A New Fucking Year

Hey… yeah… so check out the new, even-numbered, extra-day-having-in-fucking-February year!  I’d make up some cool onomatopoeia word (google that shit, yo) to capture some kind of primal scream, but I’m really, really tired.  If you’re curious, it would look/sound like, “Yyeeaahhrrghabaconmphm.”  Or something close to that.  Imagine hawking a thick throat snot at the end.

Here’s my summary of 2015, the past year:

Win: 2015 ends in a five, so it’s easily divisible by five, and we have five fingers on one hand.  At least if you’re not one of those people who insist on categorizing the thumb – evolutionarily relevant though it may be – as a fucking separate category of digit.  Or phalanges, as the case probably fucking isn’t, dickwad.  Of note, my favorite number is five.  Second-fave is ten.

Win: 2015 finally ended.  Interestingly, the world and our collective experience continued in spite of fucking Bieber, the K-sister sluts, and other trailertrashians the media foist on us daily.  No offense to people who own trailers, by the way.

Win: I survived 2015.  Fuck.  Yeah.  Par-tay…

Now, for the downside:

Fail: The Army forced me to retire this year.  I really wasn’t ready to lay down the sword, goddammit.

Fail: The election cycle started earlier than ever.  This is like prison sex every time I read the news, except mentally and up through my eye sockets.

Fail: I had to find a new job, on top of and during the ‘get the fuck out‘ phase of my Army career.  My stomach lining won’t tolerate a nail-biter like that one ever again.

Fail: Civilian clothing on me only demonstrates that dad jeans are fucking ugly, but slacks with a shirt and tie are far, far worse for showcasing that lack of waist and Coors Buddha that obscures your own dick when you look straight down when naked.

Fail: Beards are pretty cool… to look at.  In real life, they actually require more time and effort than would have been spent just scraping my face off every morning.  Still, I persist because A) I’m a lazy dumb fuck, and B) I succumbed to that investor-world trap of, “Well, shit, it’s low now but it can only get better tomorrow.”

Fail: The mere possibility of not having an income and losing your place to live makes you a bad, bad person by default.  Stress is fucking insidious, and it stacks up against quitting meth cold turkey, or worse, doing the same with coffee and nicotine at the same time.  Hi, my name is Rants, and I’m an asshole…

 

My final thought for the year past while poised here on the cusp of the new one is this:  I never, ever want to have another 2015 again.

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14 Responses to “A New Fucking Year”

  1. I’m with you, 2015 was just fucked up from the get go and got worse as the year dragged on. I figure 2016 something has GOT to give.

  2. Hey, I got through this year without beating anyone to death. So, win. Our Canadistan federal-type elections were lost back in October, so no more of that for three, four, maybe even five years. So, win. The Lying Liberals got in. So, lose, lose, lose. Other than that, meh. I’m pulling for the zombie apocalypse any time now. 😐

  3. One word: Leap year.

    Crap. That’s two words.

  4. 2016 is gonna be our year … hold on, I said that about 2015 …

  5. Of course 2015 was doomed: the numbers add up to #8. dull. fat. late.
    But 2016 adds up to fine #9 which is almost 10 – one of your favorite numbers, so hey.

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