Rindercella and her sugly isters lived in a marge lansion.

Rindercella worked very hard frubbing scloors, emptying poss pits and shivelling shot. At end of day she was knucking fackered.

The sugly isters were right bugly astards. One was called Mary Hinge, and other was called Betty Swallocks. They were real forrible huckers. They had featy sweet and featy swannies.

The sugly isters had tockets to go to ball, but cotton runts wouldn't let Rindercella go.

Suddenly there was a bucking fang, and her Gairy Fodmother appeared.

Her name was Cupid Stunt and she was a light rucking fesbian with a twig bat.

She turned a pumpkin and mix sice into a hucking cuge farriage, and six dandy ronkeys with buge hillocks and dig bicks.

The Gairy Fodmother told Rindercella to be back by midnight or there would be a cucking falamity.

Often some old-timer will moan about how much he misses good old days. I'm not sure if he is thinking of World War II or great Depression. I'm positive that during great Depression some wonderful memories were created, but I'm not sure anyone wants to return to those thrilling days of yesterday.

The bad was not as bad as we remember and good was not as good as we boast.

Some things are best forgotten and some things should never be forgotten; my trouble has always been remembering which is which. (Personally, I don't know difference between "which" and "that.")

Several things about old year bear serious consideration. The past year, in my opinion, was not just one year but several years flowing together. Sometimes I'm not sure which year I lived.

The year 2004, like all its brothers before it, actually consisted of three years.

First, there is year that really was. "Just facts, ma'am."

I'm a little fuzzy about this one. For one thing, looking at my checkbook entries (at least ones I remembered to enter) past year was a completely different one than I recall.

I really do not recollect having all fun indicated by my bank statement. Why is it that no matter how much money I put into my bank account, more money comes out.

Evidently, some phantom creature has access to my checkbook.

President Ronald Reagan was accused of voodoo economics. Reviewing my bank statements, I could be accused of "Who-do" economics.

My income tax statement is another perplexity. I can never figure it out. If government said I made that much money, I must have made that much money and owe that much in taxes.

Speaking of government, what I don't understand is how they know how much I owe, to penny, along with millions of other Americans and cannot find Osama bin Laden. I know exactly how to solve this conundrum.

One surefire way of finding him is leaking to government that Osama bin Laden owes taxes and he will be caught before April 15, guaranteed.

Second, there is year I re-member.

By Rev. James L. Snyder

This year is much shorter than previous one, for some odd reason. The year I remember had only two months; this month and last month. And believe me, "last month" is a stretch for me.