Well, that’s a terrible title. But it’s better than what I came up with originally. It’s better than all seventeen ideas I came up with originally. Particulary those involving Unnatural Acts and Certain Public Figures Being Forcibly Launched Into Orbit.
If the year could be expressed in a gif, it would be this one:
The year of the surprise face-fuck. (See?) The year of having your expectations horrifically dashed by something jumping out and shoving it’s unremarkable junk up your unprepared sinuses while beating you on the ass with a cane.
Not to put too fine of a point on it.
It’s been a painfully stupid year. The best cardio I get is mimicking arguments between Facebook commenters using my hands like angry sock puppets who have been snorting horse laxatives, followed by a Tabata circuit of arm-waving and swearing at my reflection. Cool-down involves rolling my eyes until I can see my brain.
I’m not buying this stupid world a Coke.
I’d like to give the world the finger.
So that’s how I’m starting the year.
My goals for 2018 are to not make a dime off this blog. Which I’ve already done. Yay!
I’m going to keep feeding my coven of feral cats.
I’m going to keep writing comedy for other sites.
I’m going to wait for my Love horoscope to finally show up so I can find out what’s going on with Uranus. (So. Excited!)
I’m going to shower once in a while. Figure out how to cook entire meals with an Airfryer. Seriously, you can make cake in one of those stupid things. You can also make cake in a crock pot. Because why not? Right now it’s just a fancy pizza-roll-heater-upper.
I’m watching all these resolution posts roll by. Beautiful, generous, peaceful resolve to think of others, find peace, bring joy. Single words from which to be inspired.
Y’all are so darn sweet. Are you high?
I think that’s awesome. I genuinely hope we all find more to smile about this year without having to cross any state lines to get it. In the meantime I’ll be here, under the bed, withholding judgement.