By Nergal-Sharezer the Rabmag.

The stars are in a peculiar alignment right now, with Mercury in the House of Blues and Jupiter up to his usual tricks with various celestial bodies, and under these circumstances it is advisable to moderate your expectations for the new year. Fortunately, the stars have spared you the trouble of making resolutions for yourself, and you would be wise to adopt their custom-tailored suggestions.

Capricorn. You resolve to eat only steel cans this year. Aluminum disagrees with you.

Aquarius. You know that bottled water you keep buying? It’s not monitored by the government, and it all comes out of a rusty spigot in Jacksonville, North Carolina. You resolve to drink nothing but Pittsburgh city water from now on.

Pisces. You resolve to eat more chicken. Other people ought to be eating more fish, but for you that would sort of qualify as cannibalism.

Aries. You resolve to wear more tweed. Tweed is always in good taste, and it wears well.

Taurus. The stars are particularly keen on having you resolve to avoid china shops.

Gemini. The stars think you ought to get out more. They suggest square dancing. You meet all kinds of people when you go square dancing.

Cancer. You resolve to follow your mother’s advice about not saying anything if you can’t say something nice. Crabbiness is funny in comic-strip characters. You just annoy people.

Virgo. You resolve to eat more vegetables, and you resolve to remember that Theobroma cacao is a member of the vegetable kingdom.

Libra. The stars say it’s a cliché to resolve to lose weight for the new year. Instead, you resolve to patronize that nice Uzbek restaurant that just opened two blocks away.

Scorpio. According to Wikipedia, your colors are red, maroon, black, and brown. The stars think you should resolve to put together a more cheerful wardrobe.

Sagittarius. You resolve to support Nergal-Sharezer the Rabmag on Patreon. Somebody has to do it, and the other eleven have been slacking off.

“Everybody else is doing it” is an excuse we would not accept from a five-year-old, and yet it seems to suffice for year-in-review articles in grown-up publications like this one. To begin, then:

In January, we printed some emojis for Stoics, and the Stoics in the audience showed their appreciation by not changing their indifferent expressions.

We spent the entire month of February celebrating both International Typewriter Appreciation Month and International Anything-but-Haiku Month, so you may pick your favorite from twenty-eight non-haikus. Dr. Boli was especially happy with “The Siren” and “The Proud Philosopher.” But it would not be fair to our readers if he did not point out that his poetry provoked some protest.

In March, we dispelled an Internet myth about Wiliam Torrey Harris. Nevertheless, the Internet continues to repeat the myth, almost as though not everyone in the world monitors this Magazine for important corrections of Internet misconceptions. We also sorted out the various types of professors.

In April, we explained the different forms of government. We also published a vaudeville patter meant to challenge the bourgeois notion of “funny.”

In May, we explained how hybrid cars work. For our younger readers, we had an exceptionally exciting episode of Space Chicken.

In June, we published every speech you have ever heard, so that you have no need to listen to speeches by club presidents, managers, motivational speakers, and the like in the future. We also caught a suspicious character in the act of posting a bill.

July brought us a meditation on trends in art, provoked by a Bouguereau painting. We also gave some very bad advice to children about dealing with our tiger friends.

In August, we learned the truth about ancient grains, and we heard the first of Mrs. Cheswick’s Educational Stories for Children, though unfortunately not the last.

In September, Sir Montague Blastoff made first contact with a strange extraterrestrial race, which went about as well as you might expect. We also worked ourselves into a furious lather about the International Phonetic Alphabet.

In October, we learned how to stay secure on line. For the benefit of smart people, we also explained stupid people.

In November, we heard the touching and instructive ballad of “The Sponge.” We also printed a list of filmstrips that should prove useful to teachers looking for ways to calm hyperactive children, and perhaps even render them comatose.

In December, we learned the truth about madeleines. We also solved a longstanding literary mystery. And on December 31, we looked back over a year of dubious accomplishments and thought we really ought to do better next year.

Annual Christmas Number.

Fruitcake.—In a three-day study conducted by scientists at the Institute for Culinary Amelioration, more than 78% of participants reported that fruitcake was greatly improved by rum. The results were so encouraging that, for next year’s study, the ICA scientists plan to try adding the rum to the fruitcake.

Julbocken.—In Sweden, Norway, and Denmark, Father Christmas traditionally arrives on a Yule goat or Julbocken. In the Faeroe Islands, for reasons lost in the mists of the mythological past, he arrives on a Soemmerring’s gazelle (Nanger soemmerringii).

Père Noël.—In Quebec, on Christmas day, the children of the household invite Père Noël to come in and join them in throwing marshmallows at the screen while they watch the king’s Royal Christmas Message.

Pudding.—In Ireland, the traditional Christmas pudding is brought to the table flaming. Dinner guests watch as the pudding burns to ash, after which there is a round of cheers and the guests devour the foil-wrapped chocolates they received on Christmas morning.

St. Nikolaus.—In Liechtenstein, children leave their boots in front of the door for St. Nikolaus on Christmas Eve, and when they wake up Christmas morning, the boots are neatly polished.