Let’s think of the small ways we can make our doomed existence more tolerable in the coming year.

I’ll start with words, because they matter.

In 2017, the following words and expressions are hereby banned. If I catch you in the act of using one, I will kill you.

Yassss – No excuse, even ironically. I WILL KILL YOU.

“Dem/Dat ____, though.” – Stop it. You aren’t in Compton. Enough with dis shit.

Push back – Just say disagree or contradict.

Cross-body –  I just hate it and that’s that.

Crop jeans/pants – CROPPED, motherfuckers!

Guys –  Even newscasters now address us as “guys.” It’s not just Taylor Swift. Knock it off.

Athleisure – We’re better than this, aren’t we?

Insta – If you’re too tired to say Instagram, just don’t talk.

Now, let’s do topics that need to be put to rest.

Why Trump won– If I hear “The people wanted change” or “You don’t understand” or “She ran a bad campaign” ONE MORE TIME, someone’s going to die.

Misogyny – I know, it’s bad, and so’s the patriarchy. Next subject!

Ridiculing college kids – what babies, safe spaces, microaggressions, stop coddling them bla bla bla. Shut up with that superiority already, we get it.

Anal sex – no longer shocking, just annoying. Happy now, Lena Dunham? Now move on.

Netflix binging – I don’t care what you loved watching if it includes anything with zombies or cyborgs. It’s safer to keep your awful taste to yourself.

The gig economy – Nope. Shut it.

Millennials –  Same as above.

For clothes, in 2017, here’s my tip: Find out what’s “hot” (bare shoulders, bedroom slippers) and staunchly reject it. If everyone’s wearing it, don’t.

For music in 2017, try listening to 70’s soul or old gospel or garage bands. Make up an obscure rapper and go around praising his influence as the real OG. I thought Lil Yachty was made up but sadly he is real.

Now it’s up to you. What are your suggestions for easing the horror of 2017?

God what a cultural wasteland. The Billboard Music Awards was one long Disney ad, disguised as a tribute to popular musical artists, with the word ‘artist’ meaning in this case ‘no-talent little shit.’

Sheer torture throughout. it was nothing short of a call to arms: Taylor Swift Must Die.

It was all about Taylor Swift, either Tayloring up the place with her sickening speeches to her fans (“You guys! I’m obsessed with you!”) or just grooving in the front row to whatever awful music was murdering our souls from the stage. She is one awful girl. She’s the girl we all hated in junior high, still pretending to be nice while making life miserable for anyone who crosses her.

There was Kanye, reminding us of his genius at getting bleeped out on live TV. I read that he said the word ‘nigger’ forty-one times. If he could just chant it the whole time, we wouldn’t have to hear anything! Think it over, Yezy.

Nicki Minaj livened things up with some solid twerking, and domestic-abuser Chris Brown danced around in a florescent blood-red suit. He danced with Pitbull, that bald guy who nobody can figure out why he’s famous.

Some awful country band sang about having a ‘girl-crush’. I’m sorry, I can’t even talk about it. Let’s see, what else. OH! Ed Sheeran was surprisingly inoffensive. I don’t like that elf look of his but at least he plays an instrument.

One Direction was there but we didn’t know if one guy was missing because we didn’t know how many there are supposed to be. It seemed like there were three or four too many.

Iggy Azalea and Britney Spears did a lip-syncing number that both seemed bored by, and Iggy betrayed me personally by getting a new nose and chin, nullifying her claim to originality. She’s dead to me now.

Some kind of fake Sam Smith person played a song with Wiz Kalifa. Much less perturbing than the real Sam Smith, who, mercifully, is recovering from throat surgery.

Chrissy Teigen was an embarrassing co-host to Ludacris, who is a pretty decent actor if nothing else. Chrissy is married to John Legend, so one assumes she must have hidden depths of some kind. However, the two men present for this viewing agreed that she was a “mean and stupid Filipino girl.’ They said this was a lot of authority, too.

That long-haired Hozier guy took us to Church, and rated a pass from all of us just for seeming like a real singer and bringing a little Goth melancholy to the situation.

There was one moment that offered a glimmer of hope: When two Kardashian girls came out to introduce Kanye, the audience booed. For just an instant, the audience acted like they had standards of some sort.

But then, no. It was Taylor, Taylor, Taylor, all the way home.