Screw It, I’d Rather Go to Hell
This Year, I’m going to lose 20 pounds, stop smoking cigarettes, drink less, drive safe, say hello to strangers, not swear, dress well, return the library book that I stole in the fifth grade, call my mother once a week, save the children, and tell all my friends, how much I truly love them.
On second thought, fuck it.
In three days, I’m just going to break whatever resolution I made anyway. And then where’s that going to get me?
Depressed, on my couch, feeling sorry for myself because I lack the self-discipline to follow through on one simple resolution.
No thank you. Not this year.
This year, I’m going to stay the same old, flawed, un-repenting sinner that I’ve always been because the truth is, I don’t want to go to Heaven and sit on some little, white, cloud, and watch doves fly around in circles.
I want to hang out with my friends, drink beer, and talk shit about all the people we love to hate. And last I checked, talking shit, Jell-O shots, and fondling your best friend’s sister, weren’t on the bible’s list of celestial rewards. Which only means that everyone I know, has already purchased a first class ticket to Hell. And if that’s where they’re going, then that’s where I want to be.
