Significant Objects (Day)

Am taking a brief break from Girls Are Pretty so that I can take some time to roll up into a ball and panic. But you can find a story by me, and an object, here. Read about and bid on my Chrome Turtle, and you'll get a turtle and a story, and all the money will go to charity (826 National). Would make a nice present for a Girls Are Pretty fan.

Go check it out, and happy holidays.

Prisoners Of Love, The Movie Day!

Your favorite movie is Prisoners of Love, The Movie. It takes place in a dystopian future where people are no longer allowed to love each other, but two people who can't help themselves fall in love anyway, so they're thrown into a prison full of other people who can't help but love each other. All of these people whose love can't be destroyed by an evil government are locked away in the same prison, trying to keep their love alive any way they can. They decide if they all love each other with all of their being, they will create a love so strong that it will topple the government so one night they all gather in the prison shower and begin loving each other and you don't know what happens next because it's porn and you only saw the first eight minutes.

Happy Prisoners Of Love, The Movie Day!

Guitar Lessons For Women Day!

You worked all night on your flyer. It's got a picture of you smiling and holding a guitar. Underneath that is your headline.

"Guitar Lessons For Women."

Then comes the hard sell. "I will teach you how to play guitar in eight weeks, all in the privacy of your own home. Women only."

You're excited for your new business venture. You've looked around at the other flyers posted in the chinese takeout places and laundromats, and as far as you can tell yours is the first in-home guitar school that is specifically for females. You are certain that there are a lot of women out there who will be excited that there's finally a guitar teacher for them, a guitar teacher who will not just teach women guitar, but who will refuse to teach men the guitar.

As your flyer says, "If you're a woman and you want to learn the guitar, I'm ready to come over to your house. I will not teach mean guitar, nor will I give a woman a lesson if there is a man in the house. Absolutely private lessons guaranteed. No one else has to even know I'm there in your house."

All the baristas at the coffee shop who said your flyer is too creepy to post there, and the receptionist at the dance studio who said your flyer is too creepy to post there, and those first three copy shops who refused to xerox your flyers because they didn't want to get involved in the investigation that's sure to come, they're all just jealous that they didn't think of your idea first. This is the best business concept you've had since you opened your "Boys Under !2 Only Sauna."

Happy Guitar Lessons For Women Day!

Lantern Day!

Light your Pier One Imports decorative lantern and you will open a window through time to a place where wives sold themselves for money and husbands were fine with it, even proud. In the time before electricity, sex ruled the land and a husband whose wife didn't sell herself for money was considered miserly.

"Will all this descriptive stuff on the back of the tag really happen if I light this lantern?" you ask the Pier One Imports sales associate, who will shrug without looking up from her copy of People.

Your Pier One Imports decorative lantern will also light your way to a time when children over the age of six were forced to dig sewers. Many died there. They died heroes of sewage development.

"Do you have any lanterns that don't do this stuff?" you ask the Pier One Imports sales associate, who will go on her break.

The flame of your Pier One Imports decorative lantern will always flicker in the direction of the eldest virgin in the room, just like in the olden days, and if you look directly into the flame, you will see the faces of all of your deceased relatives who were sent to hell when they died. Cover all mirrors before lighting your Pier One Imports decorative lantern or else the walls of your home will scream with the anguish of sled dogs cut loose and left to perish alone when they grew too tired to cross the arctic.

"I seem to be having trouble letting go of this lantern. It's fused itself to the skin of my palm," you'll say to another sales associate who may or may not be there.

You are your Pier One Imports decorative lantern and your Pier One Imports decorative lantern is you. Burn always.

Happy Lantern Day!

Turn Your Book Club Into An Anti-Government Militia Day!

Try and look distracted while your fellow club-goers are fighting it out over whether Lawrence or Ramsey is the better catch. When someone finally asks you what you think, throw your book down so that it shatters the glass top of the Noguchi knockoff coffee table and shout, "You all just wanna sit here and talk about chapter 9 of 'The Post Birthday World?' We are in the final chapter of the Post-America world people! And I am not just gonna sit here and find out what's in the epilogue while they tax us for every breath we expel! Who's with me?"

The other book clubbers will stare at you in silence. Then that week's host will get up and pull on a margarita glass in the sideboard, which will make the sidebar spin out to reveal a hidden weapons cache.

"Let's get to the woods," your book club host will say. "America still lives in the trees."

The rest of you will jump from your chairs and cheer. Then you'll each grab a weapon, pick up your kids from soccer, and then rendezvous at the compound in the north.

Happy Turn Your Book Club Into An Anti-Government Militia Day!

Your Strength Is In Your Nosehair Day!

You're like Samson, except disgusting. All of your strength and endurance is tied into the length of the hair that grows out of your nostrils. When you trim your nosehair, you find you can barely lift a glass of water without getting winded. But when you let it grow, you can lift couches over your head without taking a breath.

"I like that you're really strong," your girlfriend is going to tell you today. "But I hate that when I kiss you I often catch one of your nosehairs on my tongue and then I have to stop kissing you so that I can throw up for like an hour."

"I'm sorry," tell her. "But if I trim my nosehairs I will be vulnerable."

Your girlfriend will complain that you work in accounting and you don't need to be so strong. Tell her that advancing hordes only remain at bay because they know you're presently invulnerable.

"Break up with me if you ha--" You'll say, but she'll have already left screaming because she'll have spotted a some ants ascending the vine of your nosehair towards your chin and it will have shaken her to her core. GUESS WHO'S SINGLE AGAIN!!!

Happy Your Strength Is In Your Nosehair Day!

The Waste Of Society Day!

Society as a whole got together last night and elected one person to be THE Waste. The biggest waste of potential, of effort, and of space in all of western culture. That person's name is Leon Blatz. You came in second.

"I will murder Leon Blatz if it is the last thing I ever do," you say out loud to your homemade egg sandwich (scrambled eggs on untoasted wheat bread).

As runner up Waste of Society, you win new storm windows.

"I will accept my award of new storm windows and I will leave my storm windows in a pile on the floor, uninstalled for the rest of my days, while I pursue Leon Blatz to the ends of the earth. His life will be mine," you say out loud to the couch pillow.

As runner up Waste of Society, you also will receive a phone call from Thandie Newton, but she will have dialed the wrong number.

"I'll take it," you say to a six year old empty soda bottle sitting on one of your bookshelves.

Also, as runner up Waste of Society, your life is in danger as Leon Blatz knows he must defend his crown with blood and he has taken an offensive stance against you. Specifically, there is a rifle sight trained on your head as you talk to the items in your home about what you plan to do to Leon Blatz. The trigger will be pulled presently, and your conversation will end, and Leon Blatz will move on to the third runner up, and then the fourth, and then the fifth, until he has wiped out the entire human race, truly earning the title "Waste of Society" (HOLY SHIT THAT WORKED OUT GREAT!).

Happy The Waste Of Society Day!

Heart Donation Day!

Your wife needs a new heart and only yours will work out.

"I'll do it," you tell the doctor.

"Sweet!" your wife shouts.

The doctor will tell you that if you donate your heart, you'll die. You and your wife just stare at the doctor.

"Uh huh," you say.

"What's taking so long?" your wife shouts.

The doctor says he just has to scrub in.

"It's been a great 22 years," you tell your wife.

"Yup," your wife says. "Pretty sweet."

You high five. You make one last inside joke about that Seinfeld episode you both like, then you lay down and have your heart surgically removed and reinstalled in your wife's body and that's the end.

Happy Heart Donation Day!

Sectional Couch Day!

You sit here and she sits there.

"Weapons?" she asks.

"Sure," you say. You reach under your cushions for a hunting knife and some throwing stars. She reaches under hers and pulls out two handguns, different ones, you don't know what they're called, but one looks like the kind Riggs would carry and the other would look good in Murtaugh's hand.

"Clothed or naked?" you ask.

"Tops and bottoms?" she asks.

You take off your bottoms. She takes off her top.

"Okay, let's do this," you say.

She takes a deep breath. "I feel scattered."

"I feel heavy," you say. "Like everything inside me is made of wet cement."

She laughs. "Can I write the Van Halen VH on your insides with a stick?"

You don't laugh. You throw one of your stars and she dodges it.

"I hate November. Always have," she says. "More so since you."

You tell her she's just scared of getting older. She shoots the Murtaugh gun and the bullet slices the skin of your left bicep.

Suggest a compromise.

"Let's both get on buses going in opposite directions. First one to jump off the moving bus to sprint after the other person's bus apologizing for everything and begging for a second chance loses," you say.

"Deal," she says. "You're gonna go down in flames."

You tell her you're well aware of that. Then you put on your tops and bottoms and go to the bus station.

Happy Sectional Couch Day!

Deli Racist Day!

Today you're the deli racist. You're the guy in the corner deli who is openly raving about how much you hate the race of everyone who walks in the store. If you see an Asian person walk in, march up and down the aisle barking about how the Asians are walking on thin ice with you and they better watch it. If you see a black person walk in, march up and down the aisle barking about how the blacks are gonna get what's coming to them one day and you're gonna see to it. If you see a Hispanic person, march up and down the aisle talking about how Mexicans better not climb that wall cause you'll be waiting on the other side.

The customers will ask the deli owner why he keeps you there and the deli owner will explain that you ward off pests. That's when you'll see a mouse crawling out from under the soda fridge and you'll stop in your racist rant and drop to the floor to catch its tail in your teeth. Spend the rest of the day playing with the mouse until it's dead. Then expound a little bit on the Arabs.

Happy Deli Racist Day!

Pictures From Your Mom's And Dad's Wedding Day!

If you look closely at the photos of your Mom's and Dad's wedding, you can see the dark, monstrous face of someone standing in the background.

"That's Satan," your Mom says.

"Yeah he was there," your Dad says.

You ask them why Satan was at their wedding.

"Your mother summoned him," your Dad says.

"It was before I met your father," your Mom says. "I was just a kid. I gradually grew out of all that but we were still in touch on occasion. When it came time to send out invites, it would have been rude not to invite him."

You say that it kind of looks like there's a dark, angry spirit hovering over their nuptials.

"Yeah. Because Satan was at our wedding," your Dad says. "Hello? You in there?"

"You'll see," your Mom says. "When you get married you'll have to invite people you don't want to invite."

You make a vow right then and there to begin cutting off ties with Steve the Malevolent Angel Whose Arrival Portends The Coming Judgment of Man. He'd bring a date and you know EXACTLY how that would play out.

Happy Pictures From Your Mom's And Dad's Wedding Day!

The Bikini Car Wash Is Going To Be Shut Down Day!

There's a greedy, evil developer who wants to build a giant strip mall in town and they're going to try and shut down the Bikini Car Wash that's been dispatching bikini clad girls to wash the town's cars for the past three decades. If the Bikini Car Wash doesn't raise ten thousand dollars over the next week, they'll be done for.

"But how do we raise money to save a Bikini Car Wash?" wonders Mama Fredricks, the owner of the car wash. "It's not like we can just hold a bikini car wash. That's just our daily grind."

"The town usually comes to us to raise money for the about-to-be-shut-down orphanages and recreation centers," says Frida, the hottest girl at the car wash. "Maybe it's about time the town paid us back."

"What could this town possibly have to offer that could make people empty their pockets the way they do for a bikini car wash?" wonders Leona, the fifth hottest girl at the bikini car wash.

That's when it hits them all at once. They all throw silk robes over their bikinis and they run to the women's prison to ask the warden if she'll force the inmates to put on a sex show for which they'll sell tickets.

Happy The Bikini Car Wash Is Going To Be Shut Down Day!

Hate The Show "Psych" Day!

There's a show called Psych on TV and you've never seen it, but today's the day you're going to begin hating it.

"What's it about?" you ask.

Psychic cops maybe? Or cops hunting psychics and rounding them up because they can't be trusted? People just messing around with each other who then shout "Psych!" Maybe?

"What do I get if I hate it?" you ask.

One million dollars.

"Really?!" you ask.

Psych!

"Holy crap. I hate you right now," you say.

No, you hate the show "Psych."

"No I don't," you say. "I hate you. I hope you lose a family member today. One of the ones you like seeing over the holidays."

Don't say that.

"Just did," you say.

Look, this was supposed to be about the show "Psych."

"You made it about you by being the worst entity in existence. Get set on fire," you say.

So are you going to watch the show "Psych" just to spite me?

"Every episode. I'm going to rent the DVDs to catch up on the plotlines. Just to make you feel like you failed at something."

What if I told you I'm on the marketing team for the show "Psych?"

"Oh shit are you serious?"

Psych?

"I have no idea whether to watch Psych or not now," you say. "My life has come to a halt."

Because of the show "Psych." Told you it was worth hating.

(You don't say anything because you have lost your will.)

Happy Hate The Show "Psych" Day!

Your New Sweater Pillow Makes You Dream About Things Wearing Clothes That Shouldn't Day!

You bought a brand new, soft, supercomfy sweater pillow from West Elm. It's a big puffy down pillow covered in the kind of fabric normally reserved for cableknit sweaters. You love to nap on it, except whenever you do you start dreaming about mailboxes wearing dresses, refrigerators dressed up in tuxedos, cartons of eggs that are sold wearing little pairs of jeans, a car with a giant bowler hat on its roof, and trees wearing sexy leather miniskirts which is especially unsettling as it makes you dream of having sex with trees. These dreams are weird but your dreams are always weird and your new sweater pillow is too important so deal.

Happy Your New Sweater Pillow Makes You Dream About Things Wearing Clothes That Shouldn't Day!

Tara's Home Day!

Tara's home. It's 8 AM and she wants to come in.

"Come on Jeff! Open the door!"

"Not again Tara! That was the last time!"

Every night your neighbor Tara leaves the house to go out and get her drink on and maybe a few dudes, and every morning she shows up home again demanding that her boyfriend buzz her in. She stopped carrying keys because she always loses them.

"Jeff! It's cold!"

"I can't Tara! I owe it to myself to not let you in!"

You threw away your alarm clock a long time ago. A few months after moving into your new place you learned you can always count on Tara's shrill, newly sober voice and Jeff's weak-kneed heartbreak would be there every morning at 8 AM to shake you awake and send you to the shower. Occasionally you push the snooze button and wait for Tara to walk down to the corner deli to buy a loose cigarette, then come back and put the icing on the cake.

"Jeff! I love you! Please don't do this!"

"I swear to God Tara, this is the last time."

Buzzzzzzz!

Good morning!

Happy Tara's Home Day!

Elder Army Day!

You and the other women in your nursing home are sick of sitting around all day doing nothing.

"Let's form an army," say to them.

"What?" one will ask.

"An army," you'll repeat, louder into her good ear.

All of the other residents will look at each other for arguments against, then they'll all shrug and nod.

"Which one of your sons can get us weapons?" ask them.

Four of the women will raise their hands. Their sons are all members of domestic terrorist groups who are worried about health care reform.

"Who will be the target of our first assault?" one of the residents will ask.

Spin the rocking recliner in which you're seated slowly on its base so that you're facing all of them in such a position that the buzzing florescents above light your face in the most sinister manner.

Tell them, "Whoever gets in our way."

When an orderly shows up to give you all medication, strangle him to death with your catheter and flee.

Happy Elder Army Day!

Airplane Stripper Day!

You're an airplane stripper on a wealthy industrial titan's private jet and today the wealthy industrial titan seems distracted.

"Don't like what you see, Jeff?" you ask.

"Alice, how long have we known each other," Jeff says.

"Eleven days," you say.

"Eleven days," he repeats. "Then you're the only one I can trust."

He asks you to put your clothes back on and sit down next to him. Then he shows you a spreadsheet he's created listing the names of people who worked at the World Trade Center who called in sick on 9-11, and showing how many of them are descended from Masons.

"You've cracked it wide open," you say, convincingly.

"I've burned this to a disc for you to keep. If anything should happen to me, make sure this gets out."

"Of course," you say.

After the plane lands you'll tell your Plane Stripping agency you don't want to dance on Jeff's plane anymore. A few days later, Jeff will be killed by the Masons and you'll find out that he left you his entire fortune in his will, with a note that reads, "You'll need every dime of this money because you're going to be on the run for the rest of your life. GO NOW!"

You'll get on Jeff's plane, yours now, and you'll introduce yourself to the stripper already dancing for you. She'll tell you her name's Judith and you'll tell her to take a seat because the two of you have a lot of ground to cover if the truth is ever going to get out.

Happy Airplane Stripper Day!

Tell A Kid He Should Be Thankful For What He's Got Day!

Walking down the street today you'll see a little boy staring into the window of a toy store, pointing at a train set and crying. You'll overhear his father say, "No, it's too expensive." The little boy will say, "I hate you! I hate you!" The father will say, "I'm going over to look in that men's clothing store window. You just stay here and cry." Then the father will walk two stores down to stare into his own window.

Walk up to the boy and say, "You shouldn't say that to your Dad."

"But I want the train," the boy will say.

"Trains aren't everything," tell him.

"But I want it," the boy will say.

"You should be thankful you have a father who's willing to not buy you trains," tell him.

"Oh I'm sorry," the boy will say. "Your dad is dead?"

"No," tell him. "Or, maybe he is. He sold me. So I don't really know who he is."

"Fathers can sell their kids?" the boy will ask.

Nod yes.

The boy will run to his father, wrap his arms around his father's legs and beg him not to sell him. The father will ask who told the boy that kids can be sold and the boy will point towards you so you'd better be gone by then.

Happy Tell A Kid He Should Be Thankful For What He's Got Day!

You Got Bit By The Love Raccoon Day!

Cleaning out your garage last night, you disturbed a raccoon that was apparently living behind some empty paint cans. It jumped out at you, scratched at your cheeks and bit you several times on the forehead. When you came out of your garage, a woman pulled over in front of your house holding a map. She wanted directions to a local college. You fell in love with her instantly.

You got bit by The Love Raccoon.

"The what?" you'll ask your doctor.

"Love raccoon," he'll repeat. "Very dangerous and likely rabid. Their saliva makes people fall in love almost instantly. It also makes them foam at the mouth and turn extremely feverish. I'd better give you about 50 shots."

"But I've never been in love," you'll say.

"Well if I don't give you these shots you're gonna turn into a drooling mad fool."

"Is it worth it?" you'll ask.

The doctor will let his mind drift to the day he met his wife Ellen, when she stepped off of that ferry in the warm summer breeze, looking like an angel sent only to make him realize just how beautiful God's creation can be.

"Doc, is it worth it?" you'll ask.

He'll smile. "It is."

You'll shake his hand. Then you'll double over and begin throwing up.

"That's gonna last for the next week or so. Then you'll break out in hives and go blind sometimes. If your throat constricts, give someone a piece of paper telling them to call me. Now go after her!"

You'll run out of the examination room and pass out in a puddle of your own sweat on the waiting room floor.

Happy You Got Bit By The Love Raccoon Day!

Stumbling Into An Elementary School Cafeteria Day!

Your three-day bender is about to come to a close. All of your friends have either gotten thrown in jail, beaten up by bouncers, or they've gone sober. You're alone. You're cold. You want something to eat.

I smell...tater tots, you think.

You follow the scent to a large non-descript building that looks kind of familiar, and you shove your way through the double doors into an elementary school cafeteria.

Shit, you think. That line is huge.

The line of kids will stretch thirty lengths, but one glimpse towards the yellow-lit heat trays and you'll see crispy brown tater tots numbering in the hundreds, piled high and glistening.

You'll limp to the back of the line (you sprained your ankle crawling under a fence a day or two ago). The kids will giggle at the grown man joining them for lunchtime. You'll try to control your temper.

"He looks like somebody's dad," one kid will say and everyone will laugh.

"He's acting like my dad when he comes home from watching football," another kid will say, to less laughter.

You'll make it to the front of the line and you'll order five orders of tater tots. It will cost you $7.50. After discarding the piles of "ButtBucks" you got from a local strip club, you'll find the appropriate legal tender and pay.

"Dad?" you'll hear. You'll turn around and there will be your son, staring up at you. It's his school.

"Hey," you'll say. "Came here to...uh...have lunch with you."

Your son's face will light up. You haven't been allowed to see him until the legal proceedings were finalized and your restraint order was lifted. He considers this a special treat.

While all the other kids laugh, you and your son sit at a table by yourselves. He tells you how he's doing at school while you eat your tater tots. Only after your third tray of tots will you realize your son hasn't ordered any food.

"Eat up," you'll say, shoving one of the trays of tots in his direction. He'll smile and begin devouring the delicious potato morsels. Then you'll continue talking and laughing together until the vice principal arrives with a security guard to ask you to leave quietly.

Happy Stumbling Into An Elementary School Cafeteria Day!

You And Your Husband Want To Marry Other People Day!

You've been married for a month already and frankly, the fact that you don't have any weddings planned is making the future look less than awesome.

"Let's marry other people," your husband will say.

"That's classic!" you'll reply.

You and your husband will go out to the bars and woo prospective second spouses until you each find that extra-special second someone who won't ask too many questions. You'll drink enough to get engaged then you'll each meet your second fiance's parents and start planning the big day.

"Isn't this fun?" you'll whisper when you call your husband in the middle of the night.

"We should just keep getting married to people for the rest of our lives," he'll whisper back. "Oops, I think Cheryl's waking up! Make sure you get your ceremony videotaped. I wanna see it."

After you both get married to other people you'll break the news that you only did it for the wedding, and once everyone stops yelling at you and breaking your faces, you and your husband will reunite and tell each other all about your respective weddings.

"We had shrimp," your husband will say.

"We had a caviar station," you'll say.

Then you'll tell your husband that he needs to get a better job because you spent a good hunk of your savings on your wedding.

"My parents weren't going to pay for another one," you'll explain.

"That's fine. On your weddings days, everything should be perfect," your husband will say. Then you'll hug him and the two of you will go to the bedroom and do to each other all the stuff you each learned on your wedding nights with that bride and groom who are presently crying their eyes out someplace. You two should introduce them, maybe they'd hit it off.

Happy You And Your Husband Want To Marry Other People Day!

Save Your Family Day!

Today some crazy people with guns who wear masks that don't have any eyeholes are going to come into your house and announce, "We're going to rape and kill all of you right here in the middle of dinner. It's what we do for fun. Who's first?"

Everyone in your family will say, "Aw man! I wanted to finish dinner." Then they'll accept their fates and they'll form a single file line.

Everyone except you.

"I don't think so you guys," you'll say.

The masked rapists/killers will all laugh.

"But you're only seven!"

"Yup," you'll say. "But I'm REAL unstable."

That's when you'll light the firecrackers you had been planning to shove up the cat's butt and you'll throw them at the rapists/killers who will fire their weapons in the air in the confusion.

Then you'll take the lighter fluid you had been planning to drench the dog with and you'll spray it all over the rapists/killers masks, and you'll light the masks on fire just like you had been planning to do with the dog and your sister's gerbil if you had enough lighter fluid which you probably would have.

The rapists/killers will fall to the ground trying to get their burning masks off but soon they'll all just pass out with their eyes ruined forever. Just to add insult to injury, you'll take some of the live ants you keep in your pants pocket and you'll shove them up the rapists/killers masks to feed on their charred faces.

Your family will be so happy that you saved them, then they'll be upset when they realize you've crapped on one of the rapists/killers and now you're playing with the crap, kind of exploring it with your hands and murmuring something, a little story that's playing out in your head.

Your family will forever be grateful to, and terrified of, you. You'll have your first inpatient stay at a mental hospital before you turn twelve.

Happy Save Your Family Day!

She's Leaving You* Day!

Your girlfriend is walking out on you today.

"I've fallen in love with something."

"Something?" you'll say.

She'll nod.

"Not a person?"

"No. God no."

"Then...what?"

She'll shake her head. "I can't. It's so..."

"Embarrassing?"

"New. I'm afraid of jinxing it."

You'll put your hand on hers. "I don't want you to pass up real love. No one should. If it will make you happy, you should leave me for this...soft object?"

She'll shake her head.

"Shiny item that is larger than a breadbox?"

She'll shake her head.

"Um...taxidermied--"

"God no."

"Is it a purse?"

"Look, I gotta go."

As she's leaving you'll shout at her back, "Just tell me!"

She'll slam the door behind her. Six months from now you'll see her at brunch sitting across the table from a bucket of rags, looking happier than she ever was with you.

She's Leaving You* Day!



*for a bucket of rags

You Want To Lick His Digital Watch Day!

He's got a digital watch on his wrist and you wanna know how it tastes. You've been watching him all afternoon, sitting at his desk trying to make it through this defensive driving class without falling asleep, and you can't help but stare at the jet black plastic band wrapped around his snow white wrist. You want to slip your tongue underneath that band and have him tighten it, restraining your tongue against his skin, making a permanent imprint of the little rectangles of the band on the top of your tongue, and the hairs of his wrist on the bottom of your tongue.

"Are you looking at my fucking watch Grandma?" he's shouting. You can't hear him. You're mesmerized.

"Please stop looking at his watch ma'am. You're far too old to be behaving like this," the defensive driving teacher is saying now. Not that you can hear anything but the occasional beep emitted by his watch when another quarter-hour passes.

"I think she might be touching herself," the guy behind you is saying, as if any words that came out of his mouth mattered in your universe.

"No wait. I think she's setting something on fire!" someone sitting next to you is shouting.

In the chaos of everyone running from the blaze you've set, grab your digital watch wearing Adonis and slam his head against the wall three times hard, knocking him unconscious. Then lock the door and hold him in your arms and check the time on his digital watch just before the roof caves in on top of the two of you. That is the time of your death as an unlicensed driver in love.

Happy You Want To Lick His Digital Watch Day!

Don't Commit A Felony Day!

Apologies for all those whose big bank heist or matricide was planned for today. It sucks when you have something on your schedule for weeks in advance and then something comes along at the last minute and you're forced to cancel. Unfortunately though, today's Don't Commit a Felony Day. So if you were planning to steal a car, shoot a liquor store owner in the face, or set a hospital on fire, it will have to wait until tomorrow.

Please consult your local criminal code to determine what constitutes a felony in your state. Remember, anal is legal in Texas now, so you're cool.

Happy Don't Commit A Felony Day!

Maxed Out Credit Cards Guy Day!

Today you're maxed out credit cards guy. You're going to go from store to store, ringing up hundreds of dollars of items, then you'll hand over one of your maxed out credit cards for payment and wait for the big reveal.

"Try it again!" you'll shout.

The cashier will tell you the card is simply not being accepted. So you'll give her another.

"I'm sorry sir but that one is also being declined."

Say this is ridiculous and give her your next card, telling her, "I never use this one so it has to work."

That one won't work, as you know, and you'll give her the next one to try, which also won't work, as you know.

After she's tried all 50 of the maxed out credit cards in your wallet, sit in the middle of the floor with your head in your hands and weep. After about twenty minutes, get up and go across the street to repeat the whole process with that store's cashier.

Happy Maxed Out Credit Cards Guy Day!

Your Rescue From A Basement After Many Many Years, Sponsored By Wendy's Day!

Today you're going to be freed from the basement where you've been held captive for several years. The darkness and silence has turned you mad, and you'll have trouble grasping onto your sense of self. The emptiness of the basement robbed you of your ability to distinguish your own personhood from the surrounding environment, and so when people ask you questions you don't know that you're being addressed. Other people's voice are indistinguishable from your own thoughts. Physical pain inflicted on your body is understood as "the way the world is now." You have no idea that you exist.

"Bet you're ready for a tasty Baconator," a man in a suit will say as he holds a large burger covered in bacon in front of your face.

"This man is from Wendy's," the policeman will say. "They sponsored your rescue. Take a bite of that hamburger while the camera is filming you, then we'll take you to the hospital."

You'll howl wordlessly.

"Just put the Baconator in your mouth and your rape kit's paid for," the man from Wendy's will say.

You'll jerk one of your arms in the air, with no intent.

"We fought tooth and nail to win the chance to sponsor this rescue," the man from Wendy's will whisper in your ear. "The whole world's waiting to see you freed and rejoin society. Just bite into the Baconator and give a thumbs up."

You'll open your mouth to bite him in the face, but he knows how these rescues usually go down, and he'll take that split-second opportunity to shove the burger in your mouth and then work your jaw to chew.

The burger will taste delicious. This is the way the world is now. It's bacon-y.

After the man from Wendy's forces one of your thumbs into the air, you'll be rushed to the hospital where the unimaginable truth of your horrific 3-year ordeal will finally be revealed, sponsored by Wendy's.

Happy Your Rescue From A Basement After Many Many Years, Sponsored By Wendy's Day!

No Karate Class Day!

When you go back to pick up little Susan and Jesse from Karate class, you'll find all the kids sitting still on the mats, just as you left them. Except they'll all be looking down into their laps, the expressions on their faces far too morose for children so young.

"Where's Sensei?" you'll ask.

Susan will look up at you, her eyes puffy, and she'll shake her head slowly.

"Jesse?" you'll ask.

Jesse will get up and stand by you. "We told him not to go and confront them," he'll say. "We told him it was a fool's errand. But he refused to back down."

"You're a damn mule!" one of the other kids will shout at the sky.

"What did you have to prove? Why couldn't you have just let it go?" another little girl will shout, pounding her fist into the mat beneath her.

After some seconds of silence, Jesse will try and explain.

"It's a battle that's lasted centuries, spanning back to a cow stolen from Sensei's great great great grandfather's land in Okinawa. Two families, pitted together for life. Apparently, the descendant of one of those families opened an Arby's over in Eastville. Sensei said he had to honor the blood flowing through his veins and settle this once and for all."

"And he didn't come back," Susan said.

You take both your kids' hands and say, "I'm sure he's okay." Then you lead them out to the car, mentally calculating the number of classes you've already paid for and the refund you should be due if the Sensei died for his ancestral feud. At least around $170 for Pete's sake.

As you pull out of the parking lot you see smoke on the horizon.

"The Arbys," Susan and Jesse will sing in unison. They'll have hope in their voices. Perhaps their Sensei was triumphant after all.

Happy No Karate Class Day!

Misquote That Movie "Tobey Maguire" Day!

Today you should misquote that Tom Cruise movie about the talent agent who wants to see money. So when you see someone with money, shout at them "Let me see your money!" When you love someone and you want them to know it, say to them, "I wasn't done, but thanks to you, I'm all set. Ding!" And if you just want someone to shut up, say, "I was sick of you when we first met." Finally, when you want someone to help you help them, say, "Hey, you need help. I need help. Let's go find someone to help us, but let's carpool." Jonathan Kenicky is still alive, BTW.

Happy Misquote That Movie "Tobey Maguire" Day!

Grocery Shopping All By Your Lonesome Day!

Get past the pears with your eyes closed. She liked pears. Ate one every day.

She hated cereal and she hated the sound of you eating it. Now when you eat it, it's deafening. You can see what she meant. Skip the cereal and switch to toast.

Don't buy any milk. Milk was her thing. In her coffee. You don't need it anymore. Before she moved in the only milk you ever had in your fridge was sour. You'd buy it and forget you had it until it started to stink. You have to prove that her leaving won't make your fridge stink. If she wanted to go, fine. She'd better not think that now that she's gone your fridge is going to stink again, because it's not. Your fridge will smell just fine.

No eggs either. Long story. Long funny story. You two laughed like idiots that morning.

You're out of light bulbs which is fine because two are burned out and you'd like to wait for the other two to go so that you won't have to see your life without her. You're out of paper towels but it doesn't matter because cleaning up will only get rid of the evidence that she was a part of your life and you want to hang onto every speck of her dirt and dust. You're out of salt.

You actually ran out of salt. The tub with the girl with the umbrella that you bought ten years ago, the one that survived two moves, is empty. Is that why she left? When the salt runs out, it's time to reevaluate things, see where you're at, whether you should stay or go to grad school in Richmond.

"You can cut in front of me," the woman with two carts full of meats and cookies says. "If all you have is that one microwave burrito and those three six packs of Magic Hat."

Happy Grocery Shopping All By Your Lonesome Day!

Your Video Masturbation Subscription List Is Bored Day!

Back in '67 you started a subscription-based club for people who wanted to receive a drawing of you masturbating once every month. You promised that the drawing was a true representation of one of your masturbation sessions that took place during the month prior (or an amalgam of several, if you felt there was too much going on that month to limit it to one position/setting).

In the 1980's, with the rise of the VCR, your subscribers demanded videotape and you conceded. You saw a big dropoff in subscriptions since you were pushing 40 by that time and the camera doesn't lie.

Now with the rise of the internet, you distribute your videos online. You still stick to the once a month schedule, but that doesn't make it easier on you. Since you're in your sixties now, you often have to schedule several shoot days before you finally get a take that doesn't end with you letting go of your flacid member and throwing your hands up, saying into the camera, "Maybe next time."

Your subscriber base (now down to just four people, one of them being your ex-wife (long story)) have been complaining that they've been seeing the same man masturbate for decades now and they feel like they should know more about him. So today you're going to tape yourself masturbating with one hand while showing off your baseball card collection with the other.

You won't get too in depth about the collection, since you really need to concentrate to masturbate. You're just going to flip the pages of your card binder, then wave your hand a little, as if you were a game show girl showing off the next prize. You hope that shuts everyone up, because you really don't want to have to masturbate while telling the camera about the first time you saw a dead body when you were seven.

Happy Your Video Masturbation Subscription List Is Bored Day!