January is the month of renewal. A time to cleanse one's soul. A fresh start on a new year. For the dolts in charge of The Stranger, however, it is yet another chance to cleanse bongs and navel gaze. Case in point: this week's "special package," which uses the dubious disorder of seasonal affectiveness as a cross upon which to nail all manner of inanity. The majority of that inanity is centered around alcohol—via extremely advertiser-friendly write-ups of local drinking establishments (isn't this something The Stranger often accuses their competitor Seattle Weekly of partaking in?)—and is therefore par for the course (what would an issue of The Stranger be without the promotion of alcoholism?), but a few of the package's pieces, most notably those penned by BRENDAN KILEY, CIENNA MADRID, and BRADLEY STEINBACHER (speaking of disorders), achieve a level of stupidity that is awe inspiring even by the low, low standard's of this stupid, stupid paper. Just why the editors believed readers would want to learn about Mr. Kiley's session with a dominatrix, or sift through some 400 words by Ms. Madrid about time spent in a tanning booth, or trudge through blather by Mr. Steinbacher on smearing a warming ointment on his derrière, would make for a good mystery if not for common knowledge that The Stranger ran out of fresh ideas years ago. Still, in the interest of fair play, I asked editor Dan Savage via e-mail if he could explain this blight. His reply: "Suck it you ignerant [sic] old doosh [sic]! Just die already! I [expletive] hope you [expletive] your mother in the [expletive] [expletive]! [expletive] yur [sic] [expletive] [expletive] [expletive] [expletive]!!!!!!!!—Dan" And that, ladies and gentlemen, fairly well speaks for itself.