New Years Day is by far and away my least favorite holiday. It should be renamed “Hangover Day” or “Arbitrary Day Off” Day. Every New Year's Day I can remember, I spent the day lying on the couch, sucking down ice water and staring vacantly at a football game. Actually, having typed that, I guess New Years Day is really just an extra Sunday. That's not too bad.

I know Jim Sorgi is technically a backup quarterback and all that, but well, he's still a professional quarterback in the most prestigious football league in the world. You would think he'd be able to handle some of the basic tenets of the Colts' offense, like occasionally completing a fucking pass. Anyway, my new nickname for incompetent people is Sorgi, as in, “That loser could fuck up a wet dream. What a Sorgi.” I think it'll catch on in time.

I went up to the DMV a few weeks ago to renew my tags and the lady behind the counter told me that I had to get a new license plate, too. I told her I'd rather not hassle with it and that the old license plate was fine. She told me I didn't have a choice on the matter. I told her that seemed un-American. She responded by saying that at least the new license plate was free. I told her that seemed un-American, too. I don't think she liked me.

Were Christ's farts holy, too? Like, could they heal the sick and stuff? That would give new meaning to the phrase “My shit don't stink” if it were true. I mean, it's hard enough imagining farts and shits that don't stink, but a fart or crap with healing powers? That'd be some amazing shit. Literally.

My sister had to sit between my brother and I in Church last Sunday because we were annoying each other. What's that you said? Emotional maturity? Go fuck yourself, eh? How 'bout that for emotional maturity? Shithead.

My niece showed up with my mom, who picked me up at the airport. Niece was so happy to see me and so cute about it that total strangers took pictures of us while we hugged. After thinking about it a little, I started thinking. I mean, who would want a picture of someone else's moments? Seems a little strange to me. And I write about Christ's farts for crying out loud.

And finally, because logic and fluidity are busy debating the validity of particular hangover cures, I leave you with the following, which I saw on a chick's sweatshirt in St. Louis:

“Go ahead and stare. I paid good money for these.”


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