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Mr. Wrong

Big Bang Theory

By Joe MacLeod | Posted 1/5/2005

Hey, seriously, just for a minute, even if you canít anymore or never did or still maybe feel a little greasy from the other night, pretend just for a minute youíre all drinky-drunk and got on one of those goofy happy new year hats or a tiara or something and youíre 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, itís the Newest of New Years, and so, you know, did you do any resolutions? Hunh? Personally, I donít like to set myself up so fuckiní early in the year for Failure, dig? I mean, Iím all ears if you wanna lay yours out for meólemme 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, itís cool. Itís all about the Self Improvement, and thatís good, yeah, and wow, do you need it, eh? Ow!

OK, I know, itís easy to take the cheap shots ícuz I ainít put anything of my own out there, but Iím telliní 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 itís like, right off the bat, thereís no additional and unnecessary pressure, right? Itís like Iím already ahead of the game because Iíve narrowed my field of possible Failures down to only ones that are Completely Unexpected.

Yeah, Failure, exciting and new, come aboard, weíve been expecting you, right? Failure Boat, man, thatís 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 youíre 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 thatís not a good idea for a teevee series, I guess. But, man, alls Iím sayiní is I donít 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, itís 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 donít change it all up too much all at once or else youíre gonna snap back and end up getting junkie-powered stomach cramps waiting for that next cycle of Americaís Next Top Modelónamely, Cycle 4, which has gotta be better than that last cycle.

Seriously, I mean, I had a strict height-to-weight chart worked out soís 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 (5í11Ē, 130 lbs.) fooled me with her semipsycho energy, and I was blinded to the winning ways and mass popularity of Eva (5í7Ē, 118 lbs.). I mean, 5í 7Ē? What the fuck? How you gonna be a Top Model that way? I mean, I donít mean to be a height-centric height-hater or anything, but damn, I had me a system, man. And like, címon, Supermodel Tyra Banks is 5í10Ē and shortie Supermodel Kate Moss is around 5í6Ē-5í7Ē and usually around 105 lbs., but she was like a freak of nature, with all that heroin-heroine chic goiní on, right? And look, even at the Top Model show itself, 5í7Ē is the minimum, so itís not just me judginí here because I lost my bet, OK?

So anyway, Iím goiní straight Low Resolution this time, OK? Itís like: Iím 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 Iím gonna sleep more and generally take more naps. Naps are gonna be big in Twenny-Naught-Five or Two-Hunnerd-Nickle or whatever weíre gonna call this year, and Iím in on the ground floor, baby, all stretched out on it, in fact, because itís naps all around, everywhere. Iím gonna exercise my sleeping and napping muscles every chance I get this year.

Plus, Iím 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 donít 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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