See, in the hours leading up to midnight, I had been stacking canned goods(by date) in my den while listening to the news programs about the fiscal cliff, various celebrities, and the general state of our society. My shotguns and automatic weapons were cleaned and loaded and ready, and I had shored up the backyard against rear attacks, the land cleared, and lines of sight established. The right people had all been called, and the secret cache was full of gold, the back room with salted pork and pickled vegetables. We had been sitting around the campfire the previous evening singing songs of protest and overthrow while painting the banners we would fly when the time came at midnight on New Year's Eve. New utilities on, boots broken in, maps of the area committed to memory, I was whipped into a frenzy and ready to be an instrumental part of the bloody revolt I thought was coming at midnight. We would kiss in 2012, and awaken in 2013 in a world of our making, under a government we held and controlled as the skies blackened with the fires of passion and the tree of liberty was fed by the blood of those who had foolishly resisted us.
All of this was in my mind - clear and balanced on knife's edge - as I broke the traditional kiss and smashed out of my house and into the streets smelling of gun oil and adrenaline rage shouting "BACKS AGAINST THE WALL, MOTHERFUCKERS," only to find that instead of revolution at midnight it was a New Year's Resolution at midnight that we were supposed to make.
Boy is my face red. Maybe next year.