Hey, seriously, just for a minute, even if you can’t anymore or never did or still maybe feel a little greasy from the other night, pretend just for a minute you’re all drinky-drunk and got on one of those goofy happy new year hats or a tiara or something and you’re all excited and shit right now, and just let me scream it in your earhole: Happy New Year! Aaaauugghh! Arrroooo! Happy! Noo-oooo! Yeeeeeeaarrr!!! Aaiieeee!!! Hoo-ooo-ooo Haaaaa!!! Mmmrghblbrbrgh! Hic! Hey, where mah wallet?

So anyway, it’s the Newest of New Years, and so, you know, did you do any resolutions? Hunh? Personally, I don’t like to set myself up so fuckin’ early in the year for Failure, dig? I mean, I’m all ears if you wanna lay yours out for me—lemme guess, lessee, uh, yeah, smoke, drink, eat, snack food, diet pop, pilates, protein, carbohydrate, blah blah blah, right?

OK, OK, sorry, no disrespect intended, yeah, no, really, it’s cool. It’s all about the Self Improvement, and that’s good, yeah, and wow, do you need it, eh? Ow!

OK, I know, it’s easy to take the cheap shots ’cuz I ain’t put anything of my own out there, but I’m tellin’ you, man, the Resolutions, they just get me all wanting to immediately dissolve whatever I re-solved in that haze of Champagne bubble-burps and fireworks smoke. So this time around the track, I just figger I would Be It So Resolved to not be so High-Resolution and shit and be all, like, low-key and Low Expectations and Low-Resolution. Then it’s like, right off the bat, there’s no additional and unnecessary pressure, right? It’s like I’m already ahead of the game because I’ve narrowed my field of possible Failures down to only ones that are Completely Unexpected.

Yeah, Failure, exciting and new, come aboard, we’ve been expecting you, right? Failure Boat, man, that’s my latest idea for a teevee series. Everybody gets on the boat and fails, but then they get to leave it on the boat like you’re supposed to leave stuff in Vegas, right? Yeah, you know what they want you to leave in Vegas, right? All Your Money, baby. Right?

Anyway, OK, so maybe that’s not a good idea for a teevee series, I guess. But, man, alls I’m sayin’ is I don’t want those same-old tired-ass Leftover Failures from stuff I did last year, OK? I want to be challenged and enlightened by dynamic New Failures.

But again, it’s A-OK with me if you would like to lose a few or stop watching too much Reality Television or something. I mean, look, as long as you make sure to get enough teevee in your life, it might be a good idea to try and balance out all that Reality with some Cartoon Network, or some balanced news, or maybe that Hitler Channel or whatever. But please, just make sure you don’t change it all up too much all at once or else you’re gonna snap back and end up getting junkie-powered stomach cramps waiting for that next cycle of America’s Next Top Model—namely, Cycle 4, which has gotta be better than that last cycle.

Seriously, I mean, I had a strict height-to-weight chart worked out so’s I could make an informed wager on these ladies who wanted to go for it in the high-stress, high-stakes world of supermodeling, but that crazy Ann (5’11”, 130 lbs.) fooled me with her semipsycho energy, and I was blinded to the winning ways and mass popularity of Eva (5’7”, 118 lbs.). I mean, 5’ 7”? What the fuck? How you gonna be a Top Model that way? I mean, I don’t mean to be a height-centric height-hater or anything, but damn, I had me a system, man. And like, c’mon, Supermodel Tyra Banks is 5’10” and shortie Supermodel Kate Moss is around 5’6”-5’7” and usually around 105 lbs., but she was like a freak of nature, with all that heroin-heroine chic goin’ on, right? And look, even at the Top Model show itself, 5’7” is the minimum, so it’s not just me judgin’ here because I lost my bet, OK?

So anyway, I’m goin’ straight Low Resolution this time, OK? It’s like: I’m gonna eat less bad-tasting food; not get suckered by any more Reality Television, unless this Sports Illustrated: Swimsuit Model Search coming up turns out to be compelling and I can maybe make a better wager than I did on that goddamn Top Model; and I’m gonna sleep more and generally take more naps. Naps are gonna be big in Twenny-Naught-Five or Two-Hunnerd-Nickle or whatever we’re gonna call this year, and I’m in on the ground floor, baby, all stretched out on it, in fact, because it’s naps all around, everywhere. I’m gonna exercise my sleeping and napping muscles every chance I get this year.

Plus, I’m gonna go to fewer crappy movies and not get popcorn at a movie theater where they make you put the butter on yourself, because I never think I put enough on and then it turns out the fucking bag has a big giant grease-slick on the outside and I get it all over my trousers or jacket and I don’t realize it until I get outta the theater. Anyway, this year, I say you should, like, not go in like a lion or whatever, man, just slide through and then end with a bang, OK?

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