Well, it's that time of year again, and this time we're staring down the barrel of the year 2016. To all of you future space-people reading this thousands of years from now, yes, we do have hoverboards in 2015 and they are exceptionally stupid.
1
Also, they don't even hover.
The start of the New Year is traditionally the time of year when everyone is expected to make meaningless, empty promises to transform themselves into a goddamn ubermensch in the coming calendar year. We're all fat, procrastinating assholes on December 31st, and we'll all be fat, procrastinating assholes by January 17th, but in those intervening days, it's socially acceptable to undergo the sort of abrupt personality change that would ordinarily qualify you for a psychiatric assessment. Everyone knows that you're going to sweat through exactly three sessions with Ricardo the personal trainer before you're too busy eating Doritos to return his calls, but you're still expected to go through the charade of declaring that this will be the year you stop having upper arms the shape and consistency of a swiss roll.
And it's time to cut that shit out.
And it's time to cut that shit out.