New Year’s Eve Fails to Solve Our Problems Again, But Champagne!

Happy New Year, everyone. And remember, be safe: if you’ve been drinking, buckle up. The shoulder strap will help keep your floppy torso and lolling neck in a more vertical position as you speed down which-way streets. Install a temporary cowcatcher on your fender if you have time. This will prevent troublesome child-shaped dents to your car. And I probably don’t have to tell you to remember your fake set of car keys to hand over to those idiot, prying hosts when they mention you’ve had a bit too much. Put the real set of keys somewhere you’re likely to find them later, such as the ground.

A few thoughts to round out things. I made a few personal discoveries this year:

*There is a movie out there that is actually called Soft Toilet Seats. When I found this out, I spent a couple hours laughing, vomiting, and emitting piercing cries of despair. I’ve never felt so dyspeptically alive. It is . . . oh, it’s the best movie title in the universe. I don’t know what will happen if I try to watch it. I might collapse into a tiny, vomiting singularity.

*I discovered that this Internet thing is pretty easy, provided you get a friend or two to do everything for you. I shower praise on these suckers, and look forward to exploiting them further into the new year.

*Finally, I discovered this year that there was actually a human on the planet who was willing to marry me, and not for money, because I have none, and have no intention of getting any. I shower adoration on my as-yet-accent-free fiancee, and look forward to exploiting her further into the new year. She’s the most special kind of sucker: the one that will have me.

Happy New Year, everyone! Except for Corbin Bernsen. That guy can go eat it.