Some might dismiss New Year's resolutions as overblown, impossible to keep and rapidly abandoned, but that's exactly why I love them. If I had to, say, eat more green vegetables for the rest of my life, I might before too long start eyeing razor blades in a comparative-shopping-for-my-impending-suicide kind of way. (Note: those Gillette Venus razors don't work at all, suicidally speaking, though they do leave your wrists bikini-line-smooth.) On the other hand, if I know that my last bunch of broccoli, slathered in enough cheese sauce to render the broccoli flavor vestigial (broccoli: the second-worst tasting crap in the world), will hit the table on oh let's say January 31st, after which I can live free of the fear of funky-tasting dendritic plant-bits contaminating my meals of bacon-wrapped bacon, well, sir or madam, that's a win all around. Except possibly for the broccoli farmers, and to them I say: Why, broccoli farmers, why?
Broccoli aside (where it belongs), New Year's resolutions also allow us to feel that we can and will become better people, but in the future, when becoming better people doesn't stress and annoy us so much by forcing us to deprive ourselves in the present of all the horrible things we love. Sure, you say, I'm going to cut down on my drinking, smoking and whoring. Just, you know...later. But definitely sometime in the indefinite future. Let's drink to that! And also smoke and whore to that. I make my best resolutions that way.
So, in that spirit and in an effort to temporarily edify and embitter you, my many readers (like most primitive people -- and I am a primitive people -- I know only the numbers "1", "2" and "many"), I'd like to share the resolutions I plan to make this coming New Year:
We could all help each other by strengthening one another when we're tempted to break our resolutions. And then shortly after that we could all go out drinking, smoking and whoring. That should happen by Epiphany (hey, I just realized that!) or Martin Luther King Day at the latest.