This year, I resolve to get fatter, meaner, and more honest
My favorite thing about Christmas is the immediacy of post-holiday self-neglect.
The world is no longer full of roast beast and sugar plums dancing in your head. They’ve been replaced by $1 gym memberships and reminders of how grotesque we’ve all become.
‘Tis no longer the season for giving, but the season of self-reflection and blatant lies. While children play with gadgets and gizmos and parents play with champagne bottles, it’s time to start considering 2026.
Most people convince themselves they’ll be a better person and whatnot, with half-baked resolutions recycled from last January. Dig out your 2025 promises, rinse, and repeat.
Lose weight. More charity. Donate time and money.
Not this guy, loyal reader.
As with most things, I’m courageous enough to go against the grain. To chart my own course and lead others to the promised land.
I’ve already prepared my New Year’s resolutions, and they are as follows.
Number one: I’m getting fatter.
That’s right, I’m trading push-ups for push-pops. The only gym memberships I’m signing up for are Slim Jims. I want to create a new clothing size: G for gargantuan.
I won’t be satisfied until my only means of transport is my wife rolling me around like the Oompa-Loompas did with Violet in “Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.”
I know if I stop pretending the scale numbers will go down, I’m guaranteed to break some records.
Number two: I’m going to be a worse person.
No more holding doors for the elderly. I’m closing them.
For everybody else, I’m opening the door and holding it way before you’re ready, so you have to do that awkward little jog that we all hate.
No more Mr. Nice Guy. I’m taking candy from children, cutting lines, and no longer waving at babies to try and make them giggle. It’s creepy, anyway.
My hope is that by the end of the first month of the year, I can shrink my heart by three sizes.
Number three: I’m telling everybody exactly what I think — no holds barred.
Those shoes? I wouldn’t. That shirt? Time for Goodwill.
If I see you with headphones in, I’m starting a conversation. If we went to high school together, I’m stopping you in the grocery store.
Be afraid of the conversations we might have. I solemnly swear to bore you to death or remind you why Amazon grocery delivery isn’t such a bad idea. I like to talk about grief.
My fourth and final resolution: I might just run for office.
I feel that if I combine all of these resolutions, I may just be the perfect candidate.
I can see the slogan now: “Things always get worse before they get better.”
Jacob Christopher is the courts and education reporter for The Paper. He can be reached at 828-445-8595.


