The old joke is that Jewish people celebrate Christmas by eating Chinese food and going to the movies. But let's be realistic - many of us do that all year.

This morning I chose IHOP over Chinese food, as I didn't think egg drop soup would make the best breakfast. IHOP was thankfully open, a brilliant tactical move on their part. The place was packed - they were one of the only places serving breakfast, thus catering to Jews and people already tired of their family. But IHOP was not quite as packed as The House of Blues the night before. And they don't even have pancakes.

On Christmas Eve, there's not much to do if you're not Christian. Or if you're Christian and tired of your family. So I did what any Jewish guy in Los Angeles would do - I went to a party called "Shmooza Palooza."

Despite a name lamer than a monopod with a bum knee, the event itself wasn't bad. Every Christmas Eve, LA's House of Blues caters to a few thousand Jewish people and a few dozen others who just seem to really like Jewish people. It's just a big ol' party - nothing very Jewish about it except those in attendance. My roommate and I decided to check it out - it was that or watch "It's a Wonderful Life" for the eighth time in case it ends differently.

"Who knew Clarence was Kaizer Soze?!"

My roommate is comedian Adam Hunter, who has appeared in this column before (mainly when we lost his car in a parking garage). One of Adam's best qualities is his ability to say terribly ridiculous things simply to make whoever he is with laugh. Which made waiting in line much more fun.

"What's your name?" one girl asked him.

She was not prepared to hear Adam say he was Peter O'Brien from Kentucky, who relocated to LA as a missionary and was attending the event to do the Lord's Work. The guy at the door was also not prepared when Adam asked if everyone was there to see Bone Thugs & Harmony. Fun times were already being had at the House of Jews.

It was quite a scene. There were the sketchy old guys, many of whom weren't Jewish but were there because where there are short skirts and music, there will always be sketchy old guys. There were girls wearing the short skirts, some entitled to and some not as much. The male equivalent of that was there, too - guys wearing button shirts that didn't seem to button all the way up. It must have been because of all the chest hair in the way. There were roving packs of females hell bent on not talking to any guys until they got drunk, roving packs of males hell bent on getting those girls drunk, and normal people who just wanted to party. In other words, it was like your typical club, only filled with people my mother would want me to end up with. Except the sketchy old guys.

Adam and I had fun dancing, chilling, talking to people, and telling the occasional annoying person we were there Doing The Lord's Work. One person was blathering on and on about how she was a personal trainor, and she was so fit because she practiced what she preached. I replied, "Hey Peter, didn't you used to be a preacher?"

Most importantly, there was no Christmas music at the event. I know that some of you may think you like Christmas music, but the only people who actually like that stuff are the people who make money when it sells.

Think I'm wrong? Then imagine your favorite Christmas song. Now think about the last time you listened to it in May. I bet never. I like Outkast. You know how I know I like Outkast? I listen to them year-round. No one has ever been driving, heard "Holy Night" on the radio, and said, "Awww, yeah, this is my jam!"

Thankfully, the Jewmboree didn't have Hannukah music either. I'm not against Christmas; seasonal music is annoying no matter the season. I like hearing "Monster Mash" on Halloween once. But only once.

It was nice to have at least one place open on Christmas Eve - and a pretty good idea by the promoters. Maybe next year I'll produce a giant comedy show geared towards Jewish people and people who are tired of their family. That way there'd be no sketchy old guys. Unless you count some of the comedians.

Merry everything!

Steve Hofstetter is the author of the Student Body Shots books, which are available at SteveHofstetter.com and bookstores everywhere. He can be e-mailed at steve@stevehofstetter.com.

With the exception of a quick jab, I don't usually write about things as serious as the president. Heck, last week's column was about how creepy Punky Brewster was. (Mom, it was a JOKE). But every so often, something happens that is so ridiculous I can't let it pass by without throwing my two cents in (See Hilton, Paris).

Earlier this week, George W. Bush admitted to authorizing the phone tapping of suspected terrorists who also happened to be American citizens. You probably know this if you own a radio, a TV, or a newspaper. People are talking about it, too. I found out because I had my neighbor's phone tapped and he mentioned it while discussing plans to overthrow the government.

I'm kidding, of course. And I need to say that so men in suits don't show up at my door and steal me.

"Why are you arresting me?"

"You've been implicated in terrorist activity. And we don't like what you wrote about Punky Brewster."

The basic facts are thus: wire tapping without a warrant is illegal, no matter what office you hold. Bush admitted to knowledge of wire tapping without a warrant. Bush also said the tapping was okay because he asked for approval first. That was right before I fell out of my chair laughing. And that was right before I checked the weather in Canada.

Damn, still cold. I guess I'll stick around.

Look, I am fiercely patriotic, but one of my favorite parts about America is that we're allowed to say what we want. Even if it does implicate Punky's father in a molestation scandal. And right now I need to say this - George W. Bush needs to be stopped.

I am not criticizing republicans. I am not criticizing you. I am criticizing a man who thinks breaking the law is okay simply because he asked permission.

Ever speed? Try this: "Officer, I know I was doing 80 in a 35. But congress said it was okay."

Republicans, if you're reading this (and judging from my hatemail, you are), you have to find this tapping incident as wrong as I do. Defend the war, the economic policies, the anti-gay marriage bills, the handling of the hurricanes. But do NOT defend this. Being a republican now should be like being a Warriors fan the week after Latrell Sprewell choked PJ Carlesimo. I have no problem with you blindly supporting the uniform, but sometimes you have to throw your hands up, ditch your star player and rebuild.

Not following me? Well, follow this. Bush said that what he did was okay because of the war we're fighting. You know, the one with Iraqistan. His basic reasoning was that if we want to win this war, we have to monitor suspected terrorists, even if we didn't suspect them of terrorism when we granted them citizenship. You know what a suspected terrorist is? Someone who the government THINKS might be a terrorist. Why would the government not know for sure if this person was a terrorist? Because there's no proof - if there was, they wouldn't be suspected. Americans are being monitored because someone in a government agency decided that these people may or may not be involved in terrorist activity. And some of them may be. But some of them may just be regular Americans.

The common defense I've heard is that if you haven't done anything wrong, then a wiretap shouldn't worry you. Except for that pesky privacy thing. I don't do anything the government would get upset about, but I don't want them knowing everything I say. I like my privacy. And if you're still not with me, how about this: imagine the government barging in on you while you're going to the bathroom. Unless you have a herpetic outbreak, you have nothing to worry about, right? Except for that pesky privacy thing.

Lets say we catch all of the terrorists, and stamp out terrorism forever. Yay, bravo, amazing, bully for us. That would be a huge step towards world peace but at the expense of our privacy. Is that worth it? You decide.

Go ahead - I'm listening.

Steve Hofstetter is the author of the Student Body Shots books, which are available at SteveHofstetter.com and bookstores everywhere. He can be e-mailed at steve@stevehofstetter.com.

Even if you never watched much Punky Brewster, some internet research is enough to know that the show was really creepy.

The basic plot, for those without access to IMDB: a girl gets abandoned in a grocery store. Then an old single gentleman with a penchant for cardigans takes her home and the show was somehow intended for children. I'm not saying that Henry had ulterior motives for adopting Punky. But I'm certainly suggesting it.

What a disturbing premise. That show would never be on the air now, since we have Megan's Law. And when I was researching this column, I found this under trivia: "During the whole run of the show, Henry's bedroom is not shown." That is just a normal quote, thrown in between trivia about where Punky's dog got its name and how the sets were changed mid-season. Oh yeah - and the old single guy? We never saw his bedroom. I can only imagine how much leather was in there.

The best part of this column is that I'm taking a completely innocent show like Punky Brewster and ruining it for you.

Think I'm crazy? There are a number of lines in the theme song that make me think Henry was a long lost member of the Jackson family.

"Maybe the world is blind" could be a line about how little the world cares for the suffering of children. Or about how the world just doesn't understand the relationship a single, older man can have with a young girl. And leather.

Two lines later: "You may be lonely and then one day you're smiling again." Sure. Before Megan's Law.

And it gets even worse. "Every time I turn around, I see the girl that turns my world around." I could read TONS into this one. But I don't want to think about what Henry was doing in the same room with his back to that poor kid.

Punky Brewtser was not the only adoption show in the 1980s. Different Strokes featured an old single man adopting two boys, which would be even sketchier. Thankfully Mr. Drummond married Maggie and we knew things were okay. In fact, Different Strokes had a very special episode where the boys get kidnapped by a child molester - dealing with the issue head on. Was there any child molester episode of Punky Brewster? Nope! Unless you count all of them. I for one, do not want to see a very special episode of this sick, sick show.

My parents adopted a baby girl before I was born, and I think adoption is a wonderful thing. I'm not saying that single men should not be allowed to adopt. But when an older gentleman who lives alone and seems to really like young girls shows up at the agency in a cardigan, more red flags should go up than in the stands at a Manchester United game.

The other main adoption show on the 1980s included Alvin and the Chipmunks, a show about a single guy who adopts three chipmunks and raises them as humans. You never saw his bedroom either.

I bet I am the first person to devote this much column space to detailing the creepiness of Punky Brewster. Maybe I'm the only one who thinks that a show where a lonely guy suddenly smiles at the thought of a young girl turning his world around is just icky. Maybe I'm the only one who sees it.

But maybe the world is blind.

Steve Hofstetter is the author of the Student Body Shots books, which are available at SteveHofstetter.com and bookstores everywhere. He can be e-mailed at steve@stevehofstetter.com.

There comes a time in every man's life when he is up against immeasurable odds, and he must persevere toward victory through sheer refusal to face defeat. That time is most commonly referred to as "last call."

Last call presents many odds against a guy hooking up. By this time, there are usually no more than three decent looking girls at the bar that remain unclaimed. For some of those girls, last call is also a signal to end the night, so the "my girl likes to party all the time" vibe disappears quicker than Eddie Murphy's ability to choose a script. And most importantly, this is as drunk as these girls are going to be, so you may not be able to trick them into thinking you're attractive.

I was recently told not to get smart with someone. I apologized, and assured her that I was only being smart in comparison.

"Don't get smart with me" is one of the dumbest phrases we use. Well, one of the dumbest phrases people use. I can't say "we" because I don't use it. Making fun of people who say "Don't get smart with me" is the only time I ever say "Don't get smart with me."Of course, the absolute dumbest phrase we use is "believe you me," because that phrase doesn't mean anything at all. That one should be "believe me, you!" unless you're quoting Yoda.

What is "don't get smart with me" supposed to mean? Typically, that's used during an argument in response to the other party making a good point. They should say, "Don't you dare bring intelligence into this in order to combat my circuitous logic!" Or something more their speed, like "I can't unnerstan yer fancy book learnins!"

The phrase is probably intended to mean, "don't be a smartass." But if the speaker means "don't be a smartass," that's what they should say. When that woman I was arguing with said, "don't get smart with me!" I wanted to tell her I wouldn't have to get smart with her if she weren't so dumb with me in the first place. Then she'd have to say, "there you go, being smart again! We're never going to get anywhere if you keep being smart!"

Why are we a culture that prides ourselves on our stupidity? When I changed the name of my column from "Observational Humor" to "Thinking Man," I lost hundreds of subscribers. I'm the same writer, I'm writing the same content, and the mere suggestion that people may have to think to read it scared a few hundred people off. That's almost as stupid as how popular Dr. Phil is.

Yes, trust a fat guy to give you advice on weight loss. After you buy his book, you should pick up the new one from Donald Trump on how to have a successful marriage, or Joe Jackson's how-to on positive methods of childrearing.

Not everyone is smart, and I don't expect everyone to be. There is no one good at everything. But if you are living on your own and smart enough to eat each day, you're smart enough to try to get smarter. Read every now and then - you might actually like it.

There are millions of people smarter than I am. Many of them write to me each week to correct my grammar. Though that shows they're not smart enough to pick their battles. Kind of like me not letting the phrase "don't get smart with me" go.

I know I'm not the smartest guy in the world, so I work at getting smarter. I read when I can, I am always learning from others, and I even do things like crossword puzzles just to keep my reasoning skills fresh. I'm amazed at how seldom my mind is tested after I graduated college. Though every time I have to give back the extra change a clerk gave me, I guess I'm practicing math.

I don't know the perfect solution to this problem. And while I joke about it, we shouldn't actually try to kill stupid people. Though they do have a habit of doing it for us - there's a LOT of dumb on dumb crime.

The only solution I could come up with is to encourage people, individually, to be proud of the knowledge and facilities they do have. And to get more. You know what the best way to learn is? Just pay attention. There's knowledge all around you - all you have to do to get some of it is listen. Which might be tough, with all the dumbasses prattling on in the background. After you turn off Dr. Phil, it will get easier.

But who am I talking to? If you're reading this, you weren't scared by the "Thinking Man" title and you've probably never said, "don't get smart with me." Except of course to make fun of the phrase.

If you're already reading for leisure, you're one of the good ones. So I can metaphorically pat you on the back and be proud that you understand the term "metaphorically." I can also count on you making fun of the next person who says, "don't get smart with me."

Just try not to let it be a cop.

Steve Hofstetter is the author of the Student Body Shots books, which are available at SteveHofstetter.com and bookstores everywhere. He can be e-mailed at steve@stevehofstetter.com.