Death, old, death.

Here's WENN photo library's photos of the year. We think the first three sum up historic 2005 perfectly: Luther Vandross, Madonna and tsunami.

No deal.

After a few lite whiskey egg nogs last eve, we tuned into the premiere of NBC's weeklong game show event, "Deal or No Deal," primarily because we loves us a little Howie Mandel. Not really. It was primarily because "Wheel of Fortune" isn't fucking retarded enough for us when we're hopped up on booze and sugar.

Anyway, we really have nothing to say about this asinine show other than that stupid bitch last night went home with $25,000 instead of $133,000, and we LOVED it. Though we honestly wanted to raise the stakes a little bit and change the game to "Deal or Slavery" or "Deal or Host This Show."

If you want the rules, visit the link above. Our favorite part is when the omnipotent "banker" calls Howie Mandel on a phone and Mandel has to answer and pretend he's actually talking to someone. We really didn't get enough Mandel acting in "Little Monsters," so we're very happy he's able to use his thespianic skills once again. Very nice, NBC. Oh, we also LOVE the 25 hideous "model"s, 22 of whom are named Lindsey, holding the cases.

Seriously, this show is a new low for TV. We'll so be tuning in again tonight.

That train is striking on you.

Transit strike, transit schmike. We're here and we're queer, and what doesn't kill us only makes us bloodier! So, happy Tuesday, everyone. NYC's quiet this morning, but the rest of the world is up and ready to go. So, let's go!

Here's a riddle: What's worse than getting the New Yorker?

Answer: Getting the "International Fiction" issue of the New Yorker.

Are you with me? Ladies? Babies? Striking people who push a "Forward/Reverse" button on a train from 1836?

The enchanted world of Griffin-Bass.

Oh, plastic surgery, thank you for making the holidays a little bit fun for us.

Sad man across the water.

Well, we've been sad for Elton John for a while, so this doesn't really surprise us.

More worst.

Here's the NY Post's 10 worst movies of the year. Don't worry—the link is not to the Post's 1 worst Web site ever.

Let's all not go to the movies.

We are quite proud to say that, as passionate movie lovers, we went to the movies five times this year, approximately two more times than we expected to. So, in order from most favorite to least favorite, here's our year-end movie list.

The NB's Top 5 2005 Movies

1)Mysterious Skin—easily the best on the list. Screw the cowboys—this was the gay-movie-directed-by-an-Asian of the year.
2)The Aristocrats—apart from a few clunker entries, this film was funny and fascinating.
3)Brokeback Mountain—"subtle" is different from "detached." And "Randy Quaid."
4)Batman Begins—and, eventually, ends.
5)Star Wars—Episode III: Revenge of the Sith—kudos to you, Lucas—you hoodwinked us three times.



And now, more importantly, the first filmic "worst of" list of the year, from Dark Horizons.

And here's the top 10 most nitpicked movies of all time, whatever the fuck that means.

Graduated opinion.

Rumor has it, it sucks.

Lady wears the hat.

Who was the star of Richard Pryor's funeral? Why, Diana Ross, of course.

Crappy slappy holidays.

If the unbridled anxiety and unfulfilled merriment of the holiday season have you thinking about killing yourself, here's news that should seal the deal.

Nervous breakdown.

Friends, because we left intern Luang in charge of the calendar, we found out today that we're on a Laosian schedule. Meaning, the special occasion we thought occurred today actually occurred one week ago. Meaning, this site, Nervous Breakdown, along with lots of babies, had its first birthday LAST Friday. We had a big celebration all planned for today but were so dismayed by the fact that we'd missed the actual day that we threw the crinoline and confetti out the window along with Luang.

Anyway...



First of all, HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY TO US. That's in yelling voice because, honestly, this site began as a joke and turned into a much bigger one, one that has kind of gotten out of control. One that, truth be told, kind of runs the life of its diminutive editor. It was never supposed to be as such. We're yelling because, despite the questionable quality of the work, we did a lot of it, and we're fucking proud. What once was unrecorded wasted time has been documented day by day for one year. We busted our ass to make sure our deferred dreams could one day look back at what we decided to do instead. And that you, dear, beloved reader, could get an occasional laugh out of it all.

Which leads us to second of all. Second of all, thank you, however many of you there are, for stopping by occasionally or religiously to see what shiny new crap we've posted for your edutainment. It means the world to us. The interns, too! Well, those that can speak English. Well, not really the interns. But we all do appreciate your attention. You've made it all worth it. Kind of. No, really!

That said, we honestly don't know what the future holds for the NB. Our goal was to make it through a year. Now that we've achieved that, plus one week, we, like Britney, are at a crossroads. Shall we continue? Do we break down the Breakdown? We really do not know. Things have changed significantly in our non-NB life in the past weeks, and we're not sure how much time we can continue to devote to this franchise. That said, we're pretty sure we don't want to give it up entirely. What we can say right now is that we shall soldier on, though there may be less updates less often. We hope you will understand. On our end, we will strive to make those updates even crappier than before. It's all about compromise.

SO...

We hope you've enjoyed this year and week with us. We sure have enjoyed it with you. That's it for today. Have a good weekend. Be safe. Stay warm. Call us. BFF. SSOS. XOXOXOXOXOXO.

The entire NB staff

Heil Greyhound.

Come on, people, you're on something called the "Concentration Camp Memorial Tour." Obviously you're supposed to have a sense of humor.

That's some mummy.

You know who's looking good lately?

On the first gay of Christmas.

Please don't forget, folks, that Clay Aiken will be performing tomorrow, December 16, at Nashville's Gaylord Entertainment Center. That's the Gaylord Entertainment Center with Clay Aiken at the Gaylord with Clay Aiken. Happy holiclays!

(Do us a favor—please don't look where they want you to look.)

Hizzomo!

We're delighted to report that Matt Damon's small Manhattan wedding was gay-friendly.

Put a wick in it, it's done.

If there's one thing you can definitely say about that Madame Tussaud, it's that she certainly does do some fucked-up shit with wax.

Big Bird? Never heard of him. Her. It.

Come on. Wasn't this quote worth waiting for?

"Caroll Spinney, who also plays Oscar the Grouch on the show, had no involvement in the woman's death."

Yes. Yes it was.

Oy.

People, the holidays have kicked the action level up to rad new heights. We're SWAMPED with wrapping gifts for all our sponsors, benefactors and dealers. Whilst we're elving, why not make a driedel and Jew some of your friends out of their hard-earned holiday bonuses? Here's how.

Good luck. We'll see you later, bunnies.

Jackie threads with cobras at the door.

What was the most horrifying thing to arrive at the British Comedy Awards? Besides the teeth (good night, London!)?



A-miss a-Jackie a-Stallone, of course.

Senator, I served with Shelley Winters. I knew Shelley Winters. Shelley Winters was a friend of mine. Senator, you're no Shelley Winters.

What do you get when you mix Thank God It's Friday...



...with a musical performance from any 2004 awards show...



...with a phrase containing the words "acclaimed" and "Troy"?



If you guessed either "crap" or...



...pour yourself another shot of Bourbon. If you didn't, you must now suffer through this.