Resolutions for the Return From Vacation
My favorite beach has been invaded by Portuguese men o’ war. Not soldiers, but some kind of jellyfish that are not actually jellyfish. I would prefer if it were an invasion of soldiers — at least you drown them in the sea. There is no way to drown a jellyfish. And their sting, against all odds, stings. So I have had to spend a few hours thinking about my next course of action. I want to be a better person, at least by the standards of the New York Times, the Post, and other Agenda 2030–worshipping media outlets. So these are my resolutions, and if you don’t like them, I have others:
I will be a better black woman every day.
I will post less fake news on my social networks, especially on Tinder.
I will smile as I pay my taxes.
I will repair anything I have broken at home, with the exception of relationships more than 15 years old.
I will help a kitten cross the street.
When in Rome, I will do what African illegal immigrants do.
I will never again imply that Kamala Harris has a problem with alcohol.
I will do all transatlantic trips on foot, except when the weather conditions are adverse, and I can afford the help of a single-wheel electric scooter.
When traveling, I will also not produce my own emissions until I reach my destination.
I will redistribute all my poverty.
I will take no more planes than those taken by UN leaders when they go somewhere in the world to tell us not to take planes.
I will have nothing, and I will be happy. If I feel like it.
I will donate my bonsai collection to Aunt Wendy, who hates bonsai, to become more inclusive.
I’ll get monkeypox. And, in solidarity with chickens, avian flu. And, why not, if dying is free and the WHO recommends it, I will also contract foot-and-mouth disease, leptospirosis, and any other disease that would make Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus tremble with delight.
I will no longer throw any bags full of bottle caps to the bottom of the sea.
At least once a week, I will drape a sheet over the Coyote sculpture on my desk in solidarity with the Roadrunner.
I will practice circular economy: I will show my ass to the bank manager every end of month.
I will go to the doctor regularly for a wokeism blood test. If on any occasion the level is below six million woke cells per microliter, I will undergo a sex change operation by a Bolivarian shaman who only uses rum as an anesthetic. When I run out of 30 possible genders, I will jump to the animal kingdom, change into a dog, and bite the hems off Donald Trump’s pants.
I will donate my collection of extreme right-wing books to the Democratic Party stokers.
Zero Heating Challenge: this winter we will warm myself with a slap in the face. The first one will go to my idiot neighbor on the fourth floor.
I’ll join the gym and give my membership card to the skinniest neighbor in the building.
I will drastically reduce my water consumption. I will replace it with whiskey.
I will never again call the bloodthirsty dictator Maduro a bloodthirsty dictator.
I will hitchhike to work. And I will tell my boss to present his complaints to daddy Antonio Guterres.
I’ll make myself a T-shirt with the most LGBT character Disney manages to shoehorn into its next children’s production.
I will empower my female coworkers by inviting them to dinner and urging them to pick up the tab.
Zero Paper Challenge: I will write my articles in the misty bathroom mirror.
I will go to work in a miniskirt on Mondays, Thursdays, and Fridays.
I will no longer kill two birds with one stone. From now on, I will shoot them down with sustainable arguments.
I will offset my carbon footprint by eating quinoa three times a week. On the days I eat meat, I will hug a cactus very tightly.
I will sit a progressive at my table every day.
READ MORE:
Politics Is Taking Over Life. The Way Out Is to Vote Wisely.
Everything That Can Hurt You on the Beach
Biden’s DNC Speech Revealed Kamala’s True Colors
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