Goodbye 2024!

A Holiday Tradition -- The Annual Year End Note

[Very little introduction is needed for this piece. If you’ve been a loyal supporter for a while, you’ll know that this holiday tradition is stretched into its third decade of witty bon mots against the back drop of all the references from a year that was. Please pass it along to friends, read it at the Xmas dinner table, or sell it on Ebay. Enjoy!]

December 24, 2024 11:59 p.m.

A very hearty Ho Ho Ho, Hozempic to all my dear friends, stranded astronauts, Kiwi haka performers, sentient Waymo drivers, and emergent cicadas. Hopefully this finds you fully recovered from that Boar’s Head deli meat from Thanksgiving and off the skibidi toilet this holiday season. It’s that time again when this annual gab, jabber, yap, and yaw fest from your favorite year end recap writer’s favorite year end recap writer arrives via mysterious drone down your chimney just in time for Christmas. In the words of Swole Santa: Bro, do you even gift?

I must admit that I struggled with this year’s note. For the longest time, I only had concepts of a note. I was mired in the “blue screen of death.” (That’s what I get for using Crowdstrike’s new writing software.) After twenty-plus years of writing these things, I felt I’d said all I had to say and officially retired. But then I changed my mind, a practice commonly known as Sajaking. With renewed enthusiasm, it is indeed my honor to send this, the only tokenized real world asset along the blockchain that also lines your bird’s cage in printed form, to you. And if it bombs, I can always just blame Jo Koy’s writers.

I’ve found a quiet room here at my neighbor’s Whamageddon party. They handed out ear muffs and powered down all iTunes devices so we should be safe. Last time I attended, they held an Elephant Swap. When I gave a girl my heart and she immediately gave it away, the party was ruined. So no swap this year. To be honest, I’m really only here for the barbecue as I have been jonesing for hot dogs ever since my banishment from Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest this summer when I tried substituting cocktail wienies for the full size ones. I still say my record of 269 and subsequent stomach-pumping should stand.

This has certainly been the Megalopolis of years. . . of decades, really. It’s as if we collectively fell out of a coconut tree. In hindsight, I would have been better served taking a gap year. But sometimes you just gotta say “Hawk Tuah!” and plow your way through it. It’s times like these we must show gratitude in what we did, in fact, survive such as Ray Gun’s break dancing routine and Beyonce’s country song.

Though I spent most of the year up against a fund raising deadline in spite of my promise for a 400% MATCH, I did manage to find some time to indulge in a variety of indulgent indulgences. My brat summer, for example, which I spent at a Diddy Freak Off, that is until we ran out of baby oil.

July was spent taking a brief customer service survey.

Early August found me in a heated rap battle with Flavor Flav which I definitively ended when I dissed his water polo team. YEAH BUOY!!! But I’m not about petty grudges and Flav and I apologized to one another. We realized that we’re both as current as Beetlejuice, Beverly Hills Cop, and female Matlock.

This recognition make me take stock of my career and around my birthday, I googled myself as an exercise of self-appreciation. I was thrilled to see my full resume come up when I had only entered A-N-D-Y-W-A-S-and then the “I”. . . before continuing with the “F” and “A-U-T-H-O-R-H-U-M-O-R-B-O-O-K-S-M-I-N-O-R-T-R-A-F-F-I-C-V-I-O-L-A-T-I-O-N-C-H-A-R-I-T-Y-R-A-F-F-L-E-W-I-N-N-E-R-N-O-T-A-N-D-Y-W-A-R-H-O-L!!!! I don’t like to brag, but there were like a million entries, a few of which were NOT entries on Andy Warhol. It’s a testament to my prolific longevity and ability to master search engine optimization.

Though I must admit it was a rough year in Hollywood especially in front of the camera, as I took whatever I could get which meant a role as a butt double in the latest “Gladiator.” I’m not ashamed of my work as it was tasteful, but test audiences wondered if I “was being fattened up for the lions.” The production company subsequently did reshoots with a butt triple. At least, I was paid in scale which they told me to use so I could watch my weight for any future gigs.

And that brings us to tonight and those mouth-watering grilled processed meats that I am looking forward to enjo— AND THEY’RE EATING THE DOGS!!!! What the sigma?! I was in the other room! No one said anything and now I come back to find everyone else chowing down. Ugh! You hear about these things happening, but never imagine it will happen in your neighborhood. Well, nonetheless, I must remain mindful and demure.

Back outside again on the porch, belly bereft of frankfurters, as I contemplate the Roman Empire and I watch the Aurora Borealis flash by. Ooops, my mistake. It turns out to be parts from an Alaska Airlines flight falling in the night sky.

With festive cheer in my heart, I will leave you with the immortal words of Henri l’Escargot who said, “May your French pole vault not be ruined by your French pole.” May that aspiration carry you well into 2025 and beyond!

Yours Truly,

Andy Wasif