Thursday, July 6, 2017

The Best of Intentions

Last October, I quit smoking cigarettes, arresting a thirty-eight year addiction.  You expect the cravings, the anxious moments when smoking becomes the only thing you can think about, but what you don’t expect is the enormous amount of credit people will give you for sticking with it.  After two weeks, I was feeling better.   In a month’s time, I was proud of myself.  By Christmas, I was downright cocky.  With January 1st right around the corner and still on a self-improvement kick, I wrote down a list of New Year’s resolutions. 

I am ashamed to admit that I accomplished exactly none of them.  Reproduced below, as a public Mea Culpa, is the list I made…


        Finish my master’s degree in clown college.

        Stop kicking myself when I miss the first few minutes of ‘The Beverly Hillbillies’...I know I can figure out what’s going on if I just pay attention!

       Give military salutes to crossing guards.

        Whenever someone says, “Good Morning”, respond with a hearty, “’Allo, Guv’na!”

        Scream “Yee-Haw” at the moment of orgasm.

        Play a country music record backwards to see if my dog will really come back.

        Begin referring to my off-brand sneakers as ‘Air Gordons’.

        Wish on the first star I see each night, asking that my enemies die painful deaths.

        Write to my congressman about the designated hitter rule.

      Get jiggy with it.

      Sue that asshole who called me “overly litigious.”

      Install tiny safes in the birdhouses.

      Resign from Paul Simon’s fan club and join Garfunkels…thereby kick-starting the revolution!!

      Get tested for Hulkamania.  

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