Into The Whaler's crystal ball. Again.

Saturday morning will arrive as usual. Eater X will wake up at sunrise with a bottle of pills in one hand and a spent can of whipped cream in the other. Thirsty and hungry but too tired to move his legs, Eater X will raise the half-empty can to his lips and suckle the tiny bit of rich, flat cream that can be coaxed from the canister without the aid of its now departed nitrous oxide. Eater X will look like a baby sucking on a bottle of milk, and the angels who watch over him from their angel cloud up in Heaven will coo at the sight of a grown man made young again by an innocent thirst for something nourishing and sweet.

"Hey, God!" they'll cry musically to God, who sits on God's Cloud a couple of clouds above theirs. "Look at Eater X with his bottle. He looks just like a baby. Isn't it sweet?"

God will mute His television set and take His eyes off of the screen just long enough to look at Eater X as he sucks a few more drops from the stingy can of cream.

"He certainly does look cute," He'll agree with a chuckle. "But, golly, he looks to be in pretty rough shape. I mean look at his eyes! I've never seen eyes so glassy and puffy! I think he should sleep a little longer. Don't you?"

The angels will look back down at Eater X for a moment and carefully study his swollen face. They'll confer quietly with each other and take turns speaking and nod politely in acknowledgement of points well made, and after a few minutes of earnest discussion, they'll smile and shake each others' hands and break from their huddle and shout up to God harmonically that Yes! Eater X might benefit from a few more hours of sleep.

Upon hearing that a consensus has been reached, God will place his giant hand into the tiny pocket-in-a-pocket of his blue jeans and pull out a pinch of magic sand, which he'll sprinkle lengthwise over Eater X's recumbent body. As soon as the sand has settled upon him, Eater X will close his eyes and quickly fall asleep again.

Eleven hours later, at precisely 6:20 pm, Eater X will wake up for the second time that day. Refreshed from the extra sleep, he'll roll out of bed and rush up the stairs to his bathroom, where he'll shower and shave (or not) and dress. Twenty minutes later, he'll emerge a handsome and much cleaner man.

At 7:00 Eater X will leave his apartment to take a walk through the city and buy himself a dinner. His friend Joe, who's known socially as "The Mayor," will call him on his cell phone to say that he and the rest of the CT crew are on their way and will be in New York and ready to drink by 10:00. Eater X will thank Joe for the update and hang up the phone and turn south down Eighth Avenue.

At the corner of Greenwich St., a homeless man named Stanley will approach Eater X and ask him what time it is. "Time to eat!" Eater X will say. "Have you eaten today? C'mon! Let's go." Stanley will follow Eater X to Famous Original Ray's Pizza, where Eater X will order two large pizzas and two beers and sit and watch as Stanley eats and drinks them both. Stanley will finish both beers and one large pie and place the second pie in a box to go.

As they exit the restaurant, Eater X will turn to Stanley and hand him a $5 bill and a $1 bill. "President's Day is only 7 weeks away!" Eater X will say with a smile as he points to the portraits of Lincoln and Washington on the fronts of the bills.

"God bless you," Stanley will answer. "You're a good man."

Stanley's compliment will go straight to Eater X's head, and Eater X will feel smug and complacent until Monday morning, when he'll realize that Wait a minute! he hasn't done anything charitable since Saturday night, at which point the faded glory of the good deed done will become a persuasive reminder of the urgent need to do another.

At 9:00 and back at home, Eater X will sit down on his couch with a 12-inch sandwich and a tall boy of Coors that he plucked from a six-pack that lay sideways on the top shelf of his refrigerator. When he's finished his dinner and drunk his beer, he'll grab a second beer from the fridge and nurse it until his friends arrive from CT, right on time at 10:00 just as "The Mayor" had predicted. As soon as they've armed themselves with beers for the road, the four of them will jump into a cab and head to the East Village to celebrate the new year and drink.

About twenty minutes before midnight, Eater X will excuse himself from his group of friends and the ladies they've corralled over the course of the evening and walk the length of the bar in search of a girl to kiss at midnight. Unlike his friends, who'll secure their ladies early, Eater X will purposely wait until the very last moment to begin his search because he knows what no one else there knows, that unless it's his fate to meet the perfect woman that night, he has about twenty minutes of good material before he starts to bomb. For example, Eater X couldn't meet a girl at 11:00 and hope to hold on to her until 12:00 because by 11:20 or 11:30 at the latest, she'd get bored with him and want to leave. If Eater X were to meet a girl at 11:00 and hope to kiss her at 12:00, he'd have to excuse himself from her company with the promise of finding her later, figure out exactly how much of his material he'd already gone through, and then meet up with her again at exactly as many minutes to midnight as remained in his routine. If his timing were even a little bit off, the whole plan would fall apart.

At 11:51 Eater X will spot a very pretty girl standing by herself in a crowd of people by a booth near the window. He'll walk up to her and start talking, and the two of them will hit it off. Nine minutes into his routine the clock will strike 12:00, and Eater X and his girl will kiss.

And whatever happens next is anybody's guess because The Whaler's not forecasting past midnight.