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This is my year. This is my fucking year.  Fuck everyone.  If I have to force personal success and happiness down the throat of 2012, I’m going to fucking do it. 

Tuesday Meditations: Resolutions Can Suck A Dick

Hey assholes-

Hope you had a swell new years!  I was pretty fucked up, but I distinctly remember bandaging a bloody wound and a sweaty ex getting in the way of my game.  Or was I bandaging a sweaty ex and a bloody wound was getting in the way of my game? Fucked if I know. I love drugs! 


But, gentle readers, that’s neither here nor there. I know you know I know that you know people who always make a lame-ass list of shit they’re going to change for the new year, and then the never fucking do it.  You know, they want to loose 15 lbs or find love or take better care of themselves. 

Well, I want to stay EXACTLY THE SAME. 

And, I want to do it HARDER. 

Here’s a list of Leib’s patented* Non-Resolutions, or shit I ain’t gonna change for fucking nobody, myself included:

*patent pending

1.  My ears.  They ain’t pierced.  And know what? I have enough of your grandma’s clip-ons off of Ebay to last me a lifetime.  The next time you see me in a line at Claire’s will be to get a tiara for your kids’ BABY PARTY, and I’ll be laughing all the way to the register.

2. Dating assholes.  You know what? Dating assholes who manipulate me is one of the THINGS I FUCKING DO BEST.  If I didn’t date assholes, I wouldn’t be setting an example for the likes of young, smart, funny teenagers everywhere, who eagerly hope for a partner who treats them right, listens to their opinions and respects their minds, bodies and souls. 

3.Lying.  FUCK YOU!  Of COURSE I’M DONE DATING ASSHOLES!  I have SHITLOADS of self-worth, and any dude who doesn’t want to date this Coors-lite filled, Rite-Aid loving Piece of Awesome can suck on A FAT RESOLUTION.

4. Drinking lots and lots and lots of Coors Lites. Why quit the one thing I love?

5.  Smoking tons and tons of weed. Why quit that other one thing I love?

So, that’s kind of it.  Oh, yeah, except for this gallery of leather newsboy hats:

You’re welcome,

Rebecca

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