Starting tomorrow or the day after we’re going to be awash in resolutions for 2016, but in reality every cyclist has one and one resolution only, and it’s this: “Stop eating during the holidays.”
This is impossible, and the intensity of the desire to stop eating is perfectly balanced with the insane quantity and quality of lip-smacking yummies at every turn. How about the bastard who gave me TWO pecan pies, one for my birthday and one for fucking Christmas?
FUCK YOU, Smasher, you fucking fucker.
What about the “friend” who gave me a “Merry Birthmas” packet of homemade chocolate smunchers with nuts and sugar and butter and chocolate and powdered yumminess?
FUCK YOU, fake friend!
What about the wife who bought my son a fucking Baskin-Robbins Giant-Sized Oreo Ice Cream Cake, served it on Thursday, and then on Friday dragged out a 10-lb. chocolate-and-strawberry birthday cake flanked with cream, sugar, frosting, and a giant chocolate placard that read “Happy Birthday, I love you”?
FUCK YOU, treasonous and perfidious wife!
That doesn’t even begin to count the “invitations” to parties loaded with cookies and goodies and cake (you bastards know who you are), the boxes of chocolates and goodies from the Big Island Gout Factory, and the sorry dungheads at Quill Office Products who sent a fucking can of Mrs. Fields chocolate chip cookies along with an order for ink toner.
I’VE RUN OUT OF FUCKS! I’VE RUN OUT OF FUCKS!
So bottom line is you’re already deep in a calorie hole that a Caterpillar couldn’t dig out of, and you barely have a garden trowel. So all you can do is try to slow down the giant vacuuming sound your mouth makes every time someone drops off a new load of diet-destroying sugary goodies, destined to make you happy and miserable all at the same time, with the misery attaching mostly to your tummy and butt and thighs and hanging around waaaaaay longer than the happy, which really only lingered on your tongue for a few seconds anyway.
Here, then, are your pre-New Year’s Resolutions, designed to get you safely through to Jan. 1, 2016.
- When someone offers you something to eat, snarl and say “FUCK YOU!” Bite their hand if you have to.
- Throw away all the food in the house. Now. All of it. Don’t worry, by 9:00 PM tonight there will be a whole new pile.
- Pour out all the booze. And milk. Pour out everything except what’s in the faucet.
- Open your “cycling energy” drawer and toss everything in a wrapper or bottle, except the Percocet.
- Decline all invitations, go nowhere.
- Don’t let anyone come in.
- Pull the covers up over your head.
And remember, after Jan. 1, you’re on your own.
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