Watching my calendar flip into a new year isn't the joyspout it once was. Sure, it's a little bit exciting to think about having only one syllable to blurt out whenever someone asks me what year it is, which happens a lot. It's just that the thrill of economy is so blunted by the liability of forgetfulness that I'm not sure I even want to get out of bed tomorrow, or the day after that. I know it isn't '09 anymore. Now get off my back.
Does that make me a coward? Yes, and I resent the insinuation. The way I see it, you're every bit as capable of doing the math as I am, even if that means taking both hands out of your pockets. Fingers are a gift, and the sooner you come to grips with that concept the better you'll be at using them as they were intended, instead of wasting their time in the enormity of pants that fall down around your ankles whenever you cross the street.
If you have to ask what year this is, at least have the decency to keep your pants on. I don't care what you do with your shirt.
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