Houston, we have a problem, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers.

For the third year in a row, "Men's Fitness'' magazine has named Houston the nation's fattest city. Alarmed by this information, the city’s leaders agreed to discuss the problem over a dinner of chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes, gravy and beer.

Of course Houston is the fattest city; the city flower is deep-fried onion blossom. Crash bing.

Houston is the only city in the country whose city hall features a drive-thru McDonalds. Bada boom.

The City flag has a deep-fryer on it. Bang zing.

The lightest group of people in Houston are the Houston Texans NFL team. Tah dah bang.

Of course Houston is the fattest city. You know why those guys have such huge plate-sized belt buckles? So they can find them under their big bellies. Crash ding.

In Houston, the juice bars have a deep fryer. Bing bing bing.

In Houston, a Krispi Kream donut shop is considered fine dining. Rickita bickita boom boom.

The closest thing to an extreme sport in Houston is fishing standing up. Rum tah tum tum.

Houston is so unfit and unhealthy the life expectancy is even higher in Baghdad. Zip zang zing.

30 % of Houston men suffer from Dunlop syndrome. That’s when the belly dun lopped over their belts. Wha wha whahhh.

Do you know what they call Anna Nicole Smith in Houston? Anorexic. Wheeze, wheeze, wheeze.

Houston is the only city where Crisco is considered a side dish. Clop da plop.

Have you seen some of those Houston guys? They are so fat, they put the ton in Houston. Thank you, I'll be here all week (weak) Try the veal. Oh Houston, you know we kid because we care. Prettiest girl who ever broke my heart was from Houston. Sniff.

They are still waiting to find out if the baby those Clonaid nut-jobs claim was cloned was really cloned. Forget if the baby is cloned, let’s first figure out if those two Clonaid’s leaders are human. These two knuckleheads, that Rael-guy and Dr. Brigitte Boisselier, put the clown in Clonaid. Oh yeah, give me a French guy in an Obi Wan suit with a poodle top-knot on his head who says we are descended from aliens, and I tend to believe anything he says. Today a spokesperson for space Aliens categorically denied any connection to Clonaid.

In reviewing last year, a lot of sports journalists point to the low point as when the shirtless and tattooed father and son team beat up the Kansas City Royals first base coach. I tend to agree, they should have beat up baseball commissioner Bud Selig.

Since you asked:

The funniest lyrics not written by Randy Newman? Here you go:

"Dixie Chicken"

I seen the bright lights of Memphis
And the Commodore Hotel
And it was there beneath the streetlamp
Where I met a southern belle
Well she took me to the river
Where she cast her spell
And it was 'neath that Memphis moonlight
She sang this song so well

If you'll be my Dixie chicken
I'll be your Tennessee lamb
And we can walk together
Down in Dixie land
Down in Dixie land

We hit all the hotspots
My money flowed like wine
Till the lowdown southern whiskey
Began to fog my mind
Well I don't remember church bells
Or the money I put down
On the white picket fence and boardwalk
At the house on the edge of town
Now but boy do I remember
The strain of her refrain
And the nights we spent together
And the way she called my name

If you'll be my Dixie chicken
I'll be your Tennessee lamb
And we can walk together
Down in Dixie land
Down in Dixie land

It's been a year since she ran away
Guess that guitar player sure could play
She always liked to sing along
He was always handy with a song
Then one night in the lobby
Of the Commodore Hotel
I by chance met a bartender
Who said he knew her well
And as he handed me a drink
He began to hum a song
And all the boys there at the bar
Began to sing along

If you'll be my Dixie chicken
I'll be your Tennessee lamb
And we can walk together
Down in Dixie land
Down in Dixie land
If you'll be my Dixie chicken
I'll be your Tennessee lamb
And we can walk together
Down in Dixie land
Down in Dixie land

Talk to the hand or stand tall before the man, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers.

Did you see all those college football games yesterday? Man, I saw more bowls than a smart-mouthed Marine on latrine duty.
If I watched one more football game on New Year’s Day, my wife was going to have me legally designated as a part of the furniture.

While practicing for tonight’s Florida Orange Bowl, USC football players met with O.J. Simpson. The players said they only think of OJ as an ex USC-star football player. In addition, they only think of Osama bin Laden as a reclusive millionaire. Apparently USC stands for Unaware of Serious Crimes. Man, I know USC athletes aren’t real students, but you’d think they could read a newspaper.

Did you see Oklahoma manhandle Washington State 34-14 in the Rose Bowl? Oklahoma’s defense was scarier than carpooling to a party with Diana Ross and Nick Nolte.

According to the police report, singer Diana Ross said she was trying to rent a video and got lost when she was stopped for driving under the influence. The video she wanted to rent was “Dude, Where’s my car going?” Did you hear Diana Ross’s latest song? “Baby, baby, where did our car go?” Diana Ross’ blood-alcohol was 2.0, over twice the legal limit. So when it comes to blood alcohol levels, there is unleaded, regular and the Supremes.

Ozzy and Sharon Osbourne renewed their wedding vows during a New Year's Eve party at the Beverly Hills Hotel. It was very touching. Until the minister got to the part that said ‘till death you do part, and Ozzie asked; “You mean I’m not dead?” Rolling Stone Keith Richards was on hand to translate Ozzy’s vows from Drunk-British-Rocker to English.

Happy New Year, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

Or, as our friend Wally would put it, Happrahgee Newrah Yourah. (Did I mention that our friend Wally was a bit tetched?)

As we sprechen sie, Notre Dame is getting their butts kicked by North Carolina State. What was Notre Dame thinking scheduling a game for New Year's Day? Everyone knows that the fighting Irish are generally badly hungover on New Year's Day. Did I mention that one of my New Year's Resolutions is to not be politically correct?

Feeling a tad smug. Turns out our New Year's Eve was pretty awesome after all. At our house, we ring in the New Year here in San Diego the way you should, at Nine P.M., 12 Eastern. As we all learned so clearly after September 11th, this is one country, and our country starts its New Years on the East Coast. (Plus, our four-year-old daughter can enjoy it that way )

Anyway, we dined on king crab legs and California champagne while we listened to Cole Porter. That, as the great Max Von Stock from Colonial Westfield New Jersey would say, does not suck, my friends. Then, as I mentioned, at Nine P.M, my daughter led us - me, my wife, and our two adorably crazed yellow Labradors, Kasey and Wrigley - in a deliriously fun pot-banging parade around the house. (OK, so it wasn't a naked French champagne/ whipped cream bath with super models, it was still pretty damn good)

Then we watched the possibly all time funniest movie; "Some Like it Hot." My favorite line? There are too many, but it might be the hiding-in-drag Jack Lemmon, Daphne, drinking with Sugar, Marilyn Monroe, in the train sleeping-car berth, saying; "Maybe later I'll turn this into a surprise party."

And then:

Sugar: What's the surprise?
Daphne: Uh, unh. Not yet.
Sugar: When?
Daphne: Better have a drink first.
Sugar: That'll put hair on your chest.
Daphne: No fair guessing.

And this one:

(Dirty old rich guy) Osgood: You must be quite a girl.
Daphne: Wanna bet?

And then later:

(Curtis) Joe: What are you talking about? You can't marry Osgood!
(Lemmon) Jerry: You think he's too old for me?

Let's get this party started, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

I found out what Auld Lang Syne means: It’s Scottish for crack is whack.

Wal-Mart Stores all around the country pulled the new "Midge” doll off the shelves. Midge is Barbie's best friend. They pulled the doll off the shelves right before Christmas because Midge is pregnant. This also explains why G.I. Joe was in such a hurry to be deployed to Afghanistan.

The agent of New York Giant star rookie tight end, Jeremy Shockey said he wanted to market Shockey as the NFL’s Anna Kournakova. Anna and Shockey do have a lot in common: both are blonde, arrogant, and Shockey has won just as many women’s tennis tournaments as Kournakova.

Did you see the Giants and the Jets games this weekend? What is with the field at the Meadowlands? That was the first time a football field had a bad case of mange. The grass looked every bit as natural as former U.S. Rep. James A. Traficant Jr’s hairpiece.

It was raining so hard at the Oakland Raiders game that you could actually see silver and black grease paint flooding the aisles. It was really pouring at Oakland during the Kansas City Chiefs Raider game. It was the closest thing Raiders fans have had to a shower all season.

Joan Rivers is accused of assaulting a clerk at a Dollar-Rent-A-Car. Apparently Rivers got upset when the clerk mentioned the airbag and Rivers naturally thought she was talking about her.

Indiana University will punish its basketball coach Mike Davis for his outburst at the end of last Saturday's game against Kentucky. Rumor has it the punishment will be severe: Davis will have to wear one of Bobby Knight’s old red sweaters for an entire week.Rumor has it the punishment will be severe: Bobby Knight will throw a chair at him.

A religious sect's claim that it has cloned a human being is reviving congressional efforts to ban cloning and reopening a politically charged debate. I can give you three good reasons why cloning should be outlawed: Anna, Nicole and Smith.

How many are going to make a New Year’s Resolution? How many are already planning how to break that New Year’s Resolution? Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown have made their New Year’s Resolutions: To not do any drugs . . . in church . . . in front of the Pope.

Let's face it, in general, New Years Eve kind of sucks. Lots of expectations and the parties are usually a crushing disappointment. I will never forget the worst New Year's Eve: My girlfriend broke up with me and I got in a fight. (Not really a fight, but as the token football player at the party, I was appointed bouncer to toss drunk guys from the local private Catholic high school, Loyola Academy, who had crashed the party. One drunk guy grabbed my then long hair and wouldn't let go.)

That New Year's eve was 1975. At the time, it was as dark and as scary an era as a peace-time 17-year-old could have then imagined. (Post September 11th kids must have it even worse) The economy stunk, the Watergate-era morale of the country was horrible, the clothes were ugly and the cancer that was disco was just starting to form a tumor on our culture's collective ass. Looking back, how one young kid could have been so filled with so much regret and uncertainty at the same time is hard to imagine. It seemed that at the same instant, my innocence vanished and an uncertain future loomed as ominously as a midnight title wave.

But in two years, life was near pure bliss: Santa Barbara beach sunsets, free beer, guacamole and, best of all, tan, taut - and taught - fun-loving California college girls. (Sally, Julie, Darcy, Diane, Susan, Karen, Lori, Laurie, Sandy, Mandy et al, bless you, whevever you are) My point? If things aren't going great right now, just hang in there. And if things are going great? Please have the decency to keep it to yourself.

Either way, Happy New Year, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers.