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Among the many mysteries of The New York Post (like, how exactly do so many monkeys chained to so many typewriters manage to make so few errors) is the title "Columnist of the Year" beside the shrill blackboard scratchings that are Andrea Peyser's column. (Today, Peyser, who appears to have taken that new female Viagra, pens a column called Bulging biceps! Six packs! Yes, ladies, men are back. Her example of this earth-shattering phenom? Chippendales auditions. Yes, all men have waxed chests and wear body makeup.)

Who, exactly, gave the lovely Ms. Peyser the title "Columnist of the Year"? There's no explanation or hint of its origin (kinda like those plastic-wrapped fig bars at the bodega counter), and we're sort of stumped. Maybe it's like those picture frames you can buy at the mall that makes you look like TIME "Man of the Year." Or perhaps it's like those "World's Best Dad" trophies you can buy and give to your drunk of a stepdad who killed your hamster when you were a kid. That was a hoot.

Anyway, Andrea, we know that you read Gawker, so drop us a note, okay? It'll definitely make our year.

Update: A reader points us towards this article that explains the award. We'd buy it from the Post's archive, but it's $3.50 for a 95-word piece. We'll take his/her word for it that Peyser earned it. We always felt she'd get exactly what she deserves.