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Archives: Dec 2014

Resolutions are for people who admit to having flaws

I’m a very fortunate person, because I’m perfect. Everything I do is correct, and I have no known flaws or shortcomings. I’m at least four steps above the rest of you filthy animals. Since it’s impossible for me to improve myself further, I don’t make New Year’s resolutions. Instead, I list a bunch of terrible things I did last year that I really enjoyed, and then make pledges to do them again.

For instance, I live on the fourth floor of my apartment building, and I’ve always been too lazy to walk down the stairs and put my garbage in the dumpster. To save time, I throw my garbage bags off the fourth floor fire escape. Roughly 50 percent of the time, the bags fall into the dumpster. The other half of the time, a rogue crosswind or slight intoxication on my part causes the bags to fall into the street. I have never once cleaned it up. I plan to continue this next year, as it’s fun and vaguely reminds me of the Plinko game from The Price is Right.

Last year, I also called my mom on Mother’s Day and made a series of obnoxious noises into the phone until she became annoyed and threatened to hang up. I found that experience very enjoyable, and pledge to repeat it again this year.

It’s Christmas and I’m lazy, so here’s a pointless hypothetical scenario showing why I should never be allowed to work as a mall santa

A skinny, morose-looking Santa Claus sits in a kiosk in the Southtown Shopping Center. It’s two days before Christmas, and he is clearly intoxicated through a variety of questionably legal means.

Santa: What would you like for Christmas, little boy?

Photographer: I’m not a little boy. I’m the photographer. I work here. I’m also 6’1”.

Santa: I will try my best to get you a photographer for Christmas, little boy.

Photographer: Jesus Christ. Let’s just get a kid in front of him and hope for the best.

We are all apathetic, blithering idiots

There’s always one elderly person at Christmas dinner who blurts out something racist. It’s almost a tradition. The hosts usually try to pass it off as a lovable trait. “Oh, he was just born in an era when it was okay to assume minorities were plotting to steal your laundry. Also, he’s very old, so rest assured he’ll likely die from a common cold soon. Possibly even tomorrow.”

We’ve spent our whole lives assuming we could never be that elderly bigot. We don’t have any prejudices. We share Huffpost “Black Voices” links on social media all the time! We’ve hugged Gay Americans without making boner jokes. We never cross the street to avoid certain types of people. Except for homeless people, but they encompass all races, so that’s fine.

Yep, we’re pretty damn perfect. It’s hard to believe that one single generation of human beings could be so amazingly perfect and open-minded. I mean, nobody says “homo” on TV anymore. That’s awesome. Let’s all stop and pat ourselves on the back. While doing that, let’s turn on the news to pass the time.

So you invited someone who hates people to your holiday party

I like parties. The unpredictable drunkenness and chaos, the weird mixed drinks made of random household items that may or may not have been mixed in a bathtub, loud music that makes serious conversation impossible, dark rooms full of attractive people you have a solid 50/50 chance of sleeping with because you’re all young and pretty so, meh, why not? The fact that no one present will remember anything the next morning, thereby removing all pressure to be mature or interesting.

Oh, I’m sorry. I was describing a party from my college days. Or possibly an illegal opium den. The invite you sent me is to an adult holiday party. While the word “adult” makes it sound slightly pornographic, rest assured that nothing could be further from the truth. Adult parties trade the drunken hooliganism of our youth for what can only be described as my own personal nightmare: A room full of 30-somethings discussing TV shows they watch and trying their best to remain as sober as possible.

And Santa sighed loudly and updated his LinkedIn profile

Dear Santa,

It’s December 1, and you know what that means! Yep. It’s time to get off your fat, lazy ass and start making me presents. I’ve been extra good this year, so you’re my bitch for the next month, Santa. Every time I snap my fingers, you should be done making me another present.

No, shut your mouth. Shut it! No talking! Talking slows down the production line. Sorry. I know you didn’t say anything, but I sensed you were about to dispute me, so I’m asking you nicely to please shut your mouth and continue making me awesome things for free.

Specifically name brand things. Your elves make everything themselves, so I’m not sure why you’d purposely have them make me a lower quality generic product. It takes just as much effort to create a 50” LG television as a 50” Daewoo, so let’s not do things just to be a dick, okay?