Mr. Kalmarrochki, distinguished cuttlefish and tank-mate to the Giant Squid: OK, is maybe a few years back, da?, but I am sending big-hard-penis pill SPAMs, 'cause is my job. All day, me and Shterni—the artificial intelligent program that helps write the SPAMs—we make jokes about who needs the pills sent most. For lark and shitsgiggles, I maybe send several hundred thousand all over subnet serving White House, Washington DC, USA. Me, now, I don't remember so good, but is possible, in abstract, that I plausibly forged sender IP addresses and that lots of those emails is all from different ccTLDs in Iraq. Maybe we use zombie boxes there, or just dickie with the IP addresses. Don't remember so much. Shterni, she laugh herself into defrag on that, with Mr. Big Dick Cheney getting DDOSed with all the big penis pill SPAMs, and also Debbie Likes it Hard Behinds, and maybe some lots of Nigerian greedy-monies. Me, I think is nothing, like funny little penis-waggle-dance monkey do, but then, pretty soon, big Mr. US President just bombs all the living shit hells out of everything for no reason nobody can understand at all. This, it make me worry, ask myself Maybe I go too far with penis pill SPAMS? Maybe I owe big I'm-sorries to very many dead Iraqi women? Da? These are big worries for distinguished Mr. Kalmarrochki, who is, in total, a pretty small cuttlefish. So, I guess, maybe I resolve not to do that again this year. OK?
Morgan "Mojo" Johnson, editor and Dean of Newswires, PMjA: I resolve to post fewer videos on the Newswire of guys getting hit in the nuts by basketballs or the earth itself or whatever. I mean, who the fuck do I think I am, Bob Saget?
Fritz Swanon, editor and design maven, Poor Mojo's Media Empire and Associate Services: I resolve to re-introduce the printed Almanac(k) this year, which sadly was purchased by Hearst in 1929 and then immediately shuttered because of certain things the Squid said about Hearst's wife, and about Hearst's herd of wild elephants. The rights to the print Almanac(k) (originally just "Almanack") had been bouncing around for years and were only recently returned to the Squid and Mr. Johnson after the widely reported collapse of the Detroit Free Press (the meanderings of the rights to publish a print Almanack under Mr. Johnson's name have had a long and storied history that one day I hope to enumerate... suffice it say that, for a time, those rights were legally inscribed by Fatty Arbuckle onto the interior of a pair of ladies' panties after Mr. Arbuckle had won them briefly in a game of chance from Mr. Hearst's mistress, and later those very same rights were for a time held by the Patrimony of Saint Peter as a warrant against certain debts incurred by a Mr. de Molay; these any many other adventures could and should be expounded upon at a future date).(It likely needs also to be spelled out that the introduction into our journal's title of the parenthetical bric-a-brac was an ingenious ploy by our copyright attorney, Dr. Love, in the early days of the Internets. Needless to say, Dr. Love was widely applauded for his solution to this decades long conundrum and is now working on the Obama Transition Team's copyright plans). Suffice it to say, the rights have been re-secured, along with the last remnants of the journal's original pressroom, which in its day filled three floors in a fashionable publishing building on Madison Avenue, but now, sadly, consists of a Chandler and Price jobber press that had previously been tasked with printing the labels for the kennels of the Squid's assorted lunches, dinners and breakfasts. We will be purchasing new type from San Francisco forthwith! (Any who care to donate, please send along a font or ten Caslon Old Style of any size to PMjA, PO Box 282, Manchester, MI 48158... you will receive a hand crafted thank you gift commensurate with the size of your gift. Contact the Almanac(k) for further details.) I for one look forward to picking up our business exactly where we left off, October 23rd, 1929! It seems that world events have conspired to give us that amazing opportunity. We shall be keeping the parenthetical additions, by the way, in honor of Dr. Love.
David Erik Nelson, editor and technologist, PMjA: OK, so I slept on the floor of a motel room last night, jittering and kinda foaming at the mouth, on account I misread the instructions on some magic cookies, and now I can't see out of my left eye right. So, this year, I'm resolving . . . I'm resolving not to do that again. I'm going to read all directions carefully before proceeding in the coming year.
Rob Miller, occasional lab assistant to the Giant Squid: Man, I was at that same party, and those were just regular cookies, because all the killer cookies got eaten while we were still making the nachos, before most anyone showed, and so we, like, consolidated the cookies all to one plate. So, what I'm saying is that I don't even know what his deal is, apart from being a douche. He should resolve not to raw douche it so much in the coming year. Me, I'm gonna rock it old school in '09. Resolved.
Molly Reynolds, lab director to the Giant Squid: I really need to find a new job.
Jarwaun Washington-Gribs, typist to the Giant Squid: Sometimes I can be a dick to my brother. I know this and it's wrong. Alls we got is each other, our pops and our crazy unc. We need—I need—to do a better job caring for my own. Also, this year I'm gettin an iPhone.
Trael Washington-Gribs, child and well-wisher to the Giant Squid: God bless us, everyone, and especially the Russian man that Mr. Giant Squid hurt real bad, and maybe is gonna give back his original hand we hope, 'cause it real mean not to, and even though he got all kinds of anger problems, Mr. Squid not real mean, on the inside, when you know him a little bit better. Amen.
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