Making New Year's resolutions is a complete waste of my precious, rapidly diminishing brainpower. They didn't work for me in the '70s, nor in the '80s, the '90s and so far in the aughts. Resolutions can just get bent (which they will, anyway). So this year I'm making reasolutions. This concept is a clever writer's gambit combining the words "real" and "resolution." And if there's one resolution I can keep, it's that I'm gonna be realistic in 2008.
I reasolve to regularly scarf down those Uncle Mike's smoked meat sticks, which are terrible for me and smell like ass, but man, are they good.
I reasolve to take perceived slights from people, escalate them to insults of epic proportions and vicious attacks on my worth, spinning them until I drive myself insane. Then, when I discover no insult, nor even a mild criticism, was intended, I'll beat myself up for being an ignorant, self-indulgent asshole.
I reasolve to continue to procrastinate in nearly every aspect of my life.
I reasolve to keep up my nightly regimen of drinking three Svedka vodkas mixed with Minute Maid Light Lemonade, chased by two beers, before toppling into bed.
I reasolve to keep slack-jawedly watching those Law and Order reruns that I've seen a million times before.
I reasolve to listen to Cleveland's cretinous sports talk radio until I bleed out my ears.
I reasolve to keep up my two-ciggies-at-bedtime habit. Hey, I got IBD, my doctor says nicotine is good for me.
I reasolve to keep butchering my hair with that Trim-Comb I got free with a tube of Prell I bought back in the '80s.
I reasolve to continue to purchase season DVD sets of my favorite TV shows, even though I'm a Netflix member and could save hundreds of dollars a year by receiving these shows through the online service.
I reasolve to keep going to the grocery store hungry, like a goddam fucking idiot.
I reasolve to keep consuming those starches and sugars, putting on the poundage 'til I get man tits.