I don’t know about you, but I look forward to Dave Barry’s Year In Review every year. Many shitty things have been said about this crappy year, but I think Dave says it best:

We’re trying to think of something nice to say about 2020.

Okay, here goes: Nobody got killed by the murder hornets. As far as we know.

That’s pretty much it.

In the past, writing these annual reviews, we have said harsh things about previous years. We owe those years an apology. Compared to 2020, all previous years, even the Disco Era, were the golden age of human existence.

This was a year of nonstop awfulness, a year when we kept saying it couldn’t possibly get worse, and it always did. This was a year in which our only moments of genuine, unadulterated happiness were when we were able to buy toilet paper.

Which is fitting, because 2020 was one long, howling, Category 5 crapstorm.

It’s hard to argue that point. Besides, why would I argue with a writer from whom I’ve stolen a signature line: I am not making this up. I only steal from the best.

Dave’s catch phrase has come in handy during the gobsmacking Trump era when bizarre news has become the norm. The good news is that there are only 20 days to go until we replace the weird guy with even weirder hair with Joe Normal. Tick tock motherfuckers.

I’m on the record as disliking New Year’s Eve for its false jollity, joviality, and other J words. This year I’m looking forward to the end result. 2021 cannot possibly be worse than 2020. I hope it’s even worse for the Impeached Insult Comedian. I hope he’s indicted for one of his many crimes next year. That, in and of itself, will make 2021 a better year.

2020 can go fuck itself.

Let’s end on a hopeful note with a Kinks Klassic: