Smashed
It took this pumpkin long enough to stop partying*, didn’t it? Two months or so of hard livin’, and look where he ends up. In the gutter on West 22nd Street. But still with a smile plastered on his face. And he looks pretty good, too, even after his bucket was kicked. Must be the plastic surgery, ’cause ain’t no way in hell a pumpkin that parties* as hard as this guy apparently did could maintain such a smooth appearance.
But, yeah. The party’s over. Put away the noisemakers and the googly glasses and the glittery hat. Take turpentine to your tits and get rid of the big “2006” you scrawled on ’em (a “20” on one and an “06” on the other … pause here to imagine where the zeroes would go … go on … that’s right … permission granted to blush like a little boy). Put away the Cheez-Its and the Chex Mix. Try your damnedest on your day off not to break all those resolutions you so carefully constructed. Or, better yet, break ’em — and tell me all about it in a comment to last night’s entry. Smash those resolutions, kids, smash ’em to smithereens, and kick ’em not only to the curb but into the gutter, next to this punch drunk, party-happy pumpky.
Resolutions are for the weak. Be strong enough to just do what you want to do on any random day of the year. Who needs the flip of a calendar page to reset their resolve to drink more water, lose weight, make their bed every day, take vitamins, be more tolerant of jackasses, or whatever kidz are resolving to do these days? Not you. Nah. You’re better than that. Don’t let the calendar kick your ass around. Do it to yourself.
Resolutions, like rules, were made to be broken. Regard resolutions like scratches on a new car. Just like you know it’s inevitable that the car will get scratched, you know you’re going to break your resolutions. So you may as well stop anticipating it and dreading it and just get it over with right now. The resolution-breaking, that is. But if you’re considering relieving a new car owner of weeks of dread by keying his car, don’t do it. That’s just not cool, Potsie.
Happy New Year.
* I loathe this word as a verb. Just so you know.