Assuming you are not paying attention, January 6 was the anniversary of an ignominious event. No, not that event. I heard that really didn’t happen. Antifa. Or the FBI. Perhaps Ewoks dressed up as inbred hillbillies. Really, no one knows, so let’s just quit talking about it. The event I am referring to is when Nancy Kerrigan got whacked in the knee by a pipe. By Jeff Gillooly. Gillooly’s Pipe. Another great band name. Or a pornography reference. Maybe both.

If there was one thing we learned from that event, it is that Tonya Harding had the eye of the tiger. She was willing to do anything to win. It’s a true American story of someone pulling themselves up from the trailer park to be a champion, only to have their dream stolen by an oppressive legal system. It reminds me of another great American. That Tucker guy who made the cool cars. There was a movie made about him. The guy who played Starman also played Tucker. Jeff Bridges. Speaking of Jeff Bridges, he is in one of the greatest movies ever made, The Big Lebowski. Nihilists.

For those of you who are anti-nihilism, since I bring it up, consider that nihilists never have to waste a Sunday listening to some 58 year-old virgin prattle on about how to live life. I don’t know much, but lifelong virginity sounds like an exceedingly bad life choice. Also, it is important to point out that nihilists generally think that society’s political and social institutions are so bad that they should be destroyed. If you think this is somehow radical, consider that our representatives recently agreed to spend 778 billion on the military next year, but can’t agree on spending money for bridges and daycare. It all makes me want to piss on someone’s rug. The unfeeling universe does not care either way.

Gillooly. That’s a funny name. If the universe did care, having a guy named Gillooly hit a figure skater in the knee with a pipe would be the highest order of humor. But it was all random.

“Whyyyy? Whyyy?” cried Nancy.

“No reason,” replied the universe. “Gillooly! Hahahahaha.”

Tonya Harding was fined 160K, given five years of probation, and was stripped of her 1994 US Figure Skating Championship title. She should have just rushed the capital building and threatened to hang the vice president. If you can’t remember who that was, it was Al Gore. He was later hanged by some Floridian chads.

Floridian Chad by Gillooly Lebowski.

Chad’s head still hurt. He’d hit the windowsill on the way into the building, pushed by a guy who called himself Paul Revere Heston. Heston was from West Virginia, an out of work coal miner and part-time Proud Boy. Chad liked Heston. At least until he’d pushed him through the window. On the bright side, Chad’s lawyer thought the push proved Chad had never intended to enter the capital. He was a victim of circumstance. And the snake charmers at Fox News.

Chad was sitting in a lawn chair in front of his trailer. He took a drink from his now warm beer and considered existence. What did any of it matter? The .45 was in his lap, pointing towards his kneecap. The last thing he needed was to blow his own balls off. The gun was for cottonmouths. They sometimes crawled up from the swamp to sun themselves on Chad’s gravel driveway. Chad hated snakes. It was a snake, after all, who had ruined everything. Well, a snake and a woman.

I hear that Jeff Gillooly changed his name. To Monica Lewinsky. Just kidding, though that would be some kind of twist. Sort of like me voting for a starved, stumbling Skeletor and feeling good about it. “Good” is a strong word. More like relieved to stave off being carted away to a gulag in Texas. Because that’s where the gulags will be. In Texas. They can just use all those materials that were supposed to go into the wall. “A Day in the Life of Muffet Orangeanicovich.”

If you have read Dostoevsky, you would have laughed out loud there. And called for some vodka. Ironically, I used to drink a lot of vodka. That is when I thought the world was on fire. POW! POW! POW!!! The universe sure gillollied me on that one.

If you were curious, Nancy Kerrigan is married with three children. I don’t know if she skates any more. Since she is older than I am, I doubt it. It would be funny if she found where Jeff Gillooly lived and hit him with a tire iron. If she is curious, Jeff Gillooly lives in a small town in Oregon and has shaved his mustache.

However, all Nancy has to do is to hide behind a building and yell “Gillooly!” at likely passersby. Somebody will turn their head sooner or later. Then Pow! Kneecap Surprise.

They could turn that into a drink. Kneecap Surprise. Two shots vodka, ice shavings, some glitter and a whisper of hair spray.

Aqua Net. If you have any.

With the advent of the new year comes the inundation of self-help articles. Want to lose weight?

“Yes.”

Then quit eating meat.

“Okay.”

Two days later. “Eat more meat for a healthier you.” Wait a second. Didn’t you people just say to quit eating meat? Vacillating bastards.

Anyway, I guess one thing that all of these self-appointed gurus do agree on is setting goals. After all, how can you get anywhere without setting goals? Hitler never could have gotten as far as he did without the goal of the glorious Third Reich. For example. Though one should never make Hitler jokes. Fascism isn’t funny, even if a guy is wearing buffalo horns. Back to goals. You have to have them. Like my goal is to complete this sen…. Shit. Foiled again.

Do you know what I read this morning? “Why Your Goals Will Fail, and What to Do About It?”

What? Why make goals then? Whoever wrote this article also threw in a quote from Warren Buffet. From what I can see about Warren Buffet, he seems to have goals. Or at least one goal. Make as much money as possible every single day. On the other hand, he will be dead soon and his goal making will be over. Maybe he should read this article. It has his name in it.

Another goal Warren Buffet could have is to be a better fisherman. That’s one of my goals. Or at least it is my goal to go fishing as many days as possible before I die like Warren Buffet. I can’t fail in this goal. The words “as possible” guarantee my success. And my lack of dedication to making money. Going fishing a lot and making as much money as possible don’t go together very well. It’s sort of like sanity and wanting to keep making money after you have billions of dollars you can’t spend.

The thing about goal-setting is it all about self-awareness. If you say you want to run in a 100 mile race next year, you will probably fail. If your goal is to finish your cup of coffee and then jog the cup back to the dishwasher, you will likely succeed. In fact, I am making that my personal goal for today. I am already two-thirds of the way through that coffee. Success is imminent. Now I feel like a winner. Unlike those people who quit running through the mountains after completing 77 miles of a 100 mile run. Certainly we can agree that these 77 milers have failed to understand how to set goals. Losers.

“The Underrated Genius of David Bowie’s Acting?” What the hell? Why can’t I keep my concentration on this blog instead of looking at the headlines of ridiculous Internet articles. You know why? Because it isn’t one of my goals. If it was my goal, I would fail for sure. That’s why it is a dumb goal. Kind of like when people agree to participate in “Dry January.” So, your goal is to not drink all January? What’s the point? To drink extra in February?

Speaking of Winnipeg, I have never been to Canada. That could be a goal. If I was a Canadian, that goal would be exceedingly easy. But I am not. And, with the advent of Covid, getting to Canada is a lot more difficult. Forget that goal. My goal is to never leave the US in January. “No fly January” I call it. Only 24 days to go. When the country officially goes over to Fascism, this goal will likely be reevaluated. I heard that Winnipeg is a beautiful city with a nice lake and a hockey team. My new goal could be to get drunk at hockey games in order to forget the fact that I have fled Gilead and am now leaving under an assumed name.

What would my name be? That’s something to consider. Elon Buffet Gates. The Third. No one with that name could do anything bad. Or I can just call myself Tanner Carlson, whose evil, half-wit brother is now the Grand Pastor of Gilead. On the bright side of all of this is that Canada has wonderful fishing. And a fine national anthem. One of the best, in my opinion. My goal in the next year could be to learn the words of “O Canada.” It’s a small, but worthy, goal.

But back to David Bowie. He had some goals. Be a famous musician. Dress like a girl, but not exactly. Marry a supermodel. When one thinks about it, David Bowie was a goal-achieving machine. As for his acting, he was pretty good in Labyrinth. It’s an underrated film, in my opinion. Though it was never my goal to be a film critic. And does it really need to be a goal? Thumbs up. I’m a film critic. Or a fiddler crab. It’s fiddler crab season. (Only funny if you have seen the cartoon. There’s a goal for the reader.) I guess David Bowie was also in Zoolander. It was a stupid movie that I didn’t pay much attention to, but I did watch it. Two thumbs down. Anyway, David Bowie is dead now. If his goal was to live to 70, he failed. My goal was to make it to 50. The pressure is off.

When I am Elon Buffet Gates (The Third), I wonder if I will have new goals. I could take up curling. But what would have been the point of fleeing a fascist regime? Just to push a rock on the ice? Even fascists don’t care about that. Especially if you paint an American flag on the rock.

“I’m proud to be an American, because then I can do my curl-eeeen.”

Not many people can jam as many unrelated references into one blog post as are in this one. It reminds me of the old joke, “A curler, David Bowie, and Warren Buffet go into a bar. It is February, so they can drink. The bartender comes up to the three of them. ‘What will you have,’ he asks. Bowie goes first. ‘I will have a flaming Bailey’s Comet.’ The bartender nods and turns to Buffet. ‘I’ll have your cheapest beer.’ The bartender nods and turns to the curler. ‘Why am I dead in this joke?’ the curler says.”

It’s a little known fact, but Canadians don’t die. They just turn into pine trees. The circle of life, eh?

Time to run that coffee cup upstairs to the dishwasher. Success is imminent.

Yes, I know that Warren Buffet is probably still alive.