JANUARY

It's a new year David! Full of promise and wonder. And you have evidently just returned from one of the countless upscale LA night clubs that you notoriously frequent. Places we commoners can only fantasize about while devouring the celebrity gossip pages. How grand it must be! But what's this? A tiny friend on your shoulder to help you ring in the New Year? And why not? On most men such a sight would seem emasculating and silly. But you manage to somehow continue to exude both dignity and manhood. Such a gift! But I'm sorry David, I regret to inform you that despite your efforts to accessorize, the glimmer of that sequined collar will never be able to compete with the natural gleam of those steely-blue eyes. It's a lost cause.

FEBRUARY

Ah, February! A month of contradiction. How odd that the coldest and bleakest 28 days of the year is also the month of love. And David is in the spirit! Envy his Valentine as he offers her the ultimate token of his affection: Himself, sopping wet and completely engulfed in floral excess.

MARCH

They say that March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. But you, David, come in like a lion, see the lamb, make tender love to it, and then devour that lamb. Despite your festive surroundings, you appear a bit melancholy. Perhaps that swing reminds you of the youthful romance with that tom-boyish girl from your neighborhood. Try as you might to relive it, love will never be that pure and simple again. So genuine. So unspoiled. "Where is she now?", you wonder. "What ever became of her? Does she often think of me?" Of course she does, David.

APRIL

Under normal circumstances, if you were to ask me, "who would win in a battle of speed between man and sports car?", I would scoff and say, "Why the sports car of course." However, if you were to alter that question just slightly and replace "man" with "Baywatch Nights" star David Hasselhoff, the scenario becomes infinitely more complex. I can only suspect that David decided to race this car out of frustration after countless olympic athletes failed to provide him with the challenge he desired. My advice? Bet on David.

MAY

Ordinarily, if someone were to inform me that there was a man parked across the street, sitting in puppet-filled convertible, barely wearing a pink shirt, strategically ripped jeans, and a panama hat, smiling and clutching two daschunds as a Macaw Parrot looked on, it might almost tend to sound a bit creepy. But you, David, manage to somehow find a way to make it all seem quite beautiful. Spring is in the air!

JUNE

Who? Me? Me, David? Why are you pointing at me? What have I done to warrant your coveted attention? Are you trying to remind me that summer has just begun and that it's my responsibility to make the most of it? Do you observe something in me that only you have the power to see? A glimmer of promise that you hope, nay, demand that I fulfill, lest I should regret it into my twilight years? Do you want me to follow your path and tackle each day with reckless abandon? To laugh, to dance, to fight and to love with all of my heart, in everything that I do? I will heed your silent call to arms David. You can count on me.

JULY

In this month in which we celebrate our nation's hard-fought independence from the oppressive tyrants that once ruled us, you proudly acknowledge our freedom. One can almost envision you charging on that motorcycle into the Battle of Saratoga like the revolutionary that you are. The British tremble as you approach, not just in ignorant fear and wonder at your two-wheeled horseless carriage, but at your unmistakable intensity and inner strength as it permeates the battlefield, forcing all to stumble and fall in your presence. But as powerful a symbol as Old Glory is, and as proudly as you brandish it in this picture, try as I might, I can not manage to tear my eyes away from your magnificently pronounced denim-hugged-package. U.S.A.! U.S.A.!

AUGUST

Ah, the lazy dog days of summer are upon us. And if anyone has earned some R&R it's you, David. You recognize the importance of a balanced life. For every intense car race you participate in, you reward yourself by playing nine holes of golf with your beloved dog at your side. Each time you wrap up a rigorous shooting day on the set of your latest smash-hit television series you unwind by making love to a beautiful woman on a jet ski. You are a total and complete man.

SEPTEMBER

Oh, I'm sorry David. It looks as though I've caught you off guard. You were just lounging there comfortably in your baseball pants, undoubtedly contemplating the onset of the fall season and it's metaphorical significance as a symbol of our own passage through life. The first autumnal chill reminds David that winter approaches and hence the time to make hay is slipping quickly from our tenuous grasps. How many more bikini-model-beach-parties and top-down-Ferrari-joyrides will Mother Nature allow us before we're once again blanketed by the all-enveloping cold and quiet of winter's still? Too few, David laments, too few.

OCTOBER

Abracababra! With October comes the season of the witch. Of ghouls and goblins and things that go bump in the night! And above all, it is a month of magic! David clearly recognizes this, as can be observed by his splendid wizardly apparel. But something is amiss. "David," you ask, "hasn't tradition always held that it is rabbit, not frog, that emerges from the magician's enchanted hat, to the delight of young and old alike?" Indeed. But has David ever been bound by tradition? Nay. He has shattered customs and broken the oppressive chains of ritual with every life choice he has ever made. And with each move comes the inevitable progress that David brings to all his endeavors. The wheel becomes rounder. The jeans become tighter. The hair becomes feathered-ier. This is no exception.

NOVEMBER

My God yes. Though it is impossible to determine which of these two magnificent creatures possesses more raw animal power, I don't think that it's unreasonable to assume that the protective glove David is wearing was employed not for the safety of David, but out of concern for the eagle. David's that intense. One reputable website that I visited revealed that upon the photographer's complaint that David did not look rugged enough for this shoot, Hasselhoff grew three days of stubble by simply concentrating for twenty seconds. I'm certain that my initial thought upon first witnessing this picture was shared by many of you: if only these two were somehow able to breed, imagine the majesty of their offspring.

DECEMBER

Well Ho-Ho-Ho and Peek-A-Boo! There you are David! Undoubtedly anxiously awaiting the much-anticipated arrival not of the Jolly Old Elf, but of a secret Yuletide lover with whom you will spend this tranquil Christmas Eve. As you guide her in with your luminous taper, one can't help but speculate as to the contents of that tiny, festive parcel. Is it a delicate tennis bracelet? Or perhaps a tiny, framed picture of you in this exact pose? Regardless, we can all rest assured that this evening will be anything but a Silent Night.

So there you have it. A year with David Hasselhoff. The Phat Phree's only regret is that the Gregorian Calendar has but twelve months. But then, there's always next year. Stay Strong Dear Reader.