People say it’s impossible to predict the future, but I think that’s because they’ve never actually tried. Stop being so defeatist, people, it’s easy to predict the future. I’m going to do it right now, and if I can do it, anyone can.

As 2015 ends, we should probably look forward to 2016, since it’s the next chronological year. Once the clock strikes midnight, signifying the shift from Dec. 31 to Jan. 1, the year that we knew as 2015 will be gone forever. It will be the New Year … which will be 2016, as previously mentioned.

See what I did there? I just predicted the future. I even did so accurately. See how easy that was?

If this feels like deja vu, that’s because we really have been here before. A year ends every year. Don’t think about that too hard, because it will blow your mind. To blow your mind even further, I’m going to predict a few more things that will happen in 2016.

I’m Getting Married in March: While you may find it hard to believe, I have convinced a young woman to marry me. I’m as shocked as you are. We’re getting married in March 2016. I know this will happen, because we’ve already set a date with a venue and a church and have spent roughly the gross national product of a small island nation on the whole thing already. Even if said bride-to-be comes to her senses and decides she’s better off without me, I’m still going to get married in March, even if I have to stand there by myself and pantomime the whole ceremony, because the cheapskate who dwells deep in my heart won’t let all that money go to waste.

Whatever Money I Don’t Spend on My Wedding, I’ll Spend on Magic:The Gathering: That cheapskate who dwells deep in my heart seems to have no qualms about me paying a biweekly tithe to Wizards of the Coast in exchange for their brightly colored 63-by-88 millimeter pieces of cardboard. I sort of blame Vice and their short, yet fascinating, documentary, Magic: the Gathering – Inside the World’s Most Played Trading Card Game, for reigniting my love for the game. Or at least for collecting the cards. I don’t really play the game. I do sometimes, but even though it’s “the world’s most played trading card game,” I don’t really know anyone who plays … I guess because I’m almost 40. But they’re just so cool. They have dragons and angels and elves on them and stuff. I even have a couple of unicorns.

I Predict You’re Judging Me Right Now: Don’t lie! You totally are! I don’t judge you for your stupid shit—at least not to your face—so just stop! Please … ?

I’m a perfect four-for-four so far on my predictions for 2016, but you’re probably saying to yourself that I’m taking the easy way out. I’m just making personal predictions. What about the whole wide world? Well, OK, try this one on for size:

We Will Elect a New President on Nov. 8, 2016, and the Process of Doing So Will Make Us Sick: The Wall Street Journal has posted a Presidential election calendar on their website, marking all the major events along the campaign trail from now until The Big Day, from debates to primaries to National Conventions for both major parties, and I can’t help but look at it and feel queasy. It makes me think of all the Facebook posts we’re going to have to endure, all the useless bickering from both sides, all the “facts” that people are going to throw in our faces, all the petty name-calling and finger-pointing. Look at the people who are running for President of the United States in 2016. Just look at them. Ben Carson is a neurosurgeon who doesn’t believe in dinosaurs. Ted Cruz filibustered a session of Congress by reciting Green Eggs and Ham. I’m pretty sure Hillary Clinton will say or do anything as long as it ensures that it will get her elected. There’s a Bush somewhere in the mix too, right? I could’ve sworn there was a Bush, because really, what’s a presidential race without a Bush involved? I don’t even want to say the T-word. There’s a killswitch in my brain that prevents me from speaking the words “President Tr … u …” See? I can’t even type them. It’s crazy. But maybe you’re feeling the Bern. Yeah, I like him too. He’s old, kooky and really liberal. I totally want to be Bernie Sanders when I grow up. I love his Brooklyn accent and his crazy hand gestures. But close your eyes. Look far ahead to Jan. 2017, which at this present time is even beyond my vision. Do you see President Sanders delivering his inaugural address? If you do, I’d love to have some of what you’re smoking.

For MJP. RIP to you, my dear friend.

Many years ago, when I was working at the comic book store, I tried to be as courteous to our customers as possible. Most of the time, I knew who would come in (and in most cases, when), but around the holidays, as you’d imagine, our clientele became more diverse. It was no longer just the regulars, who’d come in to get the same books at the same time every week. Now we had the girlfriends, the mothers and the random wanderers who were looking for that book with that guy who was from that movie. As an aside, whenever I was actually able to help someone who came in asking me if we had an item that fit that description, I felt as accomplished as Dian Fossey must have when she reached a peaceful accord with gorillas in the African wilderness.

So, like I was saying, I was a very courteous sales associate. And around the holidays, since I was meeting many new faces—many of whom may have never entered our store, or any store like it, before—I was extra accommodating. I was as cheerful and helpful as my natural misanthropy would allow. I would say, “Hello,” and, “How can I help you,” and as they were leaving, whether they purchased something or not, I would practically chirp, “Happy holidays.”

Always, “Happy holidays”—except this one time. I err toward the side of political correctness in most situations. It’s not that I don’t enjoy a little rabblerousing here and there, but I keep that among my friends and associates, and between the occasional loud-mouthed, overly opinionated fellow drunk and myself. In polite society, there’s simply no room for saying anything potentially inflammatory. No one wants to have to explain to a complete stranger that you misspoke or that you were just kidding—not because you sincerely want to apologize, but because if you were truly kidding, and you had to explain yourself, that means your joke just wasn’t funny. I don’t know about you, but I prefer to think that I’m fucking hilarious.

One day at the store, it was a particularly slow day—of which there were plenty—and I fell into a lackadaisical mood. A nice middle-aged woman came in with her son to do some shopping. I did my best impersonation of chipper James and greeted them warmly and then returned to reading some article about how to build an unbeatable combo deck for Magic: The Gathering while they perused our inventory. A short time later, the two came up to the counter with a few things they’d like to purchase. I wrung the woman up, counted her change and handed it back to her, and before I could stop myself, I gave her a warm and honest “Merry Christmas.”

Her eyes were daggers.

“We’re Jewish,” she scolded. In this case, the printed word does not do justice to the sound that spewed forth from this nice, middle-aged woman. It wasn’t so much a statement as it was a barbed and icy condemnation of my ignorance. I was stunned—probably slack-jawed. I didn’t know what to say. I stammered an apology as they shuffled out the door.

I felt pretty bad about it the rest of the day. How could I have been so insensitive, even by mistake? For whatever reason, it’s a meaningless episode of my life that has stuck with me. But my outlook on it has changed. In my ever-present need to justify everything I do, I’ve absolved myself of all responsibility. Did she really have the right to demonize me? In front of her child, no less? I could understand her being upset if I’d said, “Take your change, you worthless cunt,” or, “I hope your son grows up to be a piece of shit just like his mother,” but I didn’t. My only goal was to spread good will. If she had said to me, “Happy Chanukah,” or Kwanzaa or Yule or whatever people celebrate this time of year, I wouldn’t have said, “Go fuck yourself, I’m Catholic.” Mostly because I’m not. I was raised Catholic, but I don’t align myself with any religion. Maybe I will one day, but right now, I’m too busy being a godless degenerate. I suppose that frees me up to celebrate any end-of-year fest I choose, but let’s face it; Christmas is by far the coolest. Sorry.

Still, during the holiday season, when I’m overcome with the desire to hold open doors, stuff money in donation boxes or drive food down to the local food banks (as I hope all of you do, too) and someone smiles and says, “Thank you,” I return with, “Happy holidays,” which is what I wish for all of you. Thanks for reading us this year and see you in 2010″¦or The 10 as it has been dubbed here at Submerge HQ.