If you liked the caption, you'll love the entry.

I have no resolutions for 2004. Narry a one. Okay, I will try to have more fun, but that seems impossible because I generally have more fun than just about everyone I know. See, I think people are kinda hilarious to me, and I consider myself a hoot to boot, so life is pretty entertaining 99.9% of the time. Taste.

And let me say this: if you have any resolutions for the New Year, you may want to steer clear of ye old Bisque (that's me.) Although I consider myself a cheerleader for most everyone I know and love, and I support everyone's life journey, I consider resolutions kinda lame. Not because most people probably won't follow through with them--far from that. I don't care that much. I just don't think that resolutions are all that interesting, in general. Cliches, they are, these resolutions. They tend to cause problems rather than solve. Walk with me for a few words.

For example: Be nicer to people. Lose weight. Make more money. Find a man. Feed a kid. Dance a jig. Say "please" more often. Call relatives more. Start a war in Iraq.

Come on, people, let's get a little crazy! Like Seal said that we're never gonna survive, unless we get a little cray-zay! How's about working on your self-esteem in a way that doesn't require liposuction of the soul? To wit, if you have image issues, you will automatically gravitate toward that which is oppressing you and undoubtedly become an oppressor, if you're not one already, you judgmental sonafabitch!

For once try something different other than losing weight, straightening your hair, or popping in a couple of color contacts. Go fucking crazy! Wear the tightest clothes you can! Make that fat look like it's about to explode! It's your fat, treat it like a friend. Indeed make it phat fat! After all it knows you better than anyone else, and keeps all of your secrets. Cut off all your hair a la Sinead O'Connor and then dare somebody to say something! Draw dark circle around your eyes and act like a vampire. Trust me, you can't go wrong.

If you want a new job, look for one but in meantime make your old job interesting, fun even. A 9-5 rocking good time. Become a prankster. Always keep your boss and co-workers guessing. Never serve up the same personality twice. Always keep people on the edge when you are around. For example, wear the same outfit for an entire week. Every conversation you have with a co-worker point out that Einstein did it, why not you? Get a pair of glasses that make your eyes look super big and never be seen without a book. Carry a little white mouse in your shirt pocket and call it "Ben." Oh there are sooo many ways to have fun at your job. Write me and I will share a few of my own foolproof secrets.

Also: for those of you who are looking for true love, and there are no suitors in sight, take my advice: get over yourself and die already, okay? No one is coming to love you the way you want. Sorry to break it to you but it is the rotten truth. If I were you I'd grab a hold of the next guy/girl/troglodyte that happens by and hold on for dear life! And once you've sufficiently broken down this man's/woman's/whatchamacallit's will to live, crown yourself a success! You will have found the love you deserve.

Think I'm lying? You know I'm not. Look around you. There are probably more losers in your inner circle than you can shake a limp dick at. Not one is fit to lick your boot (unless you are into that type of thing. I am not.) And the clock is ticking. Unless you can trick some dumb young thing into loving you for as long as their attention span holds (hey, sometimes it works), then it's only going to get worse for you from this day on. Get ready to order the soup for one for the rest of your miserable life. Table for one. Lean cuisine television dinners. Make friends with your tummy. You'll be seeing a lot of each other.

Frankly, you know the rest. You will never be able to lose enough weight, be the right color, live in the right place, have enough money, be young enough, or try to LOOK young enough, work out your body till you have muscles in your eyeballs (and believe you me, I've seen it happen. They used to call me Popeye.) to find someone to love your stupid ass, so please do us all a favor and just die already. Just get in the casket, fold your arms over your chest and close the top. Resolve to become worm food.

Don't you know that a man/woman/Lenny Kravitz is easier to catch than a cold? You don't? Then you've been lied to. But do you really want to catch a man/woman/Ms Piggy? No, not really. You want to be caught, or found, or discovered, or be on a Reality Show. But here's the reality, maynard: life is really what you make it. My last bit of advice: be yourself and enjoy your crummy life. If you really want a resolution, try being the person you like, fuck everybody else. They'll catch on, trust me. Whenever I have given the world a must deserved middle finger, a breath later a gaggle of Joe Blows bum rush my show in Joe Boxers ready to, you know, let me rush their bums. Follow my instructions for a better and more satisfying life. Ignore at your peril.

I reiterate: The love(s) of your life are coming, some might already be here. Relax. Try not to worry too much about your hair and lack of muscle tone. It doesn't matter anyway. He/she/it will love you just the way you are.

And if not, you could always lose a little weight, right, fat ass?

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Now that that's over, let me clear the smoke around my last blog entry. I am not married. The photos I posted are from my best friend's wedding. Carla and I have a history that is filled love and laughter and tears and even more laughter. We met each other in high school and became close friends shortly after we graduated. At 19, she gave birth to Andre, my godson. From the age of five, I helped raise Andre (financially and emotionally) who I think of as my own son. He will be 19 years old this month (19th) and I will be 38 on the 15th. Lord help us all.

So anywho, Carla and I have been friends for over 20 years, which is ridiculously long when I think about it. We've lived through so much and still I am learning from and about her. She lives in LA and I am here, and I generally miss her everyday. Eventually I will go to wherever she is and be with her. But first I must milk New York for all that it can and WILL give me. My hands are perpetually on the udders of life here. It's udder-madness. Harlem treats me far too good to leave just yet.