Jerry Della Femina
ONCE AGAIN — MY NASTY NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS
None of my friends made New Year’s resolutions this year. I guess we’re entering a new era where people have had it up to here with trying to improve themselves.
“Let Elizabeth Warren get elected president in 2020 and she’ll use other people’s tax money to improve my life” is the new national mood.
Which reminds me of a great line I saw on the internet the other day:
“It was so cold yesterday that I saw a socialist with his hands in his own pockets.”
2019 is going to be a hoot. As it turns out, we can all go wild because when election day 2020 rolls around we’re all going to be in charge of our own destruction.
We have nothing to lose. If crazy Donald Trump doesn’t kill us all in 2019, even crazier Elizabeth Warren will do us in by 2021.
So what good is it to eat disgusting kale every day in January, trying to lose the 10 pounds you gained munching like a crazy person at Christmas parties, if the road to your doom is being paved by the creepy politicians whom you foolishly voted for or will foolishly vote into office in 2020.
But enough of this lighthearted claptrap. Let me not worry about your cloudy future and concentrate instead on my cloudy future and come up with my resolutions.
The fact is, I don’t take these resolutions lightly, and I’m not like those people who, on January 1 at 12:01 AM, make their resolutions while they’re drunk and bloated. What amateurs! They’re a disgrace to the grand old pastime of self-denial.
Since I plan to be drunk and bloated every minute of 2019, I have taken plenty of time to come up with my resolutions. They once again prove that I’m still willing to lie to others (and myself) about fixing my shortcomings and improving my life.
I have found the more thought you put into your New Year’s resolutions, the better the chance that you’re going to forget them the minute temptation comes your way, and no one loves temptation more than I do.
So here goes, this year’s Della Femina resolutions, which sound suspiciously like last year’s resolutions:
I resolve to go on my own personal diet. I will eat more fat and consume more delicious empty calories. I also plan to devour more sugar and rid my diet of fresh fruits and vegetables, whose tastes and value are greatly overrated.
I resolve to pour salt on everything until my blood pressure pops out of the top of my cute bald head. I will salt capers, anchovies and even Campbell’s Soup, which is 95% salt and 5% water.
I resolve to start smoking again. I’m going back to two packs of unfiltered Camels and eight cigars a day.
I resolve to stop being Mr. Nice Guy and lose my temper and throw tantrums every chance I get.
I resolve not to let the New York Giants break my heart again in 2019. They are cursed and they will stay cursed for the rest of our lives.
And here comes my favorite resolution:
I resolve not to laugh, chuckle, chortle, giggle, snigger, titter, snort or make funny faces when I speak to my rich, liberal Democrat friends at fancy dinner parties and they tell me they hate Donald Trump so much that they can’t wait to vote for Elizabeth Warren and how much they’re going to love to pay even more than their, you should pardon the expression, “fair share” of taxes.
My liberal Democrat friends will love the Warren campaign slogan:
“Why should 10% of the USA population be rich? When I finish, 100% of the population can be equally poor.”
And they will admire the famous Warren honesty when she says:
“Vote for me, Elizabeth Warren, and I promise to turn the United States into Venezuela. I will get even with you bastards for what you did to my poor Indian er … er … Native American ancestors.”
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