Tis' the season - for resolutions that is. The New Year's resolution is an annual rite of passage whereby boisterous hopes for personal growth spout eternal. But these promises to ourselves are also the ones we quietly fail miserably to keep.
Why do we fail to keep them? Well, that's tough to quantify, but don't sleep on inertia as a self-improvement inhibitor. Inertia's a bitch. But these resolutions are mostly failed half-efforts because they're just plain silly.
Once the buzz from the bubbly wears off and the concussion headache sets in, you quickly come to this conclusion. These declarations on any given New Year's Eve are destined to fall by the wayside. And typically so in short order.
Whether you were fortunately blessed with a "y" chromosome or unfortunately saddled with the double "x," you're not exempt from this annual phenomenon. After extensive polling and market research, I've managed to collect for you here the Top 15 Most Popular New Year's Resolutions for 2006:
Stop Cheating on Your Significant Other
Really? But ya gots ta fuck, right? I hate to break it to you (p.s. No I don't.), but it'll never happen. If you're a cheater, you're a cheater. And if you're one of those people who rationalizes your amoral behavior by saying that when you get married, the cheating stops, please proceed to that jumbled junk drawer I know you have in your kitchen, find the tack hammer and rap the shit out of your knuckles immediately. Three times. Like Sister Sue Anne used to do to my poor paws in grammar school. That evil, sex-starved bitch. But I digress...
Stop Beating Your Wife
The question here is whether or not she deserves the beatings. Nothing gets a household in efficient working order faster than a couple crisp backhands. Personally, I've never been a fan of it, but if the bitch insists on continually falling out of line, then by all means.
Stop Beating Your Pet
You sick, sadistic fuck. I swear on all that's holy, if our paths ever cross I will fucking end you. Only a twisted, demented asshole would even entertain such a thing. Nevermind act on it. Die, you prick.
Take Down the Christmas Tree
I know, I know, I think this one's ridiculous too. I can't believe how frequently people mentioned this as one of their resolutions. Astonishment aside, if you need a resolution to take down the Christmas tree, you are one gi-normous lazy retard.
Get up from that shitty Rent-a-Center couch, do your best fruit roll-up impersonation and peel off those crusty old sweatpants you first wet-dreamed into, spit out the wad of holiday caramels causing drool to trickle down your stubbly Travolta ass-chin and coax your wife from her perilous perch atop the teetering stepladder. Before she fucking falls and kills herself taking that stupid star off the dying evergreen's tippy top. Geezuz.
Start Doing Charity Work
This resolution is the classic guilt panic play. Guilty for what, you ask? Ya got me, but I'm sure you know why. Wink wink.
Listen, I've done the charity work thing. Big Brother, Habitat for Humanity, Special Olympics, soup kitchen, etc. And I'm not sure if this counts as charity, but I also bring my really worn out and soiled clothes to Salvation Army whenever they start to look raggity, or I get sick of wearing them.
The bottom line is this: charity isn't the answer you're looking for. Sure, you may save some inner city kid from turning to drugs or gang warfare. And sure, you may help build a home that houses a family who was about to get thrown out onto the streets. But does it really make you feel that good? You'll be bored with it after a week. Trust me. Just donate a couple bucks online, it's the same difference.
Lose Weight
Ah yes, the mother of all New Year's resolutions. For this one, I've got a little story for ya: I went to the gym yesterday. And what to my wondering eyes did appear, but three gigantor ex-NFL players patrolling the velvet rope barricade controlling the flood of new members into the club. "Fucking New Year's resolutions," I muttered to myself in disgust and reluctantly fell in line like the lemmings we all are.
I finally managed to bribe my way inside and found yet another line awaiting me. This one nine chubbos deep, all waiting for the elliptical machine. I repeat: the ELLIPTICAL machine.
(Twenty-Second Timeout: I never use this silly concoction. Ever. For a couple reasons actually, the most important one being the crippling phobia of appearing remotely similar to Tony Little at any point in my life. I'm quite certain you know Messieur Little from those 3am infomercials spastically pimping his infamously terrible Gazelle machine.)
I bravely placed my fears aside and got in that line too. Why? Because I figured there must be a catch if people were actually lining up to ride the elliptical. And I was secretly hoping said catch was that this version 2.0 of the original elliptical massages your genitals while working out. Or something like that. Turns out it didn't. So after waiting two hours in line watching ass cheeks frantically trying to escape from the lycra they were crammed into, I ended up looking like Tony Little after all. Ahh fuck.
Point being, you chocolate sauce guzzlers show up on January 3rd, sweat to the oldies until February 3rd - MAX - and then mail it in for the remaining eleven months, retreating back to the comfort of your internet chat rooms and econo-sized buckets of Bon Bons. Your half-hearted attempts at "fitness" make the gym experience, which is despicable on so many levels to begin with, beyond palpable.
Stop Being Gay
Come on man, you can't stop being gay. It's not a lifestyle choice, you were born that way. Quit the pitiful self-loathing bit, ya big homo, and get on with your flaming self. Besides, gay is so hot right now.
Stop Smoking
Hee hee. I'm giggling like a virgin on prom night as I type this. You're kidding, right? You don't seriously think you can quit smoking, do you? You're addicted. Sucka.
Alright, I'll play along. Say you're the first person in history who miraculously manages to stop smoking, completely and forever. You have no clue what's next in store, do you? If the idea of stuffing your face with "Chicorettes" every nineteen minutes and feverishly slapping Nicotrol patches all over your ass upon getting out of the splash closet in the morning sounds appealing, then hey, I wish you nothing but the best.
God, Duke fans are so insufferable.
Stop Being So Fucking Cheap
Cheapness is a disease. I firmly believe this and will fight to the death with anyone who disagrees. For the record, there's NO correlation whatsoever to cheapness and the amount of money one person has, or makes. Fact.
However, the resolution is a good start, because it means you've identified that you are indeed suffering from this horrible disease. Unfortunately, this won't do you any good in curing it. Sorry. To clarify, if you've done any of the following things, you're a cheap motherfucker:
1. Calculated the tip on a pre-tax, or even worse, pre-tax AND pre-drink basis. 2. Openly denied being cheap and instead suggested that you're "frugal." That's akin to claiming you're not racist because you have a black friend. 3. Blurted out the term "Splitsville!" to your girlfriend when the check for dinner lands on the table. 4. Disappeared into the men's room as your turn to buy a round for the boys neared. 5. Got up at 4am and headed to the malls on Black Friday for some holiday shopping. Then defended this horrifying decision by stating that "the deals are really amazing!" You fucking cheap idiot.
Wow, this topic is a piece in itself, but alas, I must move on.
Start Trimming Your Reproductive Region
The act of "trimming the fairway" or "manicuring Motown," as it's affectionately been called, isn't all the shits and giggles it's rumored to be. There are serious occupational hazards involved with this endeavor.
I once had a college roommate who shaved his balls. Aside from that being the Everest of weird - please allow me to be master of the obvious for a moment - it's also downright dangerous. He did it while in the shower, and one night I heard a scream from within the steamy depths of our moldy bathroom. I didn't ask and he didn't tell, but a lesson was learned. The only thing sharp that belongs in that region are a stripper's Lee Press-On nails.
Before we move on from this particular resolution, I want to point out that I'm not completely ignorant to the fact that trimming one's place where the perverted uncle wants to touch brings with it serious improvement in appearance. Fellas, admit it, most of us could use a little assistance in the "depth perception" department. So if you're going to go there, do the deed with a pair of foolproof, Crayola kiddy scissors. And for you, ladies, leave the vaginal housekeeping to those Korean grandmothers and their hot buckets of wax. They're fucking scientists when it comes to that shit.
Stop Buying Everything on Credit
But you don't have any money, how are you going to do that? You need your toys and are you really going to stop going out? Like the instructions on a bottle of Pantene: Pay the minimum. Max it out. Repeat. Then, when that primo balance transfer offer arrives in your mailbox, transfer the fucker. I've heard this course of action hurts your credit rating, but I'm not sure why, that's just being fiscally responsible.
Granted, as interest rates slowly rise and the average consumer's fixed cost burden rises along with it, we're going to have a swell of bankruptcies in this country. No worries though, Chapter 11s are destined to become chic. You can bank on this. (Pun absolutely intended.)
Resume Attending Church Services
Look, there'll be a time when religion is right for you again. And this'll probably be around the time your kids are starting to turn into legitimate delinquents. Which is why you'll need a big scary God and his wrath to threaten them with. "Richard, do you want to go to hell?!" "No? Well then take the steak knife out of your brother's thigh and march up to your room right now, mister!"
Cut Back on Texting / BlackBerrying in Bars
I knew this thumb-clicking phenomenon had reached a crescendo when I read about the injuries that have been occurring from excessive messaging volume. "Textitis," a (now) commonly diagnosed overuse injury, is sweeping the nation, leaving a trail of thumb slings and empty ibuprofen bottles in its wake.
To all those in bars and/or restaurants who have their heads buried in whatever techno device they prefer to wield: STOP. You look like a huge, fucking douche bag. It's rude and embarrassing to those whose company you share. While admittedly the greatest flirting technology since IM'ing, there is a point where it crosses the line of acceptability. If you made a resolution to cut back, then congrats, that's checkpoint 1 down the long road to recovery.
Be a Better Sports Fan
Attention: If this New Year's resolution includes planned body and/or face painting when attending a sporting event, then it is a horribly misdirected one. There is no lower form of life on the sports fan food chain than the "painter." And no, there's NEVER an acceptable time to do so.
The "student section painters" can be chalked up to the stupidity of youth. And they actually perform a public service by making it easier for everyone else to identify the nerds in the student body. They are second in the school's nerd pecking order, right behind those in the marching band, who as we all know, are the longstanding kings of the campus nerds.
But the "adult sports fan painter" is another story altogether. Am I the only one horrified by these guys? These are fathers, husbands and coworkers. I can't help but think about this as I see painted grown men passing me by at a game or on TV during a telecast. What the fuck are they thinking? Do they go home that night to find their wives sobbing uncontrollably in the bathroom and popping Zoloft like tic-tacs? Or do these women stay home with their faces painted waiting for his victorious homecoming? I need to know these things.
Start a Blog
Link to me! Comment on my latest entry! How did you find my site?
Great work! You're almost there.
Congrats, your blog will officially be number 11,365,786 in existence. There are now more blogs than McDonald's cheeseburgers served. Just wait until Michael Dell figures out how to sell computers efficiently to China's agricultural population. Then you'll be able to add three zeros to the aforementioned number. And they hang fuckers for blogging over there. A bit of wisdom: no one wants to hear your rants and/or opinions, nor do we care about the excruciating daily minutiae that comprises your sad existence.
By the way, have you been to MY blog? Oh fuck off, my blog is different. Dammit. Leave me alone. I need a drink before I go and Mach 3 my johnson. And where's my dog, I'm gonna beat the shit out of it.
OK, I'll Play Posted: 1/10/2006by: Tom A How does Delphi's mother know that her daughter has her period?
Delphi's wang tastes funny.
[OK, now I'm back to refusing to acknowledge HIS existence] Brenda Posted: 1/10/2006by: matt Well I hope so as of now I have to repeat the Huxley quote as my mantra, "perhaps this world is another world's hell, but I don't mind the inconveniences." Though i do. . . sigh Matt Posted: 1/10/2006by: Brenda Della Casa That was bad...Hell is waiting!
An Amercian, a German, and a Chinese guy all apply for a job at a mine. Once they are hired, they are given their individual jobs. The boss tells tell the American guy that his job was to push the ore up from the mine and the German's job was to sort and organize the coal. The chinese guy was in charge of all the supplies.
The Boss said he had to leave for a few days and would be back to check the progress, only he really hid up on a hill to spy on his new employees. He saw the American going up and down in the mine bringing out ore and he saw the German organizing the coal, but he could not locate the Chinese guy. After a week he went back down the hill and said to his employees, "american guy, I see that you are doing your job and you too German, but where the hell is the chinese guy?" the american stated that the chinese guy left soon after the boss.
The boss said he must be found because he was in charge of all of their supplies. they searched in the woods repeatedly shouting, "Chinese guy!!!" "Chinese guy!!!" finally they arrived at a mighty oak tree from which sprang the chinese guy holding a massive cake ablaze with candles. The boss asked him what the hell he was doing, to which the chinese guy yelled, "Supplies!!!!" One more joke Posted: 1/10/2006by: MG A bus stops and two Italian men get on. They sit down and engage in an animated conversation. The ladysitting behind them ignores them at first, but her attention is galvanized when she hears one of the men say the following:
"Emma come first. Den I come. Den two asses come together. I come once-a-more. Two asses, they come together again. I come again and pee twice. Then I come one lasta time."
"You foul-mouthed swine, " retorted the lady idignantly. "In this country we don't talk about our sex lives in public!"
"Hey, coola down lady," said the man. "Who talkin' abouta sexa? I'm a justa tellin' my frienda how to spella 'Mississippi'."
p.s. Posted: 1/10/2006by: deuce christine - thanks.. the south in me tends to drag out a story a little too long though, so i could have f'ed it up. stu Posted: 1/10/2006by: deuce that was the version i heard.. my bad. plus, i dont care what a dude looks like.
C'mon duece you d'f up the joke... Posted: 1/10/2006by: Stu A guy at the check-out line is putting his items on the conveyor belt while the female cashier rings him up. I/2 gallon milk, 1 liter of soda, a half a dozen eggs, and an apple.
"Are you single?" she asks
"Oh, why because of the groceries?" he replies.
-No, because you're fucking ugly. Christine Posted: 1/10/2006by: matt you must be a big fan of laffy taffy Deuce Posted: 1/10/2006by: Christine I have heard that one before, but you tell it better.
Hey guys, What's brown and sticky???? Give up??? . . . . . . A stick.
I am killing tonight. There is no humor unless its dirty huh? so sad. I will go back to filth hold on. . . .
