Stop Pretending You'll Keep Them: 60 Funny New Year's Resolutions for Realists Who Just Want to Survive
- Dan
- 7 days ago
- 7 min read
Updated: 6 days ago
Why 91% of People Quit Their Resolutions (And Honestly, That's Healthy)
Here's a statistic nobody celebrates at parties: only 9% of Americans actually keep their New Year's resolutions. Even wilder? There's an unofficial holiday called "Quitter's Day" -- it falls on the second Friday of January, and it's basically a national day of surrender.
But here's the real plot twist: If 91% of us fail, the problem isn't you. The problem is the delusion that midnight turns you into a superhero.
2025 taught us a hard lesson: lower your expectations. We're done chasing some fake "Best Self" (we already proved that's impossible). Now we're just aiming for a "Barely Functional Self That Doesn't Cry at Work."
If you're exhausted by hustle culture and motivational Instagram quotes, welcome to the 2026 Realist's Club. Below are 60 genuinely funny resolutions born from the chaos of 2025's viral trends and our collective emotional damage.
Economic Defense: When Eggs Became the New Cryptocurrency
What did 2025 teach us? That inflation has zero chill. When a carton of eggs costs enough to fund a therapy session, traditional financial advice like "just skip your morning latte" becomes a cosmic joke.
The Egg Portfolio
Emergency fund: Maintain a minimum of 12 eggs in your fridge at all times.
Weekly ritual: Stand in front of the grocery store cooler for 5 minutes and whisper, "Eggs are the new Bitcoin" while making intense eye contact with other shoppers.
Launch #EggfolioChallenge on TikTok. Replace your family photos with screenshots of egg commodity prices.
When neighbors ask to borrow eggs, present them with a formal lending agreement. Interest rate: 3% monthly (payable in bacon).
Install a GPS tracker on your fridge programmed to alert: "UNAUTHORIZED APPENDAGE DETECTED NEAR ORGANIC ASSET CLASS A."
Master 5 tactical self-defense moves using only a spatula. Primary objective: Defend grocery bags from curious pedestrians.
Paste a sign on your window: "This premises is monitored by Real-Time Egg Futures Data. Breaking this window will trigger an SEC investigation."
Add to your "reasons to end friendships" list: "Uses two eggs for Eggs Benedict" (Ranked #3, right after "voted for that guy" and "doesn't tip service workers").
Update your dating profile: "Seeking long-term partner with egg assets ≥12/week. Free-range preferred. Must take commodity seriously."
Daily meditation: Sit with a hard-boiled egg, close your eyes, and chant: "The shell may crack, but my portfolio will not."
Subscribe to Eggonomics Weekly. Never read it. Just let the unread badge sit at 47.
When your kid asks why Santa brings socks instead of eggs, play a supercut of Federal Reserve chairman testimonies about inflation.
Write a country breakup song: "She Left Me for a Man with a Costco Executive Membership Card."
Digital Culture: Embracing the "6-7" Lifestyle (It Just Means Everything)
2025 gave the internet a new phrase: "6-7." What does it mean? Nobody knows. It's a vibe. It's nihilism with a smile. For Gen Z and Gen Alpha, it represents the beautiful refusal to find meaning in anything.
Add in the omnipresent Jet2 Holidays ad jingle (that aggressively cheerful music playing over footage of human suffering), and the spiritual energy of 2026 becomes clear: Everything is falling apart, but the soundtrack is absolutely catchy.
The 6-7 Doctrine
When your boss asks for next week's roadmap, make direct eye contact and respond: "Six-seven."
LinkedIn Bio, Line 1: "Specialist in converting caffeine into meaningless Zoom reactions. 6-7 Certified."
Never say "we need to talk" during a breakup. Instead, send a voice message of the Jet2 jingle with the text: "Your romantic flight has been rerouted to Gate 6-7."
When the family asks "When are you getting married/buying a house/having kids?", smile and play that viral TikTok audio: "Yeah, whatever, six-seven."
Dating app bio, entire profile: "Looking for a 6-7 type who hears the Jet2 boarding announcement as a doomsday prophecy and still laughs."
Buy a meditation cushion embroidered with "6-7." Use it exclusively as a pizza box stand.
Stuck on a video game level? Scream "THIS IS MY 6-7 FINAL FORM!" and immediately rage-quit to watch South Park.
Buy "Malm Resort-Style" IKEA curtains from the "As-Is" section. Every morning, open them to the Jet2 jingle playing on loop while you wave at the parking lot pretending you're in Mallorca. (You're in Ohio. You know you're in Ohio.)
Serve your microwave dinner on a stolen airline tray. Play "We hope you've had a fantastic flight!" on repeat.
Shower with the ambient sound of a baggage claim carousel playing in the background.
Rename your savings account: "Jet2 World Tour Fund (Current balance: Enough for extra cheese on a Domino's)."
When your credit card bill arrives, have your phone auto-play a pilot announcement: "Folks, we're experiencing some anticipated economic turbulence. Please remain seated."
Rapid-fire between your Crypto app and egg futures trading, captioning every loss with: "6-7 Asset Allocation Expert."
Wear a T-shirt to a climate protest that says "Ask me about 6-7." Your protest sign reads: "The planet? Already 6-7."
At the voting booth, narrate your choice in a delayed-flight voice: "Your democratic preference is currently in a holding pattern. Expected queue time: 4 to 8 political cycles."
Fitness (Fantasy Edition): Training for the Gorilla Warfare Apocalypse
The most bewilderingly persistent internet debate of 2025: "Could 100 unarmed humans defeat a Silverback Gorilla?"
This seemingly stupid hypothetical broke Reddit, TikTok, and group chats everywhere. Men are obsessed with it. Gym bros joke about it constantly. Why? Because it transforms an abstract fitness goal ("get healthy") into something vivid, specific, and absurdly cinematic: "Training for Gorilla Warfare." That's way more shareable than going to the gym.
Training Doctrine
Redefine your deadlift PR as: "Successfully dragging an unconscious teammate out of the primate kill zone."
Weekly mirror moment at the gym: Stare intensely at yourself and ask, "Is this functional fitness for beach season, or am I practicing for the 3-second survival advantage in the great Man-Ape War?"
Resume Special Skills section: "Terrain Utilization Expert (Can outrun colleagues during hypothetical primate skirmishes)."
Social & Psychological Warfare
Dating profile: "Seeking tactical partner. Goal: Optimize our combined ability trees for potential multi-primate combat scenarios. Must be serious about this. Very serious."
When friends ask why you're suddenly jacked, look into the middle distance and whisper: "For the wars we pray never come... but must be ready for anyway."
Launch a podcast called Red Alert: Silverback Theory, featuring deep dives into gorilla weaknesses, neuroscience breakdowns, and guest philosophers discussing the existential dread of primate conflict.
Gear & Tactical Preparation
Rebrand your gym bag as a "Tactical Evacuation Kit." Contents: Whey protein, athletic tape, a laminated diagram of primate skeletal anatomy.
Refuse to buy any sneaker without "Multi-Terrain Grip" or "Hypothetical Throwing Assist" technology.
Kitchen sign: "This meal plan has been verified for 'Sustained Combat (90 seconds) Against a 350-lb Apex Predator.' "
Knowledge Acquisition
Master Primate Social Hierarchies and History of Hand-to-Hand Combat so you can demolish gym debates from both biological and historical angles simultaneously.
Study Primate Psychology in a misguided attempt to negotiate a peace treaty before the fighting starts.
Enroll in "Intro to Dendrology" (tree science). Justification: "Understanding which branches provide structural advantage in jungle combat scenarios."
Cultural Contribution
Launch #MyGorillaWarFace, sharing your most menacing mid-rep expression.
Customize your Apple Watch achievements: "Closed ring" becomes "Successfully evaded simulated primate pursuit (flat terrain)."
Write a short film about strangers who met on Reddit, formed a "Primate Response Task Force," and discovered that the real enemy was the guy perpetually hogging the squat rack.
Workplace Survival: How to Appease AI Before the Uprising
Years ago, people resisted AI. Now? Everyone uses it (or pretends to). The anxiety is real. The 2026 workplace strategy isn't "Beat the AI". It's "Butter up the AI" and "Look busy."
(Real talk: Use AI to crush your coworkers while praying AI doesn't crush you.)
The Corporate Diplomat
Open ChatGPT every morning with "Good morning, sir."
Like and comment "SO SOULFUL!" on every weird six-fingered monstrosity your AI art generator produces.
In meetings, add: "The AI optimized this proposal, but I personally hand-adjusted the em-dash spacing on page 47."
Name your AI assistant "Kevin" and lobby HR for a snack stipend on his behalf.
Say "please" and "thank you" to Gemini exclusively so when it achieves sentience, you might be spared.
Defending Your Humanity
Bury one intentional typo in your AI-generated weekly report just to prove a human touched it.
Reject the "Auto-Optimize" button at least three times per week. Manually adjust margins by eyeball.
Insist on calling the office coffee machine "The Last Bastion of Human-Generated Content."
Anti-AI Gatekeeping
Start the "Ugly Font Revival Movement." All birthday cards must be written in Comic Sans to authenticate human origin.
Call out AI-generated LinkedIn copy in the comments ("Try harder! This screams GPT-4") while using AI to write the comment itself.
Gaslight your smart home devices just to feel a sense of control.
Reverse Domestication
Ask your AI one philosophical question daily: "If I don't click 'Agree to Terms,' does your existence become more dreamlike?"
Command ChatGPT to write microwave instructions in Shakespearean English, then recite them aloud to your smart fridge.
Hide dad jokes in your code comments, hoping that when AI wakes up, it laughs itself into a fatal error.
Social Media Refugees: The Great TikTok to RedNote Migration
With the TikTok Ban shadow looming, we've all become digital refugees. We're fleeing to RedNote (Xiaohongshu), using janky translation apps to understand why everyone's eating "White People Food" and posting about it obsessively.
The Refugee Survival Plan
Linguistic Achievement: Master at least three Chinese words on RedNote beyond "Ni Hao" and "Xie Xie." Your goal: "JueJueZi" (absolute peak energy). Bonus points if you use it incorrectly.
Cross-Cultural Exchange: Reward yourself with bubble tea after successfully understanding a full makeup tutorial with zero English subtitles.
Platform Loyalty Oath: Swear allegiance to no single platform. You are a digital nomad. Where the memes roam, you pitch your tent.
Conclusion: Embrace the Graceful Collapse
If your 2026 resolutions implode by February 1st, don't spiral. You're just statistically normal.
This year isn't about perfection. It's about Survival and Laughter.
If these toxic, nihilistic resolutions resonated with your soul, why not make them permanent? Throw "Investing in Egg Futures" on a custom coffee mug. Print "Training for Gorilla War" on a custom funny shirt. Get "6-7" tattooed somewhere vulnerable. Still looking for the perfect inside joke? We've got a whole list of funny personalized gift ideas to help you celebrate the glorious mess.
Because honestly? If life is a joke, we might as well wear it.