Happy 2002, You Schmucks!
As I sit here writing this, a new year is rapidly creeping up on us, ready to pounce. Now, as it's been definitively proven by some of our most reknowned Bible scholars that this time, really, REALLY is going to be the end of the world, I'd just like to set my affairs (metaphorically speaking of course; my wife is the only one insane enough to actually let me touch her) in order.
First of all, to my dear friend and former roommate Scott (you know who you are), I'd like to confirm that I did indeed eat that last piece of pie which you left in the fridge on August 17, 1990. I told you I didn't, when in reality I really needed a dose of sugar and didn't feel like walking the 100 yards to the 7-11 on the corner. Sorry, dude. I pissed in the 7-UP too, by the way.
To my ex-college girlfriend Karen, yes, I did know where your missing underwear went to that day in 1988. As a matter of fact, I was wearing it when you asked me. Suffice to say, I've outgrown such childish fetishes, and would just like to mention that my wife has much better taste in nether garments...
To mom and dad, sorry I turned out to be such a lousy son; you were right. Yes, I never did amount to anything, yes, I never listened to you, yes, blah blah blah...look, you guys weren't perfect either. Let's just say that I'm willing to classify my dog's death an "accident" if you can accept the unfortunate happenstance of the family house burning to the ground, and let bygones be bygones.
And finally, to any who I may have missed, please accept my sincerest apologies for any accidental insults, maiming, decapitations, disembowelings, garrotting, amputations or random humiliations that may have occurred in the past; I'm sure it was all in good fun, etc. Please stop sending me jury summonses as I'm just using them for toilet paper in any event.
Whew! That makes me feel a whole lot better. Now if my plane goes down I won't have anything on my conscience. You can all rest assured that it's a brand new Allan who greets you when you next see him.
Except those of you who are sending me secret messages through my toaster; I'm going to track you down and make you pay. You know who you are.
