Looking for stuff to do in 2020? Me too, so I made a list.
Please know it is not all inclusive. That would be impossible. But it is a good start, bless my heart. (Rhyme!).
100. Get rid of that fish-face mugshot up above. Look at that poor sucker. That’s a face only a mother and wife and a carp could love. I need a big Snidely Whiplash mustache, and feathered hair. Actually, I need hair
99. Eat plenty of baloney. The best kind is Carolina Pride. I know this because I’m from South Carolina, easily the greatest state in the free universe. Baloney from Carolina is the best baloney. Am I full of it? Undoubtedly.
98. Have a salami sandwich if I run out of baloney. I like salami. Especially the kind you get carved up thick for you by the angry salami slicer woman at a certain grocery store I tend to use for salami stops. I can’t blame her, though. I’d be angry too if I had to cut up pricey lunch meat all day for cranky middle-aged goobers like me. What’s in salami, anyway? Cats?
97. Become an oyster liberation fighter, before there are no more oysters left to liberate. Look, I like oysters as much as the next guy with a beer in his hand, but as the coast fills up with more and more people it stands to reason one day we’re going to shuck ourselves right out of oyster heaven. Free the oyster!
96. Fly a kite from a pier. I’ve always wanted to do that. I think the fish would like it.“Look, there’s a kite!. Well, I’ll be.”
95. Finally woggle another marathon and this time heckle spectators as I go by. They deserve it. After all, who the heck likes to watch other people woggle 26.2 miles? Sadistic people, that’s who. Note: Woggle is a term coined by the great Erk Russell, who said it’s part jog, part walk. You “woggle.” I certainly do.
94. Watch more Three Stooges. Especially the ones where they get turned loose with power tools. I’m laughing already, thinking about Larry bouncing off the top of Moe’s head with a rivet gun.
93. Up my top-end marathon woggle speed to 3.4 mph. That should allow me to finish in the same day, or week.
92. Drop out of the rat race and join a hippie commune. I’ll adopt the name Mr. Starshower Elk Ears.
91. Learn to hippie. Anybody know any hippies? Send them to me so I can practice my hippie skills. Far out, y’all.
90. Build something with my bare hands. And hammers and nails and saws and stuff. And some wood. Then I’ll paint it purple and sit on it for a while. Actually, that might take me about a year to build and paint.
89. Sneak up on a squid and name him Donald L. Octopus, Phd. It’ll be good for his self-esteem. He can join the hippie commune with me. We’ll learn to plink a banjo together.
88. I’ll probably end up voting a time or two in 2020. Haven’t made up my mind for who yet. Most of them seem to be angry about something.
87. Complain because there are too many elections. It disturbs my wa. Quit bothering me.
86. Finally get my driver’s license after 40-plus years of driving around tapping my brake pedal just to annoy others.
85. I have a license. I don’t know where I put it, but I have one. It expires in 2018. Which is just around the corner, I know. I tend to put things off until the last minute.
84. Find my driver’s license.
83. Buy some new pants to put my driver’s license in. All my old pants are either frayed at the bottom or have ink stains, or the seat is blowed out.
82. Enter a hot dog eating contest for a good causes – namely, my belly. It’s the best good cause I know and it wants hot dogs.
81. Use the handle,“esquire” after my name. Here’s how that would work at executive sessions and so on: Important person with a monocle, channeling Downton Abbey’s Carson:“Howdy doo, before I let you in this place you apparently wish to enter, whom, may I ask, are you?” Me, being Terry Thomas:“Oh, howdy doo. I’m Jeff Whitten, esquire.” Important person with a monocle:“Very impressive, tut tut. Come on in my good man. Tally Ho and what not.” Me: “Pip pip, I say, awfully good of you. Pippetty pip.”
Note: Numbers 80-1 will come by Dec. 31, maybe. In the meantime, thanks for not coming by and letting the air out of my tires for inflicting this column on you.
Whitten is editor of the Coastal Courier and Bryan County News until he gets fired for being incompetent.