If there's one song that could serve as a theme for every year in recent memory, it would have to be that fine old concoction from the Grateful Dead, "What A Long, Strange Trip It's Been." This annum certainly qualified.

Let's cast a jaundiced eye back across the last 52 weeks and remember fondly all the wackiness that passed before us. There were battles fought, noble passings and nutburgers by the score.

January

2002 started off almost too easily, with the soon-to-be-felons of Enron sparking weirdness aplenty among their laid-off victims. Sites like CrookedE.com and LaydOff.com both poked fun at Lay, Fastow and the rest of the Enron posse and provided a support network for the jobless.

Also in January, we bid adieu to Dave Thomas, whose tireless work on behalf of fast food junkies everywhere must never be forgotten. Let us always remember that, were it not for Dave, we would never have known the joy that is the Frosty.

However, as this sign from a Houston restaurant proves, the chain soldiered on bravely without Dave, keeping their focus on the business.

And, finally, January brought us the sad tale of Ronald Huff, who perished of natural causes in his home, only to be transformed into a Handi-Snack by his collection of exotic pets, especially the seven Nile monitor lizards. Do NOT let your cats read this.

February

February introduced us to the sterling journalistic talents of ESPN.com scribe Bill Simmons, who having garnered the plum assignment of covering the Super Bowl, decided to cover it from the unique angle of an outraged, hypermoralistic redneck shocked and appalled by the conduct of the citizens of New Orleans.

His acid-laden personal e-mails to me in the wake of my gentle criticism proved him to be a person of unchallenged equanimity. I'm hoping next he's sent to cover the Hooterlympics in Florida.

Also in February, the Official Weird Chain Letter was distributed. If you haven't forwarded it yet, why not?

And, finally, Bigfoot made his inaugural appearance in the hallowed halls of the Chronicles. Much excitement was attendant upon his arrival. For more on his departure, read on.

March

My natal month is always good for a hoot or three, and none were more chuckleworthy than hapless Carl Franklin, who managed to set his trousers ablaze by dropping a lit cigarette in his pocket while fleeing police.

Doing my civic duty, I warned you all about the menace of the fungus-based meat substitute Quorn. In this I was eventually joined by none other than the Food Police themselves, the Center For Science In the Public Interest (CSPI), who were a tad bit troubled by reports of uncontrollable reverse peristalsis attendant upon the consumption of the fake meat.

Then, of course, the whole concept of the Weird Chronicles was thrown into shadow by the marriage of Liza Minnelli and that unfortunate dogfaced fellow she lassoed.

April

April delivered perhaps the most amusing nonhuman-based story of the year, as the Baltimore police encountered a quandary: missing marijuana from their evidence room. Hours of sterling detective work (and 120 baggies of dope) later, they discovered that the culprits were mice, who'd been using the Mary Jane as a ready food source.

The question of whether the rodents got the munchies from eating the weed, and what they did to remedy the situation if so, was never answered.

We also learned about the quest of John Winter Smith, who's at last report still embarked upon his jittering quest to visit every single Starbucks in the world and partake of a cuppa joe. Have a Halcyon on me, Johnny.

May

May brought the introduction to the Chronicles of the artcar crowd, including my own entry in the parade (at left). Ah, Rocky, rest in peace, my old friend.

The coolest sporting event in the world, BattleBots, made its presence known via the unique personage of Scrap Daddy, whose sculpture-like creations have made a splash (and a crash) in the worlds of art cars and fighting robots. He may not win much, but he sure gets folks talking.

We also made the acquaintance of a comely lass known as the Gypsy Mermaid, who is the proud owner of a veritable fleet of weirdly decorated vehicles, including the Volvo she graces at right.

May also found us running afoul of the Food Police at the aforementioned CSPI, when they revealed to us the shocking truth that pizza is fattening. Later, they went on to tell us that the moon is in the sky, ice is cold, and granite doesn't float.

June

In June I had the unalloyed pleasure of introducing all of you to the joy of Orange Shirt Day, created to help those left high and dry by the lack of significant holiday activity in the month. I've tried and tried to get the Powers That Be to let me use the picture at left as my "official" Weird Chronicles photo, but they keep shooting me with darts and running away when I get sleepy.

All was not orange and happy in June, however. The bongwater-fueled residents of Berkeley, Calif., having stopped watching the trails their hands made in the air for a little while, decided what their town needed was some politically correct coffee. An ordinance was proposed that would have made illegal the sale and consumption of any coffee not grown organically or certified as "Fair Trade."

Someone must have changed the additives in the tap water by November, because the ordinance was defeated.

July

Censorship reared its ugly head this month, as the tale of the starched-collar folks in Cromwell, Conn., came to the fore. They were outraged by the presence in their school of two occult menaces, the Newbery-award winning books "The Witch of Blackbird Pond," and "The Bridge to Terabithia."

At least the protesters were consistent, getting bent out of shape about field trips to the Salem Witch Museum, too.

In perhaps the most audacious endeavor of the year, I had you, gentle readers, submit your weirdest recipes, the most bizarre of which were then published in the Weird Buffet column. I shan't reprint any of them here. Just follow the link and keep a firm grip on your gorge.

August

I must have suffered some brain damage in early August, because I invited you nuts to pummel me with food puns. Never again. They've all been sealed safely in a vault and buried deep in a salt dome.

The brain damage wasn't confined to me, I'm afraid, as we heard about a man wanting a receipt for a lap dance at a strip club so he could get a refund and a scheme whereby junkies swapped sea turtle eggs for crack.

It got worse later in the month, when it became apparent that a large number of otherwise intelligent folks were donating dough to help Internet diva Karyn retire her debt, and the British government funded a study to prove that "beer goggles" do, in fact, exist.

September

September earned the title Repression Month right off the bat, when the folks in Waxahachie (pronunciation: redneck Mecca), Texas banned a girl from school for wearing a pentagram, symbol of the Wiccan religion, around her neck. All other religious symbols were still fine, said they.

Again from Texas came the story of Diana Whitt, whose knickers got in a twist by the shocking presence of a replica of Michelangelo's David in all his nekkid glory atop a local sporting goods store. She demanded a fig leaf, and was eventually successful.

Of course, the repression never showed up where it was needed most: a forest fire in California was believed to have been started by candles left burning after an animal sacrifice ritual.

October

In October, the Evil Squirrels finally tipped their furry little hands, as they were obviously behind many of the occurrences that month. How else to explain a man, self-medicating with a towel doused in rubbing alcohol for head lice, lighting a cigarette to pass the time? And surely their furry little whispers into the ears of the language dons were the driving force behind "Jedi" and "Klingon" being added to the Oxford English Dictionary.

And, since squirrels are made of meat (and darned tasty meat if prepared properly), they were doubtless behind the PETA campaign that involved parking a media truck playing gory cow-slaughter videos outside favorite lunch spots in Raleigh, N.C. I'll get you yet, you fuzzy little radicals.

November

November is the beginning of the holiday season, a time of hearth, home and alien encounters. That last came courtesy of New York photog Brandon Mowry, who caught the picture at left as part of a video he was shooting near an airport.

Further investigation revealed that the object just might be a "rod," a mysterious flying object of a type that's been showing up on film all over the world for years. I would have investigated further, but four soda machine-sized guys in black suits showed up and took all my files.

Moving on to safer subjects, we covered the case of Bill Jenness, whose cat was being treated for hyperthyroidism. As a side effect of the treatment, kitty Mitzi's effluvia was rendered radioactive. The disposal of the glowing doody led to all manner of trouble for poor Bill.

December

PETA kept us amused in the year's final month, mounting a "Got Pus?" campaign designed to gross folks out and make them stop drinking milk. They followed that with the scary revelation that conditions inside chicken farms may not be exactly Disneyesque in their comfort.

And I hate to end on a sad note, but we closed the year mourning the reported death of Bigfoot. With the death of Washington state resident Ray Wallace, his family "revealed" that he had created the entire Bigfoot mythos. The family's claim was disputed by many, and I'm not giving up hope!

Thanks for tagging along on our little tour of 2002. May the new year provide us with just as much fodder as the old!

As ever, I await your notes, screeds, diatribes and missives. Drop me a line anytime!