Well gang, here we are, less than a month into the new year, and what a year it’s been already. I hope everyone’s Lang Syne hasn’t been too Auld so far.
How are you holding up with keeping your resolutions? Still eating healthy? Still exercising? Still not voting Republican?
Despite doing all these admirable things I managed to usher in the new year, sick as a dog with a raging, screaming, kick-you-in-the-crotch, spit-on-your-neck sinus infection, as a Friend would say. Do you think it’s fun starting the year with a sinus infection? Believe me, it’s not. (Ha ha ha — see what I did there?)
Forgive me. I digress. It’s the pseudoephedrine talking.
I stepped away from the concept of making resolutions at the beginning of each year some time ago — not because there isn’t plenty of room in my life and lifestyle for improvement. There is. Plenty. Loads.
Rather, it’s because resolutions, easy as they are to make are even easier to break, and who needs that kind of disappointment? It seems to be a much better idea to make a wish list, and hope those wishes come true.
So, as we meander our way through 2019, I wish:
• That Melania Trump, if she’s still the First Lady in December 2019, will choose to decorate the White House with Christmas trees that look like something other than an M. Night Shyamalan fever dream.
• That Vice President Mike Pence will find Jesus and convert to Christianity — the “love one another” kind of Christianity, that is. The real kind.
• That the next time Ruth Bader Ginsberg takes a tumble, she tumbles into a fountain of youth.
• For all 800,000 federal workers and their loved ones who are thrown into a financial frenzy because of the government’s partial shutdown to win the lottery and register to vote.
• For Donald Trump to stop deferentially referring to elected officials by their first names, especially Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi. Not only is it disrespectful, it freaks me out every time I hear him say “Nancy.”
• Also, for Trump to trip over his trademark red tie while wandering around the White House looking for some ketchup to slather on his well-done steak and hit his head on the bedpost in the Lincoln Bedroom. But I hope that, rather than sustaining a concussion or some other serious injury, he is struck by the epiphany that this whole Commander in Chief thing isn’t working out for himself or anybody else. He then resigns from his office in a fit of newfound patriotism, and retreats to New York City to reflect upon the damage he has done to the country and the world. Then, he orders his accountants to fully reimburse all of the ill-gotten money to the many contractors, partners, ex-wives and would-be Trump University graduates he has cheated and bilked over the years. He also establishes a trust fund to provide lifelong support for the many families he has torn apart with his misguided immigration policies. His penance also extends to the LGBTQ community — especially the T’s — for the increased abuse we suffered as a direct result of his campaign promise to Make America Great Again. To the shock of all of humanity, he then magnanimously agrees to fund coast-to-coast Pride celebrations, in perpetuity, and without demanding branding rights because nobody wants to ride on a float in the Trump Pride Parade. Finally he retires from the world of business, politics and douchery, choosing instead to devote his time to community service by volunteering at his local feral cat no-kill shelter where he can grab pussy for the remainder of his days in peace.
• To go all year without breaking anyone’s heart the way the Texans broke mine in their train wreck of a Wild Card playoff game.
• To spend the entire year blessed with the strength to eat healthier, exercise more regularly and, in general, keep my nose clean.
• For 2019 to be the best year ever for all of us. Cheers!