December 1999
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December 1, 1999
I had a dream last night concerning teriyaki sauce, Michael Bolton, a hamster, and a jar of Peter Pan Crunchy Peanut Butter. I don't know exactly what it all means, and I don't care. The only thing that really upsets me is that I much prefer Jiff over Peter Pan. E-Mail.

December 2, 1999
I was brought up to respect the cultures of other people and cultures. With that in mind, I took off last summer to see how one of our neighboring countries celebrates one of my favorite holidays. Now, I'm not one to normally stereotype, but I have to admit that those Canadians don't know bunk about celebrating the 4th of July! I didn't hear a single firecracker! E-Mail.

December 3, 1999
Recently we had one of our faithful readers (one of the rotating three) point out that we repeated ourselves with a recent "poncho" entry from November 27th. She seems to think that this entry is a repeat of the entry from December 19, 1998. Well, Ms. Noyes, you're wrong. Do you hear me? Dead wrong. They may have some similarities, but they are different. I should also point out that I know for a fact that Ms. Noyes did NOT wear her poncho on at least two occasions last week! Watch your back! E-Mail.

December 4, 1999
In my exciting new book, "So, You Want to be a Mohel" I downplay some of the fancy notions that kids have about the glory and fame associated with performing circumcisions. E-Mail.

December 5, 1999
Last night I had this dream where I was walking through the mall, only, it wasn't really the mall here, it was much nicer. Why was it nicer you ask? Well, for example, every few feet there was a stand where they gave out free peanut butter, and all of the mall employees were Victoria Secret models. But, that wasn't even the weird part. The weird part was that I had on matching socks! It was when I realized this that I awoke, bathed in a cold sweat and had to scramble for the light switch to assure myself that I was, in fact, still wearing my Elmo sock on my left foot, and my brown and green argyle sock on the right. I certainly slept better after that, I tell you. E-Mail.

December 6, 1999
I guess I don't understand why my employer got so upset about me having a donkey in my cubicle. After all, he WAS wearing a poncho. E-Mail.

December 7, 1999
I've outsourced my digestive system. E-Mail.

December 8, 1999
The company for which I work just changed the doors and trim of the elevators from shiny bronze to flat chrome. What with three elevators on five floors, this was no small lump of change. With money flowing so freely you would be surprised at how difficult it is to convince upper management to install a bidet in my office. E-Mail.

December 9, 1999
With nearly a year and a half at this journal biz, I fear that we are beginning to repeat ourselves. Let's face it, there are only so many ways that an emu can be funny. Unless you put one in fishnet stockings, a Santa hat, and a poncho. E-Mail.

December 10, 1999
Today is Joel Hoffman's birthday. So be a pal and go to our songs and listen to Wax the Cat, Joel, a special song just for him! E-Mail.

December 11, 1999
This morning I couldn't find my car keys. So, I called information. The nice lady on the phone told me that she didn't know where they were. So, I interrogated the cat. Can you believe that little feline creep wouldn't talk?! I think he knows something, you can just see it in his eyes. I think he's working for the Other Side. I'll get to the bottom of this!. E-Mail.

December 12, 1999
Did you ever see one of those commercials with the talking animals? They make me sick. Everyone knows that animals communicate with humans telepathically, not verbally. Why does that little chihuahua need to say "Yo quiero Taco Bell" out loud? It's ridiculous. One tip though, for you budding pet owners out there, stay away from the chinchillas, they're incurable gossips, and they think puns are the funniest things ever invented, it's a nightmare!. E-Mail.

December 13, 1999
As I sit here at my desk, I suddenly have a hankering for a Chalupa. Maybe it's just from reading yesterday's entry, but I really have a hankering for a Chalupa. A Chalupa, and the innards of a small mountain goat. But I get that one all the time. E-Mail.

December 14, 1999
We've been getting a lot of rain here in the midwest lately. Although it's mid-December, we haven't seen much snow yet. I'm thinking of writing a new Christmas song, as a matter of fact. I'll call it "I'm Dreaming of a Short Venezuelan Immigrant in Overalls." I really don't think that has much to do with the rain, but it would be a neat song. E-Mail.

December 15, 1999
I had plans to dress up like Santa and impress the kids this year but I was too late in renting the suit. I guess they'll just have to put up with daddy in a belly dancer outfit again. E-Mail.

December 16, 1999
Yes, I know it is antisocial of me to spend my days huddled in a closet in the middle of my house but I refuse to listen to "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" one more time! E-Mail.

December 17, 1999
Here's a tip from ol' Uncle Charlie: Remove the protective seal from your container of yogurt and set it behind the toilet for a week. Once those bacteria get to work you'll have a tasty breakfast treat that's 100 proof! E-Mail.

December 18, 1999
Today I thought I would do things just a bit differently, you know, to shake myself out of the mold and get a new lease on life. At least that's what I told my boss when I showed up for work today wearing nothing but a Christmas cookie (date pinwheel). E-Mail.

December 19, 1999
I remember one year I asked for a Sonny Bono fake moustache for Christmas and instead got a Robin William's chest hair kit. I don't think Santa was really listening that year. E-Mail.

December 20, 1999
I can hardly wait to see the surprised looks on my children's faces when they wake up early on Christmas morning and rush downstairs to find the heaping mounds of gouda cheese, fermented bean curds, and ponchos that "Santa" has left for them! E-Mail.

December 21, 1999
Never, I repeat, NEVER apply Rogaine to the palms of your hand. I was quite uncomfortable with the looks I got at the office. E-Mail.

December 22, 1999
The new millennium is fast approaching, and I think it's high time that The Daily Journal started making some predictions for the next 1000 years!

Disco is gonna make a comeback. Disco, breakdancing, and Quiet Riot.

An emu uprising will cause a stir in Madagascar.

Scientists will discover that Chive Tangerine Milkshakes cure most minor ailments.

My Aunt Ruth will shave her mustache.

No one will mind when I come to work without any pants.

Pauly Shore. Eight Academy Awards over the next 10 years.

And finally, The Daily Journal will go public on NASDAQ, opening at 62.50 a share, and our plans for world domination will become clear. Unless we can be stopped by our arch nemesis, Lyle Lovett. E-Mail.

December 23, 1999
Yup, I've decided to abandon the idea of cute lingerie or jewelry for my wife this Christmas. I'm getting her some antiperspirant for her stocking and a pair of Dr. Bob's foot deodorant pads under the tree. We here at The Daily Journal know what the ladies like. E-Mail.

December 24, 1999
Eggnog. Yuletide greetings. Gifts under the tree. Santa preparing his sleigh. And my Uncle Raoul, drunk and chasing the cat across the yard. I get pretty emotional on Christmas Eve, with the family tradition and all. E-Mail.

December 25, 1999
Today we celebrate the birth of the savior of the world, Jesus Christ, by getting out the chainsaw, cutting down a small piece of forest, dragging it into the living room, putting shiny bulbs on it and electric lights. We also plunge ourselves deep into debt by buying gifts for people that we seldom see. We hang socks on the wall, sing strange songs about bells and a big fat man dressed in red who breaks into our house to leave things under the tree we cut down with the chainsaw. Merry Christmas, everybody! E-Mail.

December 26, 1999
I gotta admit, I was temporarily blinded from the true meaning of Christmas when I opened the DVD player that my mother- and father-in-law bought me. I threw it on the ground, stood up, and screamed, "MY EIGHT-TRACKS WILL NEVER FIT IN THIS THING! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS? AND WHY DIDN'T I GET THE RONCO™ SUPER EWE-BLENDER 3000 I ASKED FOR?" From what I hear, I'm not invited back next Christmas. E-Mail.

December 27, 1999
Imagine the surprise on my families face when I revealed that Keith Richards is my imaginary gay lover! E-Mail.

December 28, 1999
Few people admit that they like cheese balls made out of ground weasels, but they do. E-Mail.

December 29, 1999
So, what have we learned this century? What will we TRULY remember? Well, I cannot speak for everyone, but here are 5 things that I will take with me into the new century:
1. Chicks don't dig things growing out of your ears (no matter what your older brother tells you)
2. Gasoline smells great but you really should drink it (I learned this when I was three, but it's always a good idea to dig this one out once in a while to keep us on our toes).
3. If you want to get anywhere in business, you have to go to school. Oh, and it doesn't hurt to wear pants.
4. The best thing about gum is that you can keep it forever.
5. Every piece of clothing you ever own will someday make a comeback. I have kept everything I've ever had (pants, shirts, ties, jackets, socks, sunglasses, underwear, etc.) and taken the time to label all of my clothing per particular eras. I can tell you that in just a few weeks it will be time to get out the parachute pants! 

December 30, 1999
Just yesterday I was rummaging about my office when I found a secret portal to another world! It was filled with many wondrous things like a television, comfortable chairs and even a drawer full of money. A few moments later, my boss walked in. "He has found the secret portal, too", I thought to myself. I immediately thought about how good I would look if I were able to show this "newcomer" around this mysterious new world. I handed him some of the money (it was only fair) and asked for his hand. It wasn't until I looked up to see the angry scowl on his face that I realized that this "secret portal" was actually a "back door" and it didn't go to "another world" but to "my boss's office". I guess that's what I get for taking four times the dosage of my allergy medication and passing out in the break room last night. E-Mail.

December 31, 1999
Hold 'yer breath and maybe we'll see you on the other side. E-Mail.