As I type, 2015 is hours away from becoming history.
I see it as water swirling down a toilet, leading to that eventual full flush and then poopie doops aluhlah, there you have a clean bowl.
Will 2016 be that porcelain bowl filled with water good enough to poopie in? Yes.
But as the calendar flips, it does so with uncertainty. Here as I sit high in an ivory tower that’s far from 99 and 44⁄100% pure, I do believe that my optimistic view of the next 365 days is obstructed. There’s ISIS (I remember when that was a cartoon starring some Greek chick with powers in her wrists or something), now it’s an ideology hell bent on destroying anyone with blue eyes and a voter registration card. I think calling for an Executive Action on gun control/ownership restriction, etc., only ensures a Republican will move into 1600 Pennsylvannia Avenue next January. If so, hope he (or she) has her to do list in order, and will implement it only after the “Un Do” list has been completed.
I fear what the new year holds personally. I have two parents both in their mid 80’s. Both are embracing ailments of their years. Not trying to think the worst, but let’s be realistic. There’s no guarantee they’ll exit the mortal coil, but I’d woukdnt bet on any quality of life improvements either. Shoes will continue to perplex, depth perception will force more male pattern baldness from scratching and the ability to recognize me as a distant relative, much less a daughter will only worsen. I steel myself in preparation.
Aging and its process past the mid century mark is insidious.
A terrorist attack on a small American town….Anytown, USA. Perhaps it’ll be in the heartland of America, maybe an attack in its soul, or its lower intestines in South Texas. Or in an armpit somewhere on the West Coast. This has been a weird feeling that’s plagued me for a while now.
Big Oil will return to normal sometime in 2016, but it’ll have a body count in its wake. What goes down must come up, but there is no set amount of time given in order for a commodity to rebound properly.
Leonardo diCaprio will win the Oscar for Best Actor for that movie he’s in. Can’t remember the name or what it’s about, but I’m seeing Jack Dawson standing at the podium with a little gold statue in his hands, so I’m assuming what’s been eating Gilbert Grape will stop after this win.
Aanother Hollywood star or celebrity of some will die in a plane crash.
A Kardashian will use the word “like” 43 times in one sentence. The guys at Guiness World Book of Records will take notice.
It’ll be a year to discard the things and relationships that no longer work. Ditch and run when a yawn is the only emotional rsponse you can muster amid the stagnation. If that’s th case, then say good luck, Godspeed and goodbye. Please help me let go of you. Allow me to openly dislike you as much as I do. I can’t fake th chitchat any longer. It’s time to move on before I lose the desire to ever try to love again.
here will be a correlation discovered between earwax build up nd cell phone usage. Earwax will actually find a commercial use. It’ll be excavated not unlike the hydraulic fracking in of oil and gas production.
Due to threats, there will be certain no fly zones over major industrial sights, including oil and gas rigs.
Oprah will announce she’s grown tired of network work and will pull back on her hands on involvement with OWN. She will marry Deepak Chopra just for the grins and back a production of Candide while selling produce in a farmers market admiring sea birds. Oprah Chopra producing opera a while hawking okra and digging Ospreys. I like it.
My niece will get married to her Beloved, Devin. I’ll write my book and perhaps even find love, real love, lasting love not the charade it’s been, between the chapters. Th future Mr. Kendrick will be a childless orphan…no heirs or pesky moms. He’ll be blind, will have no sense of smell, thinks I sound 35 and very thin, his prostrate will be the sign of a prawn, consequently he’ll have zero libido and will insist on living in separate houses fully staffed by obsequious Attendants. My monthly allowance will seem like war reparations, the likes Germany had to shell out circa 1919.
An animal act will star in the number one boffo new TV hit in the fall season. I’m thinking a nice family of ocelots who run a halal butcher shop in Scarsdale, NY.
And Generalissimo Francisco Franco will remain dead throughout most of 2016.
I’m no prophet, but just remember: you heard it here first!!!