2005: "The Year Of Peabs" In Chinese Zodiacal Terms. Robvs.

It's sickening how much you fucking missed Peabs. Obvs.

Happy 2005, my bizzozo lovelies. I trust your holidays were effing abracadabra wanna reach out and grabya but in no way compared to yours effing truly's. Duh. To say that Peabs had a fascinating and remarkable vacation would be like saying that Dr. Bill Cosby shoved his hot Negro cockadoodledoo down the windpipe of a slovenly Hungarian prostitute named Joseph Heller during Christmas Eve midnight mass at St. Peter's Basilica. Bovs all over your shaking papal tees, John Paul II! I'm so fucking beautiful.

Peabs has never been one to believe in making New Year's resolutions. This is perhaps because of the fact that in 1977 I decided to give up blow (muhhhh) whilst attending a NYE party at Studio 54. Incidentally, that lasted approximately 12 seconds - no thanks to a noticeably coked-out Truman Capote, who had taken a particular liking to my gorgeous self, let alone tried multiple times to blumpkin me as he sang passages from "In Cold Blood" to the tune of Chic's "Le Freak." It was from that day forward Peabs would ingest at the very least 12 grams of cocaine a day and never make another resolution.

Until this year.

Why this year, you ask? You may be thinking: "Peabs, you're already friggin' amazing and extraordinary in every facet; there's nothing more you could possibly accomplish." This much is fucking bovs; clearly Peabs will be the greatest President in the effing universe, so there's no need to deem that as my resolution. I have the body of an adonis, and a D™ that makes Ron Jeremy look like a cloned hybrid of a disemboweled Jeremy Sisto (pre "Moonlight and Valentino," snatch) and Rainbow Brite wearing a fucking strap-on dipped in au jus. That being said, I have decided that my New Year's resolution will be to simply continue being fucking wonderful. I feel this way we will all benefit because my words and actions pretty much determine the entire course of nature. Peabs is just that powerful. Schmobvs.

Oh yes, I also plan of having hottt, unprotected, mescaline-fueled ass-sex with Rue McClanahan. Oh, try telling me you wouldn't hit Blanche, you pretentious handjobs. Shmears. Her vagina is so effing Ratzo Rizzo, I wanna spit on her clitoris, boo-jah boffle her like a Belgian waffle, and thank her for being a friend. Isn't that right, Coz?

"Yoooooooouuuuu will ruuuueeeee that day that my flizzum bozzled your bizzle bop!"

Ahhh yes. This will undeniably be the greatest year ever. Barring Peabs doesn't overdose before my Presidential inauguration. Wait, who am I kidding? The capital of Columbia is Peabs' left nostril; so kindly suck it and jump into the eye of a tsunami, you fucking mo-mo turkeyfuckers! Gobble!

Yes, it's true. Peabs is a genius. Duh. I can't believe you even asked me that question.

Obvs in '05™.