Happy New Year, everyone. I know I'm a day late and a dollar short, but I figured I'd sneak in before we get too far into 2026 and something inevitably catches fire—metaphorically or otherwise.

Last year was a masterclass in collective delusion. We watched an administration perfect the art of cruelty while calling it patriotism. Democrats perfected their own art: the theatrical hand-wring, followed by a shrug and a fundraising email. Meanwhile, our new Health Secretary is out here claiming vaccines cause autism and Tylenol is a government conspiracy, which would be hilarious if it weren't actively killing people.

I don't expect 2026 to improve. In fact, I'm fairly certain it'll be worse. But here's the thing—I'm done. Done explaining why seed oils won't assassinate you in your sleep. Done listening to the MAHA zealot in my Pilates class explain how Big Egg is poisoning us with arsenic while simultaneously arguing we need to "make more Americans." (The cognitive dissonance alone could power a small city.) And I'm especially done consoling Trump voters shocked to discover that voting for the Leopards Eating Faces Party resulted in—wait for it—leopards eating their faces.

So in 2026, I'm adopting a new strategy: militant bewilderment.

When Dad launches into his canola oil manifesto, I'll simply ask: "I've consumed canola oil for over forty years. Why am I still alive?" When he fumbles for an answer involving inflammation markers and YouTube doctors, I'll just say, "That sounds medically illiterate."

When Pilates Lady pivots from egg conspiracies to great replacement theory, I'll ask: "So you support immediate citizenship for all immigrants to boost our population?" As she sputters through the inevitable No, not like that! I'll press my finger to my chin and say, "You seem confused. Have you considered therapy?"

And for everyone now discovering that their actions have consequences—that their healthcare disappeared, their immigrant neighbors vanished, their families fractured—I'll offer this comfort: "This is what you voted for. Literally. With enthusiasm."

Call it my resolution: no more hope, no more hand-holding, just the small satisfaction of watching people choke on their own contradictions. It's not optimism, but it'll do.