This is for those for whom this year has sucked major donkey balls.

For those of us who have lost loved ones to suicide (I have). For those of us who have lost loved ones too soon for whatever reason (again, holla!). For those who have lost treasured public icons (we ALL have, no?). For those whose friends have lost people dear to them (RIP, my peeps’ favorite humans). For those whose hopes for a progressive future have been shattered (hello, Cheeto Jesus). For those who have suffered any kind of transgression, big or small.

This year has sucked a fat one. A giant, fat, choke-worthy dildo. It has killed and pummeled and violated the best of us.

This doesn’t mean great things haven’t happened in 2016. For sure they have.

Some people graduated college. Some got married. Some had babies. Some achieved all they’d hoped for and more. Congrats, folks. You deserve all the great tidings in the world. And I hope you enjoy them. They are yours, and no one or nothing, including a grand conglomeration of haters or a shit-covered year in review, can take that from you. Power on!

But for many of us, this year has been the worst thing since Windows XP (Kidding! Nothing’s that bad. Kidding again!).  It has effectively taken the wind out of our sails and suffocated us with its leftover carbon dioxide.

It has bound us.

It has gagged us.

And it has shit in our corn flakes.

And you know what? FUCK IT. Fuck this year. Twenty-sixteen can die a slow, painful death, and it can choke on its own bile.

I can’t wait to watch that ball drop on New Year’s Eve. Not because I think 2017 is going to be any better. I mean, God help us, 2016 was probably just the pre-game to a decade or more of tomfuckery.

No, watching 2016 go out isn’t going to be like watching that smelly relative finally leave. Rather, it’s going to be like watching the Avon lady come in with her new loot. Sure, you’re gonna have to fork over a bunch of cash for some shit you don’t need, but at least it’s new, nice-smelling shit, right? At least there’s still hope that the groundbreaking foundation she talks you into taking out a second mortgage for will cover your age spots and crow’s feet just so (even though we all know it fucking WON’T), right?

Ugh.

This is for all those people who have been personally offended by 2016 and can’t wait to mount its head on a stake and kill it with fire.

I see you.

I hear you.

I. AM. WITH. YOU.

So fuck you, 2016. FUCK. YOU. I hope you go out in the same way you made us all feel while you were here.

Just don’t come for anybody else until we get to your death, m’kay? Because if you so much as think about touching Aretha Franklin, Betty White, or any of the remaining members of The Beatles, we will fuck your shit up.

We’re not even kidding.