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Nude Year. Nude You.

And so, friends, we find ourselves having survived yet another year, despite all the fireworks and car alarms going off at midnight. First off: Way to go, Sugar Plum! Second off: It snowed in Southern California on the Morning O’ New Years Eve. Seriously, not rained, but the last(ish) day of 2014, s-n-o-w. Whether read aloud, or in your head, I insist—nay, I demand—you pronounce that last letter “dub-yah”… because I am the boss of…well, absolutely no one, but please play along so that I don’t have to start foaming at the mouth and gnawing anklebones here.

Sooooo...where was I? —Oh yeah, it snowed in Southern California yesteryear. Therefore, I can only assume the world was temporarily spun for a loop and landed on its head, probably losing all sense of balance like you do when you get a particularly nasty inner-ear infection. An ear infection or one of those nasty worms Ricardo Montalban aka the first Khan put in Koenig aka the first Chekhov’s ear way back in the days before most of you were born…and yes, I realize my Trek-ian Slip is showing. Frankly, Freud and I don’t get along so well, but sci-fi will forever have a big, fat, juicy place in my twisted little psyche.

Anyway, here’s your recap, kiddos…Southern California (Vegas too, look it up) ended 2014 with snow. Which means the lone hairless-cat riders (because horses are so last season) of the apocalypse should be coming along any day now to…do all things apocalyptical-ly in your neighborhoods and community swimming pools. Home Owners Associations be warned…The Sphinxes are coming! The Sphinxes are coming!

Oh…and Happy Nude Year from me and mine to you and all o’ yours.