Old tattoo. Love Betty Lou.
Think she'll sue?
Fifteen beers. Crocodile tears. Calm those fears. Curled sneers? To heck with you.
Hard to believe. Don't wanna leave? Throw a big to-do.
Background noise. Lots of toys. David DuBois. Backstreet Boys. Republican ploys. Fat cats for a few.
Ol' Jim Baker. Oily king-maker. Velvet Hammer. Deserves the slammer.
Dimpled chad. Country's mad. Feeling bad? Dems got the screw.
Ballot box. Chickens, fox. Dave Alvin rocks. Kids gone bad. Can't feel sad.
Gas price spike. Buy a bike. Interest hike. Find a home you like?
Saddlebrook, Estes, Monterey--get them pygmies outta my way!
Ina, Thornydale, Oracle Road. Can't believe how traffic's growed.
Global warming. Illegals swarming. Bilingual ed? John Lennon's dead.
Where's Steve Allen? Alt-fuel bill's swellin'. No more lead. Go get Big Red.
Or Steve Groscost. Too bad he lost.
SUVs. Fewer trees. Killer bees. No more Rosalies.
Putin, Barak, Pinochet. Now's the time to hedge your bet.
Intifada? Don't get nada.
Tina's back. Wolves are, too. Supreme's a downer. Scalia blew.
Gore tanks in the bluegrass state. Trent's ready to clean the slate. McCain wants to toss the loot. Hearts still achin' for the likes of Newt.
Pope hates rubbers. AIDS does too. Too many people? Soon too few?
And what's going down on the Ivory Coast? Nelson Mandela is still the most.
The Grinch is back. And Charlie's crew. We miss Farrah.
American Beauty. Think Madonna's snooty? So she's getting hitched.
Scrubbin' undies: A major bitch.
Want a prediction? Expect some jitters, when the Queen o' Pop goes after daddy's skidders.
Brandy, Helen, Kevin, Tom. Mel, Angela, Brittany, Strom.
Publicity junkies, Congressional geezers. Cerebral thorns. Where's the tweezers?
Hedonism. Libertines. Gay abandon. Does anyone here recall Alf Landon?
But in the end, it's all smooth sleddin,' same-sex weddings, Armageddon. Talking heads, musical beds, bull markets, Cincinnati Reds. Minorities, majorities, power plays, who's the new boss of Means and Ways?
La Niña, El Niño, Arctic melt. Larry King, Cher, Leonard Pelt...
So forget the hassles, ignore the tripe. Give reality a boozy swipe.
Another world, another annum. Ditch those worries, squash 'em, can 'em.
We're still alive, and we're still kickin'.
This ain't no planet for Little's Chicken.
So party down, party hard. Toss some chunks out in the yard.
Hedonism, fascism, libertines.
Here's wishing 2001 is the same ol' scene!
In that spirit of fond optimism, the Tucson Weekly invites you to squander your weary, remaining synapses in hubs of revelry around the Old Pueblo.
Here's to the year past! Steel yerself for the sequel.