Rudie's Resolutions

As the pitifully absurd year known as the Year of our Douchebag Who Thought He Was God Incarnate 2006 winds down to a whimpering close, we find ourselves, collectively, desperately trying to suck the marrow out of what's left of this puckered sphincter of an annum. However, it seems that the Dead Poet Society got there first. Hopefully, they choked on the bone.

With just under 54 hours to go before some shithead you know and detest gets carted away to the hospital due to alcohol poisoning and people desperately try and fail to remember the second verse to Auld Lang Syne, it is time, once again to engage in that most vile and insipid of traditional rituals: the making of the list of things we say we're going to do for the new year, but ostensibly and predictably don't once we realize that January 1 is just another day, and we're the same pinheaded douchedroids we were on December 31.

Since we have no interest in meeting our inebriated little self-help goals beyond indulging them just to say we tried to improve as people, Rudie thought it'd be more practical, and dare he say more fun, to not worry so much about the overarching philosophy of self-betterment, and just jot down those things he knows he will do and is looking forward to with slavering sharpened canines. Rudie advises you to do the same, although your mileage can, and likely will, vary.

1. Learn to drive a stick shift.

This one Rudie knows he will do because he has little choice in the matter. Long frustrated with foiled attempts to run down pedestrians in his due to the throttle lag necessarily introduced by the physics inherent in the torque converter, he has ordered a vehicle which requires that he do something else with his right hand while driving other than drinking coffee, smoking, or jerking himself off. More work, but infinitely more fun and satisfaction.

2. Quit smoking.

This one Rudie's been putting off for a while, but he finally has made enough peace with the people in his life... such that what used to stress him out and cause him to inhale carcinogenic vapor now brings a smile to his face. The fact that Rudie has taken to throttling the (sadly) everlasting soul out of people who attempt to get under his carapace might have something to do with the reduced stress levels. This phenomenon is still under investigation.

3. Drink more.

Life's just better under the fucking influence. Fat girls become svelte goddesses. Ugly girls become beautiful. Boring girls become interesting. And the jackasses that keep trying to engage you with what you invariably find to be the mental musings of undiagnosed remedial fuckwits become somehow tolerable. Sure you lose brain cells, but thankfully, Rudie's got farther to go than most to become a dribbling catatonic. Why not take advantage when one is so blessed?

4. Watch more TV just to piss off militant intellectuals.

Rudie already despises militant intellectuals, but you can really never go too far with these retreads. Rudie's got no problem with people who throw out their TV for good reasons, such as there being positively dick on it of any value. No, Rudie refers to those nattering feebs that have made a mission out of taking you off your pleasant addiction to the idiot box.

These are the ones that keep telling you how much more fulfilling your life will be if you'd just throw out your TV and immerse yourself in literature, buy a cat and a few ferns, and take a spinning class.

Gee, Einstein, what a brilliant notion. You're asking Rudie to read the moldy oldies and get cats and plants knowing full well he hates most living things. Did it ever occur to you that of the two people in this conversation, only one of them thinks you have to take a class to ride a stationary bike? We're going up a hill... now we're going down... now breathe. Whoops, you're still an idiot.

They tell you how much more work they get done.

Well there, genius, the problem with work isn't that there's not enough time to do it, it's that it's fucking work and you just don't want to fucking do it.

They keep telling you about this latest book they read and how it's in the process of changing their lives. All fine and good if you're into that sort of thing... except they keep trying to get you to read the fucking pap smear of a waste of wood pulp so that you can be transformed as well.

Thanks, Dr. Phil, but the reason why you feel you have the need to have your life changed is because your life is an unending series of boring tasks you undertake just to prove that you're somehow more enlightened than the rest of us. So when you get done with that ghastly paperback copy of Silas Marner, just let it sit on the bathroom floor instead of giving it to me. That way, the next time you invite me over to extol one of your lovely, brilliant child's many accomplishments (kids should probably be walking by age 7, just saying) I can relieve my bladder all over it. Don't assume that Rudie's life sucks out loud just because yours does by your own hand.

Rudie's advisory capacity knows no equal.

5. Use the word 'celebutard' in idle conversation.

What can Rudie say. This one's just fucking priceless. And with Paris Hilton still walking around looking like a malnourished, deformed whooping crane and surrounding herself with an entourage of pudgy nippledicks looking to bum rides in her new diamond-encrusted Aston-Martin, Rudie thinks he should have this knocked off by three minutes into the new year.

So that's about all Rudie has the resolve to accomplish. Everything else shall, as they say, be gravy (with lumps).