Stop Making Resolutions

We are popping into a new year, like we do every single year, and I clearly need to fill a few people in on a simple truth. 

Stop making New Year’s resolutions.

First off, no one really cares at all.  They couldn’t really give a shit if you are going to do this or not going to do that.  I promise that they will only care if you shut the hell up about your inane false promises and hopeless attempts at self-improvement(s).

 It’s like that chick who decides to quit smoking over and over and over again.  We get it, you think you care about your health, but you don’t.  You want to give up this horrible vice, but never will.  How about this for a change?  Just do it, shut the hell up about it, don’t tell anyone and wait for them to figure it out themselves.  You’ll be more like a damn folk hero than an empty promise dumb ass hoe that no one is going to listen to, or care about anyway.

Problem solved.

Or at least averted, I think. 

So, since the fall of a new year always seems to bear umpteen thousand “lists”, I’m going to do the opposite of a list, I am going to issue a challenge instead.  When someone starts spewing nonsense about a possible New Year’s resolution, call bullshit.  Explain why you are calling bullshit and when they try to rebut, tell them to shut the crap up because no one really cares anyway.  You just saved many other people from hearing a long damn line of BS, and also did the following:

• ·         Averted the violators attention away from their self-deception
• ·         Became a more honest person
• ·         Saved the world

Honestly, who doesn’t want to be responsible for any of that awesome stuff?  Everybody, that’s who.

Do yourself and others a favor by following this advice to a fault.  Sure you’re going to piss off a few people along the way, but, who gives a freak?  They’re stupid lying fools anyway.

Happy New Year.

And if you are  C-Lo Green – FUCK YOU! 

Bad ass mofo

Yes indeed, dating back to my childhood I had a problem, that problem was the word pigeon. Well, pigeons the word pigeon and cows to be precise, but the main adversary being the word pigeon.  I would refer to pigeons by anything but their proper names: "shit birds" - "rats with feathers" - "urban hackey sack", literally anything but their proper name.  Not entirely for the disdain, sheer hatred or the like, but rather the fact I could not pronounce the word itself. Pigeon, simple enough, right? One would think. 

So, having avoided the word altogether my entire youth, save the occasions that my family would make me say it to 'eff with me and laugh,  the word would come out: "PINGEON".  Sound it out with me PINGE-UN, pretty impaired I must say.  Now, avoiding my word issue poses another perplexity, this very problem following me from the shadows of youth into adulthood.  Yes, up until the time I was twenty-five I continued to pronounce the word pigeon as pingeon.  Not until a Speech Therapy intervention did I kick the pingeon pronunciation for good.  However, the more I tried the worse it got, the more nervous I became the worse it got, the therapist made me recite vowels and sounds.  Hell, she even made me pronounce words with a button in my mouth.  But finally I kicked the pingeon, literally kicked the pingeon for good.

Fast forward untill today.  Minding my own business, driving down one of the many high-ways and by-ways of this fine land I spot it out of the corner of my eye, the periphery mind you, something.  Something indeed.  Now, having just left a two hour defensive driving training I came very well prepared for such an occurance.  "I got this", I think to myself, having just learned that all one needs to know on tackling such a daunting task. I learned today that turning your head 12 degrees one can gain full sight of an object to the side, therefore, I naturally swivel my head an entire 90 degrees with cat like reflexes.  This "something" or other being none other than, yes, a pingeon flying directly towards my opened window at 70mph.  How do I deal with such a conundrum? Do I reflect back on my recent defensive driving lessons? Do I pull knowledge from the archives of my drivers education classes from high-school?  Do I allow said bird fly amok inside of my ride? No, no and no.  I go full on ninja style kung fu and punch that shit-bird with a piggy hi-yah in mid flight permanently altering its path towards the open window, resulting in what one may call an epiphany of badassery, otherwise known as a feather explosion.  All the while keeping to my intended route unscathed, with feathers hugging the aerodynamics of German engineering I continue on my way.  Crisis averted and none worse the wear, this situation resulted in something I already know, I am one bad ass mofo, a bad ass ninja-kung fu mofo.