Stan Pines had maintained several truths over the years, and one of them was this - anybody who believed in New Year's Resolutions was a chump, plain and simple.

'I'm going to work out every day!'
'Oh, I'll start my diet after my last drink tonight!'
'I'll quit smoking, start the new year out cold turkey.'

Ha! Yeah, nice job kiddin' yourselves there. He'd seen plenty of people make them and break them in the first month. Hell, sometimes in the first day. Worst he ever saw was someone breaking it a few hours after midnight. If anything they looked more like a certain curse, but Stan knew it was just people trying to hold themselves to something they could never do.

You can try all you want to go on a juice only diet, but if you spent all last year eating anything you wanted then chances are you ain't making the cut for long, bucko. Personally, Stan hadn't made one in years, and the last one he had regretted.

I'm gonna make it big and become a millionaire!

Stupid. He'd ended up broke several times that year and had his first imprisonment then. Thing was he didn't really put a lot of stock into resolutions growing up either, but he'd wanted to make some big grand resolution that year.

New Year's Resolutions were for chumps, and Stan knew that pretty well...

Or so the smoldering idea nagged at him from the back of his head. Hell, he knew it was right. Had plenty of proof to back it up too.

Here he was though, drinking and laughing away on New Year's Eve, which also happened to be the fifth day of Hanukkah this year. It was the best one he'd had in years. Maybe it was the afterglow from the Christmas Ball payoff, but he felt good. He'd gone out with a few coworkers to celebrate at the Lounge. He hadn't even thought about it until one gal started egging the others on about their resolutions.

"I'm gonna get a suit, like one of them really nice ones, you know? No bullet holes or nothing."

"Ah, I don't got one, I don't believe in 'em."

"Come on, you gotta have one. New Year, New You."

"I gotta agree with him on that one," Stan chipped in, "they're bogus. Nobody ever holds to them."

"Doesn't matter if you hold to it not, you just gotta make one."

"Then what's the point of having one in the first place!"

"It's New Years and it's part of the fun. 'Sides, having goals or whatever, ya know?"

"Alright, fine, I'll give." One said, "New Years Resolution: I'll learn just enough French so I can sound all suave."

Stan said nothing, relaxing back into his chair and earning a shoulder jab. He rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll learn how to play an instrument."

"A real one."

He groaned, sitting up straight again. "Okay, okay." A few came to mind, including that one, but he pushed it aside. Then he thought of one that he could actually see, and it didn't seem like such a pile of bull.

And at the back of his mind came the nagging that having a real resolution was for chumps. He liked the resolution though, all the same. And if he thought he could pull it off then well he'd just take the fall later. Besides, he could at least hold to it for a few months, right?

"I'm not gonna let my stuff get all fucked up this year, smooth sailing just like the past months have been."

"You call that smooth?"

"Hey, yaps, this is smooth, alright."

"Well, if Gotham is smooth for ya then I wouldn't wanna leave and see where it's rough!"

He laughed at that. "Ha, you're right on that one."

It was behind him though, and the night carried on. The New Year coming with a loud and cheerful cry from the nightclub that Stan could feel vibrate through his chest. Yeah... You know what, this was gonna be a good year.

He'd been doing well for this long, so who says the resolution wouldn't last. He wasn't reaching for the stars here, after all. Just to keep the status quo.

He went to relax inside their private room away from the crowd, not too long after midnight. Only a half hour to rest his feet before going back out to dance, maybe get a couple drinks, who knows. The night was still young and with midnight passed it was time to actually party. He was reclining on a couch right by the window for some air when his phone rang, and he answered it without looking.

"Yeah, Boss?"

| . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . |

The door opened and he looked over to see the others, one of them being half carried half dragged into the room, clearly already drunk beyond belief.

A range of varying drunk voices came out from the group in a loud medley of Not Right Now, Jesus.

"Heeey, they said I ain't allowed to dance no more! Tell 'em -ic, tell 'em that's shi-"
"He took like five shots of something or he's a lightweight."
"I ain't a fuckin' lightweight!"
"Listen, we gotta- we gotta take Mr. Suave home here."

"Okay," Stan started, having muffled the phone against his chest, "just-" he took a deep breath, "I gotta finish this phone call, first. I really can't deal with this right now," he said gesturing at them.

"Suzie, go ahead and call a cab or something. Just keep him in here until it gets here then we'll walk 'im out."

"Izzit the Boss?"

"No, it's- it's family." He waved a hand to deter any more questions. "I'll be back." He went out the exit into the night, the heavy metal door swinging after him with a loud banging sound.

Soon enough, he was clicking end with a foggy breath into the cold air. Hah, un-freaking-goddamn believable. What was that? 45 Minutes?

New Years Resolutions really were for chumps, and if Stan Pines was good with something he guessed it was awful things in record time. After all, he'd never seen someone have their resolution break in the first hour.

| . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . |

AUTHOR NOTES:

So as a forewarning the chapters around this one may be switch spots a bit. Regardless, the timeline isn't switching around, but I might or I might not for easier flow of reading.

Also, I'm conflicted because sometimes I swear I make Ford way too relatable, but then I write something with Stan similar to this chapter and it's like 'same.'