by Joe Buonfiglio
Well, it’s all going to shit already, isn’t it? In your heart, you knew it would — just like it did last year … and the year before that … and the year before that … and the decade before that. So therefore, we are all worthless pieces of sputum on which God should fart upon to smother out of existence; OR New Year’s resolutions are just a waste of time for anyone with enough of a life to demand total concentration on the day-to-day struggles of both success and survival. It is another turn of a calendar page. That’s all. Who the fuck has the time to hit the ground running with weight loss or stress reduction or volunteering more or quitting smoking or drinking less booze or spending more time with granny at the old-folks’ home or or or….
Nobody who isn’t already inclined to do those things anyway, that’s who!
As a self-proclaimed member of the “Triple-F Society” (Fat Fuckers on the Fringe), I can empathize with my fellow fat bastards of the universe. At this time of year, we must all endure our skinny-ass friends making New Year’s declarations to resolve to lose five whole fucking pounds in order to finally be the size 000 they’ve always wanted to be.
Yeah. Me, too. So, are you gonna finish your fries?
Look, the US government did a study a few years back showing that most Americans give up on their New Year’s resolutions by January 15th. You heard me: January 1-5. And don’t look so superior, Rest of the World. For the most part, you people don’t fare any better.
But I will.
Moi? That’s right. I’m going to kick your ass when it comes to keeping my resolutions this year.
Is it because I’m such a better person than you are? Is the power of my will so superior to your own?
HELL NO! Particularly if you know me, that’s obviously patently absurd. While I am an Absurdist in practice and a Nihilist at heart, even I can’t make such claims with a straight face.
The reason I’m going to succeed where you’ll fail when it comes to keeping one’s New Year’s resolutions is simple: I’ve made resolutions that are so obscure and ridiculously easy with which to comply, it’s as if winning a dunking contest when the basketball net is set at three-feet high.
So here they are…
JOE BUONFIGLIO’S NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS
The “Damn That Was Easy!” Edition
RESOLUTION #1: Under no circumstances will I administer CPR to a drowning zeppelin captain.
RESOLUTION #2: I’m resigned to not stirring Bloody Marys with my penis unless specifically requested to do so via unanimous vote at breakfast by all houseguests present.
RESOLUTION #3: I will not list my profession on this year’s IRS tax form as “nude burlesque window-washer.”
RESOLUTION #4: I will not scare the younger, more impressionable members of my clan by telling them that capers are the severed testicles of space aliens taken as the spoils after their failed invasion of Earth.
RESOLUTION #5: I will no longer pretend to be a driver’s ed instructor … on Tuesdays.
RESOLUTION #6: I will stop relieving myself on casino craps tables and then claim it was a misunderstanding due to a language barrier.
RESOLUTION #7: I will stop trying to make the water in the toilet at work swirl in the opposite direction using the power of my mind … when the boss is watching me.
RESOLUTION #8: I will cease to demand that all teenagers be placed on the terrorist watchlist for collectively using masturbation as a weapon of mass destruction.
RESOLUTION #9: I will stop defining both monkeys and NASCAR fans as a “food group.”
RESOLUTION #10: In a masterful stroke of absurd irony, I will use a 3-D printer to create an exact replica of Salvador Dali’s mustache, superglue it to my ass, and then parade around the streets of Girona, Spain, yelling “You can’t see me! You can’t see me!” to every nun that walks by.
Keeping that resolution went up in flames two days ago. Try this…
MY “REAL” RESOLUTION #10: I will not try again this year to see how much of myself I can consume and still live.
No! Damn it! That ship already sailed this year as well.
I guess I could— No. Did that. How about— Nope. I actually did that one on New Year’s Day before the sun even came up. The neighbors were really pissed off, too. Luckily, that cop was a friend of mine. What if I just—
Oh, fuck it! Those are my NINE resolutions for this year. So, go ahead; choke down your boxed weight-loss dinners and endure hours of painful nicotine withdrawal. I have a Spanish abbess and a couple of Mother Superiors waiting in a limo for me with chilled champagne and some Colorado kine bud. It’s gonna be a great year.
Vive la résolution, muthafukah!
© 2015 Joseph P. Buonfiglio All Rights Reserved.