The jokes was on us in 2008, making us all proverbial straight men, reacting to the appalling developments in the harrowing comedy that has become the 21st century. Some years are so bad you have to bury them, the worse the year, the deeper the hole. 2008 should be buried in a hole down in China, it should be given to China and they can rename it: Year of the pig with lipstick.

2008 was a whore. The kind of whore that wants her money up front and then jumps out the window of the car leaving you naked in the driver's seat of a moving vehicle.

2008 was like being stalked by Paula Abdul at the Donner Pass during a piercing snowstorm.

2008 was like a box of first edition books that you buy at a garage sale only to discover that the books are wet, growing black mold and have now infected all your good books.

2008 was a long elevator ride in flatulence. We all entered in the lobby and where forced to ride to the 365th floor in air that smelled of sweaty money clinched in Bernie Madoff's ass.

2008 was as arrogant and irreverent as Kanye West at an awards ceremony when he is slamming Miley Cyrus's head in with a MTV Moon man award.

2008 was like being Kim Bassinger AFTER Alec Baldwin headed for higher ground.

2008 was as disgusting as Vern Troyer pulling a full-sized hamburger out of his ass. (No sliders here.)

2008 was more uncomfortable than massage night at Glenn Beck's.

2008 was as weird looking as Puffy daddy with out his shades.

2008 was more brutal than finding out that you're under age pregnant daughter's mother-in-law is running a highly successful crystal meth lab and YOU have to pay FULL PRICE.

2008 was unhealthier than Jeremy Piven's blood on opening night.

2008 was as unappetizing as Paula Dean microwaving tamales at a truck stop in Augusta, Georgia.

2008 was like being at a party where everyone is watching the Rosie O'Donnell mixed family cruise videos and no one can saying anything except, "how good the nut loaf is!"

2008 was like having sex with all the people that you have always wanted to have sex with then realizing that those people are YOUR BOSS and his family.

2008 was as odd as Tom Cruise was in 2007.

2008 was like a car ride across the U.S.A in a 1972 Gran Torino with Rick Warren, Perez Hilton and Ryan Seacrest and a broken radio. No air-conditioning and an 8-track cassette of Helen Ready's I am Woman.

2008 lasted longer than all of the gay marriages performed in the world.

2008 was as bitter sweet as having threesome with Jessica Alba and Rush Limbaugh.

2008 was as lingering as Jennifer Aniston's insistent, stultifying, airless popularity.

2008 was as unfunny as a double bill feature of Drill Bit Taylor and The Love Guru played at a cheap Chinese porno theater with absolutely no refunds.

2008 was like blowing out the candles on a birthday cake that doesn't have your name on it.

2008 was like ordering beef wellington and pommes frites and crème brule and getting a Mongolian beef bowl and a miniature apple.

2008 was like looking to the sun with out the card with the pinholes in it leaving you blind. This may be good because perhaps we don't want to see what's coming in 2009: Drill Bit Taylor: Part Two and The Love Guru: The Final Conflict, this time it's personal! And of course Madonna marrying a fetus.