New Year’s Resolutions

[My entries in a Worth1000 contest]

I’ve always wanted to compose a national anthem. This year I will find some revolutionaries who have some faint hope of success, learn their language, join their struggle, and write them an anthem that begins with their lingual equivalent of “Oh!”

I’ll get rich so I can buy a ticket from the Russians to the Space Lab, where I will conduct personal experiments behind closed doors.

I’ll go into the wilderness of India to meditate and eat rocks. I’ll learn to float in the air and then to disappear completely, forever, from this astral plane. So I won’t be competing in this contest next year.

I’ll spend a year without sin, of omission or commision, of thought or of deed, mortal or venial, without annoying anybody (a sin) or inspiring envy (a grievous sin).

I’ll stop howling at the moon, lifting my leg on the furniture, shedding, growling at the neighbors, and mystifying my dog.

I’m going meta on my resolution technique by developing a set of resolutions graded by difficulty, and a scoring matrix that displays my performance in terms of compliance, and a second-level set of resolutions that will kick in if goals are not met.

I’m going to learn to fly. I’ve already got a ladder up against the eaves.

My resolution is to learn to touch my eyebrows with my tongue, or mabye get my lower lip up over my nose.

As a clown, I resolve to make somebody laugh every day, family and other clowns excluded. No forced, nervous, hollow, or maniacal laughter. No laughing at me not with me. No laughter that changes to sobs. No Cheshire grins. Chuckles count.

My resolution is about email spam. If you put out a million emails, you can expect one or two responses. It’s worth a try.

Hi. I’m five years old. My New Years resolution is to turn six on my birthday in July.

I resolve to take my sword-swallowing career to the next level by swallowing a rip saw.

I resolve to write this mad computer game where you play a guy writing a mad computer game about a guy writing a mad computer game and it goes on and circles all the way back to me or you. Whoa, dude, I am blowing my own mind!

I know I should resolve not to adopt any more cats, but I can’t bring myself to do that, so I’m resolving to cut back and only adopt, say, one cat per month, or perhaps “purr week.”

I will definitely go out on a date in 2012 and how I know this is, I’m going to start my own online dating service. I’ve already bought the domain

I’m going to quit drinking, cussing, catting around, and double parking, which pretty much frees me up for the rest of the day.

I resolve to stop hassling my hubby so much  though if he don’t get off his butt and go find a job I WILL read him the riot act.

I need to stop video-gaming so much and go out and get a life. I’ll have crazy adventures, meet pretty girls, buy a real sword on eBay, and maybe join the Army.

I will keep collecting string but I will stop unraveling things to get it, especially the family clothes.

I’ll run in the next election and get my old job back. It’s been ten years. People forget. Remember, it was my work in Washington that got that bridge built in the first place. I can do it again, and this time I promise you it will stay up.

I resolve to get promoted from weatherperson to news anchor: I’ll lose a little weight, get some work done, buy a new frock, learn some news like is it Obama Barack or Barack Obama, and convince John the station manager that Janie our anchor is the tramp, not me.

I’ve made the resolve to go to Washington and find the guy who is our Senator and demand that he do something to help us out, namely, give me a job. I can drive him around, wash his car, and clean out that lobby of his they keep talking about.