OK, maybe it's already three days into the Y2K7, but surely God will appreciate a few resolutions, however belatedly? So, here goes:
-- Less talk, more funk.
-- Cut down collection of stray cats by 10 percent.
-- Invent more creative methods of arson, possibly including baby formula.
-- Make fun of more weird-looking hobos.
-- Drop heroin habit. (Outside of regular users group.)
-- Eat less exotically.
-- Mount a coup.
-- Put the days of petty crime behind me; find a way to finally break into white-collar crime.
-- Look into cornering the emerging trans-fat blackmarket, likely involving increased hawking of my delectable Extra Crispy Smorestaco™ at Washington Square Park.
-- Re-convert to Paganism.
-- Memorize every line in "Blood In, Blood Out," aka cinema's pinnacle achievement, until my (Caucasian) Mexican street gang figures out how to improve our street cred.
-- Train my robot to dance like a gypsy. (Could be funny.)
-- Less Internet, more TV.
-- Plant a tree.
-- Infiltrate a subculture.
-- Orgies!
-- Use profits from freelance architecture projects to finance sustainable development of the efforts to raise awareness of the HIV-strain ravaging the gay community of Algerian spider monkeys populating West Bengalese ghettos. Afterward, write an ironic poem about the whole episode.
-- Build that sprawling 12-room mansion I've designed (replete with guest houses, 9-hole par-three golf course, Olympic-sized swimming pool and tennis courts) in Brazil's beautiful Amazon Rainforest.
-- Train my gypsy to dance like a robot. (Could be funny.)
-- Write the screenplay depicting my epic rise in the sordid world of Brooklyn's underground freestyle rap battle scene, culminating with my improbable defeat of that punk-ass, 50 Cent. Related: Sue producers of "Rap War One" for using my life story without proper acknowledgment.
-- Start a book (burning) club.
-- Hit lecture circuit; speak out on how pervasive major-league sports leather jackets threaten reputation for urban areas' trend-setting position in global fashion.
-- Incorporate the phrase "monkey's dalliance" into regular parlance. Ensure context -- e.g., "Talk about putting the finger paint in the tomato jar, his third-quarter presentation was a veritable monkey's dalliance" -- never leaves the impression that the phrase actually means something.
-- Clean up the large blood stain currently hidden by love seat.
-- Challenge Mayor Bloomberg to a wrestling match, Health Commissioner Frieden to a 10k. Smoke cigarettes throughout duration of said competitions.
-- Rake more muck!
Happy New Years!
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
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1 comment:
Eat less exotically.
Totally. Your current food "preparation" time of 7 minutes is 5 minutes too many.
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