This week’s column will be yet another masterpiece about the recession.

With the failure of various bailouts, buyouts and H.R. Bill 435 (which would throw the kitchen sink at the stock market) to boost the Madonna-like sagging of our economic fortunes, it’s blindingly obvious that we Americans are going to have to sacrifice.

I, Bonzo, will be taking over for Mr. Cook this week.

The writing’s on the wall, and it ain’t in cursive.

The subject of this week’s column will be improving communications between generations of Americans.

Our economy is currently tanking for lack of smoker cessation programs, tribal alcohol and substance abuse counseling and STD prevention.

I’ve decided to become a brain surgeon.

When navigating on the high seas of consumerism, there’s a variety of hazards you can encounter that are far worse than the lame analogy I’m using to get this column started.

There are certain words one does not like to hear applied to oneself.

At some point, one of your single friends will likely make the horrible mistake of entering into romantic relationship that lasts longer than a night at Cowboys, a trip to the convenience store bathroom dispensary and (if his pockets are fat) Waffle House in the morning.

Today’s column will be an insightful think-piece about a blanket with sleeves.

The greenie weenies recently gave third-rate humor columnists like me an early Christmas present by proposing a tax on cow flatulence.

Familiar behaviors common in family holiday gatherings.

Early intervention key in avoiding social “ailment.“

Here’s a few strategies for coping.