People sure do have a talent for making things lots more complicated than they need to be.  We spend so much time reading between the lines, looking for clues and clarity, it's a wonder anything gets done at all -- which, as you might guess, is a perfect cue to skewer Congress, the ultimate spot of wonder and awe should anything ever be accomplished.

Despite all the hoopla and hocus-pocus, nothing much has changed at all, not even with all the foaming and frothing at the mouth lately over finances.  There are still a couple of brands of Republicans haggling and mule-trading with a couple brands of Democrats, everyone happily and heartily posing for the folks back home, as they do their Homeric, heroic battles in the homeland of D.C., shedding all their usual stalling and finally doing their jobs, albeit at the last possible moment.

Flying the GOP banner, there are the Psychos and the Semi-Psychos:  The former are convinced they have no obligation or responsibility to fellow humans, fellow Americans, nor to the country itself.  Psychos joined government in order to bring government to a complete halt, thereby saving money that would be better lavished on billionaires.

For anyone who's feeling the all-at-sea aftereffects of celebratory intemperance, and find their orbital re-entry into this new year a heat-shield-melting experience, we promise to go slowly. Apply the forehead ice.  The soggy, greasy scudding along of a serious bout of intestinal crapulence today is instantly understood.

Everyone who wishes those darn butterflies would quit making all that rustling and flapping-around racket outside have our pity, not scorn.  We'll simply wrap our feet in couch cushions -- like enormous Bullwinkle slippers -- and promise to not increase your agony with tuba practice or making you read in all caps.

While you're re-hydrating and giving wet, cautious, cotton-brained consideration to the possibility a bacon sandwich and some hair of the dog will be of more help than hindrance, we pledge to make no sudden moves and keep things on an even keel while you regain your sea legs.

Short and sweet is the rule today -- although we might mess with your head a tad, en route to providing you a crinkled grin or two.

Today's Over-the-Cliff riddle, brought to you by our mutual sponsors at Brinkmanship-M-Us: What's filled with excrement and does whatever it's told by its owners?

(While we wait for everyone to use their allotted 30 seconds to make a guess, I'll wish you a happy, cross-your-fingers reboot, into another year, and hope this one works out and fires up cleanly this time.)  Ding!

OK, pencils down, everyone.  You'll be quickly forgiven if you said something on the order of "our bought and paid-for, corporately-owned Congress."  (Not to highlight a technicality too vividly, but corporations and absurdly wealthy individuals can both own politicians nowadays.  This is called Progress.)

In any case here, award yourself 100 bonus points, and a Congressional "Stay Out of Jail on Your Own Recognizance Free" card, just for playing.  Hang on to that thing, too, once you get it.  Stash it in with the rest of your stash, in your safety deposit box, down at First Failing Hemisphere MegaBanxCo.

Well, let's see how far we've come in the national discussion on guns, so far:  You've got NRA cheerleader and CEO Wayne LaPierre shooting off his mouth on talking head shows, saying a ban on high capacity weapons magazines will be done, basically, over his dead body.

If I were an unkind sort, I'd be sorely tempted to say, "Works for me."

Good thing I'm not -- I'm not even one of the grinches "making war" on Christmas, as religious believers usually phrase their accusations.

It's true I no longer subscribe to such notions, having become confused why it is the birth of a people's savior is celebrated with such shows of avarice, greed, and conspicuous consumption -- especially as that infant would grow and that savior later be quoted saying, give away all your possessions and follow me.

You might even remember, as I do, those repeated warnings regarding the difficulty of camels trying to pass through the eye of a needle, in relation to the rich.  And, as much as I think religion is a private matter best kept out of the public square, I am not trying to lay down a sheet of freezing rain on anyone's parade route, nor do anything rude to anyone's eggnog.