It was just a couple of minutes before midnight when Bill waddled back into the living room carrying a huge bowl of butter-soaked popcorn.
On TV, a lithe, young, spandex-clad cheerleader type was touting the benefits of the latest quick weight loss program. "Oh mind your own business, you tedious bimbo," yelled Bill as he gracefully eased his 360 pound frame onto a well-worn sofa. He considered this type of ubiquitous incursion into one's personal affairs to be a blatant affront to human dignity and a perfect example of how society was going to hell on a fast train.
He swallowed a fistful of soggy popcorn and then took a long swig from a large plastic bottle of Diet Coke that was resting nearby. Next, the TV showed an elevated shot of a large crowd. It was Times Square. An illuminated clock overhead showed the time to be one minute before midnight.
The camera began to pan across some of the faces in the crowd. "Oh my God!" exclaimed Bill. "This absolutely must be the most amazingly sub-human collection of hooligans and ruffians ever assembled in one place! Someone, please, summon the National Guard at once before this evil gang of terrorists completely destroys New York City!" He pleaded while simultaneously pelting the screen with a few kernels of popcorn, as if to keep the unruly mob at bay.
A man with a microphone appeared and began to question people in the crowd about their New Year's resolutions. Bill snickered in disgust. "I resolve to stop smoking, quit drinking and to lose 180 pounds," he mimicked. "And I also resolve to spend every waking hour doing my utmost best to promote peace, love and universal understanding amongst all my fellow man, no matter what their race, religion or national origin may be." And then, in order to emphasise his total conviction in the matter, he lifted one of his immense buttocks and let off a loud fart.
The final seconds before the New Year were ticking down. A big, silver ball was sinking lazily toward the earth. The crowd chanted. "10... 9... 8..."
Bill's hand came to rest at the bottom of the nearly empty popcorn bowl.
"7... 6... 5..."
He nodded.
"4... 3... 2... 1..."
Pandemonium on TV. Streamers, flashbulbs, firecrackers everywhere. The faint, echoey strains of Auld Lang Syne blended in with the roar of the crowd and drifted around Bill's living room like the sound of a half-remembered dream. From the sofa, there came a soft buzzing noise, not unlike a baby's snore.
Bill had gone to sleep.
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