Since Saddam Hussein doesn’t seem to be making resolutions, we must pin our hopes on reforming those responsible for so much misery right here at home.

Teenagers.

Herewith, some resolutions for, like, the, like, you know, snarling set:

When I make my bed, this will consist of something other than smoothing the cover over a lamb-size lump of sheets, socks, pepperoni and sports equipment.

From now on, I will call the people I like “my friends” rather than “my posse.”

At least two or three of these friends will be identified by first and last names to my parents, even though this constitutes a material breach of confidentiality.

When my mother asks me to, say, turn off the TV, I will not reply “OK” unless I actually mean to do something other than continue watching TV until she asks me again.

My path from kitchen to bedroom to bathroom will not be made obvious to all by the trail of spilled orange juice and Mountain Dew and/or popcorn bits.

I will not beg my parents for Grand Theft Auto Vice City more than once per conversation.

I will not say everyone else has Vice City until at least a minute has elapsed, which means, technically, I have only asked once per conversation, as promised.

When asked to define “everyone else,” I will not shrug and suddenly conjure up names of heretofore never-mentioned “best friends” as examples.

In fact, I will not shrug when talking to my parents at all. Nor will I clench my fists, stare at the floor and/or shake my hair in front of my face, thereby daring them to make eye contact.

When I am too busy to clean my room, it will also mean that I am too busy to play another three rounds of Diablo II.

It will also mean I am too busy to instant message the friends I was just talking to on my “emergencies only” cell phone on the way home from talking to them at school.

All homework will be done promptly and neatly, including the stuff I may have accidentally left crumpled in the bottom of my backpack for a couple semesters.

Leftovers? Great!

Visit the relatives? I’m psyched.

No-name sneakers? So long as they’re comfy!

Any candy hidden in my bed will be consumed before more is deposited there the next Halloween.

“Excuse me?” will mean “Excuse me,” not “Are you the stupidest idiot on Earth?”

A nice compliment will no longer consist of, “Pretty earrings, mom. Do I get them when you die?”

When polar bears are huddling together for warmth, I will, at least partway, zip up my jacket.

I will not flatten myself against the car door as if desperate to escape the Lite FM coming from the radio.

I wonsh tawk wish food in my moush! (Shtarring tomowow.)

FOR GIRLS: I will consider a shirt acceptable even if it covers my navel.

FOR BOYS: I will consider myself presentable even if my pants go all the way up to my waist.

FOR GIRLS: I will not wear platform sandals in the rain.

FOR BOYS: I will not get hair gel on the toilet, tub or ceiling.

If I have changed my eating habits since yesterday, I will discuss these calmly, rather than blurting, “Chicken!” and bolting from the kitchen in hysterics.

I will treat my parents as nicely as I treat the other adults in my life. Especially strangers.

I will remember how awful a teen I was when, someday, I have teenagers of my own. I will then put them on the phone with grandma and grandpa, my heroes.

— Lenore Skenazy’s e-mail address is lskenazyedit@nydailynews.com.