Any time there is a new calendar year, be it Chinese, Gregorian, Latin, Jewish, Muslim, Mayan, Shinto, Hindu, Zoroastrian (I can’t believe Zoro had his own calendar), there will be resolutions of things to fix, to correct, to make right again —  for things that have gone, very, very wrong. Shockingly wrong. For example, swearing you’d update your web browser or email filters to make sure this web cartoon is met with a swift and violent Delete action, be it from your hard drive, your soft drive (a.k.a. your actual memory in your brain) or from the universe itself.

And what does this train of thought have to do with the crass comedic constant known as Stanko & Tibor? If you give me a minute to take a swig of my port wine, I’ll come up with something.

But what of these resolutions to resolve what you’ve done wrong? You know you can’t catapult the neighbor’s cat for crapping on your lawn and tearing up your garden, even if that would be the just thing to do. You can’t just suddenly stop eating greasy cheeseburgers, laden with thick, smokey slices of bacon and slathered in mayo and other forms of natural artery lubricants, knowing full well that could cause mass unemployment in the beef, statin research and cardiovascular medical industries. What would the poor heart surgeons do for a living? They’d turn to crime and back street bypasses.

So look around you as I have looked around at me, and resolve to be a better person this year by possibly dropping a few pounds so your trips to Costco’s clothing section become less frequent. Or maybe, gain some weight in order to keep the poor Chinese laborers employed at a 1$ a day, lest they be terminated (literally) by their profit-focused employers.

But whatever you don’t look down. Big mistake. I couldn’t see what lay below my expanded belly except for the tips of my feet. And worse, I had my glasses on and could see the myriad dust weevils swirling about the wooden floor that hadn’t been swept, vacuumed or mopped in well over 3 weeks.

So take this episode of Stanko & Tibor for what it is — the beginning of a terribly tenuous storyline involving weight gain, weight loss, resolutions of better health and probably some offensive lines about the smells one encounters in a gym.

May the gods of dieting be kind to you and may all your ice cream sandwiches be consumed without anyone seeing you and emitting an angry scowl that contains enough kinetic energy to produce an actual sound.

Hugs and kisses,

Master Trainer Yan van Damme on his Tam Tam Druker