Hola amigos. What's goin' down in your part of town? I know it's been a long time since I rapped at ya, but, man, you wouldn't believe how deep the shit has gotten around Casa de Anchower. It's like someone turned on the shit faucet and left town for the weekend. I don't even want to get into it, it's that much shit.

Then there's New Year's Eve, which, unfortunately, also sucked hard. Me, Wes, and Ron were gonna ring in the millennium in style. I swiped a couple of bottles of Gallo wine from the place where I'm working barback, and we had a good case and a half of Icehouse and a quarter ounce of creeper weed, so we were all primed to party like there was no tomorrow. (Hell, none of us thought there was going to be a tomorrow, with all that Y2K-bug and terrorism shit.)

We started out Dec. 31 at Wes' mom's house. She was out with some of her friends. Wes' peckerhead younger brother Zach was bugging us for a while, trying to get us to play Mario Kart 64. I told him that games like that were for girls, and that any self-respecting man would be playing something cool like Turok 2. Then he was putting on all this lame-ass rap shit that didn't even sound like music. I told him he needed to pick up some Cheap Trick or Speedwagon to hear some real music, and he was like, "Who's that?" I figured I wouldn't beat the hell out of him because he's Wes' brother, but it definitely took all my strength to keep me from whaling on that nimrod. Finally, Zach's grandma came and picked him up, leaving me, Wes, and Ron to get on with the real partying.

We decided we should head over to my place, since Wes lives at home with his mom and Ron lives right above his landlord. That's fine. I don't mind having the party pad, so long as people appreciate it and don't mess up my stuff. And since it was pretty much gonna be me, Wes, and Ron, I knew I could keep them on a short leash. Ron kept talking about how all these girls he knew were gonna come over, but I knew better.

Anyway, we started out watching TV to see how other countries were celebrating the new year. CNN was showing this huge-ass crowd of people in Germany, boozing and whooping it up, but we weren't impressed. Hell, we coulda shown those Krauts a thing or two about partying. Anyway, we got tired of watching that after a while, so we put in my new The Song Remains The Same video that I got with my Best Buy gift certificate, and we fired up a few joints. Since it was a special occasion, we each had one of our own. None of that passing-it-around bullshit for us! It was pretty strong stuff, so it was around the time Page and Plant were doing that call-and-response thing that we remembered we had beers to drink.

I went into the kitchen, feeling half looped, and looked at the clock. It was still only, like, 9 p.m., which was awesome. Three more hours of partying like it's 1999, and then a bunch more on top of that, if the world didn't blow up. After the movie ended, we decided it was time to wander around and see what was happening outside. We filled our jacket pockets with Icehouse and hit the road. Since we were all pretty loaded, we decided it was probably best if we walked.

We headed over to Patty's Tavern, killing most of our beers along the way. Two seconds after we got there, someone handed us Jell-O shots. I downed mine and looked at Wes and Ron. They took theirs and downed them, too. Just then, I noticed I was getting checked out by this hot chick. Now, I don't want to seem like I don't appreciate my pals, but given the choice between the companionship of my best buds and getting laid, I'd choose getting laid every time.

While Ron and Wes were talking, clueless as to what was about to go down, the chick starts walking up. I start to get all loose like it's no big deal, thinking it was high time some sweet tail came Jim Anchower's way. But then, she walks right past me and starts talking to Wes! I was like, "What the fuck?" It turns out Wes and this chick were in marching band together in high school, so that's why they were talking. I tried a few times to move in on the conversation, but she was being all stuck-up and Wes was drooling all over her, so I decided to find Ron and split.

I found Ron playing the bar's "Judge Dredd" pinball machine with some dude he knew from work. I told him we should head back to my pad, since the bar was lame. He said he wanted to stay 'cause he was having a good time. That pissed me off. Here I was, willing to let Ron hang at my house, and he wanted to hang out in a bar instead? I watched him play pinball and had another Jell-O shot, getting madder by the minute.

After a few more Jell-O shots, I started rocking the pinball machine, trying to make it tilt. At that point, I was ripped to the tits. The last thing I remember was taking off my clothes and trying to get Ron to step outside for a little one on one. I'm not sure why I had to take off my clothes to pound his ass, but it made sense at the time.

Imagine how I felt when I woke up the next day in my own bed, with my drawers over my head and a massive headache. And that was before I started puking. I heard Ron woke up in his bathtub covered in flour, and none of us had any idea how he got there. Wes woke up at that hot chick's house. If you'd asked me to guess what was going to happen to us that night, I woulda guessed the undie hat long before I ever woulda guessed Wes would wind up with a chick. But whatever. She probably figured it was the end of the world, so what the fuck?

Anyway, on New Year's Day, I figured maybe I should make some resolutions, but then I thought, "Why bother?" I suck at resolutions. Every year, I can never think of anything, except maybe to party a little harder than the year before. But then I thought of some good ones. Like, to get a ride I'm proud of. And to replace the Styx tapes that got ripped off with my car. And to get a job I like instead of one where I want to knock someone's head off all the time.

Oh, and to learn how to rebuild an engine. I mean, that's something I've always wanted to do. Anyway, those are just a few ideas I've got, not really resolutions. I've got to say, though, that I've already got a feeling 2000 is gonna be a make-or-break year for Jim Anchower. And I'm feeling pretty lucky.