2012

I awake on New Year’s Day to discover my fingers stuck in ten different vodka bottles. They make a terrible clatter as I somehow manage to don my kimono emblazoned with a .44 Magnum Colt Anaconda and the words I WILL DESERT STORM DAT ASS in Papyrus. I wait for my boner to subside and then go outside to greet 2012. The wintry air is invigorating upon my boner which did not subside. The year stretches out before me like a gay magic scroll, its enchantments yet to be written.

I see a year filled with adventure and delight. I see a year filled with topless tickle fights and brain veins exploding with wonder. I see children holding hands and singing in harmony because I ordered them to and they’re scared of me. I see the sun rising on fields of robo-slaves harvesting my coca plants and setting on the twinkling sapphires embedded in my margarita flagon. I see myself breaking the neck of a giant white wolf and watching as his pack circles around me, sniffing, hesitant at first but finally bowing their heads with respect because whoever slays the head wolf becomes the new leader. I see me and my wolf pack solving crimes in exchange for sex. I see me and my wolf pack eating every world leader and becoming Emperor of Earth, launching a new era of peace for me and prosperity for me. I see me and my wolf pack rolling around in front of my fireplace and getting all crazy and pretend-fighting and just having the best time.

I wave my vodka bottle fingers at the paperboy and he starts crying in terror because he’s trapped in an old media career. I laugh uproariously, and for too long.

» Rating: GOTTA BE TEN SEXY LADIES, MY MAIN MAN. I’M CALLING IT.