Hypnotist Sex Day!

Hypnotist sex is terrible because after it's over you can never remember any of it so it's time to go find someone new.

"I'm through with you," you'll say to your hypnotist girlfriend. "I want someone who can give me a sexual experience that I can remember."

"You are getting sleepy," your hypnotist girlfriend will say to you while swinging a necklace in front of your eyes right before having sex with you again exactly the way she likes it. Tomorrow you'll try to break up with her again but the same thing will happen. And don't try to just make a run for it to the bus station. The minute you try and buy a ticket you'll start clucking like a chicken until the police are summoned.

Happy Hypnotist Sex Day!

The Sculpture Garden Day!

Today when you run down the street to the sculpture garden outside the junior college, you'll be certain that today's the big day when you see those sculptures come to life and fight.

When you get there, they'll all be still. You'll feign disappointment, then you'll walk down the block looking visibly sullen. Once you're out of sight, hide behind a tree and wait a few minutes until the sculptures feel comfortable enough with your absence to move again. It might take a few minutes or a few hours, but keep watching. They'll move. You can bet on it.

One word of warning though. Instead of fighting, when the sculptures come to life the only thing they ever like to do is reenact famous hate crimes. Tonight the sculptures are going to reenact the murder of an abortion doctor, Dr. David Gunn, who was killed in 1993 in Pensacola, FL. The reenactment will be very respectful and very solemn, since everyone involved will be cement gray with mouths sealed shut. It's going to make you feel pretty bad about America tonight, but at least you'll finally get to watch the sculpture garden come to life.

Happy The Sculpture Garden Day!

You Are A Landlord Who Installs Hidden Cameras In Your Female Tenants Bedrooms Day!

You are a landlord who installs hidden cameras in your female tenants' bedrooms, therefore you know who killed Missy Colgate, the young blond beauty whose murder was splashed across the covers of all the newspapers. Unfortunately, you’re too embarrassed to help the police catch the killer because you fear that people will look down on you because you masturbate to your tenants’ private bedroom activities via hidden camera. The way you see it, you shouldn’t be expected to broadcast your private perversions to the whole world just because you want to help make sure a murder doesn’t go unpunished.

“It’s just not fair,” you say to yourself while watching the girl in 6B get ready for bed. “I shouldn’t have to suffer for being a good citizen.”

Maybe if the world wasn’t so judgmental, things would be different. But you know the sort of stares you’ll get at the market if you go public with what you know. No one will see you and think, “There goes that hero who made sure that poor girl’s killer got what he deserved.” No way. The only thing they’ll think is, “There goes that perv who jacks it to closed circuit video of his tenants.”

When you think about it, it’s so hard for a witness to come forward without being victimized himself that it’s a wonder justice is ever served in this town.

“It’s not my fault people are so closed-minded,” you think. Then when the girl in 6B turns off her light, you turn off your TV monitor and crawl under the covers with the hope that your conscience won’t keep you up tonight.

Happy You Are A Landlord Who Installs Hidden Cameras In Your Female Tenants Bedrooms Day!

The Rubber Bandit Day!

Today you’re going to make your name as the world famous bank robber, The Rubber Bandit. You’re going to walk into the bank and lean over the counter with a rubber band cocked on your finger, aimed straight at the bank teller’s eye. You’re going to shout to the rest of the bank, “If anyone trips the alarm, this bank teller is getting a rubber band straight in her eyeball!”

The other employees will look at each other, unsure what to do. Then the bank manager will shout to the teller, “Carly, I’m going to have to trip the alarm I’m afraid.”

Carly will beg the bank manager not to do it, but he’ll insist that a rubber band in the eye just isn’t a bad enough threat to not risk it.

“But it’ll hurt!” Carly will shout.

“You bet it will. Don’t you trip that alarm,” you’ll say, fearing that they’re not going to take you seriously.

Carly and the bank manager will argue for a few minutes about how it might sting for a while, but we’re talking about thousands of dollars here and a stinging eyeball just isn’t worth that much.

“You’re willing to make that choice for her pal? You really ready to have that on your conscience?”

The bank manager will say. “I already have. I tripped the alarm a couple minutes ago.”

Everyone will wait to see what you’re gonna do. Ultimately, you’ll lower the rubber band without hurting Carly. You knew you didn’t have it in you to irritate an innocent person’s eye like that.

Happy The Rubber Bandit Day!

The 70 Year Old Virgin Day!

You are a 70 year old virgin and you stopped trying to have sex with people several decades ago. You keep your virginity a secret because it embarrasses you. You even adopted kids way back when you were in your 40’s, just so that people might think you had sex once. Your kids learned after a while that the only reason you adopted them was to hide the fact that you’re a virgin, and they were pretty pissed about it so they put you in a home. Today’s your birthday, so they’re making the one of two visits they make per year (the other one’s on Christmas).

The visit will be uncomfortable as usual, with your two kids checking their watches to see how long they have left before they can leave. Your roommate will tell your son that he looks just like you, giving your son the opportunity to say, “Oh well that’s just a coincidence because I’m adopted. We both are.”

Your roommate will then say, “Both your kids are adopted eh? Haven’t you ever had sex?”

You’ll start to cry and that’s when the news will spread all over the nursing home that you’re a virgin. The teasing won’t stop until you die.

Happy The 70 Year Old Virgin Day!

You Steal Bikes Day!

This recession has forced us all to improvise to make ends meat. Some people have started substitute teaching, others have started killing for money. You’ve found that there’s a lot of cash to be made in the theft and resale of bicycles.

Today you’re going to steal a real nice mountain bike from a lady when she parks outside a deli for just a second while she grabs herself a juice. When you bring the bike to the second-hand bike shop, you’re going to find this is one hot bike that won’t be so easy to sell.

“I know this bike,” Jerry the proprietor will say. “You know whose bike this is?”

“Some girl’s,” you’ll say.

Jerry will open up a newspaper to an article on the Molinari mafia trial. You’ll see a photo of Mob kingpin Louie Molinari standing outside the courthouse laughing it up with reporters. Right next to him will be the girl you stole the bike from today. In the photo, she’ll be sitting on that very bike.

“Why’s she sitting on a bike outside the courthouse where her Dad’s on trial?” you’ll ask.

“Maybe she just finished up her bike ride in time to take a picture with her Pop,” Jerry will say. “Who knows? The point is, that girl loves her bike, and you just stole it from her. She’s the daughter of the most dangerous man in the city. If you think I’m gonna let that bike inside my store, you’re dead wrong.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?” you ask.

“Throw it in the river,” Jerry says. “Throw yourself in after it. It’s where you’re gonna end up anyhow.”

And that’s how you'll end up going on the run from the mafia, shithead.

Happy You Steal Bikes Day!

Minidress Day!

Because you look so mothereffing good in that minidress you’re going to find yourself on a private jet to Bermuda by ten p.m. tonight. The way it will happen is you’ll be in a bank when some thieves show up to stage a robbery. Unfortunately, one of the tellers will hit the alarm button (the teller will get shot in the head for that, a message to everyone else that these guys mean business). The police will come and it will turn into a full-scale hostage situation. The robbers will demand a private jet to Bermuda and they’ll decide to take one hostage with them. You’ll look so good in that minidress that there’s no way in hell they wouldn’t pick you. They just want to be near you for a little while longer, and even though they know deep down they’re probably never gonna make it to that beach, on the off chance that things might work out and they might get to see you in a bikini, it’s all but guaranteed they’re gonna drag you onto that plane with them.

So thanks to that minidress, and the way your body looks wrapped up in it, you might never see your husband and two kids again.

Happy Minidress Day!

Mom’s Stuck In A Tree Day!

“Can you get her down?” you’ll ask the fireman.

“Don’t know if anyone can get her down from there but herself,” the fireman will answer.

“But she just climbed up there too high and can’t figure out how to get back down. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” the fireman will say. “You really think that’s all that’s going on here?”

You’ll look up at your Mom. She’s seated on a branch. She looks patient, maybe a little distracted.

“What else is there?”

The fireman will explain that when a cat gets stuck in a tree, it’s typical because cats are stupid and they do stupid stuff like that. But when a human does it, they oughta know better. A human stuck up in a tree is usually the sign that something way deeper is going on here.

“Like what?” you’ll ask.

“Like she married the wrong man. She should’a married the first guy she fell for, but her parents disapproved because he didn’t come from a rich wealthy family.”

You’ll see what’s going on here now. “Did the first guy she fell for come from a family of firemen?”

“I would’a let the whole world burn for her,” the fireman will say. “But I ain’t gonna help her outta that tree. She can’t just decide all these years later to do something to make me rescue her. She has to find her way back down those branches herself.”

Put your hand on the fireman’s shoulder. You’ll enjoy touching him there. He could’ve been your dad, had your Mom not been so willing to let her own happiness slip away.

Happy Mom’s Stuck In A Tree Day

Your Dentist Gases You Until You’re Unconscious Then She Strips You Naked And Climbs Into Your Arms And Just Lies There For A Bit Day!

You have the same body type as her dead husband. She misses him. She’s felt so cold ever since he passed. The minute she saw you she knew you could make her feel the way he used to make her feel when she’d fall asleep naked in his arms. But she’s still not ready to date, still not sure she can go through all those motions of getting to know someone new before both parties agree it’s okay to share intimacy. So to avoid all that she decided it would be best to just misdiagnose you as being in need of extensive dental surgery. You’ve been seeing her once every two weeks for several months now, and at every visit she gases you until you’re unconscious, then she strips you and herself naked and climbs onto the chair, into your arms. Then she just lies there, feeling your warm, heavy limbs around her. She enjoys that for about a half hour, sighing and occasionally crying into your chest hair. When she’s done, she climbs off you, dresses you both back up, then she slices into your gums unnecessarily for a few minutes. When you wake up, none the wiser with a mouth full of pain, you go out to the front desk to schedule your dentist’s next brief respite from cold, cold longing.

Your Dentist Gases You Until You’re Unconscious Then She Strips You Naked And Climbs Into Your Arms And Just Lies There For A Bit Day!

You’re On The Roof Of A Truck Day!

The truck is speeding through town, swerving left and right, trying to make you lose your grip and roll off but it can’t shake you free.

“Goddammit Julie I’m your father!” you shout at your daughter behind the wheel.

“You’re nothing to me!” she shouts back and she once again swerves to make you lose your grip. You almost slide off but just manage to secure yourself.

“Pull this truck over young lady!” you shout.

Your daughter speeds up. “I’ll kill us both if that’s what it takes!”

“No!” you shout.

Julie goes even faster. You can see that the bridge ahead is out. She really hates you that much that she’d kill herself just to make sure you die today. You really were a horrible father to her, weren’t you. But there’s only one way to redeem yourself.

“I love you sweetie!” you shout. Then you roll off the roof. Julie feels the bump when she runs you over. She slows down the truck to check her mirror to see that you’re not moving. Looking at your bloody remains she realizes that you really did love her. You might not have been a good father, but at least she knows you cared enough to give your life in order to save hers. So everything’s fine between you and your daughter now.

Happy You’re On The Roof Of A Truck Day!

Outdoor Dining Day!

Today at the restaurant when you ask to be seated outside on the sidewalk the hostess will tell you that she can’t allow that to happen because the rival drug gangs in the neighborhood have been getting aggressive and there could be a shooting.

“I know we just met, but I think I just fell in love with you and I can’t risk you being killed by a stray bullet,” she’ll say.

Tell her that if this was meant to be between you two, it was meant to be.

“You have to have faith in us. Set me free.”

She’ll take a deep breath and with a tear in her eye, she’ll seat you at a table close to the curb.

Throughout your lunch she’ll watch you from her post inside, wringing her hands with worry. You’ll occasionally send her a smile to reassure her that you’re hers, and you’re not going anywhere. But every time a car backfires or someone starts shouting she becomes terrified all over again.

You order a chicken salad sandwich and it’s just okay. Not great. But the cole slaw is very good. You leave some of the sandwich but finish the cole slaw.

“Okay now go,” the hostess says when she sees you put your napkin over your plate.

“Just let the waitress bring me my check and I promise I’ll get someplace safe. I’ll wait for you there. I’ll wait to begin my life with you there.”

CRACK CRACK CRACK! Gunshots ring out. You leap from your table to tackle the hostess to the ground. A car squeals away. You check the hostess’s body but there’s no blood. She checks you too. Neither of you were hit. That’s when you hear the screaming.

You both rise to your feet and look to the sidewalk café across the street, where a hostess is bent over the body of a customer. She’s holding his head in her hands, screaming for him to wake up and come back to her, to give her more than just a few minutes. But he’s not moving. He’s not coming back.

And that’s when you know that you and your hostess were really meant to be together, not like those two at the restaurant across the street who were clearly just fooling themselves.

Happy Outdoor Dining Day!

On The Occasion Of Your Little Sister’s High School Graduation, Give Her Some Advice Day!

“Die Hard’s only a movie,” tell her.

She’ll say she knows.

“And even if it wasn’t a movie, that guy was a New York cop.”

He was trained. Your sister will agree with that.

“He knew how to shoot a gun. He’s been in dangerous situations before so his nerves weren’t likely to rattle. He might even have killed people before. None of that stuff applies to you or me.”

Your little sister will nod, then she’ll ask if you’re tired, indicating that you probably dozed off a bit. Ignore her. You need to get this across.

“But above all that even, it’s still just a movie. In real life even the best New York cop would probably get killed if he took on a whole bunch of high-tech terrorists. New York cops aren’t super-soldiers or whatever. Most of them probably never fire their weapons at a person.”

Grab her wrist.

“If John McClane was a real person, he’d probably look just like me right now.”

Your nurse will come in and increase your morphine drip. You’ll be going to sleep very soon and your little sister has a lot of graduation parties to hit. It was really good of her to come visit right after commencement, so make this count.

“So if you ever find yourself in a building that’s been occupied by terrorists, or thieves posing as terrorists, don’t try and turn into a one-man army. Just save yourself.”

Your little sister will nod again.

“If only I could go back in time to last Thursday and tell myself that,” say. Then fall asleep, and try not to dream of all those people whose deaths you failed to avert.

Happy On The Occasion Of Your Little Sister’s High School Graduation, Give Her Some Advice Day!

One Of The Guys Who Works At Your Car Wash Is Hiding In The Back Seat Of Your Car Day!

You don’t notice him until you pull away and drive for a few blocks. That’s when he alerts you to his presence.

“Pssst!”

You don’t respond at first. You just keep driving.

“Pssst!” again.

That time you hear it loud and clear. You turn your head and make out his blue jumpsuit, curled up on the floor of the backseat. He’s still holding a dirty white rag.

“Don’t look man!” he whisper-shouts. “Just keep driving like you’re all alone, okay?”

He’s Latino. Probably eighteen or twenty years old. And he’s scared.

“Just drive me towards the bay, okay man?”

You ask him if he knows how to get to the bay. He says to take a street you never heard of, and you tell him so. He carefully lifts his torso up off the floor of the backseat and looks around to see where you are. Then he says to make a left and plops back down on the floor.

When you ask him what he’s going to do when he gets to the bay, he says he’ll hope on the first big ship that happens to be leaving the port at that moment.

“Stowaway?” you ask, turning your head around to look at him.

He says well they probably ain’t gonna be selling tickets. Then he shouts for you to keep your eyes on the road. “They might be following us okay?”

You tell him that you’d be happy to take him to the police, or to some kind of non-profit group that helps fight human trafficking. “If you’re forced to work at that car wash to pay off your passage into this country,” you say, “there are people who can protect you.”

He says he was born here. He’s running because he just got his girlfriend pregnant. Her dad owns that car wash, and she’s going to tell her Dad the bad news this afternoon.

“He’s gonna make me marry her and work at that car wash forever. I gotta get outta the country, okay? Just get me to a boat, okay? And try not to look suspicious. I’m telling you the minute she tells him he’s gonna hop in a car and come looking for me.”

You keep your eyes straight ahead. You wonder whether this hopping onto the next boat out of the port isn’t a bad plan for you too. Maybe you and… Wait, what’s his name?

“Ralphie. Rafael, but call me Ralphie.”

Maybe you and Ralphie could travel the seas together, him on the run from his family obligations, and you on the run from your Netflix queue and your internal debate over what takeout place to order dinner from every night. You could stowaway on a merchant marine vessel or some kind of tanker that’s already populated with outlaws who are better off keeping away from dry land. They’ll at first want to throw you overboard, then they’ll just give you jobs, the kind of tough manual labor that covers you in black grime from head to toe. Eventually, you’ll both be accepted as part of the crew and they’ll invite you out with them to solicit whores when they dock the ship on East Asian islands. Never again will you have to spend a moment wondering what you’re supposed to do next, because when you’re living and working on the sea the only thing on the agenda is to keep the ship afloat.

You can see the bay just about six blocks up ahead.

“We’re almost there,” you say.

Ralphie pops his head up to see, then shouts, “Oh shit turn man turn here!”

You make a quick turn right. You aren’t sure what at first, then in the corner of your eye you spot a car on the other side of the intersection covered in suds. That must be Ralphie’s boss. He got the news and hopped in the first car waiting to be rinsed off after a wash, leaving the driver stranded in the waiting room staring at a vending machine wondering why his car is taking so long.

“Oh man he knew where to find me. He’s gonna be waiting for me at that dock. How am I gonna get on a boat now?”

“It’s okay,” you say. “From what I could see, the only boat out there today was a garbage barge. I don’t know how long you’d be able to stowaway on that.”

“What now man?!” Ralphie says.

“You need to lay low for a while,” you say. “Come back to my place. I’m unemployed and I don’t have too much going on right now.”

You take Ralphie home and the two of you try to find something to watch on cable for a while, then you have a long conversation about whether you want to order Chinese or Indian food for dinner tonight.

Happy One Of The Guys Who Works At Your Car Wash Is Hiding In The Back Seat Of Your Car Day!

The Nine-Elevens Is A Terrible Name For A Band Day!

You’re just not going to win over a lot of fans with that. Even with an album titled “Too Soon.” It just sounds like you’re being assholes. And before you bring it up, Katrina and the Waves picked that name way before it attained the insensitive connotation it has today.

Controversy gains attention, no doubt. But obvious attempts at courting controversy also makes the public inclined to be dismissive. Have you thought of naming your band the USS Cole? A little subtlety can go a long way is all.

Happy The Nine-Elevens Is A Terrible Name For A Band Day!

Can't Wait Until Lunchtime Day!

You can't wait until lunchtime because lunchtime is when you get to talk to Raymond the kid behind the counter at Quiznos. Raymond looks exactly like Pat, one of your friends from high school who died on Prom night. You were driving and you bet everyone in the car that you could make it across the train tracks before the train passed. No one in the car took the bet and they begged you to just take them to their prom so that they could live out the night they've dreamed about throughout their teens. But them being scared was just going to make it all that much more fun when you ramped over those train tracks just in the nick of time. It didn't work out that way though, and everyone in the car died but you. Which is why you like ordering your lunch from Raymond every day because it lets you pretend that the world stopped just minutes before you got hit by that train and Pat not only isn't dead, but he's still 17 and he got a job at Quiznos.

Unfortunately, today you're not going to be allowed to order your sandwich because the manager will step in front of Raymond and tell you you're not allowed to eat lunch there anymore since every time you order a sandwich you follow it up by screaming "I'M SO SO SORRY!" and then lunge across the counter to try and hug Raymond and it scares his customers. Head over to Hale and Hearty where one of the salad girls looks like Kelly, one of your friends who was in the backseat, except more of a Latina version of Kelly.

Happy Can't Wait Until Lunchtime Day!

Burglars Catch You Sobbing Day!

When two burglars jimmy your lock and come creeping into your apartment today, they won’t know that you’re home at first. All the lights will be off and the shades drawn, and it will be so musty and dank inside that they’ll assume the place has been left empty for a month. They’ll go about burgling without even worrying about the noise they make. They’ll even turn on the HDTV and check out the picture before they decide to unhook it.

It’s only after they’ve finished gathering all the electronics that they’ll make their way into the bedroom for the jewelry and find you stretched out face down across the width of your bed. They’ll freeze, unsure of whether you’re awake or asleep. They’ll shine a flashlight on your back and watch it shiver as you release your peel of muffled sobs.

“Hey lady,” one will say.

“Just go away!” you’ll shout, without rolling over.

“We don’t wanna hurt you,” the other will say.

“Go ahead! Everyone else has!” you’ll shout back.

The burglars will be thrown. They’ll argue in whispers about what to do with you. Until you interrupt them.

“I said get out! Leave me alone!” you’ll shout, still not rolling over to face them.

They won’t say anything at first. Then:

“We’re stealing all your stuff,” one will say.

“Yeah,” the other will add. “Don’t you wanna stop us?”

This will send you over the top. You’ll spring to a half-sitting position, place your reddened, tear-stained face directly in the beam of their flashlight and you’ll scream, “I SAID LEAVE ME ALONE!!!”

The scream will make each of them remember their own big sisters as teenagers. They’ll remember being concerned, listening at the bedroom door to the breakup tears coming from inside, then they’d get up the courage to shuffle in and ask what’s wrong, only to be commanded to leave with the most blood-curdling screech they’d ever heard.

You’ll fall back on the bed and the burglars will back-step out of your room, pulling the door part-way closed behind them. They’ll argue in louder whispers in the living room, then they’ll gather up their loot and get ready to leave.

Before they go, one will lean back into your bedroom.

“Hey,” the man who is about to take off with all of your valuables will say. “It’s gonna get better.”

Happy Burglars Catch You Sobbing Day!

The Teens Are Out Of Control Day!

When you get to the gate of the singles only condominium complex, they demand that you drive your car fifty feet back and then walk to the gate while they watch. They need to know you don't have any teens inside your car waiting to run through the gates as soon as they open. They need to know you're alone.

"I have no children," you say. "I just need a place to stay. A place safe from the teens."

You can hear laughter in the distance. Youths. They're probably just drinking beer and fornicating in the woods, but who knows. You have to get inside.

"Please," you say.

They wait thirty seconds and then the gate opens. You run inside and the gate closes behind you almost immediately. A thirty-one year old man with hair plugs and capped teeth greets you with a shovel. He holds the shovel out to you.

"Bury the dead," he says, pointing to the corner. There are some teens piled there. They must have tried to get over the wall and got picked off by snipers. Stupid of them, but they have little to no sense once they smell people of legal guardian age. They just do whatever it takes to get closer to their kill. And sometimes they get shot. You have to bury them now.

While digging into the ground you catch a glimpse of the bright green shimmer of the moon reflecting off the pool and shining in the windows of the building. You hope the fence is high enough to dip in their safely. The world may be sinking into ruin now that the teens have been infected with a substance that turns them into fornicating killers out for adult blood, but it'd be nice if you could get in a swim before the end.

Happy The Teens Are Out Of Control Day!

PPPS: Buy "You Are A Miserable Excuse For A Hero" if you haven't already! Long time no talk...

The Guy Who Stole Your Laptop Is Way More Likeable Than You Are Day!

You got your laptop stolen from a coffee shop not long ago (you left it alone on a table to go hit on a girl looking through postcards for terrible plays by the window. By the time the girl told you to leave her alone and you turned around, your laptop was gone). The guy must have immediately gone home and started answering your emails, because within 48 hours of losing your laptop, you and your father had reconciled your differences, your ex-girlfriend drunk dialed you, and your boss started telling everyone in the office that if they all had your attitude, the company’s stock would be through the roof already.

You check your sent mail file on Gmail and find that the guy who stole your laptop is capable of the most eloquent and evocative correspondence you’ve ever read. He was able to read into emails you’d gotten and instantly suss out what the writer was trying to say, and what the writer wanted to hear in response. And man did he tell them what they wanted to hear. Reading the emails he sent to your estranged father, ex-girlfriend, and especially your boss, you can’t help but shed a tear imagining what your life might have been like had you always had this strange man’s voice and grasp of human nature.

You decide to send an email to thank him, so you send it to yourself, assuming that he’s still reading.

Dear Guy Who Stole My Laptop,

Thanks for being me, in a way I could never be. I’m going to change my email password now.

Best

You change your email password and then you put on your good suit. You’re having dinner with your dad tonight.

Happy The Guy Who Stole Your Laptop Is Way More Likeable Than You Are Day!

PS: Hey UNITED KINGDOM, my new book is available in your part of town on July 3rd. Pre-order now!

PPS: Listen to me on NPR's "The Bryant Park Project," reading from and discussing my book.

PPPS: Another reading in NY this Friday, at KGB Bar. 7 PM. Free!

You Are A Fart Guitarist Day!

Today you’re going to quit playing fart guitar for an aspiring parody rock band that parodies popular rock songs in the vein of Weird Al, except without anyone knowing that you do it because you don’t make recordings that people can buy.

“I just don’t think there’s a future for me in Ned Bleppelin,” you’ll tell your lead singer.

“We have that gig at the orphanage in July. You’re just gonna let those kids go without hearing some funny music?”

“It’s not even a gig,” you say. “We just stand outside the orphanage’s window and play. They called the police the last time.”

This makes your lead singer cry. He grew up in that orphanage and his dream was that one day he would come back and perform there as a famous pop song parodist. After a few years of trying to make it, he grew impatient and just started playing outside the orphanage’s windows.

“What are you gonna do?” your lead singer asks.

“I’m going to join a song parody cover band” you say. “We’ll play parodies written by other people, like Al. There’s good money in it.”

“And the integrity?” he asks. “Is there much integrity to be found in that line of work?”

You shrug him off.

“Hey man, maybe one day we’ll parody one of your songs,” you say. “’My Fart Will Go On’ is bound to hit it big one day.”

Your lead singer loses his shit and starts throwing whatever he can find at you. Whoopie cushions, punching nun puppets, George W Bush masks. Whatever’s lying around the rehearsal space he sends flying at your head and cursing. You get the hell out of there and go meet your other band, Dare To Be Stupid, for practice. Tomorrow you’ll find out your former lead singer attempted suicide and is in the hospital. You won’t go visit. This is the business you’ve chosen.

PS: Pick up "You Are A Miserable Excuse For A Hero," the new book by Bob Powers. Out now!

The President's Gone Day!

It's day 6 and there's still no sign of the President of the United States. He took off over the weekend after he found out he got a staffer pregnant. She didn't want to abort and he got scared of having to raise another kid (his third), so he took off. He left a note for the Vice President that just read, "Sorry man." The nation's police forces have been instructed to treat the president's disappearance as if it were an abduction or a murder investigation. But the nation's citizens are starting to wonder whether he shouldn't just be left alone.

"He didn't want to raise a kid," people are saying to each other across dinner tables. "The Vice President can handle things. Let the guy go."

"Do we really want him to come back to his job even?" other people are saying to each other near water coolers. "If he'll run from something like this, what will he do when someone blasts us with bombs?"

"Don't blame me, I voted for Bill and Opus," some asshole just said to no one listening.

Today you're going to be driving across country to a place where you think there might be work and you're gonna pick up a hitchhiker. After driving for a bit, you'll get a look at his profile and you'll know it's him, but you won't say anything. You'll just keep going, taking your president as far as he needs to go. Just before dropping him off at a truck stop you'll say, "I ain't gonna say nothing."

"Appreciate that," the President of the United States will say. Then he'll wander around to the back parking lot of the truck stop, probably looking for his next ride. You'll drive on, feeling proud. You'll have served your country well today.

Happy The President's Gone Day!

ps: Bob's new book, "You Are A Miserable Excuse for a Hero," is out now! Pick up a copy soonish!

"You Are A Miserable Excuse For A Hero" Day!

FYI: If you haven't heard, Bob Powers' new "choose-your-own-ending" style humor book (for adults who are 33 and failing) is out today. Go check it out!

"You Are A Miserable Excuse For A Hero" Day!

You publish a magazine devoted to the Buick LeSabre. It includes all sorts of celebratory personal essays as well as fan-fiction written from the point of view of sentient Buick LeSabres who can love. Today you're going to get a call that one of your readers has taken a Buick dealership hostage because they've been putting their LeSabres in the back of the lot, away from street-view, and he won't let them go unless you show up and talk to him for a while about how awesome the Buick LeSabre is. You refuse because you're scared. Everyone at the Buick dealership is murdered execution style on the showroom floor.

Happy "You Are A Miserable Excuse For A Hero" Day!

PS:

"Miserable Excuse" excerpt up on the HuffPost

The Huffington Post ran an excerpt from my new book, out this Tuesday. Check it out.

And you can find a much longer sample, with many of the different outcomes, HERE! Give it a read.

Happy Memorial Day.

You're All Outta Love Day!

You're all outta love and you're only 46.

"I blew my love on a whole lotta people who didn't deserve it," you say at the dinner table, eyeing your two sons with scorn. Your two sons both give you the finger in response.

"Are you sure you didn't leave some of your love in your other pants," your wife says pointedly. She knows about the affair with the lady who sells you your pears.

"I should have been more miserly," you say, ignoring your wife. "What kind of man am I going to be now?"

Everyone sits and waits for you to do something that a man who's all outta love might do. Nothing happens. They get hungry and start eating again.

"Pass the salt," your son says.

"Nope," you say.

Everyone drops their forks to their plates and gasps. You realize what you've become and you drop your face into your hands and shriek.

Happy You're All Outta Love Day!

PS: Preorder YOU ARE A MISERABLE EXCUSE FOR A HERO, the new book by Bob Powers. Out May 27th!

Sex Bus Day!

You were the sole survivor of the Great Christmas Eve Sex Bus crash of 2006. You barely remember a thing after the bus crashed through the guardrail and broke through the ice on the frozen over lake. There was screaming and there was cold, and then you were lying topless on a muddy bank feeling nothing but a sharp pain behind your eyes. You have no idea why you were the only one to not get trapped inside that sinking bus along with the rest of the exotic dancers, prostitutes, and Teflon salesmen. Some say you were lucky. Others, the families of the dead, they say you were cursed. You're inclined to agree with them.

You're presently paralyzed from the waist down and your heart is broken in two because before the sex bus crash you were engaged to be married to Lenny, the owner and proprietor of Sex Bus Tours Incorporated. Lenny was driving that night. You were all the way in the back of the bus tending bar. In between were twenty-six traveling Teflon salesmen and a staff of half-nude to completely nude women giving the salesmen a Christmas Eve they would never forget. You keep going back to that night, trying harder and harder to remember the moments after the crash. You try to put yourself back there and you try to see down the cabin of the bus, peering through the mass of naked flesh and bulbous middle-aged man to catch a glimpse of your Lenny.

You're certain he would have looked back at you at the end. Even if there were only a millisecond of time, he would have put his eyes to his mirror to find you and make sure you were all right. And you would most definitely have been looking for him. You just want to remember that one last look. You want to remember the last time you saw those eyes.

You start seeing hypnotists to take you back to that night, but the Sex Bus Crash is a spooky event in your town and many hypnotists refuse your business because they don't want you to take them there. Finally, one consents to do whatever it takes to free up your memories of that night.

It's rough going, but after many sessions with the therapist you finally find yourself transported onto that bus, experiencing the crash all over again like it was happening in the present. You search the cabin, peering past all the dancers and Teflon salesmen until you finally catch a glimpse of the driver's seat...and you find it empty. Empty with the exit door open.

"But I buried him," you say. "They brought up his body and I put him in the ground."

"Did you identify him?" the hypnotist asks.

You can barely breathe. It's like you're still in that lake.

"He was underwater too long, they said," you tell the hypnotist, realizing now that the only reason you're alive is because your Lenny must have jumped out of the sex bus just before the crash, then he swam to the rear entrance and pulled you out.

And then he disappeared. Why, you have no idea. But it's time to go find out...

Happy Sex Bus Day!

PS: Pre-Order "YOU ARE A MISERABLE EXCUSE FOR A HERO," the new book by Bob Powers. Out next Tuesday, May 27th.

Hooker Wisdom Day!

Of all the Hookers on your block, Charlene is your favorite. The others are too busy looking for Johns or worrying about the cops to pay attention to you, but Charlene always takes notice of you when you come home at night. Unless she’s leaning inside a stranger’s car trying to make a sale, she’ll be sure to give you a snappy remark or quip that is infused with the wisdom of the streets. You’ll never forget all the clever truisms she’s given you over the years:

“If you get hit by a car, try to find someone who’ll take you to the hospital.”

“Hey sugar. Don’t eat uncooked chicken. It’ll make you sick.”

“What’s up stud? If you have a lot of money, keep it in the bank. They’ll give you interest.”

You always nod and reply with a “You got it Charlene, have a good night!” Then you head upstairs and put your head on your pillow to think about what Charlene said to you.

Tonight you’ll come walking home and you’ll be excited to see Charlene unoccupied. You’ve been feeling a little lost lately and you could use some good advice. When Charlene sees you, she spreads her smile wide and shows you those beautiful white teeth of hers.

“Hey Charlene,” you say.

“Hey handsome,” Charlene says back. “You know what they say don’t you?”

“What’s that Charlene?”

“No matter how much you want to drive a car, you need to get a license first. It’s illegal otherwise. You can still do it without a license, but if you got pulled over, you could get into a lot of trouble. Unless you could convince the policeman that you were on your way to an emergency or something, but that’d be pretty hard to pull off.”

You stay right where you are and you let those words of Charlene’s sink in. Your head is swimming and you can’t help it. As embarrassing as it is in front of all those hookers and all those Johns, Charlene’s words make you just drop to your knees and sob. Charlene rubs your shoulder gently with one hand while you cry before her. Then she tells you to “Get up and do what you gotta do.”

You wipe your tears away and you nod. Then you go upstairs. You turn on that television. And you watch a rerun of “King of Queens.” As you watch, you think to yourself, “Charlene was right. You really can’t drive a car unless you get a license first because it’s illegal otherwise. You can still do it without a license, but if you get pulled over you could get into a lot of trouble. You could try to convince the policeman you had an emergency, but that’s hard.”

You keep watching “King of Queens,” all the while thinking to yourself, “Thank you Charlene. Thank you.”

PS: Take a break from pre-ordering my book to pre-order Rebecca Barry's LATER, AT THE BAR, a fantastic book of fiction about upstate New York drunks, out next week in paperback. It's Girls Are Pretty Approved!

Bodybuilders Should Date Bodybuilders Day!

You're a bodybuilder who loves to whale on your abs and glutes, and you're falling in love with a girl who barely weighs a hundred pounds and doesn't have a muscle on her whole body. Your bodybuilder friends are really rude to her when you bring her to Muscle Beach.

"What are you doing with that softy dude? Bodybuilders stick with bodybuilders. We understand each other's need to whale on our delts," your best friend counsels you.

"I don't see why we have to be so limited in our perspective," you tell him. "There's strength of heart too, you know."

What are you gonna do if you move in with that girl and you want to arm wrestle somebody?" your friend says. "Heck you'll probably rip her arm out of her socket during a thumb wrestling match."

Your girlfriend will over hear this exchange and she'll leave a note in your mailbox telling you that she loves you but she doesn't want to cause you any trouble with your bodybuilding social circles. You'll run and track her down but it'll be too late. She'll have already enlisted in the army and been shipped off to Iraq.

Happy Bodybuilders Should Date Bodybuilders Day!

PS: Preorder Bob Powers' new book, out May 27th!

It’s Your Boss’ Birthday Day!

Get him a pony. Just walk it in this morning with a big bow and a “Happy Birthday” ribbon around its neck and park it next to you desk. When your boss asks what’s with the pony, tell him he’ll have to wait until the afternoon when it’s cake-time before he gets his gifts.

Your boss will bring you into his office and tell you to get rid of the pony.

“But I bought it for you,” say. “Don’t you want your present?”

Your boss will say that a pony is inappropriate, and he’ll accuse you of trying to imply that he’s childish.

“So I spent 53,000 dollars on your birthday gift and you accuse me of being underhanded?”

Your boss will apologize.

“You’re a real baby, you know that?” you’ll say.

Your boss will say, there, that’s what he’s talking about.

“You want you rattle baby?”

Your boss will tell you that you go a long long way to try to undermine him. Like the time you built a giant crib and put his desk in the middle of it.

“Just because Dad made me President and you Vice President,” he’ll say.

“I’m two years older than you,” tell him. “I will not take orders from my younger brother. This company is called Linus and Sons. Not Linus and One Son Who’s a Little More Important Than The Other Son, Even Though The Other Son Is Older.”

Your boss will throw his pen at the wall and ask what the Pony’s name is.

“I though you could name him,” tell him.

“I want to name him Aragon,” your boss will say.

“Aragon,” you’ll repeat.

“Aragon,” he’ll say again, with majesty.

You’ll both sit quietly, then, “Thank you for my present.”

Just shrug, then lean out his door and whistle. Aragon will come walking into your boss’s office. You’ll go back to your desk and your boss will spend the rest of the day brushing Aragon’s coat.

Happy It’s Your Boss’ Birthday Day!

PS: Preorder Bob Powers' new book, out May 27th!

Middle-Aged Riot Day!

Tomorrow, when they ask who started it all and why, they’ll put your picture on the screen and they’ll show some video of your sons, who will tell a reporter that they haven’t spoken to you since your divorce from their mom and so they can’t say they know why you threw that garbage can through the plate glass window of a Whole Foods. They’ll find your wife tomorrow too, and she’ll tell them that you were very charismatic and she can understand why so many middle-aged men and women followed your lead and started hunting down twenty-year-olds to strip naked and strap to the roofs of cabs so that people still in their offices can toss garbage and sandwich meats from conference room catering trays out their windows and onto the twenty-year-olds’ bellies. They’ll find some of your followers who weren’t put into the police trucks and they’ll ask them if they knew who you were or what they hoped to accomplish.

“HE! IS! OUR! VOICE!” your fifties-ish followers will say. They will be shirtless and they will have bricks in their hands, waiting for the next chance to regroup and tear up the financial district.

No one will know what set you off today. No one will know if you were apprehended or where you were taken. They’ll know only what was done, not why. They’ll know that their parents haven’t been home in a day and they might either be in prison or hitching a ride out of the lives they've spent three decades building.

Late tomorrow, a surveillance video will be accessed and leaked to CNN. It will show a grainy black and white image of you walking out of your office building. The timecode will be today at 3 PM. You’ll stop and crane your head back to catch some raindrops on your tongue. Then you’ll lunge forward and shove a passing bike messenger off of his bike. You’ll stomp on the bike messenger’s torso, and several other middle-aged people who were smoking outside will join you in your beat-down. Then you’ll crane your head back again and howl at the sky. When you take off running, dozens will be following you, as if your howl were a rallying cry. You’re gonna start a middle-aged riot today, and it’s been a long time coming.

Happy Middle-Aged Riot Day!

PS: Buy Bob Powers' new book, out May 27th!

Have Sex So Forgettable You'll Go Home And Slap Your Mama Day!

Today you should have sex that is so completely forgettable and not even worth the mess that you'll get on a plane and fly back to your mama's house so you can slap her across the face because she never told you sex could be so "eh."

"You're withholding," your Mama will say, rubbing her cheek where you slapped her. "You got that from me."

"But I want to give of myself completely and totally to another," you'll say. "I want to lose myself in strange flesh."

"Psssh," your mother will say. "If you figure out how to do that be sure and send me the handbook when you're done, kay?"

You'll slap your mother again. She'll slap you back and then overturn the coffee table separating the two of you. Both of you grab a weapon and settle this once and for all.

Have Sex So Forgettable You'll Go Home And Slap Your Mama Day!

PS: Preorder Bob Powers' new book, out May 27th!

Pay Your Uncle Pete To Ask You To Be An Assassin Day!

At around 1PM today, have your Uncle Pete show up to your social studies class dressed in all black. He’ll knock on the door and the teacher will let him in, thinking he’s a responsible adult who has something important to share. Then he’ll find you and he’ll say what you told him to say, word for word.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your studies, but I can’t take no for an answer when we both know that life as a highly paid killer is your destiny. Will you join our Secret Order of International Assassins? At fourteen you would be the youngest ever to have been recruited, but you will also be the most deadly. You have the gift of bloodshed, and you can use it for good if you take control now.”

He’ll come to your desk and get on his knees.

“Goddammit son, don’t let your evil talent fall into the wrong hands. Kill for us and you’ll earn vast sums of wealth, share the company of beautiful women, and ensure that the United States of America remains the greatest country on the planet.”

Say this to your Uncle.

“Rise.”

Your Uncle will get up from his knees.

“When I finish speaking, you have thirty seconds to leave my presence. Don’t pretend you know what stuff I’m made of. You know nothing of my gifts and you could never comprehend what I am capable of. If I kill, it will be at my own will, not because some nameless customer has paid a bill or a spineless president has let things spiral out of control. I am my own person, and you should respond to me with only one emotion. Fear. Now go, or yours will be the first blood that I shed.”

Your Uncle will then run out of the classroom. Your teacher and classmates will be silent for a minute. Raise your hand and ask your teacher if you can use the hall pass. By the time you return from the bathroom, you will have transformed from the school’s loneliest Magic The Gathering player to the school’s most talented killer who is as conflicted over his gifts as he is highly trained.

You’ll most definitely get invited to the end of the year wippets party in the woods behind the V.A. Hospital. It’s just a question of whose invitation you’ll say yes to, while giving all the others an “I’ll think about it.” Just don’t forget to give your Uncle the 30 bucks you promised him. That unemployed son of a bitch earned his keep this week. If only your Dad thought so.

Happy Pay Your Uncle Pete To Ask You To Be An Assassin Day!

PS: Preorder Bob Powers' newest book, out May 27th!

Stop The Rise In Girl Crime Day!

When you were a little boy and girls would tease you on the playground because you were so cute, you wanted them put behind bars for their crimes. You used to dream that one day you’d have the power to dole out the punishment girls deserve for crossing the line of justice.

When you turned 21 you opened up a private detective’s office, focusing only on solving girl-crime. Your slogan was, “If a girl did it, I’ll chase her for a reasonable fee.”

In your twelve years in operation you had a pretty good record and a pretty lonely life. But the new mayor is a woman and she had your license taken away because she says you’re prejudiced against girls.

“I leave the judging for the judge. I just capture,” you said. “Just so happens I capture girls and girls only.”

The newspaper columnists said you probably only capture girls because you get to pat them down to make sure they don’t have any weapons. You wrote a letter to the editor saying that’s ridiculous because girls are gross. But the rumors persisted.

Since you lost your license, girl crime has risen 740% with over 900 murders attributed to girls. Even girls who seemed to be on the track to a productive, law-abiding life suddenly turned to crime because they saw the opportunity to get away with it. In addition to all the crime, the town has become overrun with sociologists looking to study the girl crime wave and its feminine causes.

The mayor is going to pay a visit to your apartment today, where you’ve been drinking and feeling useless ever since you were stripped of your license, and she’s going to ask you to get back in the detective game and stop girl crime. Naturally, since this is the first time a girl will have been in your apartment, you’ll fall in love with the mayor, and you’ll stop wanting to wipe out girl crime because the mayor will make you think girls aren’t so bad. But the mayor only wants to use you to clean up the town, and when she makes that clear, your broken heart will turn you into an anti-girl vigilante and you’ll go out and fill up the jails and morgues with hundreds of girl outlaws over the course of one weekend. This, now, will make the mayor fall in love with you, but you won’t return her feelings. You fell for a girl’s tricks once, and you’re not gonna let it happen again.

Happy Stop The Rise In Girl Crime Day!