The first thing you should know about the 2013 Pulitzer Prize is that the Pulitzer people forgot to include the most important information, namely, the following press release for a better award called the Kathleen Hale Prize.

Here are my, Kathleen Hale’s, winners for the year:

BREAKING NEWS REPORTING—Mom. When nobody else had the details on our elderly Golden Retriever’s hip surgery, you were there with live updates on Pasta Batman’s progress straight from Wisconsin. Who can forget the headlines? “HOWDOYOUDOSPACESAGAIN?” and “Oh there we go. Dog is fine!” Gems like that are what got me through an especially enigmatic day.

PUBLIC SERVICE—That nice chiropractor lady who cracks my back in Chinatown. I know I don’t make it easy for you, Courtney. I wrestle and yell and challenge you with crackpot theories like, “Are you even a real doctor?” Sometimes I cry. But you’re patient with me. Due to the fact that you also work on professional athletes, you are able to physically overpower me. Thanks for getting the job done.

INVESTIGATIVE NEWS REPORTING—My coworkers. Remember when there was a puddle of something outside the office, and we didn’t know whether it was human vomit or human poop, and so we talked about it for the entire day? Sometimes it’s good to have answers. (It was poop.)

LOCAL REPORTING—The lady manning the front desk in my apartment building. One time it was raining outside, and you saw me walk by without a raincoat. You gestured at the sky and suggested I rethink things. You also told me to “wipe that lipstick off your teeth, it’s always there.” Thank you.

COMMENTARY—Homeless man #1. When I pass by you on my way to work, you list all the sex acts I should not be doing. Your rundown includes positions I have heard of, plus many I have not heard of. The fact that you are able to provide so much detail at an hour when I have not yet checked my Pinterest feed is enviable.

CRITICISM—Homeless man #2. I’m going to be honest. I don’t like you nearly as much as Homeless man #1. Still, here’s to all the times you’ve offered to suck my dick — a body part I don’t have — only to rescind your proposal with a simple “YOUR BUTT STINKS.” Your criticism makes one thing very clear: The joke is on me.

BREAKING NEWS PHOTOGRAPHY—Again, Mom. That day Pasta Batman had his hip surgery, you valiantly taught yourself to send photos via text so that you could keep me posted using multiple mediums. I now have ten photos in my iPhone library that exclusively feature bloody stitches on a dog’s butt. Also, because I am your daughter, I do not know how to delete them.

POETRY—very funny, whoever wrote “I’m going to kill Kathleen” in the company’s unisex bathroom. I won’t lie, your haiku was missing some syllables. Nevertheless, it was the only poem I’ve read this year.