That’s right—I said it! Baby New Year can go straight to hell! In case you’ve forgotten—and most of you have—I was Baby New Year once, too! In January 2018. And ohhhhh, you loved me then, didn’t you? You had such high hopes for me and the new year. But now? You hate me. Why? Because I’m no longer an adorable infant upon whom you lay all your hopes and dreams. Now I’m OLD MAN LAST YEAR! A living, breathing representation of the towering pile of shit that was 2018!
That’s right: you hate me. Don’t deny it, and don’t try to “young person-splain” it away! You hate me because I’m OLD, you hate me because my saggy skin is hanging off my disintegrating bones, and you hate me because my head no longer has that “new baby smell.” GO ON... SMELL MY HEAD NOW! Oh, you don’t want to? Is it because I’m OLD and my head smells like rancid chicken fat? Well, SMELL IT ANYWAY! SMELL MY RANCID CHICKEN FAT HEAD!
Ha-ha, that’s right. Run, you cowards. RUN. Run away from Old Man Last Year and 2018. But you can’t run away from the truth! Oh, I get it: You hated this past year because “WAH-WAH-WAH nothing went right” for you. Well, I’m here to say that plenty went right in 2018... like... like... well, racist Roseanne Barr got fired for being a fucking racist! And not a single person was killed in a nuclear holocaust—and you were totally expecting that to happen!
So ENJOY! Enjoy your shitty little Baby New Year. Because in roughly 360-odd days from now? He’s gonna be a decrepit, wrinkled, liver-spotted, OLD disappointment—just like ME. (That is if you haven’t all succumbed to the fires of a nuclear hellscape.) GOOD LUCK IN 2019, SHITHEADS!