Uncle Fun and Sparky Land

 

Happy New Year, Auld Lang Syne, and all that razzmatazz, rigmarole, and rot,

     I’ll keep things brief here—we’re all off to a candlelight Christmas Eve service at Funsville’s Eastern Orthodontist Church (their motto is “the tooth shall set you free”). 2014 is already shaping up to be a momentous year—for the makers of 2014 calendars, if no-one else.

     Keeping things on this personal (to say nothing of self-interested) note, I thought I’d share with you the results of a parlour game we play at the Fortress of Funitude each New Year’s Eve. Those present take a slip of paper and write down a personal prediction for the upcoming year. It’s not something you intend to do or hope to do—it’s more like something that you know is going to happen to you, whether you like it or not. Call it a combination self-fulfilling prophecy and reverse resolution. The slips of paper are tossed into a hat, which is passed around so that the predictions can be read aloud by other members of the party, to the accompaniment of whatever heckling seems appropriate. Then we all chew up the slips of paper, hand out drinking straws, and shoot spitwads at a picture of Norman Vincent Peale. (Nobody’s sure where the last part of this came from, but it makes us all feel better.)

     Here, then, without any further ado (and without any further adon’t), are the best of our personal predictions for 2014—well, the ones I copied down before they got used for target practice, at any rate.

 

 

     …and I won’t, either.

Uncle Fun

P.S. Mebbe not, but I might.

Sparky