterward. That may not be Hallmark or Lifetime-movie material, but around here it qualifies as a Christmas miracle.

People who believe everything college coaches and athletic directors say no doubt also have significant investments in the Central Bank of Nigeria.

He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake, he knows if you've been bad or good. He sees what websites you visit, he knows who you’re secretly texting, he sees you sneaking that cigarette when you take out the trash, he sees you helping yourself to Starbucks money from your child's jar of change, he sees you cheat on your taxes, he knows your social security number and all your computer passwords, he sees you embezzle from your office.

Damn, you may have to kill this guy.

As Kim Jong-il lies in state, this warning from the Most Benevolent Ruling Committee: The next person who steals the shades off his face will be summarily executed.

Newt Gingrich’s poll numbers have taken a sudden drop, as that loud slapping sound heard from Iowa was thousands of Republicans striking their foreheads and saying, “Wait, it’s THAT Newt Gingrich?!”

Alas, my sons are ill-prepared to assume iron-fisted control upon my demise, despite years of my nagging, “Go to your room and practice your enigmatism, boy!”

BREAKING NEWS: One of Santa's state-of-the-art He Knows If You've Been Bad or Good Drones has been shot down and is being held for ransom by some punk kid on the naughty list.

Man, that Kim Jong-un sure looks like a dumb, doughy faced wussbag, doesn't he? Oops, sorry. I mean Supreme Dearly Beloved Glorious Peerless Dumb Doughy Faced Wussbag.

To be on the safe side, I'm gonna need to see a death certificate before I take down all my Dear Leader posters.

Meantime, on the campaign trail in Iowa, Rick Perry says the impact of Kim Jong-Il's death is uncertain. "Let's wait and see who takes over -- Kourtney Jong-Il or Khloe Jong-Il."

I can't decide which is the more satisfying contemplation of the afterlife this week: Christopher Hitchens' discovery that, contrary to his beliefs, there is a heaven, or Kim Jong-Il's realization that there is a hell.

Kim Jong-Il's last words reportedly came as he was watching CBS's "Face the Nation" today: "Man, that Newt Gingrich sure is sounding awfully megalomaniacal, isn't he?"

Man, I cannot wait for that hack Harry Reid's waterboarding the first time he crosses President Gingrich.

Newt Gingrich says he'll also send U.S. Marshals out to track down new wives for himself as needed.

Holy crap, I think Obama just killed Kim Jong-Il!

Full tank of gas in the car, food and beverages stowed in the back seat, Stadium Buddy strapped on, I’m headed to the mall to play Christmas Parking Lot A-hole: Park in a spot, pull halfway out as a shopper waits to park there, then pull back in. Over and over again. Game continues ‘til 9, or until someone beats me senseless.

Kids, a reminder: Santa does NOT accept tweets, texts or posts on his Facebook wall as legal wish-list tender. Sit down with paper and pen, pencil or crayon and write him a damn letter.

Lady Gaga opens a chain of hair salons called Shorn This Way. #2012Predictions

A Christmas shopping tip for this next week: Pretend everyone else is part of an elaborately constructed flash mob designed solely to annoy you, and just enjoy the brilliant prank.

Isn't it great to live in a country where anyone can grow up to be the GOP presidential frontrunner?

I'm still bad but, alas, only region-wide now. A lotta budget cuts this year.

People who window shop are buy-curious.

Just eight shopping days until you return all the crappy gifts you got for Christmas.

Husker fans, in this season of goodwill toward man, peace on Earth and all that, it’s really not very nice to take such obvious pleasure in Steve Pederson’s woes at Pittsburgh. But what the hell, no one’s perfect. So, all together now: Ho. Ho. Ho.

How is it someone hasn't made a dark comedy that turns "It's A Wonderful Life" on its head? An insufferably self-satisfied, wealthy, successful man who is one of life's takers, who abuses and mistreats others but thinks he's God's gift to the world finds out, with help from an angel, how much better everyone's life would have been had he never existed. His wife would have married better, her children well-adjusted, better looking and higher-achieving than the ones he had with her. Everyone who encounters him is happier without him in their lives, from the barista he berates at the coffee shop for too much soy milk in his latte to the employees he brutalizes daily. It ends with him contemplating living on, but the angel convinces him to end it all.

What? Look, I warned you it was a dark comedy.

Although it’s true Santa makes a list and checks it twice, he actually goes over the naughty column three, four, sometimes five times. It’s a lot more interesting reading.

Reportedly, Pitt's head football coach is quitting to take Arizona State job. But good news, Steve Pederson: There's already a pool of crappy, just-fired NFL coaches from which to choose -- Haley, Del Rio, Sparano. Presumably, Pedey will wait a few weeks for the real pick of the litter, though -- Norv Turner.

Please, your honor, a gag order on all football metaphors by attorneys and media in the Sandusky case. Thank you.

The most terrifying words of the season: "Coming next, an original TV Christmas movie."

Time for a new edition of Beaucoup Boku, as Coach Pelini reports on the latest Husker developments in haiku form:

First Caputo, then
Martin. Careful, Rex, pre-bowl
dumbassness spreading

Moms, dads, before you plop your tykes up there to share their Christmas wishes, be sure to lay down a Santa Lapkin. From Johnson & Johnson, these disposable, absorbent, “santitary” lapkins protect your child from grime, germs, vermin and bodily fluids from Claus and his previous visitors. Santa Lapkins – available in absorbent or extra-absorbent; fragrance-free, or pine- or peppermint-scented; and in regular lap-size or full Claus coverage. Santa Lapkins – because, after all, do you really know where that lap has been?

Doubting Virginia asks: Is Tebow real?

Dear editor: My friends don’t believe in Tebow. Signed, Virginia.

Virginia, your friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except what washed-up, envious ex-quarterbacks; Mel Kiper Jr.; ink-stained, obsolete, soon-to-be-on-the-unemployment-line newspaper columnists; and blithering ESPN hacks embittered because they never played the game tell them. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by the NFL draft board, over 105 years of history of the forward pass or their fantasy-football statistics.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Tebow. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion and, most important of all, Norv Turner and a truly shitty AFC Western Division exist, and you know that they – especially that last one -- abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas, how dreary would be the world if there were no Tebow. It would be as dreary as if there were no Elway, no TJ, no Alzado. Or, more to the point, as dreary as if you still had behind center Orton, or Griese, or Brister, or Frerotte, or Beuerlein, or Kanell, or DeBerg, or Weese, or Hufnagel, or Penrose, or, oh, what a quarterbacking crapfest you have endured, Virginia. Have you considered following lacrosse?

Not believe in Tebow! You might as well not believe in Jesus! (As if there’s a difference!)

No Tebow? Thank God, he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand Super Bowl titles from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand Super Bowl titles from now, as Denverites take a knee daily in homage as a Muslim bowing to Mecca, he will continue to make glad the heart of Broncodom.

Unless he starts sucking bilge water again, of course. In which case, you’ll have to believe in Brady Quinn. You’re on your own there, Virginia.

Store clerk wished me "Happy Holidays" yesterday. Naturally, I had no choice but to open up a can o' peace-on-earth whoop-ass on the heathen.

When a politician starts thumping the Bible, just once I’d like to hear him talk about the love-one-another part.

OK, let us review: Last week Tebow beat a quarterback named Christian, though his last name WAS Ponder, so perhaps it was his uncertain faith that was key. Today, Tebow stepped it up a notch, besting a quarterback named Caleb, named for one of Moses’s right-hand men during that whole parting of the Red Sea and such and known as someone who followed the greatest commandment of all, to love God wholeheartedly. Damn. Now, next week’s opponent offers a whole new challenge. Would you believe Tom Brady, he who beds a shallow supermodel and serves the NFL's evil incarnate, Bill Belichick. I tell ya, I’m startin’ to get a little tingly.

Went to Mass at a local convent today. Quite lovely, peaceful, quiet, except for my wife's screaming and crying when we wouldn't let her stay.

There's nothing more humiliating for a 50-year-old fat guy than to have to approach a 20-year-old morbidly fit female assistant manager to quit his gym membership. I could tell her I'm just joining another gym, which is true, but I'll know she won't believe it from the pity in her eyes. I may have to have my wife do this.

Cops warn of a particularly manipulative scam at American stores this time of year. A little boy in checkout line claims not to have enough money to buy Christmas shoes for his dying mom, who just might "meet Jesus tonight." If you see this lad ahead of you, do not look directly into those big, dewy, tear-filled eyes when he turns to you. Cuff him on the ears, grab him by his scruffy neck and call store security immediately. Some nights, they're rounding up a couple dozen of these smarmy little con men in a single mall. In one instance, cops pulled over a bus containing 40 of 'em and hundreds of boxes of shoes from all over the city. Bus was being driven by some dude claiming to be a Nigerian prince.

Gov. Perry. It's me, God

God -- who, you'll recall, got us into this mess in the first place -- appeared before a Rick Perry campaign meeting last night. He took shape in the cheese pattern on a pepperoni pizza on the table before them, having scolded Jesus and Mary for their overuse of toast and tree bark for their own appearances.

He came upon staffers planning Perry's next Iowa ad, which will brag about how many of the 234 executed under the Texas governor's watch were gay.

Said the Lord: "Governor, contrary to popular opinion, I am not infallible. Sometimes, I get things wrong. Sometimes, I'm ashamed to say, I just like to screw with people. Like Pat Robertson. Sometimes I whisper the goofiest, most godawful -- ha! -- stuff into his ear because he'll run with anything I say. Anything. I am so bad sometimes.

"Anyway, in a passing moment, I may have muttered, 'what this race needs is a nasty, ignorant bigot from Texas so they'll appreciate that Mewt and Nitt aren't so bad after all.'

"But I blew it. And though I know you believe in your heart you're on My side and doing My work, please don't do Me any more favors. So, go ahead and finish this pizza -- wait 'til I get out of it, of course -- and head home.

"For my son, though it pains me to say it, you haven't got a prayer."

Before I go Christmas shopping at the mall this weekend, just checking: That whole flash-mob thing is over, right? Better take the pepper spray just in case, I guess.

Ah, the holiday office party: A chance to spend extra time around people you otherwise insist on being paid to be with.

Granted, Jesus urged us believers not to hide our lamps under a basket, but, contrary to certain politicians' actions, I doubt He wants us shining those high beams directly into people’s eyes all the time and bragging about how bright we are, either.

If you think YouTube sensation Oskar the Blind Kitten is adorable, wait 'til you see the followup -- Zeke the Incontinent Dog.

Rick Perry accuses the president of waging "war on religion." I'm not too worried. Religion has prevailed over a lot more daunting enemies than Obama. However, Perry's war on coherence and decency is a much more even fight.

Never mind porn. Wait ‘til you find in the Internet history that your kid’s been exploring nursing home websites and involuntary-commitment procedures.

God bless Mitt Roemney – oops, I mean Romney -- for, however briefly, making Dan Quayle jokes topical again. Now, if only Larry Craig would weigh in on the Republican race. You know, tell us which candidate has the best stance. Who sucks. And so on.

See, I’m ready.

Exciting news: Scientists have discovered the most Earth-like planet yet circling a star 600 light years away. Kepler-22b, one of more than 500 planets found to orbit stars beyond our solar system, is the best positioned to have liquid water on its surface. Pretty much like our planet in all respects, although scientists are a bit uneasy at signs it has a much higher form of intelligent life. Yeah, that's right -- they've managed to come up with a college-football playoff system there. (Ba-da-bomp.)

Oh crap, here we go again. CNN’s reporting that U.S. and international law enforcement are investigating suspicious behavior by yet another respected male authority figure. No name released yet, but it seems this rather dandily dressed and overtly twinkling old man keeps a bunch of youngsters confined in a place he calls his "workshop" all year and then takes them with him on a lengthy business trip in late December. He actually calls them his “little elves.” Eew. Arrest said to be imminent, thank God.

Our Shih-Tzu is playing with a couple of baby toys he's retrieved from one of his hiding spots in the house. We've never seen them before, have no idea where he got them. It's a complete mystery. If he comes out with one more, I guess I'd better go in search of the baby he has stashed somewhere.

I have done some calculations, and the Huskers still have a chance to play in the BCS title game. Granted, it would involve a remarkable confluence of events both plausible -- say, the spontaneous combustion of Les Miles, or Nick Saban's sudden reversion to his original reptilian form -- and highly implausible -- unprecedented mass emergency NCAA sanctions against entire conferences, like, say, the Big 12 for general fraudulence; perhaps a dozen or so tragic practice-field or locker-room explosions; a team or two laid low by a nasty outbreak of food-poisoning from bad jambalaya in New Orleans Jan. 8; and maybe another team or two declared ineligible after encounters with a bunch of Cajun transvestite hookers outside the Superdome.

Unlikely, sure. Still, it's the season of hope. GBR!

It's early December, and I wonder why the NFL, so replete with cliches and go-to phrases, has yet to come up with a term for those games that come after your crappy team already has lost at least two "must-win games," or an anatomically oriented phrase for when they clearly no longer "have their backs against the wall." For the former, I'm thinking: “The Chargers have a who-gives-a-shit game against the Jaguars Monday night.” And, for the latter: "Man, the Chargers are down on their elbows and asses up." Feel free to use these as needed.

Ron Paul rejects Donald Trump as moderator of the Dec. 27 GOP debate, saying the short-fingered vulgarian would “contribute to an unwanted circus-like atmosphere.” Wait, what? It's an UNWANTED circus-like atmosphere? I guess I had 'em all wrong. But I'm warming to The Donald as moderator. After he tells the current candidates "you're fired," out from behind the curtain will step, finally, the real GOP candidates: Chris Christie, Mitch Daniels and, bestill my moderate Republican heart, Howard Baker.

As I strained to shovel several inches of heavy, wet snow this afternoon, it occurred to me that as of this year, I am now a man of a certain age -- not to mention a man of a certain body-fat index, of a certain cholesterol level, of a certain stubbornness, of a certain level of sedentariness, of a certain shortage of child labor at home and, lastly, of a certain geographic location (to wit, Nebraska, instead of Florida) -- that makes me likely to take my last breath face down in a snow drift, freshly broken shovel lying beside me; my worthless dog, instead of bravely running for help, nosing through my pockets looking for the mid-shoveling-break chocolates he knows I put in there; and my daughter, returning home in the dark a couple of hours later assuming that lump in the snow is an aborted effort at a snow fort and not missing me until two hours after that when she notices no snoring coming from the recliner chair.

Suh ran his car into a tree in Portland. He was fine -- that is, until he got out of the car and started stomping on the tree.

In his defense, Cain's friends say the marriage had been basically dead since the day he came home unexpectedly early from a business trip and caught Gloria halfway through a Pizza Hut Supreme.

Meantime, somewhere Bill Clinton is muttering at the screen: "Damn fool. You were so close to scoring some of that sweet Oval Office action."

Breaking news: Herman Cain suspending campaign to spend more time cheating on his family.

I don't mean to be rude, but I refuse to activate the social reader applications that allow Facebook friends to see the articles others are reading. I'm just not comfortable with everyone knowing how closely I follow the Kardashians, OK?

The real tragedy of Cain's implosion is that it has overwhelmed his message -- of what a truly awful president he would have been.

A sure sign it's Christmas time: The formal dining room, used as a landfill 11 months of the year, has been cleared for, you know, dining and such.

Suh for defensive coordinator! New Huskers' slogan: "You will know us by the trail of dead."

Uh-oh, there's been a terrible misunderstanding. The ever-combative Carl Pelini thinks he’s taking the head coaching job at a place called FU.

Like Herman Cain, I, too, need to have a difficult conversation with my wife this weekend – not to explain that I’m giving another woman money and gifts, but rather to explain that if she’s expecting either for Christmas, she’s gonna need to find another man.

Let me be the first person in Lincoln to bitch about the crappy job the city is doing plowing snow this weekend.

I don't wish Neil Diamond ill, but I sure do hope his will includes instructions for his epitaph to be: "I Was ... I Say."

You heard it here first: Newt's campaign is about to implode over revelations he employed illegal-immigrant children as janitors.

Well, that didn't take long. Congress lifts ban on horse slaughter. Subway's January $5 Footlong special: Filly Cheesesteak.

To clarify: Congress lifted the ban on horse slaughter, NOT on horses’ laughter. The latter is still forbidden, thank God.

Although it shames you to say it, because it's all kinds of politically incorrect, some days there’s just no other way to put it than you feel like you’re on a kamikaze mission at a Mexican standoff in the middle of a Chinese fire drill and you fear for your scalp as you circle the wagons and wait for the cavalry to arrive.

Think of Rick Perry's poor kids. They didn't get to drive 'til they turned 18.

Get off Urban Meyer's back, haters. Have you MET his family?

Ginger White allegedly stuck with Herman Cain for 13 years -- proving, just as we men long have suspected, that whatever women SAY they want, it’s really all about free pizza.

A Suhmas Story

No one's mentioned the fine print in Suh's punishment. It seems Roger Goodell also ordered him to make one of those uplifting Lifetime Network Christmas movies that specialize in wretched souls finding redemption amid the joy of the season and a crapload of Toys 'R Us, Lexus and jewelry commercials.

It goes something like this:

On Christmas Eve, Suh sees Santa holding a football, a gift for a child; let’s go ahead and call him Tiny Tim. Suh gets confused, kicks Claus in his, um, ornaments, body slams him down a chimney and picks up the fumble. For good measure, he also punches Rudolph in the face, recalling what another Detroit Lions’ lineman once did to a horse in a certain Mel Brooks movie.

Santa goes on Injured Reserve, and Suh has to take over the job.

With the help of a plucky quarterback played by Colt McCoy and a multi-ethnic, multi-gendered, multi-abled and multi-sexually oriented bunch of elves, he learns the true meaning of Christmas: peace on Earth, goodwill toward all mankind, even QBs, and a Lions’ playoff berth. OK, that last might be a little far-fetched, but ‘tis the season to Believe, after all.

Great music includes “Here Comes Santa Cl --- Oh, F--- No, It’s Suh! Run!;” McCoy's stirring rendition of "I'm Dreaming of a Concussed --Um, Let's See, What ...? Oh, Yeah – Christmas;" “All I Want for Christmas is to Knock Out Someone’s Two Front Teeth;” and "I Saw Ndamukong Stomping Santa Claus."

Have some tissues handy for the dramatic climax, as Suh lifts McCoy up to put the star atop the tree and has one final crisis of spirit and conscience as he contemplates hurling him into the buffet table, but relents when an angel that looks suspiciously like Roger Goodell shows him a vision of his future living on the Island of Misfit Players, trying out, unsuccessfully, for the UFL’s Hartford Colonials and grubbing for work as a sparring partner for Ultimate Fighters.

Not to mention starring in another holiday special, dressed in diaper and sash as the 2012 New Year’s Baby.

As Suh gently lowers a squirming, crying, self-soiled McCoy to the floor, the whole cast gathers to close the show with a heartfelt version of “Suhlent Night.”