Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow.

You have all been very, very bad boys and girls this year, and alas, Santa Peabs must spank each and every one of you fucking handjobs with an unlubed dildo until you confess how naughty you've been. Bovs. And don't try to tell yours effing truly that you've been a good little boy, girl, trannie, etc. If there's one thing I know for sure - and Peabs knows everything, duhvs; I'm more ominiscient than God, pretty much because I am God; therefore I'm more ominiscient than myself, obvs - it's that this has become a run-on sentence. Oh, and that in the past year I have become so motherfucking influential on society that each and every one of you have become dirty, filthy douchebags. And I am proud of it. Not to mention the fact that Peabs is proud to be sporting a 14 foot D™. Stick that in your mouth and smoke it, you cocksucking ooh-jahs! No, really, please do. The way you ess my effing D™ reminds me of the time I bukkaked a coked-up Cloris Leachman at the premiere for Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Damn, that fucking slutbag's got a mouth only rivaled by Paul Oakenfold and a Brontosaurus on crystal meth. Shmears.

It's pretty effing schmobvs that 2004 was a great year for just about everyone, and Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly feel rather responsible for it. Simply put, we made your lives much more interesting by giving you a bird's eye view of our everyday occurrences. Duhvs. Just think about the year Peabs had and what you've been able to experience second-hand via my brilliant fucking prose...

Peabs:

was elected President.

assfucked countless amounts of hookers. Not to mentioned blew a hot nut down their ready, willing and able throats.

did enough cocaine to jumpstart the mid-1980's. Skag, too.

was kidnapped by Elvin from The Cosby Show, only to be saved by Joe Lieberdurst, wearing a dildo on his forehead.

retired, then made a genius comeback, because quite frankly you needed it, you effing handjobs.

blew lines of K off of Indira Gandhi's bozzletovs while bovsing her respective post-mortum tees.

created a homoerotic rapping alter ego named DJ Orange Julius.

slept 12 minutes.

gobbled. A lot.

talked about pretty I am. A whole lot. Shmears, look at me. You would too if you had a bod like this. But you don't. So get on your effing knees and step up to the mic, you fucking mo-mos.

rejuvenated Coz's career by feeding him crank and teabagging his mizz.

loved each and every one of you. With my hot and juicy D™. Obvs.

It has been my pleasure to serve you, my lovelies. Next year will prove to be even more effing tigs shats to the boombies. I will strive to be the best Peabs I can possibly be. It will be difficult, because I am rather amazing as it is. And fucking gorgeous. Lest we forget that if you do shots of my jazzum, it'll cure tooth decay and give your skin and nice healthy glizz. Robvs.

So with that, I wish you and yours the happiest of holidays and all that shit. Me? I plan to spend it with my loved ones; and by loved ones, I mean Peabs and Bill Cosby plan to barricade ourselves (Howard Hughes-stizz, snatch) in a penthouse suite with a kilo of blow and a slew of HIV-pos call girls. Mars. I'm fucking beautiful.

Anything you'd like to add, Coz?

"Happy flazzum flozzum! Don't forget to bozzle the bizzle bop!"

Until next year, kindly lick my testes. Yeah, baby, just like that. Mmmmmmmm.

Obvs in '05™.

Peabs Likes His Coffee Black And His Assfucking Raw And Unprotected.

I honestly can't imagine living in a world in which Peabs, dressed to the effing nines in custom-made Roberto Cavalli, couldn't step out of my multi-million dollar brownstone and be greeted by countless call girls, all of which want to desperately spike my pretty veins with skag and gummy gum my fucking D™. This is why I became your President, ladies and gentlemen; Peabs wants everyone to be able to experience what I feel to be the "American Dream." And no, I'm not talking about Dusty Rhodes, you fucking suckjobs. In the next four years, Peabs, with the help of the ubiquitous Dr. Bill Cosby, will make sure that each and every single day you live will contain a least a tiny slice of heaven that yours effing truly experiences every single fucking dizz. This could mean an extra gram of blow is added to your daily habit, so relish in it! Or better yet, you might just receive a good old-fashioned prostate massage from a pre-op trannie named Fancy Ass McTesticles upon immediate request! Everyone will benefit!

Peabs is like effing Santa Claus - not only do I give gifts, I also have a red nose from blowing so many effing rails of snow. Lest we forget I have a fascination with buttfucking elves in the back of my sleigh while Donner and Blitzen lick my Joe Sakic with their hot reindeer tongues. Mars she all over your 'Spirit of Christmas Tees', Jacob Marley! Obvs.

So my real question is this: since Peabs is a "people's President," I want to know not only what you want for Christmas, but what you want from the Obvs in '04™ Cabinet the next four years. Feel free to comment or email President Peabs. And don't be shy, you fucking dildos! If you want me to dress up like Rodney King and beat myself over the head with a Mag-Lite®, don't hesitate to ask. If you want Cosby to hardboil his testicles and cook you a Cobb Coz salad, he'll be glad to do so. Schmobvs.

Personally, the gift I'm asking for (from my gorgeous self, snatch) is a rimjob from Beatrix Potter; and boviously she'll refer to Peabs as Peter Rabbit every time she comes up for air. Duhvs. I won't even go into detail as to what Coz wants. Let's just say it involves a gerbil, the theory of relativity and Stedman Graham. Yummy.

Ho ho fucking ho!

Peabs/Cosby: 4 More Shmears!

How Many Licks Does It Take To Get To The Center Of My Effing Sack?

The answer is infinite. Obvs. Peabs packs more meat than Abe Froman. I also look devastingly handsome in a white tee shirt and sweater vest. Though, let's be honest here folks. You wouldn't fucking catch Peabs dead in said white tee shirt unless it was either Versace couture or made entirely out of angel dust. She mars all over your children of the stars, Shawn Mullins! And bee tee dubs, Shawn, everything is not gonna be alright unless the "rockabye" you speak of is the rock I buy from your fucking toothless crackwhore mother in exchange for a dirty sanchez and bucket of oatmeal. Bozzle!

So yesterday I was felating my houseboy Chavez when it Memut Okur'ed to Peabs that not only was I rather gorgeous, but also felating my houseboy Chavez. I also realized, with help from a skagged-out Coz, that Chavez was actually Julio Ceasar Chavez, the former boxing champion. I'm not terribly sure just exactly how he became Peabs' houseboy, but my guess is that it had something to do with the fact that on Election Night, an armadillo named Willow (sooooo cute!) fed me some LSD and MDMA, thus causing your gorgeous President to repeatedly say:

"Touch my fucking sack... shmears. Touch it again. Oh lord, I think I'm gonna spunk it on your forehead, Martinez!"

Maybe it's just Peabs, but the holidays seem to make me even more brills than usual. I blame the blow-laced eggnog. Obvs.

More lates. Your grandmother's calling from the other room, and she's begging to fingerfuck my asshole. Better tend to that before I nut my pretty self just thinking about old Mildred and her calcium-deficient digits probing my ooh-jah. Boo-jah!

Peabs/Cosby: 4 More Shmears!

Happiness Is A Warm Peabs.

This morning, a noticeably tweaked-out Dr. Bill Cosby came to yours effing truly with a proposition: upon our inauguration in January, we must transform the National Institutes of Health into the world's largest meth lab. Personally, Peabs felt this was Coz's best idea since the time he suggested we inject some fentanyl into our gobble gizzards and sodomize the entire cast of "Blossom" with a Wascally Rabbit®. Nothing quite like seeing Jenna Von Oy take it in the ass while screaming "that's how Six likes it, baby; fuck me like a circus clown!" Razzle robvs.

The past few days have boviously been quite a blur for Peabs, not to mention that fucking crackhead Coz. Whilst it should come as no surprise to anyone that Peabs snorted countless rails of methcathinone upon giving myself a numerous amount of strangers, shockingly enough I managed to only fistfuck forty-seven slooty-sloots. It's not that Peabs is losing my libido, or my edge for that matter. For one, I felt as though I was stealing the proverbial thunder from Bill Cosby. And it's not as though Coz isn't getting an extraordinary amount of lab-maj ooh-jah all up in his bozzle-bop; it's that yours effing truly has been getting so many sloppy fozz's as of lizz that I need a bit of a change. And by "change," I really mean "dirty, sloppy handjobs." Sure, we have all had our debates on the validity of hojos as a satisfying sexual act, and I for one agree that a wicked suckjob from some coked-out stripper named Lady Cervix is far more superior than getting jay-oh'ed with a tube full of Elbow Grease®. Howevs, my good friend and long time Obvs in '04™ Campaign supporter Jory Husain made me feel otherwizz.

You might remember Jory from the incomparable '80's sitcom "Head Of The Class." What few know is that he later became a prominent figure in NAMBLA (North American Man/Boy Love Association), and then founded YO-JOE! (You Oughta Jerk Off Everybody), an organization devoted to the search for the perfect handjob. He's also a raging crack addict and from time to time dresses up like a Native American and uses tampons as paintbrushes to apply his "war paint." Ugh. Be that as it may, the man can certainly find a tigs shats to the boombies HJ, and he decided that as a present from YO-JOE for winning the Presidential election, Peabs and Coz would receive the "Best Hand-Job In Town." Bovs on your effing tees, Alicia Keys.

So with that, my gorgeous self and my almost-as-pretty-and-wacked-out-on-cocaine Cabinet hopped in the Lear and flew to the UK, where apparently hojos are more common and deemed "brilliant." My guess is because the average British prostitute's teeth are so effing mangled that any self-respecting mo-mo wouldn't want her effing gingivitis anywhere near his A-Rod. Schmobvs.

Needless to say, I was personally treated to an effing ridunc-a-dunc HJ from a young lass who went by the name of Mistress Von Kajagoogoo. To say it was miraculous is an understatement; especially considering the fact that she didn't bat an eye that, upon tossing my salad, Peabs shat on her mizz and made her call me He-Man, Master of the Universe. In fact, her response was once of the kinkiest things I have ever heard muttered out of another human being's mouth:

"You like the way Orko gargles your hot shat? I want He-Man to be my own personal UPS delivery boy and ask what brown can do for Orko!"

Yes, yes, Peabs knows. Each and everyday I seem to outdo myself in my grotesque brilliance. And you know why? Because I'm fucking fascinating. Lest we forget I have a cock that makes Annette Funicello look like Frankie Fucking Muniz. Isn't that right, Dr. Bill Cosby?

"Youuuuuuuuuu've gots to know that Malcolm's flazzum is in the middle of the flizzum! Andddddd, if you bazzle his mother's bizzle, he'll shoot you with a drizzle drazzle!"

I couldn't have said it better myself. Wait, who am I kidding? Of course Peabs could have; I'm a motherfucking genius. Literally. No, shmeariously - I have an IQ of 1,492 and just fucked your mother. Mars she on your effing "Summer Breeze," Seals and Croft!

Peabs/Cosby: 4 More Shmears!

On Top Of Old Smokey, All Covered With Peabs.

I was attending a levo alphacetylmethadol party last evening with my fellow base crazies and getting a nice cock-swabbing from my Aunt Nora when who should appear before my eyes? You guessed it: Alex Kapranos! He was totally mo'ed out on penis and crank and appeared to have a hot load of jazzum dripping from his Scottish Lipps, Inc. She effing mars. Peabs felt it necessary to approach the vastly mediocre musician and speak complete gibberish to him, because quite frankly, I'm the President of the United fucking States of America and I can do whatevs I want. For instance, if I wanted to snort some Bolivian marching powder and ride a giant tortoise into the eye of Peter North, I could do so. If Peabs wanted to dress up like Martin Luther and nail a copy of "Ninety-Five Theses" onto the door of the Church of Latter Day Saints and scream "Brandon Flowers sent me!", you wouldn't be able to fucking stop me. It's quite obvs that Peabs is not just another pretty face (ass, cock, torso; the whole fucking package, really); I am also invincible. Bovs on your effing bloody tampon, Raggedy Anne! Boo-jah!

Now let's be shmearious here, folks: Dr. Bill Cosby loves to do a little uterus-diving when coked out of his brizz. Bovs, who doesn't? Howevs, lately, it's all the man's been talking about! Whilst Peabs doesn't believe that sexual and narcotic abuse can lead to a definitive "problem", Coz needs to realize that, because we are now even more important figures in world culture than ever before, we can do anything we want. Don't get Peabs wrong; I love me a little munchie munch on the snatcharoo just as much as the next guy, but I have other hobbies; you know, like smearing honey oil on my gizzard and spelunking in K-holes. That, my friends, is what made you elect me as President. I'm a well-rounded individual. Schmobvs.

So with that, I decided to stage a rather personal intervention of William Cosby, with hopes to show him that there's more to life than eating box lunch at the Y, all covered in mulva pulp. Mars. And who better to assist Peabs in such an intervention than OMC? You may remember OMC from such hits as "How Bizarre" and "How Bizarre 2: Even More Bizarrer". What few of you know is that he, like Coz, had become so fixated with chowing down on Georgia O'Keefe's inspiration, that he nearly forgot about the finer things in life. Obvs.

To say that the mediation went well is an understatement. Soon enough, Coz was begging yours effing truly for a hit of methylenedioxymethamphetamine, and began a new fascination: couch bombing. Peabs will warn you now; if you plan to attend my holiday party at my La Jolla abode, don't sit on the Portofino in the living room of the east wing. More fucking jazz on those cushions than a Victoria Givens anal gangbang. Isn't that right, Dr. Bill Cosby?

"Yoooooooooooou've gots to know that the flazzum is really the jizzum jazzum!"

Obvs.

Peabs/Cosby: 4 More Shmears!