NOT A DOG IN THE BUNCH.

Batocchio of Vagabond Scholar -- which site I for some reason never had on my blogroll before now -- has done his annual great job of collecting 2015 blog posts chosen by the authors themselves for the Jon Swift Memorial Roundup. You should go sample some -- you might find a genius or two you hadn't seen before.

You'll also find one by me there --  that riff I did on Ben Affleck's family tree problems in April. Which reminds me: As much fun as I had with the Village Voice rightblogger round-up last weekend, I believe it was missing something -- namely, shameless self-promotion! To follow are my 10 favorite posts of 2015 by my favorite author, me! If you missed 'em before, it's not too late. Happy New Year, all, and don't drive drunk -- stay home and finish that keg yourselves.

A Week of Shorter Rod Drehers. In which I chart America's favorite Xian drama queen, post by post, for seven days ("4/6/15, 5:35 pm: The gays are oppressing us Christians. 4/7/15, 12:05 am: Facebook and the gay drag queens are oppressing us Christians. 4/7/15, 5:08 am: Buy my book...").

It Can't Miss. A memo from the Central Committee to the Brethren on how to handle the Bruce Jenner thing ("The theme we’ll be promoting is this: Conservatives are not only the real liberals — they’re also the real gays").

Have a Miserable National Review Christmas! A look at what America's premier conservative magazine chose to present to its readers on Christmas Eve ("How could we have guessed [Victor Davis] Hanson would spend Christmas bitching about furriners? Guess he never got over the loss of his chainsaw").

My Advice for the Republican Party. What I told them they should do with their first debate, but they didn't listen, the idiots ("just say to hell with decorum entirely and flood the stage with other joke candidates who will distract from [Trump]. Some possibilities: A Howard Stern fan who just says 'Baba Booey, Baba Booey'...").

What to Expect. Speaking of the first GOP debate, I had to miss it, so I just made one up for my readers and I must say from what I heard mine was better ("George Pataki will be found dead, his face pressed against the crack at the bottom of the door of the auditorium like Injun Joe in Tom Sawyer").

Heritage and Hate. An interview with Beauregard T. Dogwhistle, a member of the Fritters, Alabama city council, on the controversy over the Confederate flag ("Whah, suh, there ain’t no moah racism in thet requiahment o’ mah dignity than they is in mah flag, o’ mah unifo’m, o mah collection o’ manacles an’ slave collahs an’ such lahk, no mattah what them statist rapscallions at eBay say about it").

This Used to Be My Playground. Spurred by yet another essay on New York in the 70s, I talked about my own experience of that place and time, and why it was still interesting to people who weren't there ("I don’t think they thrill to it because they desire to be mugged; I think they like it because they suspect that the danger came with something they would want, but can no longer get on any terms. And they're right").

Season 7, Episode 14. The last of my Mad Men recaps ("Don has always been an empath who, because of his emotional damage, is uniquely attuned to the pain of average citizens, and when he sees a valuable crop of it he gets in there and grabs and holds it close to drain its essence. And then turns it into a commercial. He is what America has instead of artists").

Au Revoir, Niedermeyer. A farewell to Presidential candidate Scott Walker ("I wouldn't say I felt bad for the guy, but it must be something to have pandered your ass off for months and then discover that it wasn't enough to be a bully -- you had to act like a bully, too").

Twenty Minutes Wasted with Goldberg and Murray. In which I did a scorn-language interpretation of a promo interview between two of the worst people in the world, Jonah Goldberg and Charles Murray ("'what [academia] looks like is people making a pretty good salary relative to what they could make in the private sector,' that magical place where PhDs are forced to work at Starbucks and millionaires only break a sweat during squash or rough sex...").