Hey 2020…Bite Me!

 

Usually, on the last day of the year, I reflect on the year gone by. Looking back at the good times, accomplishments and hopefully not too many bad times. Not this year baby. 2020 can kiss my ass goodbye!

Never has there been a year more despised than you. We celebrated and welcomed you in and look how you treated us. Had we known in advance we could have skipped the champagne toasts and just flipped you the finger.

You started off OK. We had a mild January with little snow. The Groundhog promised us an early spring, things were looking good. Then you turned on us and it was vicious.

It came on so fast that I wasn’t prepared. By the time I went searching for it, the idiots had bought enough toilet paper to last them until 2030. Then the tissues, paper towels and napkins disappeared. People were going to have some way of wiping themselves.

Then, when I couldn’t even find furnace filters, I knew we were in desperate times…seriously people? I mean…wasn’t that kind of rough?

You shut us down, made us wear masks, and kept us from seeing family members…OK, that part wasn’t so bad.

We couldn’t touch our faces. We were sanitizing and washing our hands while singing happy birthday to ourselves, twice. Before this year, if you walked into a restroom and saw a guy singing happy birthday to himself, you would have walked back out. Hold it in until he left and then you could sing to yourself.

I’m at the point now, if I use a public restroom, I wash my hands before I urinate. My thinking is, what if I contaminate my penis? Then later, I might touch my penis and then my face. Or, on the right occasions, my wife might touch my penis and then my face…OK, there’s a better chance of me doing it myself…But, there’s always that hope.

Also, don’t look into this as some kind of weird thing we do in the Knight House. I was just trying to make a point of not wanting the virus on my penis.

We stopped saying “goodbye” or “see you” and replaced it with “be safe.” Before 2020 if you said goodnight and heard “Be Safe,” you would have responded,

“What does that mean? What do you think I’m going to do?”

Alcohol sales skyrocketed because 2020 wasn’t the kind of year anybody wanted to hang around with sober. You were annoying and a pain to be with. I know you don’t care that I say that. You’re not the kind of year with any feelings.

When we shut down in March, it was supposed to be for twenty one days. I thought I would be back to performing no later than May. But you were ruthless 2020. It just kept getting worse.

Things might not have been as bad if people had listened to science instead of the “My Pillow Guy.” Of course we had no leadership during all of this. Just a hapless buffoon telling us to drink bleach.

It’s bad enough that you’ve kept me from what I love most, performing, but now 2020, you’re starting to enter my dreams. The other night I wouldn’t get on a crowded elevator because…well, it was crowded and nobody was wearing a mask.

Obviously, the people in my dream weren’t taking the pandemic seriously. I may be overly cautious in my sleep. I don’t think you can catch the virus in a dream. It’s not like Freddy Krueger is it?

You can’t be too careful, even when you sleep. I mean, when are you more likely to let your guard down and touch your penis and then your face?

Let’s end this now 2020. I don’t want to see or hear about you anymore. Getting rid of you is like ending a horrible relationship. Nobody here is going to miss you. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass…as a matter of fact, bend over and I’ll use my boot instead.