New Year's Resolutions Already Broken

merica from coast to coast set a personal best record Saturday when it was forced to announce, collectively, all resolutions made for 2004 have been broken since January 1st. The resolutions, some made half-heartedly to feel as if the maker was doing something different, and others made as die-hard declarations of change, were broken consistently in larger and larger numbers since the beginning of year.

Among the favorite quickly-broken resolutions are health concerns, resulting in promises of daily exercise or more attention to dietary needs. Resolution scientists at M.I.T. calculate approximately 63% of resolutions made address these concerns, and big fat America decided not to be concerned about the concerns entirely by Saturday. Excuses for ceasing daily exercise programs included: "Just don't have the time," "Just don't have the floor space," "Just don't have the energy," and "Just don'wanna." The most common cited excuse in quitting new diets was found to be attending a restaurant with friends where they had something really, really good, or the occasional explanation that a box of Twinkies woke them up, calling from the cabinet to be eaten.

Approximately 32,000 promises to go vegetarian or vegan this year were already broken as well, 12,385 of them because resolution makers just found out turkey isn't a vegetable. Resolutions to eat less fast food were abandoned when people found out how much easier it is to eat fast food than slow food, not to mention the comparative speed difference.

Other popular broken resolutions concerned finances, including putting more money into savings, spending less impulsively, and getting into the stock market. Frequent reasons for giving up these resolutions include being too difficult to save money, wanting to pick up something cute, and losing a whole ass in the stock market. One resolution maker reported the failure of his New Year's promise to save money when his dealer wouldn't negotiate a price drop.

Among rarer career-oriented resolutions were pledges to move up the ladder at work, especially for plenty of roofers out there. Quite often incompetence on the job led to quick dismissal of these resolutions, though researchers aren't ruling out complete unsuitability for a career or work in general, a total lack of motivation, and being universally loathed at the workplace. Steve Compson of Miller Beach, Florida, insisted his rejection of his New Year's oath was due to deciding he was happy not having all the troubles of assistant manager, and waiting to see if Lyle takes that sweet Burger King gig.

Resolution watchers found Americans are not only complete failures at controlling forces outside themselves, but the nation also does extremely poorly of holding true to promises of character improvement. Personal pledges to be nicer to people and listen to what they are saying were dropped like bad habits right away, frequently citing how much other people weren't nice or listening to them, with a few cases of he doesn't know what the hell he's talking about and the bitch just won't shut up thrown in for good measure.

Promises to have more confidence were brushed off when resolution-makers realized they lacked the personal power of change to do so. Several oaths to build self-esteem and fight depression ended with resolution-makers crawling into large tubs of cookie dough ice cream, and some still have yet to come out again.

On a more personal note, resolutions to get laid like cheap carpet haven't worked out for most either, often due to personal unattractiveness in non-reporter cases or incapability of saying anything without sounding like a smarmy ass. Then again, it's always possible women just don't give a brother no play.

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Quit being so goddamned selfish, people. There are folks drowning or something down wherever they're having that problem, because of rain or malfunctioning plumbing of some sort, and we're in a position to help. Wherever these people are, and I want to say "Magnolia" but I have a sneaking suspicion that's not a real state name, but wherever they are, we're their only hope. That's why we need to donate to Omarelief, like right now.

And by "we" I mean you, because it doesn't make a whole lot of sense for me to donate to my own charity, since that's like a hooker paying to play with herself or something asinine like that. But for some reason "Let's us do this!" always seems to be a better motivator than "Hey asshole, you need to solve this problem!" So like I said, "we" need to donate to Omarelief immediately.

90% of all cash donations made to Omarelief will be spent on feeding and housing any refugees from the disaster who make their way up to Flatbush, New Jersey, find the Bricks Manor in spite of the bogus directions I gave them, cross the moat I've dug around my house, defeat the security system, and then refuse to leave when asked politely. This is the real deal, people.

We also need to quit donating to Red Bagel's scam charity "Red's Cross," because it's giving him a big head and he keeps blowing all the money on weird portraits of himself in famous religious poses that are creeping the rest of us all the hell out.

But how does it work? How can Omar Bricks afford to be so good to people? I'm glad you asked.

The brilliant part of the charity is that I don't have to spend a dime of the donations on anyone who's not smart enough to find the Bricks Manor, which includes pretty much everyone on earth because Mapquest made a cock out of its directions to my house. I'm serious; I tried using them once myself and I ended up in Newfoundland, no shit. These are the directions I give to bill collectors, girls wanting paternity tests, and the pissed-off boyfriends of girls wanting paternity tests. They're like paper gold for a million uses, unless you're actually trying to find my house.

But don't you imagine for a second that I'll be unprepared if any sad sack motherfuckers actually make it into my house. I've got those bases covered as well, and Omar Bricks isn't one to welch on his charity commitments. We've got plenty of room here in Bricks Manor, and several sets of rubber bedsheets. And there will be plenty of mustard sandwiches to go around. Anyone who's not too put off by the fact that Foghat wets the bed can bunk with him. Otherwise you're going to be sleeping on the toilet. Don't think that's as bad as it sounds—I do it all the time, it's fine. I'd offer to let you sleep in the bathtub, a more traditional bathroom-sleeping arrangement, but the fact of the matter is I can't have some homeless lug sleeping in the tub when I need to take a shower or bathe or make some beer. Some homesteader camping out on the crapper I can handle, but it's not like you can just stick your Johnson out the window and take a shower. That's just the reality of the world, folks.

Any charity-case overflow will be housed on my neighbor Hamms' lawn, and when he's not home, in his house. So don't worry that our donations are only going to help one guy sleeping on Omar Bricks' toilet. This charity is for everybody. Everybody who was effected by the thing and who made their way all the way up here and tracked me down like a goddamned bloodhound from hell. So let's us open our wallets and give, until we've made Red Bagel's bullshit charity look like the second-rate bullshit charity it really is. Because that's what giving is all about, people. Bricks out.

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Who knew such fantastic fun existed on the silver screen? I didn't, that's for sure. Yes, Rok Finger enjoys the occasional movie like any good working-class drone, but movies are usually just boring things that could happen to me at any time, with more attractive people and well-edited endings. This movie was completely different, more magic and swords, less face-on-face kissing. It comes from the most unlikely source of entertainment, too: A book.

That's right, books. Before seeing the movie I believed books were only delivery systems for cult manifestos or dangerous statistics. Turns out there are whole other worlds in some books, and some of those worlds are worth reading about. I can't say that is the case for this Lord of the Rings world, Ringworld, but it was certainly worth a good three hours of my life. I only wish there were another three hours of the film, and possibly another three after that. But for now I'm happy such a strange fantasy was put on the screen.

I've never been too big a fan of independent films, even having starred in one (Piglet: When is that getting released, by the way?) but this was top-notch. My understanding, courtesy of Griswald Dreck, is that they filmed the movie entirely in New Zimbabwe, where smallish African workers will act as props for mere pennies a day, which really kept the cost of the film down. Beautiful country, too, besides the ever-present mountain of death.

The story is the greatest ever told, besides anything with Jesus in it. It's about four brave height-challenged men who leave their normal egalitarian existence behind so that they can get rid of a gaudy piece of jewelry, a big fat ring-slash-bracelet with some kind of Esperanto on the side. At first their only comrade is a senile old wizard with a narcotics problem, but he is quickly outwitted by another dope-smoking old wizard, and the undertall men are on their way again all by their lonesome.

At this point it gets a little boring, with some hulking tall guy barging his way into the picture. Then he and the four mid-size heroes join up with a motley crew of Dungeons & Dragons fans: An extremely tall, probably gay elf; a stout and brave dwarf, hearty like the mountain rock he was forged from; and another hairy tall loaf of muscle. Besides becoming another height-oriented film at this point, there's still plenty of genuine moments of great action.

Occasionally the movie gets bogged down in special effects, Ringworld lingo, and prosthetic snouts, but the overall message comes through loud and clear: Virtuous men of any size will triumph over ambiguous dark entities that seek to take over the world. It just requires being able to dispose of tacky pimp jewelry before pig-men and ghosts can destroy you.

The director, whatever his name is, has laid out the heart and mind of the next century before us. The movie has found resonance in the post-September 11^th era, where vague black clouds of villains known as terrorism can send fear through the hearts of even the shortest of men. But like the heroes of the movie, the what do you call, Hobnots, we shall find the strength to endure.

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