Note: I’m a columnist for the Reader Weekly, an alt-weekly newspaper in Duluth, MN. Every Monday I post a new column.
I could deal with a few more naked ladies this year. I just want to put that information out there for whomever may be reading, whether it be God, naked ladies who read this column, or clothed lady readers who are not yet naked. There are a lot of things I could do with less of in this new year, but naked ladies is not one of them.
People resolve to do many things at the start of a new year, and with how crappy this past year has been, I don’t think my pledge to find and win the favor of more naked ladies is out of line. In tough times, it’s the simple things that make a person happy: A warm glass of milk on Christmas Eve, the love and support of family and friends, and a substantial increase in the number of naked ladies one meets.
Frankly, in naked lady terms, I’d like to see an increase of 27 percent in 2010. Don’t get me wrong; I’d be thrilled with even one percent more naked ladies, but people don’t literally sprint to their newsstands every week and fight over copies of the Reader Weekly for one percent more naked ladies. This newspaper is known for being unbearably exciting, so I’m staying true to that theme by going for 27 percent.
The ladies don’t have to be naked when I meet them, but it would be nice if they were naked at some point shortly thereafter. As is the way of the world, the time until nakedness is usually directly influenced by the attractiveness of said woman. I’ve compiled a simple formula to help people know how long it should take for a lady I’ve met to get naked:
age – height in centimeters x number of nipples = hours until nakedness
Some readers might say that formula is a bit flawed, as a 20-year-old lady who is 5’3″ with two nipples would be required to get naked 280 hours before meeting me, while an elderly midget with three nipples would be required to wait many, many hours before nakedness was allowed.
I fail to see a problem with these results.
Some readers might ask why I don’t set a goal of 100% more naked ladies. After all, most New Year’s resolutions are just empty wishes anyway. Why not wish big? Well, I chose 27 percent because I’m not in my 20s anymore, so 100 percent more naked ladies might very well kill me. Worse yet, an increase of that magnitude could cause me to become immune to the joy of naked ladies, which I imagine would be kind of like becoming allergic to ice cream.
Some readers might look at my column photo and say a 27 percent increase in sexy naked ladies is a bit too ambitious. Fear not, uncomplimentary reader. In order to make this resolution easier, I’ve also decided that these naked ladies don’t need to be particularly attractive. As a 30-year-old temp who has been living off unemployment for the past year, I’m probably due to lower my standards a bit anyway.
I do have some limits, though. The naked ladies must be at least 18, but must not have been alive while Lyndon Johnson was in office. They don’t have to be thin, but they must not be heavy enough to cut off my breathing during foreplay. They must live nearby, but they cannot be one of my relatives. Also, I’d prefer if said ladies did not have AIDS.
Sorry if that last one seems discriminatory.
I’d like to note that strippers do not count as naked ladies. Well, they do, but not for the purposes of this New Year’s resolution. As the old saying goes, if you have to pay for it, you probably don’t deserve it. This rule, of course, will be thrown completely out the window when December 2010 rolls around and I’ve scored 98 percent fewer naked ladies than last year.
Some readers may wonder what my backup resolution is, in the logical event that a curmudgeonly hermit like me – whose last exciting night out was a trip to Rite Aide to buy a sinus rinse kit – doesn’t succeed in getting more naked ladies than usual.
I’d say my backup resolution is to eat an entire 48-ounce jar of grape jelly in one sitting. I’d like to do this at a city council meeting while wearing a tuxedo. I’d bring along a friend, also dressed in a tuxedo, and whenever councilmen or the mayor tried to ask me a question or comment on what I was doing, my friend would respond by informing them that I was unable to talk because I was eating grape jelly. When I was done eating all the jelly and licking the inside of the jar clean, I’d begin playing the iCarly theme song on a harmonica, if such a thing is possible. I’m not sure if it’s possible because I have no clue what the hell iCarly is.
My backup resolution is no naked lady, but fortunately, grape jelly is almost as delicious.