3....2....1....Happy Everyone!!!

As I lay here amongst my kirmans—a potpie cooking evenly in the gaggenau—I can’t help but look back over the year that was. A year of heartbreak, sorrow, pain, suffering and not a few snooty e-mails and phone calls demanding the blog/freedom fight “get funny again.” Thankfully, for us, it’s never been about the laughs. Or the size of the readership. Or, even, the quality of the posts. Instead it’s always been about one thing: That An Doof Ass is an idiot and the world will be a better place as more and more people discover this. Now we freely admit we’ve lost sight of this at times, but we’ve never lost our conviction even after one year on the job. Sure, sometimes it’s important to talk about the parties, the exotic women and the free hooch that all Noononsaturday contributors enjoy on a regular basis. It’s good for the pasty masses to know that there’s a whole world of decadent luxury and high cuisine that they will never get to experience but through our various escapades. And it is true that, unless you work here at Noononsat, you’ve almost certainly never known happiness. But what's really important—the thing that gets us up every morning from whatever 70th floor penthouse featherbed ensconced in Pratesi where we awake to find the butler delivering melong balls drizzled in rubies—is the fact that An Doof Ass is thelamestthingever. And it infuriates our good taste and sensibility to know his hairy, monkey arms and perpetual mustache could jump out from any darkened corner wielding a pottery shard at any moment and demand hooch or—worse still—more flannel shirts. Not surprisingly, his general demeanor and reckless ways have caused the formation of 3 primary schools of thought on how to deal with him.

The first is called The Denial School. The primary adherents to this thought process are usually family members and longtime friends. Their general position is to deny that there is really anything wrong with An Doof Ass. “Sure,” they say, “he’s not perfect. But who hasn’t tried to steal money from Irish bare-knuckle boxers while intoxicated, or been robbed by Mexican gang bangers over a bottle of Old Irish Rose? Who hasn’t spent upwards of 16 hours a day watching A.L.I.A.S reruns with a loaded air-soft gun ready for the enemies first appearance on the screen?” Longtime friends who take to this stance are often times apologizing for him saying, “Yeah but when he wasn’t a bobble headed, booze bag, he was actually a great guy to pick last during gym class.” Needless to say this position is neither popular nor much respected outside these exclusive circles.

A second school is called The Pity School. This position does not deny his abominable nature or his grotesque appearance. Instead, adherents accept these things for what they are and encourage others to pity, to placate, to his sad dispositions. This philosophy is very popular and we admit to being adherents to it ourselves for a time. It is most commonly forwarded by casual acquaintances and, unfortunately, ALL women.

For the acquaintance there is something in An Doof Ass that inspires one to believe there is more beyond the shower sandals and ridiculous pronunciations. They often times cite the handful of intelligent things he has somehow managed to call forth from his Swiss-cheesed hemispheres as if they were more than the fortuitous tangents of a pickled brain.

And then there are the ladies. Even for us, hardened over time, it’s sad to see An Doof Ass suffer with the women. While he’s had his share of exotic sexual adventures and left as many broken hearts as any Don Juan or Orlando Bloom, for some unkown reason he always ends up being the one pitied. It’s like second nature for him to blow whatever class he had acrued within a week, two tops, after the relationship ends. And it doesn’t even matter if he does the breaking up!

A.D.A: Sorry baby, it’s over. I can’t be tied down. I’ve got too much to see. To do.
Woman: Don’t leave me! You’re so wonderful!
A.D.A: I gots to!

*****3 days later****

Woman: Have you seen him?
Friend: yeah.
Woman: the poor, pathetic bastard.

Gasps of, “Good lord that’s pathetic.” Can be heard across the country as word spreads through the various channels of An Doof Ass’ most recent fuck up. In fact, there’s an entire cottage industry of trading cards and board games based on his almost otherwordly tales of relational whoa!

And this brings us to the third school which is called The Holy Rage. Adherents to this position are almost all converts from The Pity School. These individuals have the advantage over Denial School practitioners in that they have not wasted so much of their life on An Doof Ass as to have no recourse but to pretend it was worth it, or, at least, not entirely wasted. As for Pity School adherents, Holy Ragers do not have to deal with the emotional baggage that accompanies pity. Instead, they are able to look at the cold hard facts: bad bone structure, debauchery, sloth, poor hygiene, shower sandals, crying fits, and call them what they are—pure insanity. They believe strongly that without their constant efforts to enlighten others, An Doof Ass might engage decent society to the determent of the entire world. It is their duty to stop him by any means necessary. With their unvarnished, objective accounts of actual events and those embellished for the sake of clarity and conciseness, these warriors of class fight the flow of good faith, charity and pity that An Doof Ass laps up like so much spilt rubbing alcohol. Holy Ragers wake up in the morning, shave, eat endangered animals for the helluvit, write awesome poetry, get six figure book deals and then say:

“Today I will find some new way to stem the tide of An Doof Assery. Today I will
fight those wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt! Today I will call him
and remind him that everyone thinks he’s witty and smells great after a handle
of cheap scotch!”

This may come as a surprise to many of you, but we here at Noononsaturday are Holy Ragers. And this past year has been a great opportunity for us to spread the word:

Lock your doors! An Doof Ass stalks the night looking for a free cigarettes and
gold toe socks! Beware! He’ll acted shocked and appalled when your liquor is
gone and offer to go out an buy some more ‘if only he had the money!’ Beware!
He’ll use your toothbrush and leave the lights on! Beware!

It’s been our privileged to serve and inform you about this most diabolical of social ills. And we look forward to continuing to strengthen the ties that bind us together. Finally, as we celebrate this anniversary time, we encourage you to check back regularly as we will be posting naked pictures of celebrities.

Yours ever,
The whole staff