With 2012 preparing to rear its shiny, confetti-sprinkled head before us, no doubt the usual list of New Year’s resolutions has been written by the well-intentioned masses. (Good for them, best wishes, God bless, blah blah blah.) I’m not the resolution type I used to be. One reason for this is I find it far easier to lose weight in the summer, and the calendar-makers keep refusing my request to make June the first month of the year (jerks). Also, long ago my idealism and ambition disappeared in a fashion that would impress the pants off D.B Cooper.

However, I still have enough festive zeal left in me to want to somehow signify the changing of the year, and I found a great approach that replaces the desire to improve oneself. It is the even bigger desire for others to suffer: New Year’s Curses.

My curses for 2012:

May your son’s insanely expensive acting classes be taught by Adam Sandler.

May the custom Corvette you won in a radio contest be formerly owned by Barbie.

May the only surgeon available for your emergency appendectomy have a bad case of the shakes from caffeine withdrawal.

May the entire pool of job applicants for your new branch office consist of community college hold-backs and people fired from the DMV.

May your hearing aid pick up a heated argument between Roseanne Barr and Fran Drescher while you’re battling a migraine.

May a recently-deceased distant relative leave you her entire estate, which consists of 60 cats and one litterbox.

May you develop an allergy to all your favorite foods, and learn your immune system is bolstered by your least-favorite foods.

May your high school girlfriend show up at your 10-year reunion looking like Barney Frank with shingles.

May you discover carpet burns on your wife’s backside 6 weeks after you install hardwood floors throughout your house.

May your TV set’s warranty lapse exactly one minute before getting stuck on the Botched Nose-Job Channel.

May a massive sinkhole open up in front of your driveway the moment you learn your teenage daughter is attending a kegger at her history teacher’s house.

Finally, happy New Year to those of you who manage to dodge any of the above.

Author Bio:

Jeffrey Webb is just an average, blue-collar guy who likes to write stuff. He left his home state of Vermont for California with his family at age 7 and has regretted it ever since. A 24-year veteran of the home improvement industry, his hobbies include cooking, playing the drums, and verbally savaging annoying celebrities. He lives in San Diego with his extremely patient wife and two children.
  • Gena Taylor

    I just wanted to add, I’m already taking care of two dogs I inherited from another friend who died 7 years ago. One dog is now 17 years old, the other 16 years old.
    And I’m puppysitting for a neighbor who works out-of-state with an airline company. I’m taking care of her five poochers, who are precious, but she had said she was going to be gone two weeks, now I’m told it will be at least an entire month.
    That should count for at least another curse.

  • Gena Taylor

    I’m hoping my neighbor doesn’t see this. He recently was diagnosed with cancer, which he is refusing treatment for. He informed me he is leaving me his estate, which basically is the three cats he adores and knows I would take care of for him. Only problem there is that I’m deathly allergic to cats. I’m seriously hoping for a miracle healing for him, I’d rather not inherit his estate.
    Saying this cause it looks like I’m headed for one of your curses. (I’m trying to get him to try one of those homeopathic treatments, which may or may not work, don’t have the horrible effects of chemo/radiation treatments which usually don’t work anyhow. And he is a nice guy anyhow, would rather just not lose him as a neighbor.)

  • Mike Jackson

    NICE! And a most Happy New Year to you too! And I hope yours goes better than what you wrote. :)