You Say You Want a Revolution

This year we were denied the much-beloved annual spectacle of buffoons, drunkards, and tourists freezing their nobs off in Times Square on New Year’s Eve waiting for the ball to drop so they can rush to empty their beer-bloated bladders in the fragrant Port Authority bathrooms. Seeing these boneheads torture themselves in miserable weather year after year, I, Pinky Tourette, deep thinker and world-renowned authority on hangovers, have always wondered why we subject ourselves to the new year in January. Why not June? That way everyone could enjoy pleasant temps and barbecues, spread out blankets for the fireworks, nookie each other comfortably in the woods at the stroke of 12, and generally enjoy the event so much more. It’s not like January 1 was decreed by holy edict. Other countries celebrate the start of a new year on other dates, or follow different calendars entirely. Even the U.S. used to celebrate the new year on March 25 until 1752. In fact, if we’d had the sense to revolt against England earlier, before they adopted the Gregorian Calendar, we might in the present day still be starting the new year in springtime. Much more sensible. Although personally I’m holding out for summer. Petition coming soon.

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Conspiracy theories are real. The world is indeed watching you. Yes, YOU. How to prove? Simple. Put down your cellphone. Now walk into another room without it. That’s when it’ll ring. Guaranteed. You can clutch the phone in your hand all day and all night until your fingers rigor-mortify into claws around it, but the moment you set it aside and head to the kitchen for a beer or settle yourself into a comfortable squat in the outhouse – that’s when the theme song from “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly” will chirp to life in the other room. Go on, give it a try. It worked, right?

This proves the election was rigged.

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Here’s what I suggest. Next time Josh Hawley is speaking, show up with a pickup truck full of lumber and some power tools. As he begins to raise his voice and his sticky fist, start constructing a gallows. If anybody asks what you’re up to, tell them you’re just “caught up in the moment.”

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Here’s a secret. Bernie Sanders is Q. He created the satanic pedophile conspiracy and all the others on a bet to see how many people could be duped by the most absurd and ridiculous story possible. He won the bet.

He’s also 7,000 years old. And a gay Black woman. Pass it on.