A Gator, an Incomplete Knife, and a Writer.

For proper effect, you should hum “The Battlefield Hymn of the Republic”, “Eye of the Tiger”, or some other inspirational song while reading this. But, not “Wind Beneath My Wings”, cause that's weak.

I became a writer at 12:00 noon, December 16, 2010. That was the moment I showed part of my book to an acquaintance and they assured me that I would never make it. It made me mad. It made me resolute. It made me say, “Oh yeah?! I'll show you!” I was aware a shift had occurred. No longer was I someone that liked to write, instead I was a writer that hadn't made it yet. I felt like Gator. Who?

     In the Marine Corps you meet people from all over. You get to be close with a few of them. You also have a larger circle of friends that you don't necessarily hang out with all the time. In that group was a Cajun dude named Gator. Now I can't remember Gator's real name or what he looks like. (My friend Curtis probably does.) What I do remember is that Gator LOVED to fight. He once fought his girlfriends father and brother, and in one particularly testosterone filled incident in Okinawa, he and several other jarheads from our unit picked a fight with much a larger Recon unit.

     But, the fight that I remember most, is the time he rescued one of the guys in our company. It was after a football game on base, and our guy was drunk and getting roughed up by three other marines. Now, Gator comes along and sees this and tells the bullies to knock it off. Of course they tell him to mind his own business, so he wades into the fight fists a'flyin'. In short order, he beat up two of the guys and was getting ready to dispatch the third. One of the guys Gator had already defeated, got up off the ground, picked up a piece of wood and cracked Gator in the back of the head. Gator's response that day was “Oh, now you F*%#ed up” and he proceeded to beat all three of those marines senseless.

     Today, I felt like Gator. I will kick the crap out of whatever is between me and my goal. (Inspirational music swells.) My whole life I've been someone who doesn't live up to potential. In school I was the proverbial “doesn't apply himself” guy. In the Marine Corps I just got by, and sometimes I'm a sorry excuse for a Christian. I could be a better husband and father. I have never been that dedicated to much of anything. From now on, I will dedicate myself to writing. I will actually learn the rules of punctuation and grammar. I will join the local writing clubs, and get advice from people that know. I will follow through on stories that I have started, I will make the changes that need to be made. And most importantly, I will write. I will get better, and I will write some more.

     Unlike my Father, I will go beyond the good intention stage. My Father was an intelligent man. He was funny and creative. He dreamed big dreams. He was always going to “do” something. One thing that he got into was making knives. He bought shaping machines, polishers and steel. He went to knife shows and got excited when people told him he had talent. He started to make knives. And... that's it. He started. My father never finished anything. He died young of alcohol; a life incomplete, unfinished. I still have one of his half completed knives in my tool box, a “what could have been.” I won't be that, I will be a finished knife, sharp and polished. I will write; and I'll cut a sucka'.

X-TREME!!!!! (Ooh, I think I pulled something.)

YEEAAARGH!!! What's up?! I am all up in your face! X-treme! Whoo! Yeah! Remember the dark ages when being extreme was reserved for the fringes?  Dennis Rodman, Sid Vicious, and Betty Page were car wrecks on the side of the road of society. The squares didn't want to be a part of it, but they couldn't take their eyes off of it. Not anymore. Now basketball players have more ink than Office Depot, Green Day is on Broadway, and even good little christian girls are rocking Bettie Page haircuts, tats and pin-up clothes.

     These days we are X-TREME twenty-four, seven. Our sodas are X-treme. Our movies, music and video games are X-treme. Our sports, comic books and rays are all X (which is short for X-Treme). We don't need to be doin' no correct spellin', that kinda thinkin' sux. It's old school, but not the good old school, like classic rap, it's crappy old school like something old that you learned in school. And, that sux. So, screw that. X-treme! Whoo! Our tattoo's are on our necks and faces, our piercings are HUGE. We all want to work at tattoo parlors and head shops, FOREVER. (I can't wait 'til I can open my own, and I can stop washing dishes at Denny's.)

     I just wish all the posers would get off my scene, though. Every single dude in my class looks the same way, except for that one loser with no ink, or hardware.What a douche. He isn't even trying to be original like the rest of us. He doesn't have black skinny jeans under his butt, or wear 80's punk t-shirts, or live out Jack-Ass. X-treme is a way of life. You should all just get with it. 'Cause if it's too X-treme you're too old! Or have a job, or a family, or ambition, or an education, or manners, or plans for your future self, or something equally lame.

     *OK, I got off on a tangent there I didn't intend to. Worse it wasn't that funny. Young people don't suck, except for the pants thing; HOLY CRAP, pull your pants up!

    Eventually the "in your face" thing gets old. X-treme, is spelled extreme and soda is just soda, no matter how it is marketed. When you are rebelling against the man, which marketing firm came up with the image you imitate? Comedy doesn't have to push every boundary of decency to be funny. A facial tattoo is cool; if you're Mike Tyson and already bat-crap crazy. Not every thing that is fringe, wild or hip needs to be mainstream. Frat/redneck deviant behavior can stay there. Porn stars aren't really that cool. Being literate is fun. Yesterdays punks could take out their safety pins and shave off the mohawks and have grown up lives, what about you? Are you still going to X-TREME(!!!!!!!) when you are forty nine?

Sports and Suffering and Existential Angst and Whatnot

Being a fan of a team is an odd thing. Only one team a year can win it all. That means everyone else is a loser, or even more pathetic, a fan of a loser. Even if "your" team manages to pull it off, and be the last team standing, the rush that you get doesn't seem to last as long or be as strong as the crushing feeling when they lose. After pulling for a team and having them fail, (over and over and over) and being devastated yet again, you can understand why some people are "frontrunners". The most common definition for a frontrunner is: someone who waits to see who is going to win and then is suddenly struck with the thought that winners are cool and that they want to be cool so they declare themselves fans. (OK, so that's not the most common definition, but who's writing this, you or me?)

     I was a frontrunner once. I didn't have a team, they had just won the Superbowl, and I liked the mascot. If there had been a team called the “Monkeys”, I might have been a fan of that team, but there wasn't. So I picked the Miami Dolphins. I was two. What do you expect? I didn't realize then that the colors were a little soft, and that Miami is better place to lay on the beach and be seen at super trendy nightclubs than it is to play football in. They haven't won many big games since I became a fan four decades ago. But, with the exception of the year that won only one game, (ouch!) they are rarely terrible either. Astoundingly mediocre, that's my team. I have stuck by them.

     But why? Why are we more loyal to our teams than to spouses, or places of employment? People will have three wives and four jobs and still be loyal to a team that has been a complete disappointment for their whole life. I understand if it is your home team. I live in Albuquerque, I am stuck with the UNM Lobos. But if you aren't, why put yourself through it? Why not just jump on the bandwagon of that hot team; change your team like changing styles? Because! That is the most unforgivable sin a fan can commit. A fan sticks with his team come hell or high water. Them's the rules.

     So I stand by my team. Even the Lobo football team, who have won an astounding two games in the last two years, (that's one a year for those of you counting at home.) It blows. I should probably just give up on watching sports altogether. Many of my friends tell me sports are time wasters and neanderthal-esque. But what about my friends? Even if they aren't a fan of a major sport, they are always interested in something with fanatical devotion. The Society for Creative Anachronism, (and their post-apocalyptic counter part) video game freaks, movie buffs, audiophiles, comic book collectors, and there are even sickos that like soccer. All second rate substitutes to real fandom.

     Plus, many brilliant creative types are also wacko sports fans. Stephen King, George Will, and Ken Burns are all die hard baseball fans. The last two presidents share something in common, (besides tons of people vociferously hating them,) they are both huge sports fans. So being a fan doesn't make you a knucklehead. Perhaps it is even good for you. Artists need suffering to create, right? Sticking with my sucky teams, makes me better as an artist. Yeah, that's what I'm going with. 

     BUT, what happens when your team wins? How do I justify winning, with my creative suffering premise? For instance, about ten years ago I picked the Red Sox as my baseball team. "B is for Becky" my wife told me, (Yes, her name is Becky) they also had one of the best rivalries in the sporting world, and they hadn't won in over eighty years. Nobody was going to accuse me of being a bandwagon fan. Then, after only a couple of short seasons, the bastards WON. What the hell?! I thought I was going to get a lifetime of Aaron "Frickin" Boone, and Bucky Dent; lots of opportunities to get depressed, miserable and be artsy. How did I feel? AWESOME! When the Red Sox came back from three games down and beat the Evil Empire, and then won the World Series, it felt ridiculously fantastic. Aside from marrying my wife and the births of my children, it was truly one of the best moments of my life. I was stupid happy. 

    OK, so ignore all that ridiculous touchy-feely crap about angst and suffering, that was written by a whiny loser. The reason that you stand by a team, is that if they do finally win it all, the payoff is amazing. And, the longer you've suffered the more special it will be. (until the next season, when your team gets swept by the hated rivals, and then MY LIFE IS OVER, MY TEAM SUCKS SO BAD!) So pick a team and stick with them, they might win. If not, maybe you can be the next Steven King, (he is a Red Sox fan) look how prolific he is. Have you noticed he wrote his best books before the Red Sox won it all? (If you ever read this Mr. King, I am sorry. I love you, and was only trying to make a point.) Hopefully next year, the Red Sox will battle for a World Series, the Dolphins will turn the corner and get into the play-offs, and the Lobo's? Well... they will always be there when I need a shot of suffering so I can create. Win or lose, I can't lose.

I Get It, I Guess.

Often times in my short life (OK, not that short) I have questioned why God in his infinite wisdom would create men and women with such different sex drives. This has caused endless fights between otherwise happily married couples. Libraries of books have been written to help fix the problem. An entire industry exists solely to help people have a mutually satisfying sex life. Not to mention the pharmaceutical solutions being sought. Why would God do this?!

     Then I really thought about it. If men and women had the same sex drive, we would all be dead by now. No one would ever leave the bedroom. Nobody would eat, drink or... anything. Everyone would call in to work everyday, kids would all have to fend for themselves and our houses would have all fallen down in disrepair. And if you extrapolate that desire to the whole of humanity, back through the entirety of history, I have to acknowledge that there is a method to the madness. Nothing would have been accomplished... ever. No great works of art. No amazing feats of engineering. The entire human race would just have sex and then die, having accomplished nothing. A pointless (but rather entertaining) time on earth, no better than salmon.

     Although, in fairness, there wouldn't be time for wars. And we would probably all live in a warm tropical climate, because we wouldn't have time for shelter building. I wouldn't have to suffer through the trend of pants that you wear underneath your butt. And no commercials for pharmaceutical solutions to “intimacy” problems. I guess that wouldn't be all bad.

     No. No. My point is, it was good that God made us this way. Otherwise we would have amounted to nothing as a species. We would be the lazy forty year old still living in the basement, playing Final Fantasy XVI and listening to Pink Floyd, WITH the addition of an equally loser girlfriend. Instead, God created us with a built in motivation; you have to work to win the affection of a suitable female; (translation: somebody who will have you) you have to prove to her that you are worthy.

     So, since I doubt that things are going to change, I am looking forward to a long and productive life with my wife. I will, eat, sleep, work and write; and occasionally my wife and I will go on vacation and… well, you know... sleep late. Because there won't be any kids. Now there is something we share a desire for.

No, I Don't Work Here! I Always Dress Like This.

I don't know what it is about me, but people always ask me, "Do you work here?" In my job I wear a uniform, a generic style uniform, that lots of plumbers, mechanics, brain surgeons and other blue collar types wear. So, often when I am at automotive or home improvement store, some little old lady will ask me where the wrenches or some other piece of metal that you can hit things with, are. If I happen to be at an auto parts place, I just shake my head sadly and say "No habla". If they say something in Spanish in return, I fall on the ground and start foaming at the mouth. It's less emasculating than telling them I don't know anything about cars. I feel much more at home in a hardware store, I estimate that new employees have to work at the Lowe's by my house for approximately 6 months before they have spent as much time in the store as I have. So if somebody asks me if I work there I say "yes", and help them find what they want, and then I gossip about how the manager of this store was cheating with one of the clerks and somebody from paint. (Probably not true.)
     That this happens when I am at work is one thing; that people are constantly mistaking me for employees in my off time is beginning to suck. I was in Trader Joe's the other day and people wouldn't stop. "Sir, where is the humus?", "Sir, which wine should I serve with squab and asparagus?", "Excuse me mister, can I have a balloon?" ("Like I friggin' care", "zinfandel in a box", and "SHUT-UP!", respectively.) What? Can't they tell the difference between a Trader Joe's Hawaiian shirt for employees and one from the Trader Joe's Catalog for real people?! Morons. It's getting to the point where I can't leave the house in any of my favorite clothes. Better not go to Home Depot wearing that Tennessee Volunteer apron that Aunt Kathy gave me for Christmas. Don't even think about going shopping for shoes after officiating that kids soccer game. Give me a break.

     The other day I went for a jog, and then afterwards stopped for a beer and some wings. It was unreal. "Hey toots, get me a beer.", that's what some drunk old redneck told me. Me! I don't even look like a girl. I mean I am tall and skinny, and I do have pretty nice legs. (If I do say so myself) But, just because I like to run in super tight shorts and I have to wear tights under my shorts because of when I caught on fire and I tie my t-shirt in a knot, (that's how I roll) all the sudden I work at Hooters? Really? Get a clue; not even a girl. At this rate I can't even imagine what is going to happen when I wear my 6" platform stiletto heels out to the club.

Baby's First Post

This is not the post I was going to write. I was originally going to write a post about sports and suffering and existential angst and whatnot.While I got up to chase our new diarrhea prone kitten around the house, Jack who has never passed up an opportunity to play on an unattended laptop, typed:
pooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
     What a pottymouth! I guess we know what kind of blogger he is going to be. Some edgy, foul mouthed hater. Like the world needs one more of those, Jack. Instead of being so negative, why not look at all the wonderful things out there. There is YouTube, where you can watch surprised cats and smoking babies. There is Lady Gaga and TMZ. No? You don't like that stuff? How about the weather? People love to talk about the weather... Not so good right now, lots of floods and hurricanes and blizzards.
      No. He doesn't even watch TV. (Can't believe he's my kid, his brothers came out of the womb with a remote control in their hands.) Maybe he's making some grand statement on the human condition. I've got a little philosopher on my hands. "We all live in crap", he is saying. Other peoples sin and ickiness are weighing us down in the mire and filth. Unless we get rid of the emotional excrement inside of us we can never achieve our full potential. He can write a book and lead us all into the promise land free of "poo". Oh I can see it now, Jack my little...
   Phew what is that smell? Oh, that is awful; Jack come here. Ugh, gotta run.

I Will Write No More Forever, Non-Satirically

I tried to be sincere. And heartfelt, and not snarky. Oooh, bad move. I almost got run out of town on a rail. People are in their ruts, they don't want anybody telling them they ought to be civil. "Be civil? Screw you", they said. "When we want to stupid opinion will tell you what it is, blog boy". "Now dance monkey, dance; and say something funny while you're at it". I get it. I will never pontificate again. Dig in to your respective sides and sing songs of morale and victory, "Yeah us!", "You guys suck!" I no longer care. I will take my talents somewhere they will be appreciated, (if anyone says Brokeback Mountain, we're gonna fight) I am going to start a roller derby for blind debutantes that weigh 5 spins (and their dogs of course).
     I am turning over a new leaf, and will only write snarkily... Wait, that was the way I was writing originally. So I will turn the new leaf over to the old side, and write with extra snark. I will unturn the leaf of the sincere writing back to the other side. The side where I just mainly write to amuse myself, and think "hee hee, I am SO clever." That side, the new-old-new leaf side. How many sides do leaves have again? Who cares, I'm back. Yeah me! (You still suck.)

Uncivility and Consequences

While I was writing the previous post, a whackjob in Arizona killed some people who he considered "The Enemy". All I can say is, SEE?! Today on the talk shows, the discussion dujour was all about civility. The pundits were all up in arms about how we treat each other. Will things change? I doubt it. The thing is; most of us only have a problem when the uncivil behavior is directed at someone we like. It isn't so offensive when the president we didn't vote for is called Hitler. We all spend way to much demonizing each other, dehumanizing each other. This time it was a crazy conservative, but libs talk as if conservatives are killing the poor and eating them for dinner.

     Oftentimes, Christians aren't any better. Obviously, the abhorrent Hillsboro God Hates Fags Church, tops the list of how not to do things. But, I have to tell you I don't think that the conservative talk show guys display ANY of the descriptors of love from Corinthians. They aren't patient or kind, they boast for a living, on and on down the list. On all counts they are pretty much opposite. I am not saying that we have to (Kumbaya) get along, or accept everything, or agree on anything. Let's just not be so ugly.

     I, personally, have changed my attitude on political civility, recently. I watched the ways that liberals treated Bush. (He is SATAN.) I was amazed how that everything he did was interpreted as evil, "did you see that? He sneezed at a foreign press dinner, he might as well shot him in the face." And then Obama got elected, and the very same comments started coming from the other side. Well, I for one, don't want to be part of that anymore. I got off the crazy train. Obama isn't Stalin reincarnate. Bush isn't Hitler. I will still vote the way that I usually do, I just don't need to incite a riot on my way.

*UPDATE: June 2, 2011. Many A few of you pointed out that this isn't a funny post, and this is ostensibly a humor blog. Well, it was humorous how sincere I was. Also it was humorous to me, at how all my liberal friends were like "yeah, I totally agree" and then continued to post vitriol. Apparently it is only divisive if the other political party puts it out. And then I had some conservative friends that pointed out, that the gunman didn't even listen to political radio. I have proof this wasn't the case. The gunman took a picture before the rampage and I have analyzed it and here is what I found.

     The gunman is naked except for a red thong and two handguns. Very symbolic. He is saying the liberal government has stripped him of his rights. And what color are conservative states? Red. And what do thongs do? They divide, just like talk radio. And what do they cover? Privates. Private citizens, not illegals. And the guns? They're just guns, don't try and read something into everything, you freak!

Civility is Dead. Good Effin' Riddance.

As the decades pass it becomes clear that some things have become obsolete; the telegraph, cursive, bell bottoms, and the VCR come to mind. But concepts have their day as well. For instance, we no longer find it necessary to treat women like delicate flowers, and chivalry, by and large, has gone away. Only a few old school types even miss it. The men glad to be done with trying to protect their woman and women glad to not be bossed around anymore. Civility is another idea that has bitten the dust, died a largely anonymous death. And, I say, "Big (expletive) Deal". I don't have the time to mourn it's loss, nor the inclination.

     This is the digital age, we don't have time to slow down for manners, we're going a million miles and hour with our hair on fire. Common decency is a time waster as well; who needs it? We are important, people care (or should care) what we think, we no longer have to get along with people we don't like, or don't have anything in common with.We are out there doing and buying and being individuals and being fabulous. We don't have to communicate with anyone we don't want to, we can "unfriend" people that we don't like. We can even pick the news we like, Rush or Keith? Don't worry about it, we got you covered.
     Politics. That's one area we really don't need civility. WE are right and they aren't. It's that simple. To be civil with each other we have to have some semblance of empathy, and that doesn't work for us. We have rights, uncivil rights, we don't have to give their stupid ideas any credence. President Obama is Hitler. Tea Partiers are Nazi's. President Bush is Hitler. Hey, It's your opinion; and we're entitled to express them. That's they way things should be, we have the right, nay, the obligation, to call each other Nazi's. It's the 59th amendment, I'm pretty sure.
     While politics is the the most obvious example of uncivil behavior, it certainly does not have the exclusive rights. The entertainment industry reeks of it. You have the aforementioned talk show hosts that almost exclusively say incendiary things. Rush tells you that everybody liberal is evil, and Keith Olbermann tells us that whoever he doesn't agree with is the worst person in the world. In sports, Jim Rome tells us women basketball players are horses or has a field day when Curtis Martin objects to his negative "takes". Excluding Mike and Mike, ESPN is filled with smug anchors who belittle most everyone, "wearing jean shorts means you're stupid", or telling everyone they "don't get it". Guess what? IT SELLS! They are all at the top of their fields, they have tons of imitators running around.

     Us lowly non-famous people are into it as well. If some guy is driving like an idiot and you try to get around him, and he takes offense to that, he is well within his uncivil rights to threaten to pull a gun on you. Bully for him. We don't have to be decent to each other. That waitress that forgot your coffee? She is a stupid cow. You don't have to get along with your wife, if they can't deal with it you can get another. On the whole it takes too much time to be pleasant, we shouldn't even bother. Say what you want to say, do what you want, if someone gets in your way, demand your respect. Take what's yours, and who cares what anyone else thinks. It's your world, don't let anyone tell you different.

    

Sisyphus, Thy Name is Flip (Not: My Name is Flip And I Have Syphilis.)

Forever, Sisyphus was cursed to push a rock up a hill. He would endlessly toil and struggle to get it up. Reach the crest and he would achieve success. If only. But his destiny was one of utter futility. No matter how hard he tried, how clever he was, it was never enough. The boulder always escaped his grasp and rolled back down the hill. Defeat followed defeat.
     Today friends, I feel that way. Ever since I decided to be a writer, I have fought the good fight, slaving away, day after day to bring the public something good, something pure, the fruits of my labor. And... nothing. After all this time, I see no reward, there are no accolades, I continue to not be a commercial success. "How long, oh Lord? How long?" How much longer must I suffer for my art?
     Like Sisyphus, I strive to be the model of perseverance. I continue to soldier on, to press onwards, to pour myself into the breach. Oh, but it is hard. How does one keep motivated? Somehow, from where I don't know, I always summon the strength.  An inner wellspring of steely determination, forged in the fiery fires of tribulation and the opposition of anything beautiful and true. A dream that anything worth anything costs something. A promise that I made to myself when I decided that I would write, damn the cost. A promise that I made to myself back when I first started writing... almost two weeks ago.

Fatal Brain Clouds (and naughty bits falling off)

ATTENTION family and friends. I come bearing a dire warning. A recent study from the Aioli Medical Institute, alerts us to a disease that is now affecting millions of people around the world. This new disorder makes cell phones causing cancer and genetically altered food causing... well, causing cancer, seem like a common cold sore. Selfishblogintakeitis, is sweeping through the (cyber)world with terrifying results.

     When you read a blog by one of your friends or family, the content of that blog gets inside your brain, and that undesseminated content can have devastating consequences. The content simply has to be spread around or it can be deadly. The content of a nationally syndicated or hugely popular blog is already diluted to the point that it is safe for human consumption. In the case of one of your friends or a struggling new blogger, the words fly off the screen in a super-concentrated form, (much like a baby rattle snake) and must be made safe by sharing them.
     The safest and simplest way to keep yourself from harm is to not read any blogs. But, hey this is the modern age, and one the perks is enjoying a cleverly written blog. If a blog is accidentally injested, you may protect yourself by informing the blogger that he is a moron, that he couldn't write himself out of a wet digital bag, that he is a simpering idiot, an unfunny whiny wuss that can defeated with an unkind word about his looks and questioning of his sexual orientation. Spread that poison back to the person who infected you in the first place.
     A less venomous method, is to inform some person who hadn't heard of the blogger, about the nifty-neato web site that you are now following with baited breath. Also, bloggers often use social networking sites, like Facebook, to announce that they have posted a new blog. And, an extremely quick way to gain relief from the pressure of those words building up in your brain, is to simply click "like" in Facebook.
     The most direct and appreciated approach is the comment section, conveniently provided by most of your modern day, legitimate blog-sites. A short word or two, letting your favorite cousin, nephew, or friend know that you think he is funny and clever, will ease your suffering. (And the blogger's as well - who is wondering if anybody reads or appreciates his writing)
     A final warning, friends. Even if you avoid the Fatal Brain Cloud associated with this disease, other side effects have been reported. Testicular Atrophication being the most common. (Oddly enough, this affects women as well.) So, be careful. Partake in safe blogging, read all you can handle, BUT don't keep it all to yourself. Spread it around, let (me) someone know what you think. The life you save might just be your own.

Obligatory Resolution Post

OK, gentle-readers it's that time of the year where we look back on what complete losers we were this year and pledge to be less so in the coming year. And, if you have a blog it is expected, NAY contractually demanded, that you start the year with a post on resolutions. So here we go.

      First off this year, I vow to try and be a better husband. I will be more understanding and supportive. I will help around the house more. I will help get the house organized and keep it clean. I will try not to yell at the kids so much, find more constructive ways to communicate. I will try to be a better role model to my children in their spiritual walk, if I could just find my bible,

     On the personal front I will try and take better care of myself. I want to look more like the "after" version of a P-90X commercial and less like an "after" picture of a Vietnam POW. I will actually drink more water; maybe even an entire glass a day or something. I will continue to write, and to get better. I will post consistently. I would like to get the Baby is a Monster book to press. (Even if it is only self published.) And, get Bucket Boy and the Monkey Heads mostly complete. Also, try to get something in an adult book or script started. (Not that kind of adult, perv.) I will stop stealing guard dogs from auto salvage yards and giving them to guide dog organizations. I will finish the laundry room/pantry, organize the garage, and at least get started on the master bath. I will finish that time machine I've been working on. (Update from the future: It's complete.) I will be a better employee, and hopefully have another year of not lighting myself on fire. Also, I will stop embezzling huge amounts of cash. No more drinking blood-wine out of the skulls of my vanquished enemies. I will quit smoking. (Crack.) I will play more board games with my children, and less head games. (Don't be such a loser, you freak!) As rewarding as it is, I won't start any more cults, take their money and virgins and go down to Central America and have them drink Kool-Aid with a bad aftertaste. I really should try and brush my teeth twice a day and not just once. I will give up my seat as the head of the Illuminati and finally allow the Middle East to attain peace. (I've been mucking that up for years.) I will not drink as much beer. (Listerine is another story.) No more sacking and pillaging the coast of Europe. Move On and the Tea Party aren't as fun as I thought they would be, this year I promise not to start any more extremist political organizations. No more police chases, shoot outs, bomb threats or spitting on the sidewalk. This year, (the year of our Lord, 2011) I will try an be a better person, cut back on my super villiany and at least curb my skullduggery. Have a safe and blessed year. Except you; I've got my eye on you.