2008's Greatest Hits

M'kay. Having been incapacitated by a cheese coma for the past few days, I kind of let 2008 go out with a whimper. And so, I've elected to do a run-down of 2008's finest, funniest and most notorious posts.

The United Harmonica Federation of France
"He is 60-plus, balding with curly grey hair gathered behind him in a ponytail. He wears glasses and some kind of windbreaker. His eyes bug out with emotion or effort, I can't tell which."

Crotch Management
"So there you are, buck naked with a tube of thick white cream, staring at your crotch."

Psycho Midnight Cleaning Lady
"My peaceful bathroom-cleaning mantra was something like: You want a clean effing house you effing sonofabeep, I'll effing show you a clean effing house."

Surgerized
"I was buck naked from the waist down, attached to a giant grey machine that looked suspiciously like a BBQ. It had a 'smoke clearance' sticker on it."

Meet The F*ckers
"I met The F*ckers one winter evening as I was making dinner and they were making something else. As I chopped, they humped, the music of their lovemaking drifting easily through our shared wall."

The Hair
"Some moles, however, are not so beautiful. They come in weird colours. Sometimes they're kind of lumpy. And some moles...well, some moles have The Hair."

Inside The Mind Of A Writer
"Sixty-six words. That's all? God. It's almost eleven. My back hurts. I need a massage. I can't afford a massage. I can't afford anything. What am I thinking trying to be a writer when the world is falling down?"

Dishing It Out
"He does the dishes like he's finishing a marathon, scrubbing with great gusto, breathing heavily, dropping the cutlery, polished and gleaming with a flourish on the countertop, before doing the victory lap of wiping down the counters."

Better Known As Bacon Strip
"We wear our knickers ‘til they unravel from our asses, 'til they look like tattered bandages from WWI trench warfare, we don’t care. Maybe this is our family secret: wearing underpants long past propriety."

Happy Anniversary...I'm Leaving
"Six years ago, on our second anniversary, my husband told me he was leaving. While he worked his way through a poorly rehearsed speech, looking down for dramatic effect, his nose began to bleed."