Wednesday, January 19, 2011


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Weather Reports From The Dead Day!

You are haunted by a ghost who every night enters your room through the wall and wakes you with a high-pitched, eardrum piercing scream, the kind of scream that can only come from the mouth of someone being tortured by the cruelest of hell's minions. The ghost eventually stops screaming and looks around your room as if he's surprised to be there. When his eyes finally land on you, his eyes bulge in his sockets and turn black. Then he tells you what the weather will be like in the morning.

"Gonna rain. Just danced on some of the drops about 40 miles from here. Headed this way."

"Sunny tomorrow. You'll really be able to see the faces of those whose grins you covet."

"Snow's a comin'."

For some reason, whenever it's going to snow, he always says, "Snow's a comin'."

Today you're going to do some research to find out who lived in your house before you. After many hours at the microfiche machine, you'll find out you're being haunted by the ghost of Ichabod Proulx, who was known by many as "The most boring man in town!"

Happy Weather Reports From The Dead Day!

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Two Salesmen At The End Of Their Lives Day!

Jack Rafferty, the number one salesman of aluminum siding for eight years straight from 1965 to 1973, is going to pay a visit to you, the number two salesman of aluminum siding for those same years. You overtook him in 1974, and he turned to drugs, alcohol, guns, sex clubs, and neo-nazism.

"I took it a little hard," Jack will tell you. "Not being number one anymore. Couldn't even enjoy it while I had it because I just kept fearing you and the way you were nipping at my heels."

Tell Jack that for years you thought that nothing else mattered except overtaking him on the sales board. But once you finally pulled it off, it hurt to watch the way Jack tumbled down that slope into drugs, alcohol, guns, sex clubs, and neo-futurism.

"Nazism," Jack will correct you.

"Sorry," say.

Tell him you actually hated him even more once you became number one. "I couldn't bask in the light at the top because I couldn't take my eyes off of you, as you raced for the bottom."

Jack will say, "Glad that's all behind us now."

"We can just be men," say to him.

"Dying men. How long you got?"

Tell him your doctor says you have six months to live.

Jack's eyes will go wide. That old fire will spark to light. "Me too," he'll say.

Neither of you will say a word, but each of you will silently and unequivocally devote the rest of his short life to outliving the other. Nothing else will matter to either of you, except the dream of one day standing topside by your rival's freshly dug grave. WHO WILL GET THE TOP SPOT ON THAT BIG SALES BOARD CALLED LIFE????

Happy Two Salesmen At The End Of Their Lives Day!

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

The Thing Where You See Your Bully Getting Beat Up By His Dad Day!

Today you're going to have that thing where you see your bully getting beat up by his Dad. It's the bully who is constantly shoulder-checking you into lockers and occasionally spitting on your chair in Social Studies just before you sit down, the one who you hate, who ruins school for you every single day. You have a fantasy of how awesome it will be when you're all grown up and you come back to town from the big job as a lawyer for Hollywood movie studios that you're going to have, pulling into a gas station in your Mercedes Benz with your doctor husband holding your beautiful twin daughters on his lap and you'll look out and see the bully, fat and bald and waiting to pump your gas. You'll say, "That's the bully who used to make my life hell." Then you'll tell him to fill er up and make it quick.

That fantasy won't seem so fun anymore after today, because it's hard to feel bad for a bully after you see him getting beat up by his dad, like you're about to see. You'll be leaving the Putt Putt with your parents when you'll hear a commotion in the parking lot. You'll look over and see your bully and his dad with their fists up, circling each other, each of them looking for that little piece of real estate that they can throw a punch through and connect. The dad will be trash talking and your bully will be quiet and maybe a little scared. Your bully will throw a big left hook and miss wildly. His dad will take the opportunity to send three hard rights into your bully's gut, making him double over. His dad will raise his fists in the air and do a little dance, making one or two spectators cheer him on. Your bully will get some wind back in his lungs and he'll take his spot in front of his dad, sending a quick right into his Dad's nose for a good connect. His dad will shake it off, even as the blood starts to pour forth, then he'll sock his son in the left eye and the right side of the head, a combo that sends his son, your bully, careening into a parked LeSabre. His Dad won't wait for him to get back on his feet. He'll crowd him against the LeSabre and send a succession of blows into your bully's kidneys, one after the other. Your bully will roll out and show some real pluck when he manages to duck his Dad's roundhouse and then send a left up into his dad's chin, causing his dad to bite down on his tongue and fill his eyes up with tears. Your bully will dance back a few paces then rush in, maybe a little too soon. His dad will hop to the left, recover his stance and unload on your bully with a succession of hits to the face and gut from which, anyone can see, there will be no recovery. The hits won't stop for maybe 30 seconds before your bully finally tumbles backward, flattens on the blacktop of the parking lot, his head making a loud clap when it clicks back on his neck. Lights out for your bully as his dad does a victory dance to the cheers and applause of the Putt Putt patrons waiting to get into their cars and go home.

You won't be able to help but feel bad for your bully after that, even though you have no reason to feel bad for him. It was a fair fight between him and his dad and he lost, plain and simple. That's no justification for him being mean to you. Still, you can't help but want to reach out to him and let him know you understand what he's going through. And that's exactly what you're going to do.

"Hey," you'll say to him. "I know you're only being a bully to me because your Dad keeps beating you up. Problem is you're too heavy on your left foot and you leave your gut wide open."

"So what turdbrain," he'll say. "What's it to you?"

"Lemme train you," tell him. "Gimme three months. After I'm through with you, you'll knock your dad down flat. I don't waste time on losers."

"What's in it for you?" he'll ask.

"I come through for you, you gotta come through for me. No more shoving me into lockers. No more spitting on my chair. No more bullying me of any kind. Deal?"

The bully will think about it.

"Deal," he'll say.

You and your bully will shake on it, then you'll start training every day for four hours a day, nearly breaking his body into pieces while building his spirit into something not even a tank could topple, and you'll almost fall in love but you'll manage to keep it in check, both of you knowing full well that he's gotta keep that love in his heart if he's ever gonna beat the living shit out of his old man.

Happy The Thing Where You See Your Bully Getting Beat Up By His Dad Day!

Monday, January 10, 2011

Breakfast With Two Guys You Don't Remember Meeting Day!

You're at a diner in a booth shoveling some French Toast into your hole when you look up and you realize you have no idea who the other two guys at the table are. You were laughing together just a few minutes ago, though you don't remember at what. One of the guys has an eye that's clouding up with blood, and you have bruised knuckles. Yesterday was your daughter's birthday so you went out drinking to forget about the last time you saw her back in 96. That's about all the data you have on the situation right now.

"Where'd you two come from anyway?" ask them.

"Oh thank Christ," the one with the eye will say. "I was worried I was the only one who didn't know who the hell you two were."

The other one, in the Mariners cap, he'll start to chuckle. "I just been sitting here hoping someone I know might come in so I can introduce him to you two, but do that thing where I only give my friend's name and force you guys to introduce yourselves."

"Yeah I do that too," say. "At parties. I'm terrible with names."

"Me too," the eye will say.

"But never this bad," say. "I mean, it's like you two were beamed down here by an alien craft."

You'll all share a moment of silence. Were aliens involved? you'll wonder.

"Let's retrace our steps," the Mariners hat will say.

"Okay," the Eye will say. "Yesterday afternoon I went out drinking. Went to Johnny's Local."

You and the Mariners hat will nod. "Yep, Johnny's Local," you'll both say.

No one will have anything to add.

"Man," the Eye will say. "Guess we had a fun night. This is just like that movie The Hangover!"

"You bet," Mariners hat will say.

"Except I'm 53," you'll say. "I'm around the corner from my one-room apartment, the one I'll probably be found dead in after someone notices an odor, and it's Monday morning. And it's cold."

The Mariners hat will lower his head and his shoulders will shake with sobs. The Eye will just keep eating his breakfast.

"Don't care what you guys think," the Eye will say. "The fact that I can't remember yesterday means I can decide how things went down. And I decide that me and my two new best friends had the most fun three middle-aged guys can have."

The Mariners hat will stop crying. You'll raise your coffee cup for a toast, and you'll all three clink your mugs and agree to meet at Johnny's Local every Sunday afternoon from here on in. Then the police will come and arrest the Mariners cap on an outstanding warrant.

Happy Breakfast With Two Guys You Don't Remember Meeting Day!

Friday, January 07, 2011

No One Cares If The Matchmaker Ever Falls In Love Day!

"We never would have met if it wasn't for you," they say. "I was so alone, wondering if I'd ever find anyone who liked sex to be exactly as violent and food-based as I do. But then you came along and with your meddling ways, you introduced me to some guy you met once at a book club or AA or something, and love was instant."

"We're going to name him after you," they say. "We decided that it's only right that our first born carry your name, since he never would have come into being had you not been so bored with your own life that you had to start steering the lives of others. Whether it's because you're afraid of intimacy or because you think you're unlovable and therefore your romantic instincts should only be used to help others, you gave us love. You gave us our child. For that, we thank you."

"It was real cool of you to introduce me to your friend after I told you I could never be attracted to you," they say. Oh they say it.

You've devoted your life to bringing happiness and warmth into the lives of others while you yourself must spend every night alone, on the floor by the wall, crying into the electrical sockets. No one bothers to return the favor to you with anything more than another word of gratitude. You know full well their expression of thanks is just another excuse for them to tell the story about how they met, like it was some momentous occasion everyone's supposed to care about, as if we're all supposed to know where we were on the night Jenny and Johnny first laid eyes on each other, the way we remember where we were on the day they announced the new Star Wars movies or 9/11.

Tonight you'll gather all those couples you fixed up at your home because you have an announcement to make.

"Jeff and Annie, Maurice and Alana, Kevin and Kevin, George and Bharati, Paul and Tatiana, Jenny and Johnny, Heather and Doris, Terance and Susan, Giovanni and Pam, Colleen and Steve, Eunice and Bill, Harry and Paula, and Frank and Maryanne, I've brought you all here tonight because I have an announcement to make."

They'll all stop talking to each other about their respective relationships, trying to top one another on the subject of who takes the more interesting vacations, to hear what you have to say.

"I'm going away," tell them. "To live in a cave in a barren, rocky land where I'll meet no one and share my life with nothing. I'm practically living that way already, and seeing as there appears to be no reason for me to assume I'll ever have love in my life the way you all do..."

That was a mistake. A few of the couples will start talking about something cute that happened over the Christmas holiday, something about buying each other the same gifts. They'll try to shout over each other.

"Quiet!" say. "Since I have no reason to believe I'll ever find someone to love me, I'm going to remove myself from society so that I don't have to enter conversations at parties and experience that faint flicker of warmth when I imagine someone possibly wanting to share time with me, only to have that warmth hastily extinguished when they ask whether I know anyone who is single, leaving me colder than ever, wishing I'd never left the safe comfort of my afghans at home."

You'll wait for them to express some kind of wish that you'd stay, but they'll just kind of stare at you.

"So, I guess this is it," you'll say. "This is the last you'll see of me. I'm leaving in the morning, setting fire to most of my possessions once I get to a vacant lot."

Now they're staring at each other. Mooning.

"So, goodbye," say to them.

Finally, one of them will come forward with his glass raised.

"A toast," he'll say. "To the one person in the world without whom I never would have found the love of my life."

That will make them nearly claw at each other, practically screaming their similar declarations of the one, true and incomparable love that wouldn't have been possible without you. Some fights will break out when they start to doubt each other's love. There'll be some trash talk and someone's blouse will be ripped. In the midst of the melee you'll decide to leave early for your cave, slipping out the front door and leaving a note asking that they not lock the door because the realtor will be showing the place in the morning.

Happy No One Cares If The Matchmaker Ever Falls In Love Day!

Thursday, January 06, 2011

Alive Americans In Crisis Day!

Raise your voice and declare yourself:

"I am an alive American. I have been alive for __ years now, and every day is harder than the last. But I will remain alive, breathing, interacting with people behind cash registers and people who want to use the ketchup on my table at the diner, until I get hit by a car or something.

People think I am staying alive just for the attention and the fried foods. They are wrong. I am staying alive because I am frightened that dying hurts.

People think I am staying alive because I want to be congratulated. They are wrong. I am staying alive because I can pretty much be counted on to do what everyone else does, because I don't like to stray too far from the herd.

People think I am staying alive because of the Summer Olympics. They are kind of right. I do enjoy watching the Summer Olympics. But they come around so infrequently that it's not enough.

I am an Alive American. I vote. I pay taxes. I fall in love and I experience heartbreak and I battle substance addictions and I sometimes get really into TV shows and spend weekends watching all the episodes in a row on DVD.

I am an Alive American and I'm cold, bored, and there's nothing I want to buy."

Good. Now lay in bed for another 45 minutes, then roll over the side and onto the floor so you can crawl into the bathroom and take a shower.

Happy Alive Americans In Crisis Day!

Wednesday, January 05, 2011

Divorced Superintendent Day!

He hangs out in the hallway now, asking all the tenants who pass if everything's okay in their apartments. He's knocked on your door three times to offer to double-check your radiators to make sure they're distributing the optimum level of heat.

"I found this shower head," he told you on one of these impromptu visits. He held up a variable speed shower head, still in the plastic. "I can attach it if your shower's been weak."

You thanked him but let him now that you already have the exact same shower head in your shower.

"That must be a spare," you said.

He said it's good to have spares on hand. You don't want to find yourself one day, caught unawares, with nothing left.


Like most of these recent visits, he shuffled away without saying goodbye.

Today when you come home he's going to be sitting on your stoop. You'll ask if everything's okay.

"I'm thinking of traveling," he'll say. "Seeing some things in this country. Before I'm too old."

You'll say that sounds great.

"Nothing keeping me here anymore," he'll say. "Nobody expecting me home."

You'll tell him you'll miss his being your super. "Send me a postcard. You have the address."

In a few months you'll receive a postcard from the Grand Canyon. On the back, a message from your Super: "Our problems are really small compared to the world. Also, the landlord once asked me to install a camera in your bathroom but I refused. Thanks for the talks."

Happy Divorced Superintendent Day!

Tuesday, January 04, 2011

Competitive Cyclists Should Just Do What People With Seasonal Affective Disorder Tell Them To Do Day!

Today you're going to be abducted and held for ransom by a woman with Seasonal Affective Disorder.

"I don't need the money," she'll tell you while she pastes newsprint onto a piece of construction paper to form the ransom demand she'll send to your wife. "I just do this because it's what people expect. I just hate the fucking winter and I need someone around to talk to about it. Fuck it's cold."

You'll ask her to let you go.

"Not till Spring. Jesus, it's so fucking gray outside. Isn't it too fucking gray?"

You won't say anything.

"Agree that it's too fucking gray or I'll lock you in the storm cellar with no food. There's water bugs down there."

You'll tell her it's too fucking gray.

"So depressing," she'll say. "Doesn't it just make you want to crawl into a tree trunk and die?"

Say, "Yes."

After mailing your ransom demand your kidnapper will come home and make a giant pot of stew. It will taste really good. You'll spend the next three months watching cop shows and eating hot stew and talking about how cold it is. One day you'll say to her, "I kind of like the coziness of winter sometimes" and she'll break your right knee with the fireplace poker, which will be devastating to you because you're a competitive cyclist.

Happy Competitive Cyclists Should Just Do What People With Seasonal Affective Disorder Tell Them To Do Day!

Monday, January 03, 2011

With The High Heels Still On Day!

You're old and dying and some people you're related to have crowded around your bed to ask you if there's anything you've never done that you still want to do.

"I've been watching the videos," you rasp to them. "The dirty ones. I wish I could have done like the girls in the videos and had sex with the high heels still on."

Of the people you're related to, the older ones look concerned. They brought their children for you to see once more, to give them a chance to say goodbye to their grandma. But it sounds like you're about to go off on one of your "those videos" tangents.

"In those videos," you gasp at them. "The girls look so sleek, smooth as new cars, and I think it's because they leave their high heels on. Like they know that there's no point when a lady shouldn't try to look her best, even when she's on her back letting strange men do their worst. The men have no need for the feet so why not keep them dolled up in the pretty high heeled shoes. I wish I had kept my high heels on when I used to put my feet on your grandfather's shoulders."

The children have been ushered out of the room by now, and some of your descendents are telling you to shhhh.

"I don't want you to pay any men to come here and fulfill my dying wish," you whisper, holding one of the many hands extended to you. "Don't trouble yourselves. Some regrets we take with us to the grave to keep us company."

They're used to your passive aggressive tactics and normally they'd call you on something like this. But you're on your deathbed and they don't want to fight, so one of your sons-in-law has gone off to find enough wifi to search through adultfriendfinder and see who's still taking out-calls in your hospital's zip code.

Happy With The High Heels Still On Day!

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Break Up With Your Reanimated Boyfriend Day!

You tried dating for a little while after your boyfriend died, but most of the guys you met were jerkoffs. So you spent a few weeks descending into the mad sciences of reanimation (you can take a course online) and you perfected the technology to bring your boyfriend back to life.

Now that he's back, you're glad to not have to sleep alone anymore, but after a few nights you started remembering all the things that bugged you about him (the way he picks his toenails in the bathroom with the door open, the way he'd occasionally try to make a story funnier by talking in "black voice") and there are a whole bunch of new things he does that bug you now that he's returned from the dead (when the black pus leaks from his eye sockets he likes lick it off his fingertip, and also his legs are really stiff so you have to wheel him around on a handtruck whenever you want to go out to dinner). You're realizing that you painted him in kind of a rosey light when he was dead, and now you're regretting having reanimated his corpse. It's time to break the news to him.

"I don't think we should see each other anymore," say to him.

"It's all right," he'll say, shocking you with his instant understanding. "I'm grateful that you took the time to bring me back to the living, but you deserve better than a guy who feels spontaneous electric currents pulsing through his limbs, causing him to thrash about with great force."

"Wow," you'll say. "You are just...such a great guy. I was really worried--"

Just then one of those pulses of electricity will cause his right arm to swing out wide, knocking your head off of your neck as easily as if you were a plastic doll. He will mourn you briefly, then he will trudge off to a castle and wait to be hunted for having popped the head off of a pretty young girl.

Happy Break Up With Your Reanimated Boyfriend Day!

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Corporate Dennis Day!

Everyone in town hates Corporate Dennis because the only thing Corporate Dennis cares about is the bottom line. As far as Corporate Dennis is concerned, things like the arts and charity and loving one another should be considered hobbies that you try and squeeze in on your free time if you have it. Corporate Dennis isn’t interested in anything that can’t be monetized, which is why you’re so ashamed to have gone back to his place with him last weekend, and why you’re doubly ashamed to have allowed him to come over to your place when he called you late last night.

Right now Corporate Dennis is sitting in the chair by your bedroom window staring at you, still under your blankets. What are we doing he’s asking you. There’s nothing about you and me that benefits either of us financially.

Shrug your naked shoulders and tell Corporate Dennis you don’t want it to continue between you two, but you also don’t want him to do anything else but crawl back under the covers and make you feel the way he made you feel last night.

I feel it too is what Corporate Dennis is telling you right now. I don’t see the point in anything but putting my lips on your skin. I don’t want to go anywhere except inside of you.

I hate you, tell Corporate Dennis. I blame you for everything that’s wrong with this country. I get excited when I hear about bad things happening to you.

And yet Corporate Dennis is asking you.

And yet I want you to chew me up and leave nothing left Corporate Dennis.

Corporate Dennis is back in your bed now, and he’s asking are we a metaphor for capitalism and its nefarious effect on even the purest of souls?

No, tell Corporate Dennis. We’re just a girl and a boy in a bed in a room.

Happy Corporate Dennis Day!

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

The Mission To Find Out What Happened Up There Day!

Your father was an astronaut, one of the ones who went up in a rocket but when he came back he was someone else. Same body, same face, different Daddy. You're certain of it.

"He was one of the best," the head of NASA will say to you during your interview today. "Any child of your father will always have a home at NASA."

Tell the head of NASA that the reason you've decided to become an astronaut is to go out there into space and find whatever it is out there that changed your Daddy into the blank xerox copy of the man that got sent back home.

The head of NASA will nod his head. "You aren't the first. In fact, there's a whole shuttle mission being staffed up with nothing but kids of astronauts who want to find the alien sons of bitches who sent their parents home full of static and dead stares. We want you on board."

The head of NASA will hand you a contract that says you want to sign on for The Mission To Find Out What Happened Up There.

You'll give the contract a quick read. "But you're sending us up there to wipe them out. Not to bring back. Not to study."

The head of NASA will say, "Of course." But he'll look away when he does because he doesn't want you to guess that the only reason you're being sent into space is because the beings who changed your Daddy and all the other Daddies aren't up there in the cosmos, they're RIGHT HERE IN THE NASA OFFICE BUILDING BECAUSE NASA IS RUN BY ALIENS! Also, once you're out of the Earth's orbit they're going to pump a gas into your craft that murders you all in a few breaths. You can't fight NASA, kiddo.

Monday, December 20, 2010

You Stink Of Tears Day!

Today your cubicle mate is going to lean in close to you and jokingly wave his hand in front of his nose.

“Pew!” he’ll say. “Smells like tears over here.”

“Sorry Larry,” you’ll say to him. You’ll start crying again.

Larry will put his hand on your shoulder. Then your upper back. He’ll rub his palm on your upper back, like your mother used to.

“Is it because you confessed your love to me on Friday, and I said that it could never work out between us, but then I kissed you anyway and we went to your place and had sex all night Friday and all day Saturday, then on Sunday I said that I still don’t think it will work out between us, but I hope we can still share a cubicle. Then on Sunday night I called you and said to come over to my place, which took you ninety minutes and two trains. Then after we had sex I told you it still won’t work out between us and I’d like you to go, and so you had to go back out into the cold in the middle of the night and wait an hour for the first of your two trains to arrive, only so that you could go home and call me over and over again, leaving me voicemails that I deleted without listening.”

“You didn’t listen to my voicemails?” you’ll ask.

“Pssh, hell no,” Larry will say.

You’ll decide right then and there that Larry’s not worth your tears. You’ll stop crying, get up from your desk, march into your boss’s office and quit. The job market being what it is you won’t work again until 2013.

Happy You Stink Of Tears Day!

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Meet Her By The Fandango Ticketing Machines Day!

She said she has a husband and a daughter and she can’t just give them up for some torrid affair with a man she met on the train. She said she has to get you out of her life, that she has to cut it off, once and for all, because you’re all she can think about and it’s time for her to think about her family again. She said it has to be goodbye, that she can’t go on with the lunchtime hotel rooms and the lies about working late. She said it’s over.

“If that’s really your decision, I’ll respect it,” you said. ”But if you change your mind, tomorrow evening you can find me at the Sony Loews Cinerama Dome Stadium 28 where I’ll be seeing Faster starring Dwayne Johnson. If when you wake up in the morning you still want it to be over, I’ll never contact you again. But if tomorrow you find you’ve changed your mind, meet me at the Sony Loews Cinerama Dome by the Fandango ticketing machines in the lobby at 7:10 PM. The movie starts at 7:40 and I like to get there a half-hour early to get good seats.”

She said she means it, it’s over, and you’re going to be seeing that movie by yourself tomorrow.

“I wouldn’t be able to make it through the night if I believed that,” you told her. ”I already bought two tickets. When I get to the theater tomorrow, I’m going to buy two Dasanis, two Dove Brand Cream Pops, and two trays of Nacho Cheese Hot Pretzel Bites. Meet me there. Meet me by the Fandango ticketing machines.”

She told you to stop it. Stop tempting her. You grabbed her by her shoulders, the both of you in tears.

“Meet me there!” you shouted. ”Meet me by the Fandango ticketing machines! I love you too much to let you walk away from happiness like this. Tomorrow you are going to go to the Sony Loews Cinerama Dome Stadium 28 and you are going to meet me by the Fandango ticketing machines no later than 7:10 PM and you and I are going to see Faster starring Dwayne Johnson. Do you hear me you beautiful little girl?”

She shook her head no.

“Meet me there,” you said.

She shook her head no.

“Meet me there,” you said one last time.

It’s 7:18. You can feel the Nacho Cheese Hot Pretzel Bites getting cold. The Dove Brand Cream Pops are turning to mush. You wish that the theater were more crowded, that there might be too many faces gathered around the Fandango ticketing machines for you to be sure. But you’ve studied every face, and none of them are hers.

You drop her Nacho Cheese Hot Pretzel Bites into a garbage bin, along with both of the Dove Brand Cream Pops. You take one last look around the lobby. The area surrounding the Fandango ticketing machines is desolate, as if the other moviegoers knew the area had been reserved for heartbreak. You consider throwing away her ticket as well, but you decide to hang onto it. The last thing to remember her by, a movie ticket she refused to claim.

You make your way to the up escalator. It’s blocked by a suitcase.

Her hand is still on the handle. She’s smiling at you through tears. You take the suitcase from her. You take it because you’re worried if you don’t, she’ll change her mind and run back outside.

“I’m afraid I threw away one of the trays of Nacho Cheese Hot Pretzel Bites,” you say to her.

“Then we’ll just have to share,” she says.

You rise. The escalator carries you. You float higher and higher, fleeing the world below, so that you can begin your life together in Theater 12 for the 7:40 screening of Faster starring Dwayne Johnson.

Happy Meet Her By The Fandango Ticketing Machines Day!

Monday, December 06, 2010

Find A Reason, Any Reason Day!

Maybe it's because you got messed up when you were a kid after your adoptive mom met your biological dad and fell in love with him and then your adoptive dad hooked up with your biological mom but they realized it was just a vengeance boff so it didn't work out. Or perhaps someone locked you in a locker for twelve minutes when you were in middle school. Whatever the reason is, you need to find it today. Might be that you need a reason to finally say "you know what, fuck this" to the Clown College T.A. you've been banging for a grade bump on your mid-term, or maybe you're looking for a reason to finally write that letter to Richard Roeper telling him how much he got wrong in his review of "Faster." No one cares what you need the reason for, we're just rooting for you to find one. It's rare in life that anyone gets to behave in a manner that is 100% justified, but we think you can be the first. Get back in therapy. You need a hand with this.

Happy Find A Reason, Any Reason Day!

Wednesday, December 01, 2010

Your Son Joined A Rock Band Day!

They're in the driveway waiting to take him away to the life of rock n roll.

"Let me talk to them," say.

Go outside and approach the coolest one in the band, the one with the longest feathers dangling from his ear ring.

"Do you all do drugs?" you'll ask.

The rock band member will say yes.

"When you do drugs, will you keep an eye on my son to make sure he doesn't do too many?"

The rock band member will shrug and say he guesses.

"I assume there are girls in that van," say to him.

He'll raise his hand for you to high-five him. Do so.

"Any of them dead?"

The rock band member will shrug and say he's no doctor.

"If my son ever has sex with a girl and she dies, will you help him get rid of the body? Help him hide it in the drop ceiling of a hotel room?"

The rock band member will say they have an agreement. You have sex with it and it dies, it's your responsibility.

"So you believe in responsibility," say to him. "That makes me feel more comfortable."

The other band members will stop playing air guitar and air keyboards so that they can set fire to your recycling containers. Watch the blaze rise and know that there's nothing you can do.

"Rock n roll," say.

"Rock n roll," the rock band member will concur.

Turn to your son. "You're 14 now. I can't tell you what to do anymore. This seems like a rock band you can trust. I give you my blessing."

Say goodbye and hug him to your chest. His fishnet top will get caught in the buttons of your shirt. You and your son will laugh. The last time you'll laugh together, because rock n roll is going to change him. Rock n roll changes everybody in the end.

Happy Your Son Joined A Rock Band Day!

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Start Collecting Your Teardrops In A Jar Day!

If you start collecting your tears in a jar then one day you'll be able to tie someone who's made you cry to a chair and pour the jar of tears down his or her throat so that he or she can literally choke on your tears. Make sure when you pour the jar of tears down the person's throat that you pour it really fast to ensure that they'll choke. If they manage to just swallow your tears, that's a sign of strength or resolve or something, and all this collecting your tears in a jar stuff will have been for no other reason than to make the person who made you cry feel good about him or herself. Though, the "swallow my tears" thing is usually about swallowing your own tears. Swallowing someone else's tears just means you managed not to choke when someone poured a jar of tears down your throat.

This making someone choke on your tears thing is worrisome. Just start collecting your tears in a jar (do it by crying over an open jar!) then when the time comes maybe we'll just have you throw it in someone's face or pour it down the waistband of their sweatpants or something.

Happy Start Collecting Your Teardrops In A Jar Day!

Monday, November 29, 2010

The Ballerina With The Terrible Father Day!

You are the ballerina with the terrible father, the father who yells and did the hitting in the house before Mom got away. He's the father that the neighbors shake their heads about when they hear the yelling and the drinking. You find your escape in grace.

"Such grace," says one of the dozens of ballet critics watching you float like a feather on your show's big opening night. You're the star of the ballet about the kitchen utensil that comes to life but instead of murdering the whole town it dances.

"You know hers is the terrible father," says the other ballet critic.

"She clearly finds her escape in grace," the first ballet critic says except now he's getting shushed because shut up!

Everything will seem to be going smoothly until your terrible father makes a racket in the lobby then shoves his way past some ushers and into the aisle of the theater. He'll stumble down toward the stage shouting about how beautiful you are and how beautiful your mother was and how they all escape into some kind of grace or other in the end. You'll pause in your dance long enough to catch his drift, then you'll lock your eyes with his and you'll get up on your toes and here it comes, the dance that says everything to Daddy that you never ever could've said with words, the dance that with every bounce and jump and kick-ball-change (what's ballet?) tells Daddy you're angry and you're sorry and you wish it could have been better for him and you and mom but this is it for you two, you're done with all of it.

You will dance and the terrible father will weep with fallen shoulders in the aisle and everyone will say “we were there when a peace was made between a father and his little girl. They might never speak again, but only because her feet already said everything that needed saying and man we had great seats.”

Happy The Ballerina With The Terrible Father Day!

Saturday, November 27, 2010

The True Meaning Of Thanksgiving Day!

On the day you discovered the true meaning of Thanksgiving, you woke up at the bottom of a 20-foot pit dug into the floor of a basement. You were naked, the rocks underneath you were cold, and there was a bucket on a rope descending down toward you.

The bucket was being lowered by a man in a burlap mask leaning over the top of the pit. When you asked him why he was doing this to you, he stopped lowering the bucket so that he could lift his burlap mask to reveal the most disfigured, disgusting face you’ve ever seen. Then he continued lowering the bucket.

When the bucket finally landed beside you, you were terrified to see what was inside. Was it lotion to rub on yourself? Acid to throw at your face so you could look like him? You kept your hands over your eyes while the man at the top yelled wordlessly. Then he threw something down at you.

It was a salt shaker.

When you finally looked inside the bucket, you saw a plate overflowing with turkey, stuffing, cranberries, sweet potatoes, the biggest most abundant thanksgiving plate you ever laid eyes on.

You looked up and saw the man had lifted his mask just enough to free his mouth, and he was eating from a plate of his own.

You realized then that you’d only been kidnapped and dropped into that pit because this man was lonely, and he knew that the only way he could avoid another Thanksgiving by himself was to dig a twenty foot pit and trap someone he'd abducted inside it, forcing them to have dinner with him.

You lifted the plate from the bucket and began devouring the food. You had never eaten anything so delicious. Looking back, you're not sure if it was the food you were tasting, or the togetherness, the joy of knowing that just by being there at the bottom of that pit, you made someone feel a little better on Thanksgiving day.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” you shouted up at the man.


When you finished your plate, you asked the man if you could have your clothes back. That's when he started dropping bugs on you and he ordered you to masturbate while he watched or else there'd be more bugs. You did what he said, because you didn't want the bugs. It's been many years now since your first Thanksgiving in the pit, and every day you do disgusting things to yourself so the man at the top of the pit will save you from the bugs. You've come to love this man, not just because he's the one who decides whether you get the bugs or whether you don't deserve the bugs, but because he's the one who, all those years ago, taught you the true meaning of Thanksgiving, which is togetherness.

Happy The True Meaning Of Thanksgiving Day!

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Vegan Stephen Day!

Today Vegan Stephen is going to pound on your door and beg you to let him in. You'll hear a mob outside in the street. Voices. Angry voices.

"I need a place to hide," Vegan Stephen will say.

"Are you that vegan?" you'll ask.

"It's a personal dietary choice! Let me in dammit!"

"It upsets me," you'll say. "When I found out you were vegan, I was kind of pissed. Why don't you just eat what I eat?"

Vegan Stephen will pull a wad of cash form his pocket. "Do you want money? Is that it? I'll give you money if that's what you want!"

"Vegan money? God no."

You'll hear pounding on the front door of your building. The people chasing Vegan Stephen are getting closer.

"Jesus Christ, do you know who's down there?" Vegan Stephen will plead. "Do you have any idea what they'll do if they find me?"

"Like, if it was your birthday and I baked you a cake, would you refuse to eat it just because it had some milk and eggs in it?"

"And butter! Yes! Save me, please!"

You'll consider it. "Jesus, butter too. I hadn't thought about that. It just seems like you're trying to call me a terrible person by living this way."

The first door to the vestibule will come off its hinges and you'll hear them pounding at the second door with their shoulders. They'll be on the stairs soon.

"They're after me because I found out something about the police, something that threatens us all! They want to silence me! I'll do anything if you just let me in."

Tell Vegan Stephen that you want him to eat a piece of bacon. If he eats a piece of bacon, you'll protect him. He'll agree and you'll let him in. While you're cooking bacon, he'll crack you over the head with your fireplace poker, run downstairs and open the front door to let in all the vegans outside who were only pretending to be a bloodthirsty mob. While you bleed on the floor, they'll rob your apartment of all of its possessions, then they'll look inside your refrigerator and judge you.

You trusted a vegan and look what happened. Look at what happens when you trust Vegan Stephen.

Happy Vegan Stephen Day!

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

The Boyfriend Pact Day!

You and your girlfriends have made a pact that you're all going to have steady boyfriends by the end of your senior year. It's going to be a fun, crazy time as you and your friends go on date after date with geek after geek, trying to decide how low you'll go to make sure you honor your pact and score yourselves a boyfriend.

Janice will end up with Greg, a kid on JV lacrosse.
Megan will end up with Joey, an asthmatic who's sweet behind those glasses.
Louise will end up with Keith, her chem lab partner who it turns out is secretly a really good website designer. He's gonna make something of himself.
Gina will end up with Walter. Walter's the class treasurer and he's had a crush on Gina since junior high.
You'll end up with Gina's dad. It just happened. He gets breakfast at the diner where you've been waitressing to pay the bills ever since your Dad went to Iraq. Gina's Dad is leaving his wife for you and Gina's furious. The other girls are on her side. Janice still hangs out with you sometimes, but you're pretty sure she just reports back to Gina what you tell her about you and her dad.

He's really good to you. And you like making him happy. You're 18, an adult, it's your life and your heart and you never expected to hang onto your high school friends forever. At least when you're standing alone at graduation, and you see Gina's dad smiling at you from the stands with nothing but love in his eyes, you can take comfort in the fact that no matter who you ended up hurting, you honored your end of the boyfriend pact.

Happy The Boyfriend Pact Day!

Monday, November 22, 2010

The History Of Melanie Day!

Your Dad and Mom have sat everyone down in the living room to tell them about this girl Melanie again.

"No one ever mattered so much to us," Mom says. "Not even you kids."

"You kids owe your life to Melanie," says Dad.

"If we hadn't both fallen for her so deeply," Mom continues. "We wouldn't have felt the need to be together, to be with someone else who understands how wonderful Melanie was. That's really the only basis for our love. We share a love of Melanie."

"One day you'll have kids too," says Dad. "And you'll realize that as much as you care about them, you can't help but care just a little bit more about this girl you dated for a few weeks in college."

"I dated her for seven weeks and four days," Mom jumps in. "Your father only dated her for three weeks."

Dad gets up and storms off, slamming the bedroom door behind him. You know he only went in there to pull out the box of photos of Melanie and he's laying on his back with the photos spread over his chest like a blanket made out of the days when it was still possible to believe he deserved a girl like her.

"It all started when Melanie came running into the lobby of my dorm to escape from the rain," Mom says. She tears up when she talks about the shape of Melanie's right breast which, as you've heard a million times, was slightly more oblong than her left.

"We stayed in bed for two days," Mom continues. "In a way, I'm still in that bed. Under those covers, feeling her bare stomach against my own. In my mind, I've never left that bed. When I married your father, saying I do, my thoughts were in bed with Melanie. When I was giving birth to you kids, with every pant and push, I imagined Melanie's breath mingling with my own. Her breath smelled like apples. Always apples."

She goes on and on like that, not even thinking about signing the bank papers. Just looking back on every milestone. Your first day of kindergarten. Your high school and college graduations. Your own wedding to your husband of seven years. During all of those special momentous occasions...

"I felt Melanie's lips against the skin of my neck," Mom says.

"But something about Mom must have been lacking, and she saw something in me that filled that void," Dad says from the doorway. He's come back out, his cheeks wet with tears.

"I only started dating your father to find out why Melanie left me for him," Mom says. "I'm still not sure."

Ask them once more if they're ready to sign the bank papers. The house sold a week ago and the buyers are wondering why they haven't received the notarized documents yet.

"What if Melanie's looking for us?" Mom says.

"We've had the same address for forty years," says Dad. "What if the day after we move, she finally decides to contact us again, and tell us which one of us she loved more?"

Get angry and make them sign. They'll do as you say, and they'll move out a week later. Not twelve hours after they've left their home, Melanie will arrive on the doorstep, looking forward to seeing faces she hasn't seen in so many years. She'll knock on the door, but there won't be an answer. She'll knock again. And once more. Then Melanie will peer through the window and see that the floors are bare. She'll know she's too late, and she'll get back into her car to go visit this couple she dated for a few months in grad school (MFA in Art History).

Happy The History Of Melanie Day!

Friday, November 19, 2010

Drug Dealing Nuns Day!

You're the Mother Superior of a nunnery that's about to be shut down by the city because your nunnery is behind on the rent and the city wants to build more bowling alleys. You need to come up with thousands of dollars very quick.

"We have no choice," you'll tell the bunch of nuns you have to see like every fucking day. "We need to sell drugs."

The nuns will faint. When they wake up, they'll ask, first, if they made a mistake going the nun route since it was either this or roadie-ing Lilith Fair and at least at Lilith Fair you don't have to dress in a glorified burka. Then they'll remember why they fainted and they'll ask if you're serious about selling drugs.

"We have no choice," you'll tell them. "We have to think of the kids. If we get shut down those kids will have no one to teach them Sunday School. It's for the kids."

"But who will we sell the drugs to?" the nuns will ask.

"The kids," you'll say.

The kids will love the drugs you sell them and you won't be able to re-up your supply fast enough. Sunday School will be a little chaotic since all of the pre-teens and young teens you teach will be on the floor high off their asses. As the kids get more addicted, raise the price on the drugs. Raise it just a little bit, but not so much that they'll go out to the street for cheaper stuff. Little kids can usually be counted on for the comeback when they find the right high.

When you've sold enough drugs to the kids to pay your rent, throw a little party telling them all that your convent isn't going to be shut down and Sunday School will continue without any interruption. The kids will ask what this means as regards them buying more drugs from you. Tell them there won't be any more drugs and then hit their hands with rulers until they kick their habits. All but two of the kids will kick. Those two will become prostitutes.

Happy Drug Dealing Nuns Day!

PS: I think I'm moving this blog over to tumblr. Make a note or something.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Ferry Murder Day!

Today you're going to be late for work because there's going to be another ferry murder. The lights will go out by the interior snack bar, and when they come back on the snack bar clerk will be dead. Written in his blood will be the letters P.F.

"Nobody leaves the ferry until we know who did it," the captain will announce. "Sorry, transit authority rules."

For the next four hours you'll float still in the middle of the river as a retired private detective, who just happened to be on board, engages you all in a game of cat and mouse, trying to suss out from each of your whether you had the motive, the weaponry, the appropriate temperature of blood in your veins. Though you were all told to stay together, you'll one by one wander off into other parts of the ferry where you'll be found murdered too.

Late tonight, after all of the questions have been asked and all of the brandy has been drunk, all but one of you will be dead. The one who is still alive is named Paul Frank. That's right, the Paul Frank. The one who puts the monkeys on his clothes. He'll steer the boat into dock, and he'll step onto shore to accept his new fame as the fashion designer who killed more people on water than any other fashion designer in history (behind Sergio Valente, Gloria Vanderbilt, and whoever was the guy who dreamed up those Ocean Pacific tee shirts because that guy killed a lot of people).

Happy Ferry Murder Day!

Monday, November 15, 2010

Love House Day!

You can hear Randy upstairs punching the wall behind his bed and screaming the name Marsha, the love of his life, the one who said no.

You can hear Louie in the room next door scratching against the wall as he writes the name Patty in his own blood.

You can hear Janine downstairs pacing the ground floor, dining room, living room, kitchen and back, as she tries to walk Darren's name out of her head.

Can they hear you? Can they tell by the sounds you're making that you're packing all your things into a couple of bags. Will they hear you crawl through the window and down the roof, tossing your bags to the lawn. Will they hear you drop to the ground below and take off running for a new place to live, one that doesn't remind you with every creak and footstep that you've never been in love?

"I tried," you told your roommates one night long ago, back when you were still able to talk about it, before it got embarrassing. "I drink a lot when I'm around people. But I still never seem to let anyone in."

"Sometimes it takes more than drinking to lower your defenses," Louie said. "Sometimes you have to give up on a dream or two."

You've given up on five dreams (wealth, beating your dad in a fistfight, taking a balloon ride around the world, learning to text and drive, and becoming an eccentric but brilliant barista) and you don't know how many more you have left to give up on. It's becoming clear, you're probably never going to fall in love. Your housemates know it. They had a meeting.

"How can we share a home with someone so incapable of feeling what we feel?" Janine whispered. They were at the breakfast table and you were outside, crouched down just beneath the open window.

"The other day I saw him trying to practice loving a pillow," Randy said. "After a while, he just started punching it. Broke my heart."

"I think if we ask him to leave he might be relieved, honestly," said Louie. "I mean, he can't enjoy having us walk around mooning over the objects of our affection all day long. Also, what if he's contagious?"

They said all in favor then they all said aye. You're getting the deed done before they have to do it. You're going to throw your bags out that window and you're gonna take off tonight, before they have to try to break it to you gently. Go find a new place to live. You never know, you might finally be able to find some love for yourself if you're living in a place where your dumb housemates aren't hogging it all.

Happy Love House Day!

Friday, November 12, 2010

Be The Airplane Crazy Day!

When you look at the seat next to you it'll be empty so you should go to the flight attendant and ask if she's seen your daughter. When the flight attendant says that they checked the manifest and you came on the plane alone, without a daughter, and that a half-hour ago when you were boarding you were telling everyone how glad you are that you don't have kids, tell her that she must be confusing you for someone else. Go back to your seat and sit next to the tall Asian man who's been sitting there all along, or so he says. Sit quietly and become suspicious that the flight attendants have stolen your daughter.

Go to the bathroom to look for your daughter and you'll find a bloody, murdered corpse slumped at the base of the toilet. Scream until the flight attendants drag you back to your seat. Insist to them that there's a dead man in the bathroom and there's clearly a murderer on the plane. They'll check the bathroom, then return to you and say that the bathroom is empty and free of blood. They'll even let you check for yourself. You'll go and see that the dead man is gone, and you'll become suspicious that the flight attendants murdered the man and threw him out of the plane and that they know how to clean bathrooms really fast.

Back at your seat, you'll suddenly be covered in bees. You'll jump up swatting at them to get away from you, then the flight attendants will tell you there aren't any bees. Look down at your body and become suspicious that the flight attendants can control bees.

Open the inflight magazine and you'll find nothing but articles about why passengers on planes should ignore strange activity and not ask questions because sometimes planes serve a more important purpose than mere travel. At the end of each article there will be a question in italics that reads: "Do you even remember buying the ticket to board this plane? Do you even remember where you're going? Or why you're going there?"

Show one of the articles to the flight attendants. They'll read it for a second, then show you the magazine again and point out that all of the articles are normal, and the one you were reading is about the new soul album by a reunited Eurythmics. Go back to your seat, certain that the flight attendants know how to change what's in magazines just by touching them.

Back at your seat, you'll find that someone booby trapped your seat with sharp spikes and when you sat down on them you died. Tell the flight attendants and they'll say that nope, you're still alive. They'll even pinch you to show that you're still there. You'll become convinced that flight attendants have the ability to control life and death.

Finally, make love to a flight attendant. He will impregnate you with the daughter you remember clear as day having boarded the plane with, the one who disappeared earlier. The flight attendant, you're certain, is able to take a life, snuff it out and regenerate it at the moment it came into being.

"Savor every moment," the flight attendant will say to you as he wipes the sweat from his brow. "Don't let her grow up so fast this time."

"Why did you take her?" ask him. "If you were only going to give her back to me."

While slipping back into his uniform, the flight attendant will tell you that they needed her for a few minutes, they needed all of you in fact, but that you're not needed anymore. You'll go back to your seat feeling those first tiny flutters of a beautiful new life inside your body. You've been given a second chance to enjoy those first seven magical years of your daughter's life again, all because you decided to save a few bucks and fly Spirit.

Happy Be The Airplane Crazy Day!

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Last Will They/Won't They On Earth Day!

You used to say that you wouldn't have sex with Jeff if he was the last man on earth. Well guess what. The apocalypse just happened and Jeff is the last man on earth so it's up to you having sex with Jeff if you want the human race to continue.

"No," say.

Jeff will sit down on a piece of the broken Statue of Liberty and feel bad because there's still rejection even at the end.

"But... Then we're just handing it all over to the machines and the intelligent rodents," Jeff will beg.

"Sorry," tell Jeff. "I meant what I said at that Christmas party. Not if you were the last man on earth. How would it look? Everyone heard me say it."

"But they're all incinerated," Jeff will say.

Tell Jeff that you can't in good conscience unleash upon the planet the kind of human race that would be born from a sex act between disparate castes of attractiveness.

"That's not a race I wanna be a part of," tell Jeff. "Sorry."

You and Jeff will continue to live together platonically, working together to keep warm and fight off all the stuff that's turned huge and/or smart thanks to radioactivity. Jeff will grow stronger and a little more attractive, and he'll comfort you sometimes, but it's still not clear whether you'll ever be able to drop your superficial dating rules and finally realize that you two were made for each other since you have no choice, making you two the last will they/won't they couple on earth. Except this time we all hope it will be will they not because it would make us feel warm and happy, but because it's the only way there will be future generations who might tell our stories and carry on our traditions. Also, for there to be future generations not only would you two have to have sex but so would your kids. With each other. Sorry.

Happy Last Will They/Won't They On Earth Day!

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Rooftop Rochelle Day!

Rooftop Rochelle has set up some plastic chairs on the roof of your building. She goes up there for a few hours every evening. You can join her up there if you want and listen to her talk about the time she talked a guy down from the ledge of a building.

"I still feel terrible about that," she'll say. "What was I thinking? He could have ended it right then and there. Now for all I know he's probably still out there, alive, trying to figure out how he's going to wake up again tomorrow. He has to get out of bed and get dressed every morning and it's all because I was so persuasive with my bullshit about how life is a gift or whatever."

"You didn't know then," tell her. "How could you, Rooftop Rochelle? You were so young."

Rooftop Rochelle will say that that's no excuse. She could have looked around and seen the looks on the faces of those who weren't 23. She could have seen how their mouths hung open just a little bit, like they constantly felt like they'd just been socked in the gut and they couldn't get enough breath. She could have taken a moment to think that maybe if a guy had the moxie to climb out onto a ledge, he probably knew something she didn't.

"If I could go back in time," she'll say. "I'd push him."

Rooftop Rochelle will ask you if you think she's a horrible person.

"No," tell her. "I think you might have been back then, when you decided to get a whole bunch of pats on the back for convincing a guy to live when he obviously wanted to die. That was selfish and cruel, but you know that now and you feel bad about it. And no one should expect more from you on that."

Rooftop Rochelle will hug you in gratitude and then she'll go in for a kiss. She just wants to work out some stuff on your body, but this is the only way you're ever going get the chance to do it on a rooftop. Lay back and let her get angry all over you.

Happy Rooftop Rochelle Day!

Tuesday, November 09, 2010

Switching Gears Day!

Karen had just decided she was done with Lenny, that New York is a mistake, that she wasn't going to get back into the car with him after the check was paid. She wasn't sure how it was going to work out, her getting away from Lenny, without a big scene, a lot of tears, Lenny pulling out all the stops to convince her to come along. Lenny had convinced her to give up on so many things over the past three years (a continuing education program, her brother in a mental hospital, cigarettes), he was a master at it. Karen knew she couldn't hold her ground against him, that a confrontation would end the way they always ended, with Karen agreeing to whatever Lenny was begging her to agree to. There could be no parking lot shouting match, no laying it all out on the line in an honest and direct manner, the way that Lenny maybe deserved after three long years taking care of her (he covered more than a few months of her rent). Karen knew the only way out was to sneak out a bathroom window, slip into the kitchen and out the back by the dumpsters, pretend she left something in the car while they were still eating and then take off with the first trucker who might think this was his lucky day. Time's running out for all of us, so if being honest is going to keep you from doing what needs getting done, fuck honesty is how Karen saw it.

But the check was paid, the coffee cups were almost dry, and New York was only a short walk through the parking lot and ten more hours of driving away. That would be that, she was certain. If she left that restaurant through the front door with Lenny, that would be that. But leaving that restaurant through the front door with Lenny was looking like it might be the only option, at least until the front door opened and the men in the rubber masks started yelling for the cash drawer, unaware of the cop in the men's room already radioing the two squad cars parked in the back.

How we gonna get out of here?

I ain't goin' to jail.

If we don't step out soon, they're comin' in.

Karen tried to disguise it with a pretend cough when she said, "Hostage!"

"Karen?" said Lenny. "You okay?"

Suppose we could take some hostages with us.


It's the only way I can see.

"Human shield!" Karen said, under cover of a loud pretend sneeze.

"Karen," Lenny said. "Try to hold them in. Don't draw attention to yourself."

Cops won't shoot at us if we got one of the customers blocking their line of fire.

Which one should we take?

Not sure. Who would cops be least likely to shoot at?

"Women!" Karen fake coughed. "Brunettes!" she fake sneezed. "Late twenties in the booth by the window!" she fake hacked and fake wheezed and even faked snorted a tiny little snort.

I think I know which one.

They took her with them, drove her halfway across the country before finally agreeing to set her free and never tell where they last saw her. She lives in Flagstaff now, happy enough, occasionally wondering if trying to end it with Lenny in a more confrontational manner would have been better than spending 18 months tied up in the backseat of a stickup team's Cutlass, but she's pretty sure she did the right thing.

Happy Switching Gears Day!

Monday, November 08, 2010

Talk This One Through Day!

When your best buddy in the whole wide world comes home from the war he'll find you in bed with his wife, the woman you've loved ever since he introduced her to you as the only woman in the world for him.

"Whoah!" your number one pal will say. "Some welcome home party."

"Let's talk this through," you'll say.

Spend the first hour telling your friend how important his friendship is to you, and therefore you clearly love his wife more than he does if you were willing to sacrifice something so important to be with her, namely, his friendship.

Your friend will spend the hour after that telling you how well he knows you, which is why he knew the minute you were introduced to his wife just how in love with her you were, and it broke his heart to have to make you feel so much pain, seeing him and his wife together like that when he knew you thought it was you who was supposed to be with her.

"If I could do that to my best buddy in the world," your friend will say. "If I could cause him that kind of pain, a pain that I feel myself, deep inside, if I could hurt my palomine like that just to be with the woman I love, clearly that woman is very important to me."

Spend three hours confirming that yes, it pained you to see him and his wife together, but you knew that his wife wanted it that way, which is why you didn't try to steal her away. "I endured that pain for her, because that's what she wanted. Clearly, I love her, if I could stand by watching the woman I'm meant to be with spend her days with my best friend, if I could endure that hot jagged pain solely because I knew it's what she wants, clearly that means I'm totally into her."

Your friend will spend the next 50 hours describing the sex he has with his wife, and how with every kiss, nibble and thrust, he feels like he's driving a stake through the heart of his best pal, knowing how much his top cochise wishes he was the one administering those kisses, nibbles and thrusts. "But I couldn't stop," he'll say. "I just couldn't stop."

Spend the next six months chiseling a sculpture of your buddy's wife. When you're finished, all three of you will burst into tears at the obvious boundlessness of emotion present in your concrete rendering of the woman you love, the woman whose hand belongs to someone else.

Your buddy will spend the next five years writing a two minute song about his wife and when he finally sings it, you'll all three try to hang yourselves because you never knew a man could feel so much for a woman. Even your buddy didn't know, and he's the one who wrote it.

Finally decide that the only way this is going to be figured out is if you two fistfight for it. Spend the next two decades fistfighting until you decide it's a draw. By then your buddy's wife will have divorced him and remarried twice. You and your best buddy in the world should go and visit her and meet her kids.

Happy Talk This One Through Day!

Friday, November 05, 2010

Wine Store Full Of Fucktential Day!

You've toured all of the retail and food establishments in your neighborhood and you've decided the wine store has the highest fucktential, which is a word you made up that means potential for fuckatude, which is another made up word, though you didn't make that one up (your Mom used to use it before she died in Desert Storm). Anyway, the wine store seems to have a lot of fucklihood. Fucklihood is a way of describing a place that is fuckamentally sound, which is a way of describing a place that looks to be ideal for those interested in forgoing modern medicine and instead experimenting with natural fucklistic healing. Basically, the wine store looks like a pretty good place to go if you're looking for a little bit of true love and undying devotion. Just kidding, the wine store's a good place to try and get yourself effed.

Go down there today and hang around in the French wines section. When a nice piece of trim rolls up and pretends to be reading the wine bottles when what she really wants to do is read the "YKK" on your zipper, just pick up an expensive bottle and let her know what you wanna do with it.

"I want to drink this entire bottle as fast as I can," say.

She'll ask, "Why?"

Let some tears fall. Then say, "Not be me for a while I guess. Just kind of wanna erase me."

She'll nod. "I know what you mean." She'll pick up her own bottle. "I like buying bottles of wine because I like the suspense of wondering whether I'm going to finish the entire bottle before smashing it into pieces and slicing open my wrists with one of the shards."

You'll both just stand there, your heads bowed as tears flow from all four of your eyes onto the floor.

The wine store owner will come over to the two of you and say, "I could tell from all the way over there that we seemed to have a fuckuation back here, which is a fun word for situation of fuck."

The wine store owner will lead you both to the stock room, wrapping his big beefy arms around your shoulders, then he'll make the two of you have sex for him at gunpoint. It will ultimately feel a little fuckapointing.

Happy Wine Store Full Of Fucktential Day!