Despite my informedness, I recently overheard my house staff discussing a topic with which I was unfamiliar: the new traits and habits they had resolved to adopt for the upcoming calendar year, which I believe to be 2011. More specifically, they were discussing the fact that their resolutions had - as all ventures of the underclass do - either failed miserably or were on the verge of failing miserably! I could barely contain my mirth!
With this Horse Hockey in mind I would like to offer a “Publicized Service Announcement” for my servants and, indeed, all who delude themselves with half-hearted visions of self-improvement or a more promising future: your revoltingly fat body does not care what year it is, you dolts! You will not magically wean yourself off of your precious “cigarettes” now that the current year ends with an ’11 instead of a ’10! Discipline and time are as related as I am to my 3rd wife! Which is to say that they are not related at all, despite the rumors.
Allow me to spin a yarn for you, dear reader, in order to illustrate my point: In the 3rd quarter of 1891 the market share of Bowen & Sons Railway Industries dipped below 85% for the first time since the Boer War. What did I do? I’ll tell you what I most certainly did NOT do! I didn’t namby pamby around my studio apartment, watching “Gossip Girl” and waiting for the calendar to shift so I could stop wolfing down a banquet’s worth of “Haagen Dazs” before dozing off in a recliner each night. No! I paid Irish thugs and members of Congress – a redundant term in most cases – to do my dirty work. The former systematically de-railed competing locomotives, while the latter held a series of kangaroo courts which put the surviving employees and their bosses in prison for violating workplace safety regulations since their trains seemingly couldn’t stay on the tracks. Most importantly, though, I did it forthwith! Within a month we were back to a comfortable 94% share, and, to this day, our unquestioned dominance of the thriving U.S. railway system is contested only by the venomous whores of Amtrak, who refuse to go gently into that good night. Fie on them all!
But I digress. My point, dear readers, is that self-improvement comes from motivated men (and, I suppose, “women”) who have an inimitable desire to be a superior sportsman, businessman, or, in my case, lovemaker, and at the very least possess the steadfast belief that they are worthy of such an accomplishment, regardless of the marking or passing of time. You urchins have none of these qualities. Quit while you are behind.