… while I haul back, preparatory to bitch-slapping the year formerly known as Little Miss 2015 from here to Des Moines and back.
Hasta la vista, withered old putana of a year, and go dance your hobnail-booted habañera on someone else’s empañada!
Be it ever so faint, the next sound you hear will be my chapped, whitish lips – and believe me when I tell you I didn’t get them while skiing at Gstaad – puckering up, with what little saliva I can scrounge, to plant a sort-of-juicy but entirely welcoming kiss on the jiggling pink buttocks of 2016.
À propos the aforesaid less-than-juicy kiss, a “helpful” – which adjective is always to my mind surrounded by scary quotes – reader writes to me with the following information:
… may I suggest that you use a touch of milk and turmeric to remove the whitened chapped lips and a simple splash of olive oil to return them to there [sic. sic as a dog] naturally pink hue. As for the saliva issue – simply suck the life out of anything that is “sour” and again the warm juices will flow like the nectar of a flower straight into your mouth.
Well. There’s nought so queer as unsolicited advice. I tried the olive oil and turmeric hacks but I just ended up looking like a reheated plate of yesterday’s baingan bharta. (Too much turmeric? Or maybe too little. Then again, what do I know! LOL!- Ed.)
And in the infinitely repeating third-act reversal that is my life, the candidates for “sour”, apparently not effectively apprised of their role, have spent the greater part of 12 months sucking the life and soul out of me before vanishing up their own PTSDs with no hint of a forwarding address.
But enough about yours truly. Let’s turn the focus back to you, dear reader, as in: What do you think of my New Year’s Resolutions?
You will note that I’m changing the schema of my life from “all-about-me” to “all-about-me-every-waking-second-and-as-much-of-the-sleeping-seconds-as-I-can-wrangle”, which at least is indicative of a spiritual change, if not actually an upgrade.
Once again, and not for the last time, a word to the wise: Never forget how good I am to you, little troopers. But never.
New Year’s Resolutions, 2016.
1. This year, I pledge to receive more blowjobs than I perform.
Let’s make absolutely sure we’re on the same page here: Receive not perform. Yes, I’m thinking Nobel Prize. No wait, Pulitzer.
2. I did not smoke enough in 2015. This year, I vow to conquer my personal best, a pack a day, three packs if they’re from the reservation. (10,000 hours to mastery and all that, and while I’m on the topic, thank you, Malcolm Gladwell! Please see #1, above.)
3. I commit to having more gay brunch, and always with extremely gay “stuffed” [sic] French Toast. (? “Freedom” Toast? Gay reminder to check. Gay. Did I mention gay? Gay gay gay. Gay!)
4. In 2016, if I cannot stop being a doormat, I will at least be a doormat by Aubusson. Actually – I’m thinking Pottery Barn. Really I would honestly say more like IKEA. No point biting off more than I can chew! LOL!
5. I plight my troth to spending more time on the “Innernet”, which also gives me extra practice with my ‘Murican pronounciashun (By the Innernet, I mean of course Amazon.com and Wikipedia, “The Encyclopedia You Write Yourself!”™).
6. I swear on my mother’s grave I will think way more about President Trump and what his story teaches me about good, honest ‘Murican work, incisive intelligence and corruscating wit, and less about Justin Trudeau and what his tousled hair and rippling muscles teach me about oh Christ baby just answer the fucking phone, please?!
7. I resolve to be so very fucking proud to be Canadian.
8. Make no mistake, I am firm about eating more baby seals. Baby seal canapés, baby seal hamburgers, baby seal maki sushi, baby seal breakfast cereal. Because, you know. Vegetables – and yes, of course, Adolf Hitler as well, thank you for mentioning it! – have feelings, too. They’re just, I dunno. Shy?
9. Recycling. Hard as it may be, I will will will do even less recycling this year. I prefer to externalize my recycling duties to Union Carbide, Monsanto and Nestlé, who, never mind leaving the place as they found it, haven’t even made their beds, walked the dog or taken out the trash yet. They are just so fucking grounded!
And Fraser River salmon wearing plastic shopping bags are, to my entrepreneurial mind, a synergistic marketing opportunity that has slipped under the radar.
10. I will scwew up my widdle face with my unflagging determination to talk to God on a daily basis, Yo! I especially want to know when the next overloaded-with-women-and-blind-one-armed-orphans Indian ferry is going down, as there are a few blind-one-armed women and blind-one-armed orphans I’d like to be on it. And a couple of fucking blind-one-armed baby seals, too.
I solemnly resolve to sulk. Oh, fine, alright, sulk more. Smart-ass! It’s just all about you every time, isn’t it? Done!
12. While swearing on a multi-cultural stack of Bibles, Korans and Bhagavad Gitas, I sincerely promise that I will stop getting annoyed with gay friends who refer to themselves as having a “mangina”, a “munt” or a “mussy“.
Instead, I will hack them to death with my Martha Stewart Mini Stick Blender.