Rethinking My New Year's Resolutions

Since I'm not likely to get my bikini body back or learn how to bake perfectly crisp-chewy macarons in the next 367 days, I might as well add a few more promises I'll never pull off to the list.

As we close in on the final, fleeting days of the shitshow that was 2023, I thought it would be fun to nail the coffin shut on this year with a festive, time-honored tradition: the one where I make my annual list of over-the-top promises to myself that I realistically will have broken by next Wednesday (but possibly far sooner).

Let’s be honest here. I’m going on at least thirty consecutive years of not dusting off my rusty French, trying one exciting new recipe a week, or volunteering my time to a worthy cause. (Wait, does this substack count?) In fact, despite my noblest motives, I’m stressing more, traveling less, saving naught, and I’ll just say I’m pretty sure that five pounds I did manage to lose in 2019 has found me again.

But as the recipients of every fruitcake, grandma-scented candle, or unrequested Weight Watchers subscription tell themselves, it’s the thought that counts.

So without further ado, I present to you this year’s list of virtuous activities and behaviors I have put mental effort into assembling but nonetheless will never, ever engage in:

1. I will participate in at least two to three conversations a day that do not involve vaccines, the NWO, regulatory agency corruption, or where Bill Gates can shove his fake philanthropic twaddle.  

2. I will scroll right on past every lie-filled, propaganda-riddled CDC and FDA social media post I see without remarking, “Nice try, scumholes, but do you really think anyone is still buying your BS? Maybe try reading your comments every once in a while!”

3. I will not openly and vociferously gloat each time another one of my “little conspiracy theories” turns out to be true.

4. I will not spend hours scouring the internet to determine the precise number of times the latest tragic young #DiedSuddenly was jabbed.

5. I will not shout “maskhole!” in the direction of the person driving next to me on the highway, alone, wearing an N-95. I won’t even whisper it. I will not even think it. Fine, I might think it. I’m only human.

6. I will stop forwarding every one of Dr. Pierre Kory’s and Margaret Anna Alice’s brilliant substacks to a certain crew of loyal jab-lovers who blocked or unfriended me on social media or in life.

7. I will welcome, warmly, any and all newly awakening sheep into the fold of enlightenment. Oh, and I will do this without adding honestly, dude, what on earth took you so long I was seriously starting to think you were clinically brain dead.

8. I will stop using #SomeOfUsHaveBeenSayingThisForThreeYearsNow on every single Instagram story confirming widespread vaccine injury.

9. I will not roll my eyes eleventy billion times a day, not even when I see that ironic “I have a healthy distrust of authority and I’m vaccinated” ring around some idiot’s Facebook profile picture.

10. I will stop referring to people who eagerly injected an experimental poison into their bodies and then feel the need to brag about it as ‘some idiots.’ Really.

If you have any plans to pretend to be a better you in the coming months, feel free to share! Your comments never fail to delight and inspire me.

The War on Ivermectin is available on Amazon and anywhere else kickass books are sold. Feel free to make it your resolution to not buy a copy for everyone you know.