Should auld acquaintance be forgot? Hell yes.

Okay, that’s another year come and gone (much like Anthony Weiner’s political career) and it’s time to reflect on what I’ve done. So give me a moment while I look back at my New Year’s resolutions for 2013.

Start taking gingko biloba. Check.

Make a will. Completed.

Spend $142 million on a painting by Francis Bacon. Yep.

Get Benedict XVI to resign. Done.

Sign up for Obamacare. Tried it – finally gave up.

Make the word “Totes” totes happenin’. Gotcha!

Teach Miley to twerk. Sigh. Yes.

Out Paula Deen for the racist she is. Too easy but yes.

Explode meteor over Russia. Done.

Make sure Reese Witherspoon ends up behind bars. Eeeeh – close.

Convince Thamsanqa Jantjie that he knows sign language. Yeah.

Do the Harlem Shake. Yessireee.

Punk KTVU. Heh heh. Yes.

Leak NSA secrets; blame it on that bastard Edward Snowden. Woo boy, yeah.

Put a fork in Diana Nyad, fer cryin’ out loud. At last!

Don’t spoil the ending of Breaking Bad where Walt dies. Oops – crap. No.

Get the Hopper from Dish. Hallelujah, YES!!!! What an awesome bargain!

Take under the table payment from Dish to promote their products. Mmmm… I’m not telling.

Track down my birth parents and burn down their house. Yep.

Just chill. Tried it once; didn’t take.

Find Richard III’s skeleton. Check.

Have the royal baby named after me. Officially – no (but Kate promises to call him “Sparky” every chance she gets).

Sacrifice a homeless drifter to my vengeful pagan god and pray for the decimation of my enemies. Check.

Get a clue. Yo.

Spend an entire weekend playing Batman: Arkham. Done that.

Mind control Justine Sacco & make her Tweet something stupid. Hoo boy, yeah, kinda regrettin’ that one.

Get busy living or get busy dying. Finally.

Get my college buddy Rob Ford treatment for his massive addiction. Dammit – no.

Take these broken wings and learn to fly again and learn to live so free. Yes (thank you, Mr. Mister).

Take egomaniac Ryan Reynolds down a few pegs by having him star in really bad movies about fast snails and dead police. Check.

Make sure America never hears the name Phil Robertson ever again. Damn. Almost. Oh well – nobody’s perfect.

It was a busy year as you can tell. Hope yours was fruitful. Or at the very least relatively free of the kind of crap that makes you want to put your fist through a wall. Maybe I’m getting old but sometimes I think that’s the most you can hope for.

Sigh.

Happy 2014.

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