John Christian Hopkins
In setting New Year’s resolutions it is important to be realistic.
For example, rather than working on world peace, I will be working on owning a piece of the world.
For starters, I resolve to be a better person than I was this year. That shouldn’t be too difficult, since I was a real jackass this year. So in 2014, I’m going to drop the “jack” and just be a regular “ass.” If I get ambitious, I may work my gluteus Maximus (whatever that is) and try to become a nice ass.
I felt that this year I let my moral compass down a little. I plan to adhere to stricter moral guidelines next year, and I resolve not to fantasize about being stranded on a deserted island and sharing lustful passion with Drew Barrymore.
It’s your turn, Angelina!
I am planning to incorporate more Buddhism into my life, so expect my writing to have an extra comma this year.
I’m also going show my wife more consideration this year. To show Sara that no sacrifice is too much to make for her benefit, I resolve to eat fewer vegetables this year so that there are more for her.
You don’t have to thank me, honey. I can see it in your eyes.
This year will be one where I show more patience toward my cat. The next time I leave my office and return to find that he was walked all over my keyboard, inserting gobbledygook into my manuscript, I shall gently remind him the error of his ways—as I chase him through the house with a water spray bottle.
I am going to really work on my tolerance this year. I am determined not to let stupid people annoy me. So the next time I order a hamburger at McDonald’s and I am asked “Do you want cheese on that?” I won’t roll my eyes and sarcastically say, “If I did, don’t you think I would have ordered a cheeseburger?”
I also resolve not to flip the bird at other motorists that irritate me. This year I shall attempt a different approach; I will follow them into the parking lot and beat the hell out of them.
Finally, I am giving up my beloved Twinkies this year.
Not for the whole year, but maybe just the first 30 days. Thirty days without that delicious sponge cake.
Okay, maybe the first 30 hours.
Thirty long hours without that luscious crème filling!
Well, I’m going for 30 minutes. That’s a good start. You try ignoring a sweet, cuddly Twinkie as it sits on the counter in its easy-to-open plastic wrap and playfully calls your name.
Okay, no Twinkies for the first 30 seconds of 2014.
I mean it …