Please accept our deepest apologies for the dearth of ruffage to chew on in the Salad Bowl of late. A confluence of events - debilitating flu, familial responsibilities and a workload that would have puckered the bottoms of Egyptian slaves have all conspired against mirthful writing and free time of late.
That's not to say that I am any less in love with the Salad or its readers. It's not you, it's me. In the words of Lili Von Shtupp (pictured above), "I'm not a wabbit. I need some west." A man only has so much time for eating fried pig intestines, hanging out in creepy pinata stores, keeping the hibiscus watered (no metaphor intended), slicing sausage with baseball managers (again, no metaphor), and Frenching with reindeer.
There is no pennance for abandoning the Calendar of Disturbing Santas after only 11 days (a new Salad record, by the way). All I can do is offer this pittance of an offering to soothe your wounds. It's not exactly like having a naked, drunk and horny Scarlett Johansson nuzzle your ear lobe and say, "I'll make it all be better in 2008," (Or Ingemar Johansson, for that matter) but it will have to do.
So, in keeping with holiday tradition, here it is: