I’m sure you know by now that cenobyte has a flaming hatred of New Year’s Eve. cenobyte does not celebrate New Year’s by choice on a regular basis. The best New Year’s Eve cenobyte ever had was the year she and her husband sat and watched the Tick until all the rum was gone.
The *second best* New Year’s Eve cenobyte ever had involved being at the PPM, which was a rave/goth underground club in Saskatoon that, I think, saved my life during those years. That year, my lover and I went to the club, made a point of being in the bathroom at the stroke of midnight, and then returned to dancing.
I don’t know if you really want to know all the reasons cenobyte hates New Year’s Eve, so instead, I’ll point you to one of my favourite stories from the annals of this here bournal. It’s from New Year’s Eve 2004, and it makes me smile: Assets My Ass.
So whatever you’re planning for tonight, wherever you are, I’d like you to spit once for New Year’s Eve revellers everywhere. Let the bitter reign down like bits of whale after some particularly stupid highway workers decided to get rid of the beached animal by putting several tons of explosive under its rotting carcass.