Best week EVER *updated*

Well, it really wasn't. But from headlines ("Is President Bush the WORST PRESIDENT EVER") to simple things (Manning to Harrison is the best tandem EVER) to dumb things ("Like OMG Ryan's haircut is like the cutest thing EVER"), this annoying li'l phrase has certainly made it into the language lexicon.

We're running out of adjectives and it's only ought-five.

No worries, though, because 2006 is so gonna be the BEST YEAR EVER. (Yes, we said it. What you got? Nothin'? That's what we thought. You just sit there and laugh. We'll bring the funny).

For those who don't know the running hack bit on the ol' Porch on Fridays -- the only one we do, really -- this is the time we present out Heroez and Not so much with the Heroez, a cynical look back on the ol' week that was. This week's isn't the best ever, per se, but it's pretty f*cking good nonetheless.

Heroez
Mario Anzuoni, of Reuters, for taking the shots of our girl at the premeire of Match Point in the Hollywoods.

Paul Wight. Not many of you know this, and a lot of you think the Ol' Man is an ol' bat for watching wrestling still, and occassionally mentioning it here. But Mr. Wight, known as Big Show, is more and more showing himself as a gentle giant. The pictures on wwe.com about the company's Iraq tour speak volumes. He is a good man.

The li'l tree. We caught the Christmas special Tuesday night on the TV. The scene between Schroeder and Lucy and dancing, then embarassed, Snoopy? So random, so priceless. Good times, Charlie Brown.

Not so much...
Dear guy with hard-to-spell last name: seriously? This is like the dream we had last night about some random family we were staying with for a Holiday party. The house was strewn with parakeets and dogs and dust and all kinds of things that wreaked havoc on the OMS sinuses. In the dream, we dropped an emphysema line. But the mother making the turkey had the emphysema. Oops.

What this has to do with you, Mr. Iranian Sheik guy, is nothing except the correlation between your drivel and the outcome of our dream, when one of OMS's friends kicked him in the kitchen and said, "Dude, shut up." Just shut up. Shut it. Don't talk. We're all for opinions, but the Holocaust happened. Asshole.

Sure. Blame the fat kid. Bastards.

Mother Nature. We'll save the global warming rant for a later date.

Rummy. Yay! Yipee! You're staying longer! Asshole. Karma is a b*tch, we say in a non-threatening karma is a b*tch way, the way we say it for anybody. The fact that we have to even define that statement in America these days worries us to know end.

Less with the monitoring people's basic freedoms and creating li'l Americas to play with, and more with the things that matter, please.

Oh how we long for '83, when bushy-moustached gents got to snort coke off Terri Garr lookalikes and no one waved a schooner tuna flag anywhere near such good times debauchery. Wait. Stop and read that sentence again. God bless the English language. Words rule.