Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Anti-Resolutions. (Patent Pending)

Well, the last post was a set of resolutions for the New Year, none of which I will probably stick to. However, I thought if I created a set of resolutions that are anti-resolutions, and then I would definitely come out on top because losing would be winning. It is precisely this kind of hackneyed logic that keeps me sobbing in a fetal position in the dark, cold evenings in the basement… but this year I’ll have it work to my advantage.

This year, my self destructive, contrary mind-frame will be my salvation, no longer my Achilles’ heel. I will not be like the sallow Sink Chicken, depressed, alone, cuckolded (we all know it’s mine), blindly aping the writings of yours truly.

The bastard. The fat, unattractive, lonely bastard. Happy New Year, Sinkford P. Chicken.

So, no more pushing off the inevitable, and on with my miraculous list of anti-resolutions, sure to change the course of my hollow, meaningless existence. This time next year I shall be full of drive, piss, vinegar, purpose. Or, in jail.

Here they are, again, not in order of importance.

a) Learn to find at least one good reason to hate everyone. If they are perfect, hate that about them. If they are crippled, be envious of the attention they receive. After all, nobody has built any ramp anywhere for me, the bastards.

b) Do not help the less fortunate, even if they are stuck in a well. Especially if they are stuck in a well. Remember, handouts invariably go towards booze and drugs, and I’ll be damned if I’m not the one ingesting them.

c) Become more inept at work than I really am. Blame everyone else for my stupidity. Cc clients on insulting inner memos. Fuck up Fed Ex shipments. Refuse to wear pants. Call people in my office so I can merely yell “Get the fuck out of my office”. Show up drunk and violate photocopier.

d) Vomit in public. (Can be used with the above.)

e) Vomit in private. May be accompanied by manic crying and head butting. Cries of “why me!?” should accompany, often in raspy falsetto.

f) Gain 40 lbs. Go on a steady diet of cola, red liquorice and sugar packets.

g) Stop pesky ‘sleeping’ habit. Spend days in haze of confusion, numbness and drifting thought.

h) Change my conversational tone into a shrill pitch and stand uncomfortably close to everyone. Stop all tooth-brushing and …

i) Shower less. All it does is hide the stale smell of alcohol, which is a ‘babe magnet’, I hear. Side effect: the French will respect me.

j) Learn to comb-over. The ‘bitches’ love it.

k) Quote Star Wars in daily life and learn to appreciate Star Trek for its merits concerning racial integration and harmony. In doing so I will prove my inestimable intelligence and worldliness.

l) Learn to smoke… a pipe. Crack pipe. Develop crippling addiction.

m) Start that ‘sad clown’ collection I’ve been thinking of. Felt paintings are going cheap now, and I’d better scoop them up before the market upswings.

n) Believe Bush. He’s harmless. This would require full frontal lobotomy, perhaps with a rusty trowel.

o) Learn to love the taste of lead paint and asbestos.

p) Write blogs about blogging. In a font that is unreadable… in green on red. Stop speel chekcrin$g.

q) Leave damp towels on bed.

r) Replace vacuum left by deposed president Hussein, begin reign of terror.

s) Sing show tunes in highly annoying falsetto whilst in subway.

t) Become cloying, abrupt and self-important. Yell my opinion at television and street advertising. Argue vehemently with children as to my perspective because adults know I’m full of shit and I need acknowledgement.

u) Videotape neighbors and watch the tapes at full volume with doors/windows ajar.

v) OBEY.

I guess that is it. Normally scheduled posting will resume tomorrow I guess. I’m ‘holiday-ed’ out. Back to work…


Blogger Sinkchicken said...

Hmmm...I might sue for slander if this pain in my heart continues on past this evening. I'll let you or your sleazeball lawyer know. I do not believe that I "ape" you, in fact, I would imagine I appear a rather tenderized sort when positioned next to your chaotic and flailing arms (that is, except when you drag them by the knuckles upon the earth). I would hope that the nonexistent readers would agree, if their collective brain were not made up of nine-tenths virtual particles waiting to receive the requisite loan of energy to promote them to the status of real.

4:02 p.m.  
Blogger Kathleen Callon said...

Nice. Funny. I'd give up the not showering and combover though... chicks don't dig it. Glad you seem happier.

6:09 p.m.  
Blogger 1 said...

yey...we all love the chirpy monkey.

i've never seen revised resolutions, quite this early in the game.

1:48 p.m.  
Blogger Blog Monkey said...

i'm revising them again. i have too much time and not enough brain matter.

3:13 p.m.  

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