Let’s take a look back at 2016. Not in anger. In relief, that it’s done. I beg you all not to tempt fate as far as 2017 is concerned. Spoiler alert: more death.
2016 reeked so badly that even the lead singer of Motorhead wouldn’t go near it. 2015 was no plum, either, as it became obvious we were living in the alternate timeline from Back To The Future II. 2016 was worse.
2016 kicked off with the death of Ziggy Stardust.
For me, this was a wake-up call. I really did not expect David Bowie to die. The thought never crossed my mind. What did I expect? The man literally smoked cigarettes from the time he woke up until he went to sleep. Suddenly it dawned upon my dullard self; these entertainers that I goof upon are mortal, and will eventually expire. This begat a shift in my work, where I started to reevaluate old strips and articles.
I openly apologized to Ween, whom I adore.
In a further attempt to understand peoples different from myself, and opinions different from my own, I attended a rally in late February for a man whom I correctly predicted would become the next President of the United States. That’s the third time I was right, since I took off the party-goggles and started appraising people as people. Last time I was wrong, GWB was reelected. As a humorist, I don’t endorse; I just calls ’em like I sees ’em.
In March, I stepped up my efforts towards racial harmony, and I did it a lot less condescendingly that anyone who’s ever spoken the words “Dear White People”. March is a tough month for me, due to personal reasons, so I also did my best to mask the stink of the Ghostbusters “reboot” for the audience. I’m sure many websites can provide a list of all the deaths from this month.
In April, I reacted to yet another death with a full confession, intended to instruct and warn. Hopefully it worked as intended, because it became one of the most popular articles on the site. I atoned myself as a filmgoer with a review of Inherent Vice, and another confession of sins, this time cinema-related. Prince died. I still don’t want to talk about it.
May kicked off with the insanely-popular Kenny vs. Spenny retrospective. Looking back, I left out enough moments for another article, so I may as well put one together in the future. Next to my Fritz the Cat analysis, it’s the most shared article on the site. Also popular in May:
- A dissertation on a minor character from Caddyshack
- A rousing defense of a hated Star Wars alien
- Believe it or not, the 200th post
I’m actually closing in on #300, so I’ll likely use the opportunity to make another big announcement, similar to #200. If I didn’t write articles about just any old crap, I wouldn’t have this many at all.
On the 27th day, I turned 44. Hail Satan!
June means Jizz, and lots of it. All over everybody. Sorry, folks.
Emboldened by the continued success of its franchise, I revealed my lifelong obsession with The Transformers: The Movie, from 1986. I believe I managed to make the text fairly distinguishable from madness; your mileage may vary. I made peace with (the) Eagles, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, and (the) Chemical Brothers. I tried to bridge an understanding between millennials and The Simpsons.
July brought the third issue of Bands I Useta Like…
…and the Summer of Social Media Exile.
Before that, Weezer and J.J. Abrams got the chop. I exalted in the lost glory of Vic Chesnutt and the B-52s. I evoked the wonder of a good MTV with articles covering Sifl & Olly and DEVO. I cautiously explained my R. Budd Dwyer strip.
August was a mean, stiflingly heated month. As you can see, I was angry from the get-go.1970s film. I shared it with a friend on a locked page, where he and I alone had access.
That means I wasn’t reported by a human. It was a computer program, that detected a nude breast, and declared it an offense.
Let that sink in a moment. Did you shriek in terror when you read that? Then read it again, reptoid-in-hiding.
I saw red. On top of that, I was being attacked as a misogynist, thanks to my remarks about the Democratic Party and its pet comedians. So I responded with a lesson about “privilege”. I provided a public service about toxic chemicals and their effects on 80s sitcom stars. I emphasized the preciousness of natural pulchritude in Heavy Metal and the art of Rick Altergott.
Most importantly, I didn’t cry.
Until September, when Boris died. Then I cried like a baby. Privately, of course. I had a signing for Bands I Useta Like III at My Parents’ Basement in Decatur the same day, so I had to nut up.
During my self-imposed exile from social media, I noticed a funny thing; I was in the majority. A schism had already begun. I was not alone in my contempt for oversensitive and lopsided attitudes on the Internet. If you feel the same way, I’m here for you. I don’t even have to hide it anymore.
Here’s my card.
October is what we webmasters refer to as a “gimme“. If you can’t produce site content in October, you have no business running a site at all. The digital economy is fueled by pumpkin spice; some love it, some hate it, everybody jokes about it. This was the first Halloween I didn’t do a candy feature, after the one in 2015 almost killed me.
November was even more fruitful for a gadfly like myself. You all know what happened, and what was supposed to happen. I’d say the history books will reflect the truth, but it depends on who owns the printers. It was a truly mad season. One could argue it was especially tough on women. This is all part of being a veteran of the Uncivil War. I got a lot of clout as a result of my coverage on this conflict. I thought for sure I’d wind up dead. No such luck, suckers! Sorry to disappoint you!
December, now drawing to a close, is traditionally the time I clear out the doldrums of the year. I try to keep the tone from getting too dark, but, well, you know. In the spirit of the holidays, I spotlit gingerbread houses and homemade toys. I strove to keep my pet nostalgic obsessions under control, despite appearances. It went poorly.
Christmas was fun. That’s how I wrote it, anyway.
Would you look at that- you made it. The most relentlessly awful year of your life is over. Time to start fresh.
I told you almost twelve months ago, we’re gonna have a blast, even if it kills us. We’re gonna have a bigger one in 2017.
Even if it kills-er us-er.