Everyone else has been predicting things that will happen this year. I figure it’s about time I jumped in on the fun.
January – sonsabitches Eagles get whipped in the playoffs thereby dashing all hope and inaguarating a numbness that continues all year <- You’ll notice this actually happened in 2003. I firmly expect it to happen again.
February – The FBI announces, “It was all a big joke folks. We really were investigating the mayor.” Philadelphia gets a new mayor. Minor rioting ensues.
March – St. Patrick’s Day will be anticlimatic and, at the parade, I’ll get mightily annoyed at nearly everyone and finally end up going to sleep early just because the rest of the human race are idiots.
April – Will likely do something with my brother for his birthday which will almost certainly end up violating our “No Nazis” agreement which will result in another argument about the perceived imminence of the Fourth Reich.
May – I will have a hell of a fight with the telephone company about renewing my DSL at a significantly higher price point. In the end, they’ll either continue to offer me a discount or I’ll end up back on dial-up. Either way, I win.
June – I will probably get drunk in more than one oddball location. This may involve any two of the following: bare feet, funny clothes, someone else’s deliberate nudity, Nazis, sailors, bikers, and/or heavy weaponry.
July – The majority of this month will be spent bitching about the heat and the damned stupid Iraqis who are allowing themselves to be put right back in the position we had nearly succeeded in bailing them out of not to mention the ever-damned Democrats who are the reason we had to turn their fate over to them so hurriedly.
August – Yep. It’s damn hot. My A/C breaks or the power fails leading me to curse everything and everyone on this worthless hurtling space rock during the 10-12 hours I lie sweating on the kitchen floor praying for death.
September – President Bush gets very high marks in any debates he participates in due to the foaming at the mouth, hate-filled rhetoric his opponent engages in. So many lies are tossed out by the candidate of the bankrupt left that even the New York Times is forced to admit that the Democratic party in its current incarnation is incapable of being seriously considered as a viable alternative leadership.
October – The Red Sox and Phillies meet in the World Series leaving me absolutely incapable of watching said series due to an inability to pick sides and the realignment of the basic forces of the universe resulting in the temporary loss of gravity about 30 feet up in Gettysburg and my home being rocketed into outer space. Fortunately, the duct tape and plastic sheeting I stole from some drip who listened to the DHS last year seals the place against vacuum and cosmic rays. I neither die nor acquire Fantastic Four like superpowers. I am eventually rescued by the second flight of the Space Shuttle since Columbia.
November – I’ll yet again fall asleep during the biggest reenactor party of the year. Thanksgiving will be a transcendent experience as always but one whose absorbed joy will be quickly dispelled by the annual crowded hell that is . . .
December – I’ll turn 31 with nothing more accomplished towards my non-existent life goals and look forward to another year with the nation in good hands, family and friends as content as can be expected and the porch floor not set on fire while cooking the New Year’s Eve feast.