Your Girlfriend Does Sucky Drugs Day

Your Girlfriend Does Sucky Drugs Day!

Whenever she runs out of her sucky drugs, she asks for some of your unfuckingbelievable drugs, and of course you give her some. She's your girlfriend. What the fuck.

But whenever you run out of your outmotherfuckingrageously awesome drugs, and you're always running out of them (surprise surprise) because anyone who has drugs as fucking wonderful as these is going to do all of them as fast as possible. Conducting oneself in any other manner would be disrespectful to the drugs. Your drugs told you (they've been talking to you…well, singing to you really).

Anyway, whenever you run out of your fanfuckingtastic stash…Jesus, last night you swear you were introduced to Christ himself and Christ himself let you put one of his balls in your mouth. It was the single most wonderful night of your life and it really happened. The drugs said so.

Your girlfriend's drugs are sucky, is the point. Compared to yours at least. Of course, anyone's drugs will suck compared to yours. So complaining about other people's drugs not being as good as yours is sort of moot. But when you have to do your girlfriend's drugs (here comes the meat of the matter) because yours are all gone (they were so delicious!delicious!delicious!) it sucks! And you end up getting angry at her. Which is why she's leaving. Now.

"Later," she's saying.

Tell her, "Have fun doing sucky drugs, loserface!"

She'll shake her head. "This was a wake up call for me. I'm gonna go straight."

Tell her, "Might as well. The kind of drugs you do can’t make you feel much better than being straight." Your drugs will laugh, and you'll start to laugh too.

"What are you laughing at?" your girlfriend will ask.

"Nothing, nothing," say. "We were just laughing at what I said."

"We?"

Say, "Me and my drugs."

Suddenly frightened for her life, your girlfriend will run away.

Happy Your Girlfriend Does Sucky Drugs Day!

Stuff Your Underwear Into My Mouth And Punch Me In The Nose Until I Can't Breathe Through It Day

Stuff Your Underwear Into My Mouth And Punch Me In The Nose Until I Can't Breathe Through It Day!

You're 78 years old and a blood disease has reduced you to not very much more than an embodiment of pain. You had a discussion some time ago with Manny, your home health aide who has been with you for over a decade.

"If you think it's time for you to go," he told you, "I can take you out. However you want it to happen, as long as it won't pin a murder rap on me. I'll do what you ask."

Today you're going to tell him the way that you've always dreamed you could go out. Manny is a man of his word. After considering it for a moment, he'll tell you, "It will have to look like someone broke in here. Tomorrow morning when I'm supposed to be at the supermarket. You didn't leave me anything in your will did you?"

Shake your head no.

"Good," Manny will say. "I've been bilking your bank account for years anyway."

Laugh with Manny. That's the last time you'll laugh before the end.

Manny will say, "Do you want the underwear to be soiled?"

Nod yes. Tell him if you don't get to watch him remove his underwear first, he might as well just hold a pillow over your face.

Say, "I need the poetry."

Happy Stuff Your Underwear Into My Mouth And Punch Me In The Nose Until I Can't Breathe Through It Day!

Burger King Birthday Crown Day

Burger King Birthday Crown Day!

By the time your workday is done, you're going to want nothing more than to slice open your own throat and wait until you've bled yourself blue. You might not want any advice for how to cheer yourself up. After all, if your spirits pick up and you live through the night, you're going to have to go to work again tomorrow. Be smart and stop reading now.

Back at home somewhere, perhaps in a box on a shelf, you'll find the Burger King Birthday Crown that was placed upon your head by your ex-wife last year when you celebrated your 48th with some old friends and some Whoppers (your ex brought her new husband. It was momentous). There have been only a few moments in your life when you truly felt important. The day you lost your virginity to your ex-wife was one. The day you married her was another. And the day last year when you wore that Birthday Crown in the Highway 63 and Route 12 Burger King surrounded by a handful of friends (2), your ex-wife and her new husband. You referred to everyone as your loyal subjects and none of them objected with anything stronger than a bemused chuckle (your ex-wife's new husband did look uncomfortable when you jokingly ordered him to kiss your ring, however).

Why not go home and reclaim your throne. Slide that Crown over your skull and feel the surge of absolute power pulse through your veins as you sit down to watch those Will & Grace reruns. Something tells me the King will reign for another day.

Happy Burger King Birthday Crown Day! And here's hoping you didn't read beyond the first paragraph!

Drink Something You're Not Supposed To Drink Day

Drink Something You're Not Supposed To Drink Day!

Tom Hanks drank a jar of maraschino cherries on Family Ties. It got his point across. "You don't have enough alcohol in the house Keatons," Tom Hanks said. "If you did, you'd still have some maraschino cherries, wouldn't you?"

"Mea Culpa," Elise said through a cascade of tears.

Drinking something you're not supposed to drink lets people know exactly what the situation is. When folks start drinking salt water, apparently they're lost in a lifeboat. Point taken! Someone drinking the brine out of the pickle jar? Sounds like someone digs pickles way too much, might have a problem, and should probably get to a meeting. Got it! Is your boyfriend drinking your pee? Looks like he's in love with you. Noted!

So go ahead and drink that ladle of motor oil because you're being tortured in the movie Three Kings. No better day for it than Drink Something You're Not Supposed To Drink Day! Now who's up for some Peach Schnapps?

Get A Sunburn Day

Get A Sunburn Day!

Sunscreen is for the clean of conscience. You want to sit under the whitest hot rays you can find and let the sun slowly burn away at your layers of skin until it gets to the layer of tissue where you store your guilt over not having fought your ex-husband for custody of your kids because you were too busy trying to stay high. That layer won't flake and flutter away like your outer layers of skin. When guilt begins to burn it crisps rock solid and starts to stink a little. Rest assured, you will walk a little bit funny when you finally get up to go back to the halfway house. But the searing will feel like a forbidden itch is being scratched and you won't be able to resist. It will hurt like hell for the next ten days and you'll be ugly with sun poisoning. But with every rush of pain you'll be reminded that you struck back at yourself. That pain you'll feel, that pain was your doing, not some judge. If you ever see your babies again you might tell them about today. "I started taking control that day," you'll say to them.

Happy Get A Sunburn Day!

He’s Not Related To You By Blood Day

He’s Not Related To You By Blood Day!

You were already in love with him when you found out he was one of the kids in your Dad’s other family. Thankfully, your Dad didn’t actually father him. Your Dad was cheating on your Mom before you were even born, and when his mistress started having his babies (three of them), he did his best to be a father to both households. It went okay until you were eleven and your Mom got wise. You haven’t seen your Dad since.

His mistress had some kids of her own already, before your Dad started up with her. Daniel is one of those (once again, no shared blood. You’ve been repeating that fact to yourself over and over again for three weeks now). Daniel’s four years older than you and he’s gorgeous and sweet and, terrifyingly, he loves your Dad. His Dad, he says. Daniel didn’t know who you were when the two of you met, and he’s the one who figured it out and told you about it.

Everyone’s been waiting, until today. Daniel’s been waiting to find out if he’ll ever see you again. Your Dad’s been waiting to find out if you’ll accept his invitation to dinner. And your Mom’s been waiting to find out why you’ve been acting so strange lately. Today you’re going to tell it all to her. You’re going to tell her that you love Daniel and that you’re going to reunite with your Dad.

You Mom will register your decision as a betrayal to her and will have a non-fatal heart attack by Midnight tonight. Everyone will go to her bedside. You, your Dad, Daniel. When she opens her eyes again, she’ll find out what the world looks like when it turns itself inside out.

Happy He’s Not Related To You By Blood Day!

Babes & Sandwiches Magazine Day

Babes & Sandwiches Magazine Day!

Your favorite Babes & Sandwiches magazine centerfold was June of 2003: Kelly and a genoa salami and provolone grinder. The grinder sat on a narrow steel tray that was balanced on her belly. You could tell in the photo that the grinder was still hot and her giddy smile seemed to indicate that the heat coming through the plate was making her belly quiver. Kelly was splayed out on her back on a picnic blanket underneath a beautiful sunny sky, and the sandwich was spilling forth with so many sautéed onions and green peppers it looked like they might topple into her belly button. The best part, the part that you'll never forget, was the single droplet of grease sitting off center on her pelvis in that space where her belt would go, below her belly button and an inch about the rim of her yellow pubis. The bauble of grease was so round and fat it was clear that with a little more giggling it could start to dribble down between her legs. Kelly was from Nova Scotia and was studying to be a tree surgeon.

You picked up this month's issue today, the first time you've looked at Babes & Sandwiches in quite a while. Maybe you've just grown up a little, but you can't help but feel that Babes & Sandwiches has really gone downhill. The sandwiches are always the kind that you'd never want to eat if you were in the mood to go eat a sandwich. Weird, gourmet breads and big balls of mozzarella, stuff you'd never be able to even fit in your mouth. This month's is an open-faced number with romaine lettuce, these big scary mushroom and some dabs of brown mustard. What the hell are they thinking? And the girls all look like strippers. Like a thousand-dollar-a-night showgirl is gonna fix you a sandwich and put it on top of herself? Please. You heard that the publisher was bankrupt and his daughter was running the show now. Figures.

Happy Babes & Sandwiches Magazine Day!

Explain Why You Don't Cry Day

Explain Why You Don't Cry Day!

Say, "When Ramo died in Beat Street, I cried and cried until I couldn't cry anymore. Nothing's hit me quite so hard since."

He'll say, "Nothing? Not even when your family members die?"

"Life just doesn't pack the wallop of Beat Street," say.

He'll say, "I can live with this."

Now tell him that you lied when you said you and your husband were already separated. If he can handle you having left all your tears on Beat Street, he can handle anything.

Happy Explain Why You Don't Cry Day!

Whale Watch Day

Whale Watch Day!

Midway through the Whale Watch, the students you're chaperoning will start diving into the ocean to swim with the whales. This will piss you off in a big way because throughout the entire ride you'll have been trying to impress the pretty Whale Watch guide by showing her how good you are with the kids.

She'll be standing by your side when they start to throw themselves overboard. The two of you will watch them from the upper deck as one by one their eyes gloss over and they dive into the chilly water. Always quick with the save, you're going to deliver a line that will demonstrate to her the kind of lightning-quick wit that only a suburban middle school biology teacher can posses.

Say, "Someone must have cut the cheese down there."

She'll laugh until she feels sick inside, then she'll put her hand on your shoulder. "Don't feel bad," she'll say. "This happens a lot. The whales are mischievous beasts and they often call to passengers on surrounding boats to come and join them. Only children can hear the pleas intoned in their song. We have a rescue boat for this sort of thing."

Just then you'll see an orange six-seater veer out from the back of the boat to collect the children.

"Nothing to worry about," the Whale Watch guide will say. Her hand will still be on your shoulder.

Say, "Can I kiss you? Before my students get back?"

She'll bring her walkie talkie to her mouth and say, "Take your time down there, Manny. Mama Bear just caught herself a fish."

"10-4! I knew that shit was on!" Manny, the rescue boat captain, will respond through her walkie-talkie.

With that the pretty Whale Watch guide will wrap her arms around your neck, pull you down close and show you just how lonely it can get on the high seas.

Happy Whale Watch Day!

19 Ways To Tell A Cajun Chef To Go Fuck Himself Day

19 Ways To Tell A Cajun Chef To Go Fuck Himself Day!

Today at the upscale food court the guy stirring the pots at the "Taste Of Ol' New Orleans" counter is going to piss you off royally when he brings up your dead wife.

The way it'll go down is he'll be shouting at passersby stuff like, "Git on up and git some gumbo I guar-on-tee!" With some potential customers he'll offer up a personal pitch. Stuff like, "Man wears a tie that ugly he won't mind spillin' a little bit of this city's finest Cajun gumbo all over that [garbled]." But when you walk past, with no desire to eat any Cajun food because, frankly, you think it blows, the chef will shout out, "What's with the sour face mon frere? Only way a man could frown like that is if he was in week two of mourning over his tragically lost young wife, I guar-on-tee!"

Yes, he's very perceptive, and maybe you are wearing your loss on your sleeve a little bit, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't tell him to go fuck himself. Here's how!

First, say, "What'd you say? As a matter of fact my wife did die recently. Why don't you go fuck yourself?"

The Cajun chef will apologize for hitting a nerve and will suggest you wash away your pain with a bowl of some gumbo.

Say, "How bout you shove that gumbo up your flabby ass, you hear me Mardi Gras?"

The Cajun chef will ask if you'd perhaps care for a nice shrimp po' boy.

Say, "Listen James Carville, your food's stupid, your accent's stupid, your hometown is a condom-littered Frathouse and you work in a food court. Even with all that against you, I still say you should go fuck yourself."

The Cajun chef will ask if you'd like some jambalaya.

Say, "No, I don't want some jambalaya. I want my wife back. She back there? No? Oh, I forgot, she's in the ground. Then how 'bout you go fuck yourself instead."

The Cajun chef will ask how she died.

Say, "Breast cancer. I hope your wife and daughters get it. Go fuck yourself, Ignatius."

The Cajun chef will say that he's unmarried. That he came close once, but it all just fell apart. He's not sure if he's to blame, but he blames himself anyway.

Say, "Go fuck yourself. I hope you die on a bus."

The Cajun chef will say that the conversation you and he are having is the closest he's come to a friendship since grade school. He'll tell you that his father was in the army and that he switched schools a lot.

Say, "If you were at a school for five minutes I bet the whole school would meet for an assembly so that they'd all be sure to tell you to go fuck yourself before you moved to the next base. Go fuck yourself, Ellen Barkin in The Big Easy."

The Cajun chef will stir his gumbo a little. Then he'll say, "I want to touch you. I guar-on-tee!"

Say, "I want to watch your nuts get eaten by possums while you're still alive and screaming, Dennis Quaid in The Big Easy. Go fuck yourself."

The Cajun Chef will shout entreaties for other customers to come to his counter.

Say, "Stay away from this food. It's being prepared by a chef who is about to go fuck himself."

The Cajun chef will throw his ladle on the ground in disgust. He'll say, "Look, I'm sorry about that crack about your wife. It was obvious you were in mourning, so I used it. I gotta use what I can. I'm workin' here all day."

Say, "My wife spent her last 18 hours on this earth screaming as loud as she could. I hope you spend your last 36 doing the same. And go fuck yourself Crawdad."

The Cajun Chef will hand you a card for a grief counselor that he knows. He'll say, "This guy can help you."

Rip the card up, throw it on the ground, then spit on the pile. Say, "Go fuck yourself Anne Rice."

The Cajun chef will say, "You can tell me to fuck myself all you want, but I'm only going to respond by trying to make amends. And by trying to get you to taste my delicious Muffuleta Sandwich."

Smack the sandwich out of his hand and say, "I miss her so much I can't even breathe. I can't sleep in our bed because I wake up panting. Aw God. Go fuck yourself Buckwheat Zydeco."

The Cajun chef will ask his manager if he can go on break. He'll lead you out to his car and open up the trunk. "Take a look in there," he'll say.

Say, "Go fuck yourself Creole." Then look inside the trunk. There will be a picnic basket.

The Cajun chef will say, "There are no perishables in there. Just some drinks, plates and utensils and sealed snacks. But I can fill this basket within five minutes and we can have ourselves a picnic. What do you say?"

Say, "Go fuck youself." Then get in his car and wait for him to fill up the basket with Cajun deliciousness.

At the park, the Cajun chef will pull out a Frisbee. He'll say, "You throw?"

Say, "I'll throw so hard you'll have no choice but to fuck yourself with that thing." Then cavort about the field with him until the guilt overwhelms you.

The Cajun chef will see you doubled over with tears and he'll shout, "I'll come over there and hold you if you let me! I guar-on-tee!"

Shout back, "Go fuck yourself, Decatur Street!"

The Cajun chef will begin walking towards you. He'll shout, "You can only shut us out for so long!"

Shout back, "Hey French Quarter, you can go fuck yourself for all I care. You understand?"

The Cajun chef will come closer. "She'd want you to move on," he'll shout.

Scream back at him, "Goddammit you didn't know this woman! The world should have stopped when she left. Asking me to go on is like asking me to commit a crime against nature!" Cry a little into the back of your hand, then add, "Go fuck yourself cayenne pepper."

The Cajun chef will be standing before you. He'll put his arms around you and you should just fall into his embrace. He'll say, "Just let me carry the load. Just for a minute."

Let his compassion seep in and course through your veins. Let it disarm you. You'll feel so tired you won't have any choice but to stay there in his arms and let him hold you up. Say, "This doesn't change anything. You should still go fuck yourself. Guar-on-tee?"

The Cajun chef will pat your back. "Guar-on-tee," he'll say. "Shhh. I guar-on-tee."

Happy 19 Ways To Tell A Cajun Chef To Go Fuck Himself Day!

Peepholes Day

Peepholes Day!

Television and the touch of strange skin has been boring you more and more over the course of the last decade, so you've decided to break down and acquire for yourself a real entertainment outlet. You've decided to drill some peepholes into your neighbors' apartments.

You'll drill one into each adjoining wall of your mauve box studio apartment, and you'll drill one hole into the ceiling. The hole in the west wall will offer a view into that neighbor's kitchen. That neighbor, Jinsey, is very attractive and you will be upset that the hole did not open out into either her bedroom or bathroom.

Through the hole in the north wall you'll see the bedroom of Hank McAdams, the twenty-three year old investment banker recently transplanted from Alabama. Hank is very handsome and you'll be excited to see what sort of company he'll be inviting back to his bedroom. When you first peek through the hole, however, you'll see Hank rolled up in a ball on his bed and crying next to some photographs of his parents.

Through the ceiling hole you'll see the apartment belonging to your upstairs neighbor, Loretta. She won't be home when you first peek, but you'll be looking forward to looking up her skirts.

When you peek through the east hole, you'll see your neighbor Marc Dunleavy dead on his floor and being sawed apart by a naked man. You'll be terrified, but you won't be able to tell anyone because if you do, you'll have to admit to having drilled holes into your walls and you'll be run out of the building as a Peeping Tom (nobody likes a Peeping Tom).

You've lived in that apartment for nearly two decades and the rent is extremely affordable. You don't know what you'd do if you had to move. So you'll watch in silence as the naked man saws Marc apart until he's just a torso and a pile of loose appendages. When it becomes clear that the naked man is ready to start inserting himself into Marc's various and gaping arm and leg sockets, you'll luckily hear Loretta's footsteps. You'll climb onto a chair and try to look up her skirt, doing your best to forget about poor Marc next door who, in fairness, was never one for holding the elevator for anybody. Sadly, when you get your eye to the ceiling's peephole you'll discover that Loretta is wearing pants today. Things just don't work out for you.

Happy Peepholes Day!

The Sobbing Shoplifter Day

The Sobbing Shoplifter Day!

The boys always cry. Grabbing hold of their arms just before they step out the front door, it's like you lift the lever on a water pump and send the tears flowing free.

"Can we move faster?" he'll ask.

"Almost there," tell him. "We'll be in the office soon enough. Then I'll call up your dad"

The girls never cry. Like the one you caught earlier. Her face was as sour and impenetrable when you marched her to the security office as it was when she first walked through the front door.

"My Dad's not home," he'll tell you.

"We'll wait," you'll say. "We'll wait all night."

In the office, you'll sit the sobbing boy next to the scowling girl and begin your paperwork. You already called the girl's mother and she didn't seem to care. Seemed like she might make it by to pick her up after a few more errands. But when you call the boy's dad (he'll be home), the voice on the other end will accuse you of being a liar. Shout him down and threaten to prosecute his son if he doesn't compose himself and come down to the store.

The girl will tell the boy his sniffling is getting annoying. The boy will say to the girl:

"Aren't you scared?"

The girl will laugh. Then they'll start asking each other the usual questions.

What'd you steal?
(him: a 50 Cent CD; her: a Benetton bag)

Do you shoplift a lot?
(her: constantly; him: "Me too" (a lie))

Did you start shoplifting because you're lonely and it makes you feel like your seclusion is purposeful, like you're some kind of covert agent on a secret mission? Does shoplifting make you feel like you did something worth talking about today? Does shoplifting make you feel better?
(him: "How'd you know?"; her: "You look like the type")

After you finish his paperwork, you'll stay at your desk pretending to fill out some additional forms. You won't want to interrupt them. Once their respective groundings are fulfilled (him: four weeks; her: three days (suspended)), they'll be seeing each other again. Your job as a department store security guard can be depressing, but you occasionally get to watch teenagers fall in love with each other.

Happy The Sobbing Shoplifter Day!

Overturned Hyundai Day

Overturned Geo Day!

Today, in the middle of your rush hour freeway drive, you'll spy a collision in the opposing lane that will have left a Geo sitting on its roof and an apparently rented Ford Taurus with its nose ripped off. As you slow down to rubberneck, you'll spot a couple wrapped in blankets sitting on the cement freeway shoulder. They'll look like they're okay. Just shaken up. More importantly, one of them will look like an ex of yours.

Once you pull up almost beside them, you'll be certain that yes, it's your ex. Further, it's that ex you never quite got over, even though the two of you never had a chance. Regardless, the excitement of the chance encounter will cause you to roll down your window and shout your ex's name.

Your ex will look up to see you waving. But before your wave can be returned, paramedics will come between the two of you pushing a gurney supporting a body covered entirely by a dark gray blanket. Your ex will look away from you to watch the gurney pass. Use the opportunity to roll up your window and step on the gas to get the hell out of there. You can catch up later when you send your ex an email that reads, "Funny bumping into you today. Hope you weren't in the Geo. Anyway, I think about you sometimes."

Happy Overturned Geo Day!

Your Watercolor Of The Virgin Mary Is Not Drawing Thousands To Kneel Before It Day

Your Watercolor Of The Virgin Mary Is Not Drawing Thousands To Kneel Before It Day!

Your press release was pretty good, yes. "Virgin Mary Appears In Seven-Year-Old's Painting Of The Virgin Mary." But Virgin Mary Appearing On Stuff appraisers found no spirit of the special old lady in your painting. Apparently, since you intended to paint a painting of the Virgin Mary, it doesn't count. It only counts when she appears in auto grease and on bagels.

Doctor Major Clement Borges of the Greatest Diocese Association wrote in his report to the association's Trustees, "This painting, while accurate, does not appear to be anything more than a painting of the Great Ma'am executed by a marginally gifted seven-year-old. In short, The Virgin Mary Wuz Not Here."

Marcia Tiegs of the Catholic Power Collective was much harsher in her response to your work. "Today, a seven year old painted a whore. There should be no suggestion that Our Wonderful Woman Of The Hills might be associated with this work of filth in any way, shape or form. Plus, too much blue. Seriously, it's like the kid ran out of every other color but blue but he had to finish. I hate this kid and hope he's sick."

And the Catholic Reporter wrote, "It's just a painting by a kid. It's not like it's an oil stain on a garage floor or some mold. The kid wanted to paint the Virgin, so he painted the Virgin. Run, don't walk, away from this painting of the Virgin, if you're looking for something the Virgin's appeared on that is. By the way, saw her in my pancake syrup again this morning. She was grinning ear to ear."

Your art teacher, however, gave you three gold stars. Take that to the bank, Duccio.

Happy Your Watercolor Of The Virgin Mary Is Not Drawing Thousands To Kneel Before It Day!

Be Named The King Or Queen Of Something Or Other Day

Be Named The King Or Queen Of Something Or Other Day!

You could go for "Queen of The Tire Swing Triple Lindy" or "King Of Saudi Arabia" if you have an in there. Maybe you could be named "Queen Of The Rusty Wheelbarrow Tavern's Annual Body-Shots Extravaganza" again this year, completing the three-peat. Or maybe just "King Of Dinnertime." That crown won't weigh too heavily. You probably just have to make some good conversation and keep your napkin on your lap. And no drinking out of the carafe this time, Your Majesty.

Happy Be Named The King Or Queen Of Something Or Other Day!

Make A Sign That Reads "Fuck Off" Day

Make A Sign That Reads "Fuck Off" Day!

Head out near rush hour and stand on a street corner where there's lots of auto and foot traffic. Hold the sign in plain view for everyone to see. Many people will honk at you, either to defy your command and make it clear that they are paying you their mind, or to draw your attention to them in their cars so that they can give you the finger. You can ignore their honking, but that will only make them throw lit cigarettes at you.

Many of the pedestrians walking past will respond to your sign with a giggle, as if you were just another nut in the big city. Boys who are in the company of girls will make sure to say, "You fuck off." Boys who are in the company of boys will threaten you with violence. Some of these boys will follow through on their threats and punch you in the stomach. Then they'll ruin your sign underneath their sneakers.

When you're lying on the sidewalk, staring up at the blue sky, you'll watch a skywriter scrawl the words "YOU DESERVED THAT, FUCKFACE" across the heavens with the exhaust from his airplane.

Happy Make A Sign That Reads "Fuck Off" Day!

Wrestling In The Men's Room Day

Wrestling In The Men's Room Day!

The memo forbade it. It went company-wide and warned that any employee or employees engaged in any act of competitive, full-body-contact man-on-man sport within the men's room, or for that matter, the ladies' room, conference rooms, or designated break areas, will be dismissed immediately without recourse for appeal. The memo added that management has allowed that conference room G on floor 7, which was out-of-commission waiting to be outfitted with video-conferencing connections, will instead forego rewiring and will from here on in be the office's designated space for full-body-contact man-on-man sport.

The company is getting behind it. Jenkins' proposal comparing an in-house, full corporate dress wrestling division to the softball leagues so prevalent throughout the corporate sector really worked! Unfortunately, in a few minutes you're going to be wrongly accused of bilking from a client's holdings. You'll be banned from the offices until the investigation is completed. Oh well, there's always next season.

Happy Wrestling In The Men's Room Day!

He Sells Extra-Long Silk Ties Day

He Sells Extra-Long Silk Ties Day!

You've agreed to a blind date with your friend's cousin. What you've been told about him is that he looks a little bit like Campbell Scott, he went into AA during college and hasn't had a drink in twelve years, and he sells extra-long silk ties.

"Why?" you asked in response to the extra-long silk tie selling part.

Your friend said, "You think you have room to be choosey? How long has it been? Get real or your gonna end up like one of those old ladies who lives alone in an apartment drenched in pee."

When he walks into the restaurant tonight, he'll shake your hand and sit down across from you. He looks more like Campbell Scott than you allowed yourself to hope.

"My cousin told you about me?" he'll ask.

"A few things," you should say.

"She told you about my occupation?" he'll ask.

You'll nod.

He'll say, "Extra-long silk ties."

You'll nod again.

"A lot of people fall into a lot of different jobs that they're not proud of. How'd I get stuck with extra-long silk ties?" he'll ask the Gods in the sky.

You should show him that you're interested in his work. "Are they for extra-tall people?"

"I don't ask my customers about their private business," he'll say. He's funny.

"How long?" you should ask.

He'll say, "More silk tie than any man should ever want or need."

Say, "How wasteful."

He'll say, "You have no idea."

Your blind date will be going pretty well by that point. Don't blow this, Spinster.

Happy He Sells Extra-Long Silk Ties Day!

Hopscotch Day

Hopscotch Day!

Today, because your father is addicted to drugs, you're going to play a round of hopscotch and you're going to throw it, you understand? In the third. You're gonna tumble and you're gonna skin your knee and you're gonna run away crying like a sissy. The kids will all laugh, thinking you went home to your Mama. They won't know your mother's in the mental hospital. And they sure won't know your father is addicted to drugs and that he's waiting for you to bring home some money. They won't know anything about you, except that you skinned your knee and took off running.

You got to make these kids believe you ain't shit. So when you drop ten, they'll meet it. And when you grab the ten and drop twenty, they'll remember the skinned knee and they'll think it's a fluke and they'll meet it. And when you grab their twenty and you throw down fifty bucks, they ain't gonna be shit unless they meet it. And that's when you dance through those squares like every tap of your sneaker on the concrete would bring your Mama a little closer to coming home. That's when you show the whole playground what grace is all about. Then you dance on home to give your father money to buy drugs.

Note: Since your father is addicted to drugs, he won't like the waiting part of this plan. You have to explain to him that this is the only way it's to be done. You have to tell him he can choose to get high once this afternoon and never again, or he can get ten times as high for ten times as long if he just waits a little bit. He'll choose once this afternoon, but tell him no and run before he takes a swing.

Happy Hopscotch Day!

Chase Kids Through The Woods Day

Chase Kids Through The Woods Day!

You want to get into the woods just before the sun comes up. At sunrise, all the kids who went into the woods to screw the night before will start to wake up and make a run for their cars.

As you step over all of those sleeping bags and piles of beer cans, you'll start to wonder what ever happened to that cute little scamp you used to be. You'll think, "There was a time I had my own little nook off bushes that I used to call the Motel Moskowitz, and anyone who checked in was guaranteed a complimentary fingerbang. Whatever became of that sprightly little charmer?"

You won't be able to answer your own question before you nearly trip over the most delectable pair of seventeen year olds you ever did see. The very sight of them will make your mouth drop open.

"Their hair," you'll whisper. "My lord their hair. It's identical!"

They'll share an identical deep brown color hair in nearly identically trimmed mop cuts of loose, stringy strands, hers being just a little bit longer. But they'll have fallen asleep staring up at the stars and they'll be lying on their backs, side by side with their heads touching. Their hair will be tangled together in such a gorgeous mass and you'll know you've found the children you want to chase.

Walk back thirty paces and shout, "Hey you kids get outta there!"

They'll jerk upright. She'll be in her bra and will cross her arms to cover up.

"Go on!" shout. "Get!"

They'll struggle from their sleeping bags and gather up their things. Take five quick paces towards them to get them moving.

"You!" shout. "Stay where you are. I'll blow your heads off."

The boy won't have anything on below the waist. The girl will wait while the boy hops into his underwear and then his pants. Wait until he's dressed and he's almost gathered everything. Then shout, "That's it!" Make a loud rustling sound as you start to chase after them.

They'll run the way they all run. At least the ones who are in love. They'll run with their hands clasped and their free hands overloaded with sleeping bags and everything else they managed to rescue. They'll run like they have no rights, like you are a government officer with the right to lock them away and ruin their college transcripts forever. They'll run with their young, deep brown coifs rippling in the morning sunlight. They'll run to keep their parents from finding out, to hang onto the chance to do it all again in some other wood on some other night. They'll run away forever probably. You won't see them tomorrow morning. You might never see them again.

Chase them until they're out of the woods and they're free. Don't let them see you waving goodbye.

Happy Chase Kids Through The Woods Day!

The Margaritaville Strangler Day

The Margaritaville Strangler Day!

It was supposed to be just another summer looking after the locals as they butt heads with those tourists covered in oil. But somebody went berserk.

THIRD GIRL FOUND ON THE ROCKS, MARGARITAVILLE STRANGLER BLAMED, screamed the Friday morning headlines.

You spent all of Friday on the jetty, sifting through the remains that weren't already carried away in the beaks of the gulls fluttering about. Barowners and shopkeepers have been breathing down your neck to save the rest of the summer and capture the psycho who wasn't content to waste away nibbling on spongecake like everybody else. Somebody in Margaritaville has it out for young girls.

"He ain't no tourist, Sheriff," your deputy concluded on Friday. "He knows his way around too good. We'd have caught him by now."

"This used to be a place of God," you told your deputy. "A pious town, where people could feel at home in the lap of God."

"Boss?" your deputy asked. He looked at you funny.

"These tourist girls don't even look like they seen seventeen," you said, looking down into the victim's one open eye. "They taunt good men. They flaunt their sin."

The deputy was shivering. "You claim…? The girls aren't to blame Sheriff."

You said too much. The deputy's gonna come up the walk within the hour. If he's alone, he's just coming up to talk. If he's got the mayor with him, they're onto you. Either way, you can't just leave that razor wire out on the kitchen counter like that. Those stains are plain as day. You fixing to get caught?

Happy The Margaritaville Strangler Day!

The Painting Party Day

The Painting Party Day!

Turn your painting party into a super fun time by inviting everyone to paint a deep dark secret on the wall and allow everybody to read it before they all silently paint over the secret and let it disappear into the walls forever.

Say, "I'll start." Then paint on the wall, "When I was six, I killed my best friend. I held a plastic bag over her head. Our parents thought it was an accident, but she struggled, and I fought her to keep the plastic bag wrapped around her neck."

Paint over the secret, and then hand the brush to whoever's nearest. It will be Deborah, your friend Mark's wife. Deborah will paint, "When I wear earrings, I feel like a whore."

And then Deborah's secret will be wiped away and the brush will be passed around the room as everyone gets excited to spill their beans all over your wall. Kevin, your former neighbor, will paint, "I have genital warts. Bad." Linda, your coworker, will paint, "I often hope that my elderly grandmother will pass away. I know that's not an uncommon wish, since the burden can be too much. But there you go. I only came here to paint some walls and meet a guy." Everyone will laugh as they paint over Linda's secret. And Brad, your old boyfriend will sidle up a little closer to her.

The secrets that are shared will come from all sorts of places:

"I've sabotaged the work of several of my colleagues to rise to where I am in my career."

"I was still doing heroin when I was pregnant with Alicia."

"I am a contracted killer, hired to murder someone you all know but who never seems to show up at any of these parties."

"My dick stinks. Everyone says so."

By the time the last secret is being painted, the only wall-space left will be a little corner of the coat closet. Joe, your husband, will paint, "I hate party games. I hate secrets. From the very beginning I've felt that we weren't right for each other but something keeps me by your side. Something I can't live without."

Your guests will all read it and they'll break the rule of silence and start guessing at what your husband can't live without. Your laugh! Your pussy! Your cooking! Your knees! I really think it's your pussy! I mean think about it! Could be her tits! Come on, tits can't hold a marriage together! I'm with Sarah, it's your cooking! Will you people shut up! It's got to be her pussy! Have you ever seen the thing? It's awesome! Your tender and caring demeanor! Your pussy! Did someone say that already?

They'll all just keep on shouting while you kiss your husband with all you've got, his left hand on your back and his right brushing away his secret with a heavy coat of periwinkle.

Happy The Painting Party Day!

Hunt And Kill A Living Thing Day

Hunt And Kill A Living Thing Day!

Yes, if you're in a hurry you can throw on some camouflage pants, sneak up on your rubber tree plant and rip its stalks from its soil. Or, if your cat has been diagnosed with liver failure you can choose to let her die with some dignity by tiptoeing up from behind her and shooting her in the spine. But if you really want to have some fun today, hunt something that you really have a passion to kill. Like that son of a bitch reservations operator at Thrifty Rent-a-Car. Little prick wouldn't give you a weekend rate just because you needed to return the mid-size after 7 PM on a Sunday? Let's see how he feels when a 12-gauge pops out of the bushes and unloads in his face.

The first step is going to be finding out where 1-800 operators for Thrifty Rent-a-Car might actually be situated. He didn't have an accent so they probably haven't outsourced outside of the US yet. However, it's almost certain that their offices aren't located in your city. You're probably going to need to rent a car. Use Hertz or Dollar. If you call Thrifty and he answers, he might be onto your game and burrow under ground.

The next step is going to where he works and waiting for him to reveal his torso in plain view. When you have a good shot, fire off a single round at his chest.

If he drops, go to his carcass and fire another round into the back of his head. Then hoist his body into your truck. Police officers and Samaritans will stop you from taking the body, and you will be arrested and imprisoned perhaps for life. But man, what a rush.

Happy Hunt And Kill A Living Thing Day!

Which Snowboarder Are You? Day

Which Snowboarder Are You? Day!

Today, you are CREEF, the snowboarder who has been raising his little brother, HalfPipe, ever since your parents died in a car crash. Things are getting tougher now that HalfPipe is headed into middle school. The administrators want all the papers of legal guardianship that you never figured out how to get. You're hoping that if you can win this Winter's "Xtremely Pleasant Snowboard Challenge," you'll be able to use the prize money to pay for a lawyer so you and HalfPipe won't be hassled anymore.

Tomorrow, you will be DROOZ, the snowboarder who is going to be accused, tried and convicted of rape.

Happy Which Snowboarder Are You? Day!

Be In A Stadium Day

Be In A Stadium Day!

Today, you are to go to your local sports stadium. It is not important what event is taking place there today. Purchase a seat on the southeastern cusp, buy enough hot dogs and beer to stay in your seat for a good 35 minutes, and wait.

Keep your eyes on the Jumbotron. Someone you are not interested in is going to propose to you via the Jumbotron. It's important that you be there to say no and put an end to this fool's game.

Happy Be In A Stadium Day!

It's The Girls Are Pretty "Everything That Moves" Long Weekend!

It's The Girls Are Pretty "Everything That Moves" Long Weekend!

Prettygirl's been feeling a little too citified lately. So she signed up for an "Everything That Moves" weekend retreat in Rye, NY. The "Everything That Moves" retreat takes place on a secluded farmland and everyone who pays the $130,000 must either fuck or kill everything that moves. It won't be very relaxing, since Prettygirl will have to elude the efforts of other retreat-goers to either fuck or kill her. But not to worry. Not only is Prettygirl quite nimble, she is also a master of spontaneous camouflage as well as being way hot. No one will try to kill her if they haven't already fucked her first. The only thing we should all keep our fingers crossed for is that the place isn't overrun with single amputees like last year. Where's the sport?

As usual, the next few days are going up now. Scroll way down to read today's. Don't read tomorrow's until tomorrow. If you read ahead, your skin will dry up and you'll feel like a corn flake.

Tuesday, July 5, 2005

Masturbate All Over Everything Day!

Whenever you look around your apartment you think, "Almost there. It just needs something."

Why not masturbate all over everything. It will give your home that, "Everything's been masturbated on" look. There are crafts stores that can sell you stuff that already looks like it's been masturbated all over, sure. But you're a purist. Get to work.

Happy Masturbate All Over Everything Day!

Monday, July 4, 2005

Car Race For A Girl Day!

You and your best friend Mikey both love Marisa, who is dead (crushed between your cars when you were playing chicken one night). Now you're fighting over who gets to mourn her like a lover, and who should limit his mourning only to that of a friend. Race for it.

Happy Car Race For A Girl Day!


Sunday, July 3, 2005

Go To The Park And Make People Dance Day!

Because human beings are simply too elegant to waste their time walking around like a bunch of droll housecats. Turn the public park into a Saturday night dance hall. Whenever you see a group of people whom you would like to watch dance, shoot at their feet.

Happy Go To The Park And Make People Dance Day!


Saturday, July 2, 2005

Check The Fridge Day!

This morning, you're going to base your potential for a relationship with the person you slept with last night according to the feeling you get when you open his or her fridge. Pure gut reaction. When you look inside and see recently purchased jars of hummus, some not rotten fruit and lettuce that looks so fresh it actually makes you want to make a sandwich, and two bottles of spring water, one opened, you might think, "I would dig if this stuff were in my fridge." If so, go back to bed and cuddle.

If you look inside the fridge and there's a little boy shivering inside, slam the door shut. You don't want him to spoil. Then run for it.

Happy Check The Fridge Day!

Mannish Woman With A Bouquet Of Roses Today Day!

Mannish Woman With A Bouquet Of Roses Today Day!

Today at around 6:30 PM the mannish woman who walks up your street every evening will be carrying a bouquet of a dozen roses. She'll be holding them to her heart and smiling over them as if in response to a dream hovering just a few feet before her. Grab your husband and bring him to the window.

Say to him, "When was the last time you put a smile like that on my face?"

He'll say, "When I dragged you by your hair out of that brothel in Nevada and spent eight months weening you off of junk."

"Oh yeah," say.

Happy Mannish Woman With A Bouquet Of Roses Today Day!

When A Bullet Whizzes Past Your Eyes Day

When A Bullet Whizzes Past Your Eyes Day!

At around 6:08 PM you should be rushing down the sidewalk trying to make it to the station in time to catch the 6:24 train home. You should be preoccupied with a rumor you heard earlier about the CEO of your company being pushed out by the board and what that might mean in terms of layoffs when a bullet whizzes right past your eyes and shatters the 12 foot tall storefront window of the Payless immediately on your right. You'll be so disoriented by the infinitesimal time-frame of the whole experience that in your memory it will seem that the sound of the gunshot came after the shattering glass, and that the blip of the bullet whizzing past your eyes seemed to occur whole minutes before all of it.

You're going to see a bullet fly. You're going to see it, with your eyes. And you're going to feel its tailwind on the bridge of your nose. When you talk about it tonight with your family at the dinner table, your son will ask you if you feel more alive than you did this morning. Tell him, "I guess."

Happy When A Bullet Whizzes Past Your Eyes Day!

Peace Signs Day

Peace Signs Day!

For today, when you make a peace sign by holding up your index and middle fingers, instead of saying, "No more war or bombs even," what you're saying is, "I'm gonna go stand on a baby. For a couple minutes. See what happens."

And whenever you see the little-more-than-a-Mercedes peace symbol displayed in the window of an establishment, instead of it meaning, "This establishment won't stand for war. Bombs neither. You heard us," for today the peace symbol announces to passersby, "There are some babies inside. Wanna stand on em? See what happens?"

Tomorrow the good fight will once again be fought.

Happy Peace Signs Day!

Wrap Yourself Up In A Big Bow Day

Wrap Yourself Up In A Big Bow Day!

When she comes home, greet her in the doorway in your raincoat. When she asks what up, drop the raincoat to the floor and reveal yourself, naked except for the giant red bow and ribbon stretched around you.

Say, "Got you a present."

She'll insist that you keep the bow and ribbon on while you have sex with her. It will be the best sex that you can remember. You'll feel like you've finally become the person you've always wanted to be.

"I like being wrapped up in a bow," tell her.

She'll smile. "I liked it too," she'll say.

Tell her, "No, I really liked it."

She'll kiss your shoulder and go in to take a bath. Get up and walk around in the big bow.

The house will feel new. Though you've lived there for six years, it will feel like you've just moved in. It will really feel like home.

"I feel like I belong here," you'll say out loud.

"Where?" she'll ask. She'll be wearing a towel. You won't have heard her come in. "Why are you still wearing that silly thing?"

"I feel so wanted," tell her. "So special."

"You feel like a gift," she'll say. "I get it. I'm gonna go make dinner."

The next day when you dress for work you'll do your best to pad the bow and ribbon down underneath your suit. Though you'll look bulky and rumpled, all day long everyone will be excited to see you and they'll hang on every word you say.

"I don't understand it," the CEO of the company will say. "But it's like as soon as I lay my eyes on you I'm brimming with anticipation. It might be an anxiety attack, but it feels too good. I'm giving you a promotion and a raise."

At home your wife will be happy for you but wary. "So the way things are going, it seems you're probably gonna keep yourself wrapped up in a bow for the rest of your life. Am I warm?"

"I just feel like I belong everywhere I go. Like my presence surprises and delights people. Just by me showing up. I feel like no one would ever say no to me."

"So then," she'll press on. "The bow? All the time?"

"All the time," tell her.

"Laters," she'll say.

Your wife will get up and begin packing her stuff.

"But how can you toss me away?" you'll ask. "The bow!"

"You're wearing a big bow," she'll say. "I'm grossed out. Ew."

You'll miss her, but your bow just feels so awesome. Now go out to the bars. The single ladies are all waiting for the season of giving to begin.

Happy Wrap Yourself Up In A Big Bow Day!

Snake In The Sleeping Bag Day

Snake In The Sleeping Bag Day!

Tonight, when you slip inside your sleeping bag, you'll feel a snake slither up your leg. Your son will ask you what's wrong when he sees your face. Tell him there's a snake on you and that he shouldn't make any swift movements of the snake might bite.

"I'll go for help," he'll say.

Tell him, "Slowly."

Your son will take a good forty minutes to crawl from the tent and into the car. And then he'll shift into neutral and hold down the brake to let the car gently and almost imperceptibly roll down the hill. You'll watch through the flap for about ten minutes before you get bored.

While you wait for your son to return, you'll lay still and just barely breathe, hoping that the snake will slither up your body and out into the dirt to find another place on the mountain to sleep. After eleven hours, your son will come back alone.

"Couldn't you find anybody?" you'll whisper.

"I talked to the Park Ranger," your son will say. "He said that if I came back here with anybody, the snake might know that I'm up to something and bite you. So he told me to come back here and sit by you like I was doing so the snake doesn't get suspicious."

You'll nod just a touch. "Sounds right," you'll say. The snake will move a little bit on your thigh. He'll be just underneath your shorts then.

After thinking about it for a bit, you'll realize that your son must have put that snake in your sleeping bag because he's still upset that you won't get back together with his mom. You'll turn to your son to accuse him, but you won't be able to before he drops tarantulas all over your face.

Happy Snake In The Sleeping Bag Day!

Go To Church So You Can Go Back To Your Family And Brag About It Day

Go To Church So You Can Go Back To Your Family And Brag About It Day!

From noon till dinnertime you can just wander around the house with the most saintly swagger you can finagle from those hips.

"How you feelin'?" you can ask your wife. "Little hot?"

She'll say, "It's warm. But not too bad."

Tell her, "I feel just fine. Must be the flames of hellfire tickling at you. Me, I don't have to worry about that. Paid a visit to the big guy this morning. We're buds."

"Fuck you," she'll say. "I had a miscarriage two days ago."

Swagger off to the basement where your thirty-three year old son has been living since his wife ran off on him. Say to him, "Doing anything unchaste down here?"

He won't answer. He's watching tv and trying to stay so quiet that he can convince himself he doesn't exist.

"Me," say. "I've been unchaste as all hell this week. But no worries. Just went to church. Washed the slate clean."

Your son will look at you and say, "I don't believe in God. Do you really believe in God Dad?"

Don't answer. Instead, get into your car and go down to the Dairy Queen so you can tell the girls filling up the cones about what the Deacon had to say today.

Happy Go To Church So You Can Go Back To Your Family And Brag About It Day!

Just Because He Wants To Shit On Your Face It Doesn't Mean That He Loves You Day

Just Because He Wants To Shit On Your Face It Doesn't Mean That He Loves You Day!

The market for books on relationship advice has ballooned into the stratosphere, and YOU WANT IN! You've been thinking up titles for a book that women will grab off the shelves faster than it can be printed. Some of the titles that you've concluded don't quite have that spark:

HE HATES YOUR CAT AND YOUR FRIENDS

HE PUNCHES YOU IN THE STOMACH

YOU LOVE HIM, BUT IF HE SAYS HE'S IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE ELSE, KILL THEM BOTH

HE'S A JEW. IS THAT A DEALBREAKER?

HE'S REALLY INTO YOU, BUT YOU HATE YOURSELF SO MUCH

HE CAN DRINK MORE THAN ANYONE YOU'VE EVER MET BEFORE, INCLUDING YOUR DAD!

HE'S MENTALLY RETARDED. YOU'RE NOT.

WHERE'S ALL YOUR STUFF?

They're all just a little too "niche," aren't they. But after banging your head against the wall for at least 45 minutes, you think you've finally nailed that one title that will make young, urban, professional women go, "Finally, someone gets it!" Behold:

JUST BECAUSE HE WANTS TO SHIT ON YOUR FACE, IT DOESN'T MEAN THAT HE LOVES YOU

Can you say, "Oh, hello "New York Times" Best Seller List. I've heard a lot about you. It's time we got to know each other since we'll certainly be spending a lot of time together over the next 114 weeks."

It's time to get writing. Just go through all of the different scenarios in which a young, urban, professional woman can't see what her guy really feels for her because she's blinded by all the shit all over her face. Some suggested chapters:

He Might Not Remember Eating Corn, But He'd Better Remember Your Anniversary

Feel Like A Toilet?

When He Mentions, "Dropping The Kids Off At The Pool," Ask Him If He Wants To Have Children With You.

Why Won't He Kiss You Afterwards?

Say hi to Oprah for me.

Happy Just Because He Wants To Shit On Your Face It Doesn't Mean That He Loves You Day!

You Are A Dead Celebrity And Today Is The Anniversary Of The Day That You Died Day

You Are A Dead Celebrity And Today Is The Anniversary Of The Day That You Died Day!

Here on Earth, people will forward emails around their offices sharing lists of hilarious "Reasons Why Everything Has Been A Little Less Magical Since [YOU] Died During The Mescaline-Fueled Tantrum Of That Boy-Prostitute, Edweena." Included in the list will be, "This season's TV schedule bites it worse than ever!"

Down in hell, where you've been staying since the big day, you're going to be forced to eat your legs. They'll grow back, but their regeneration will be even more painful than when you rip into the flesh of your calf with your teeth.

Happy You Are A Dead Celebrity And Today Is The Anniversary Of The Day That You Died Day!

All Day Long You Write Her Letters Never Sent Day

All Day Long You Write Her Letters Never Sent Day!

The first week of middle school they started calling you "Hemingway" because you always seemed to be scribbling on a notepad any chance you got. You'd scribble away, then rip the page from your pad and toss it crumpled into the garbage can. One day Kevin, a classmate of yours who likes to help out the janitorial staff due to lack of friends, was emptying out a garbage can when he found your crumpled sheets. He opened one up and found a beautifully written love letter, unaddressed.

"Who's the special lady Hemingway?" Kevin asked.

"Not telling," you replied.

"Secret admirer huh?" Kevin said. "Good thinking. It's the only way she wouldn't turn you down on the spot." That's the kind of talk that prevents Kevin from building friendships.

You told Kevin, "When I compose the right letter, it will be impossible for her to refuse me." Just then you stopped scribbling, ripped up your latest note and sent it flying into the trash can.

Kevin said, "Think maybe I could use this myself then? I mean, if it's not good enough for your girl."

You thought about it. "My Dad has emphysema," you said. "Gimme ten bucks."

And so began your thriving new business as a writer of anonymous love notes. The boys lined up in study hall to purchase your cast off musings on beauty so striking it makes one scared to admit to how he really feels. You felt a little guilty, because in your heart you knew you were selling trash to these boys. Sheets and sheets of drivel that you knew your Melanie would laugh at if she ever thought such excrement was intended to win her glorious heart.

But they kept buying it. And more and more often you'd see these boys, your former customers, walking arm in arm with newly acquired ladyfriends. Some of them would flash you a thumbs-up as you passed.

"This school is infested with a scourge of loose women," you thought. "How could they have fallen for it?" And then you'd see your Melanie pass. No note in her hand. No boy by her side. Suddenly you'd feel remiss.

"Dear God," you'd think. "The most beautiful girl in all the school is as yet without an admirer. I must stop churning out this waste and write her the declaration she deserves."

But the money got to you. As these teenage boys awoke from childhood to the stirring in their bellies, they would line up in twos and threes waiting for you to toss aside a missive worthy of anyone but your Melanie. Soon you found yourself purposely generating trash just to get them away from your desk and, more importantly, to get their ten dollar bills in your pocket. Within a few months you had earned over $700, more than enough to cure your father's emphysema. ($250 at the free clinic. I know, "doesn't sound so free to me.") You began to think you were nothing but a businessman. A marketing specialist. An ad guy who knows how to sell a girl on a boy.

"I may not be able to express myself to Melanie in the manner she deserves," you thought. "But I can show her that in my company she'll be cared for."

So you spent all the money you saved adorning yourself with the finest wardrobe and most extravagant portable electronic devices you could find. Today you're going to go to school dressed in the costume of the aristocracy. And you're going to parade your finery in front of your beautiful Melanie.

When you approach her, she will be standing by her locker with her back facing you. As you get closer, you'll see that a boy stands before her, leaning against her locker. A boy you recognize. As you pass, you'll steal a glance of your dear sweet Melanie, and you'll see her smile is lit up by the warmth of a blush. You'll see that the boy before her is the same boy who came to your desk yesterday holding a ten-dollar bill. And you'll see in Melanie's hands a note you'd assumed to be nothing better than an insult to her.

Your blood will race through your veins in a way that over time will grow familiar to you. It's the rush of regret, of feeling like a fool for letting what you wanted slip away. You'll get used to it. Now try to take some comfort in the fact that, though you don't have love, at least your purchases cost more than what most of your peers can afford. This skill will come in handy in the future.

Happy All Day Long You Write Her Letters Never Sent Day!

Make A Chocolate Cake So Good It Can Stop Spousal Abuse Day

Make A Chocolate Cake So Good It Can Stop Spousal Abuse Day!

The folks down at the women's shelter thought you were shitting them. They'll tell you that the first time they watch a miserable wife-beater turn soft and cuddly after a few bites of your chocolate cake. "I thought you were shitting me," the director of the shelter will say. "What's in this cake? Anti-Motherfucker Paste?"

You don't know what's in the cake. You wouldn't know how to write the recipe down if there was a gun to your head. All you know is that you made a cake once and when your Daddy ate it, he died. When you were mixing the batter, you thought over and over with every swirl of your spatula about him sending your mom tumbling to the radiator. About him screaming at her for making things hard. And you mixed the batter until it was just so fine, all the while thinking about nothing but how nice it would be if he just fell down and died.

The cake went into the oven. It came back out and cooled. The icing went on top and your dad bit down and he fell. He didn't get back up.

You haven't used your power since. But your job as an office assistant has turned dull. You need to do some good again. So today, make a cake, but think about stopping spousal abuse while you do it. Don't think about killing nobody. Just think in a gneral way about turning bitter, defensive men into gentle, cooing souls who want nothing but to embrace and sigh with the ones they've got. Then drop the cake off at the shelter.

Tomorrow, make a cake that makes people buy winning lotto tickets. Get rich or get nowhere.

Happy Make A Chocolate Cake So Good It Can Stop Spousal Abuse Day!

Make Some Plans In A Stranger's Bed Day

Make Some Plans In A Stranger's Bed Day!

You'll wake up before him, as usual. But there'll be something different about this guy. Something that will keep you from emptying his wallet into your purse and bolting for the door. You'll like having your shoulder up against his.

"This isn't so bad," you'll think. "I could come back here. If he bought better sheets."

You'll look around the room. You'll hate the yellow walls and you'll picture a nice light blue to contrast with the green of the garden that's visible through the window.

His closet door will be open. He has a lot of shirts with loud stripe patterns, which you can't stand. He'll have worn one the previous night in fact, but you let it slide. No matter, a few birthdays and Christmases and you could outfit him with a whole new wardrobe of your devising.

You'll sit up and look at the two of you in his bureau mirror. If he lets his hair grow out, you'll think, you two could look perfect together. He has one tattoo on his bicep of a 50's style pinup model, and you'll think about how adorable it would look to curl that tattoo'd arm around a baby.

"He's not snoring," you'll think. "This can't get much more perfect."

You'll lay back down into his too firm pillow and curl up to him from behind. He'll rustle a bit in your embrace, then he'll start to wake up. You'll smile when he rolls over and puts his arm around you. Then he'll reach past you to pick up his alarm clock and check the time.

"My girlfriend's coming by at 11 so you'd better get going," he'll say. "I told you about her right?"

When he goes into the bathroom, you'll want to throw something. But you'll remember that he did tell you about his girlfriend the night before. When you first woke up you just kind of forgot.

"Guess I can't get angry at him," you'll decide. You'll take his iPod and leave.

Happy Make Some Plans In A Stranger's Bed Day!

Bring Pain To Everyone Who Tries To Be A Part Of Your Life Day

Bring Pain To Everyone Who Tries To Be A Part Of Your Life Day!

Today, whenever That Special Someone tells you she thinks you're special and she's ready to throw caution to the wind and make a go of it with you, get into a barroom shoving match that escalates to a knife fight. Deliver an unstoppable leg sweep that should do nothing but win the fight for you, but when your opponent lands with the meat of his neck on a barstool, some explaining will be necessary.

You'll be tried for manslaughter. While there will be many witnesses to attest to the death being nothing more than an accident, the DA will pressure That Special Someone to testify that you started that fight with an intent to kill. When you get out of prison thirteen years from today, you'll track her down only to be introduced to your twelve and a half year old daughter. That Special Someone will explain that she was carrying your child the day of that fight, and when you went to trial the DA threatened to turn the kid over to the state upon delivery if she didn't testify against you.

"It was to give your daughter a better life you bastard," she'll bellow at you. "It's bad enough her Daddy was behind bars for 13 years and her Mommy was crying herself to sleep every night. I couldn't let her go into those foster homes that did such a number on me. I couldn't let that happen to my child."

Your daughter will be standing a few feet behind her mother, staring up at you. Tell her, "Sorry kiddo. I bring pain to everyone who tries to be a part of my life."

Your daughter will say, "I never tried. I had no choice in the matter." Then she'll kick you and her mother once each in the shin before running upstairs to listen to Staind.

"Feisty," you'll tell That Special Someone.

"In case there was any doubt she was yours," That Special Someone will say.

The two of you will kiss and everything will work out as well as it can for an ex-con trying to reenter society after thirteen years' hard time.

Happy Bring Pain To Everyone Who Tries To Be A Part Of Your Life Day!

You're A Vampire, She's Wayne Gretsky Day

You're A Vampire, She's Wayne Gretsky Day!

You hate costume parties, but apparently, she likes hockey.

"I like hockey," you tell her.

She says, "I hate hockey. But my boyfriend loves it."

She points to a guy in a goalie mask and full pads.

"Does he make you laugh?" you ask.

Wayne Gretsky shrugs.

Say, "I lied. I hate hockey. But I like your smile."

She'll stop smiling. She'll say, "I have all my teeth." She'll smear the grease-paint off of one of her teeth.

Tell her, "Still into it."

The guy in the goalie mask and pads will make his way over to you.

"Hey Dracula," he'll shout. "You gonna grab the puck or you waitin' to get checked?"

Gretsky will find you later in the party and hand you her number. You fuck that MVP hard.

Happy You're A Vampire, She's Wayne Gretsky Day!

Wait For Him To Call Day

Wait For Him To Call Day!

Today, your net worth is dependent on whether or not he calls. Tell your friends.

“Wow,” all of your friends will say in unison, even the ones who are out of town. “So today’s the big day.”

“Yup,” say. “Today I find out if I’m pretty.”

“Smart too,” your friends will say. “And don’t forget resourceful. And funny.”

One of your friends will tell you that he always thought you were all those things.

Tell him, “Well, I guess today we’ll find out if you were right or wrong.”

Secretly, your friend will hope that he was wrong because he wants to see you get cut down to size.

Say to your friends, “Let’s all join hands.”

You and your friends will join hands and stare silently at the phone, waiting to find out whether you’re pretty or ugly, engaging or dull, sweet-smelling or malodorous.

One of your friends will say, “He hasn’t called yet.”

Another will say, “I bet he does.”

Though no one will give it voice, you and every one of your friends at that exact second will worry that he got trapped under something or that he got shot in the hands and can’t dial. Everyone will want to ask whether it still counts, but everyone will know that the answer is yes. If he doesn’t call, no matter the excuse (and there’s always an excuse) you’re sunk.

Happy Wait For Him To Call Day!

Bank Robbery Day

Bank Robbery Day!

Shoot some rounds into the ceiling and when everyone stops screaming, say, "I'm only doing this because my daughter needs medicine."

Everyone will say, "Awww." Someone might ask what disease your daughter has. Don't say, "Crabs."

The bank manager will reach to push the "We're being held up" button but a customer will grab his hand. "Do you want his little girl to die?" the customer will ask.

The bank manager will say he was only doing his job. Tell him, "So am I." Then shoot his chest until it's gone. The customers will cheer a little, except for those customers gathered around the woman who's delivering her baby.

Fill your duffle bag with enough cash to buy a lot of new cars. Then make your way to the door. On your way out, pause to wave hello to the just-delivered baby. The new mother will ask, "Would you like to hold her?" Tell the mother, "No, but I do want to send her to college." Then drop a pile of thousand dollar bills on the baby, careful not to dent its head.

Happy Bank Robbery Day!

Plant A Garden With Your Husband Day

Plant A Garden With Your Husband Day!

Six days ago you spotted your husband mooning across a lunch table at a coworker of his. You went to his table and stood quietly to the right of his martini. He untangled his hand from his coworker's and hung his mouth down low. He hasn't been home since.

Today he'll wander into the yard when your knees are damp in the soil of the begonia bed. After six days away without so much as a phone call, the first thing he'll say to you is, "You have a weapon."

Continue driving your spade into the dirt. Before he says a word, tell him about your two infidelities.

"Wow," he'll say.

Tell him when so many people come knocking you gotta open up sometime.

"Marci was the only time for me," he'll say.

"If it's over," say, "muddy your pants in this dirt and plant some begonias with me. It'll be symbolic of you and me choosing to carry our marriage into another season."

He'll kneel beside you. "What can I tell you to make this okay?"

Ask him to lie to you.

"I've been embezzling millions from the firm to provide you with the life you deserve," he'll say. "Marci had proof and threatened to expose me if I didn't sex with her thrice weekly. It was so awful, but I did it for you."

Pat his hand, already caked in mud. Say, "I know sweetie. It's all over now. It's gonna be all better now."

He'll tell you that he contracted someone from his dark past to have her eliminated. You'll go upstairs and have 13-years-married-with-a-recently-forgiven-infidelity sex.

Happy Plant A Garden With Your Husband Day!

Be The Over-Achieving Intern Who Uncovers A Massive Corporate Fraud Day

Be The Over-Achieving Intern Who Uncovers A Massive Corporate Fraud Day!

Today, you're going to discover that the Files Clerk who collects funds for the kitchen snacks has been skimming 30% off the top for herself. Report her. She'll have to be fired because, though it just amounts to around eleven or twelve dollars a month, it's theft. The Files Clerk is 61 years old and she's raising her grandson because her daughter was murdered by her husband nine years ago.

No one will be happy about this. You'll get a begrudging pat on the back, but word will quietly spread through the floor that you ruined somebody they all kind of liked, even though she was taking home cash earmarked for Stella D'oro Breadsticks. No one will speak kindly to you for the rest of the summer. One morning, just before you go back to school in the fall, one of your angrier supervisors will tell you to think about human beings first and about getting a leg up second. A few years from now, when you inquire for a recommendation, your calls will be avoided.

Happy Be The Over-Achieving Intern Who Uncovers A Massive Corporate Fraud Day!

You're Going To Have To Tell Her About Your Days In Gay Porn Day

You're Going To Have To Tell Her About Your Days In Gay Porn Day!

You and your girlfriend were taken hostage by Enemies Of America® and for twelve days now they've been torturing the both of you to try to get you to tell them American Secrets™. You've held up okay, strong with the faith in your country's military, but you're afraid your girlfriend might not live long enough to see a rescue.

"Just tell them what they want to hear," you've been begging her through the wall separating your cells.

"Never," she always rasps. She just loves America too much.

You know you've got a concussion so you've been trying to stay awake. You have to assume she's in the same danger, so for two days straight you've been trying to keep her awake with conversation through the wall.

You've been scrambling for topics to keep her interested, confessing to everything from cheating on your AP Biology test to being relieved when your brother finally pulled off a suicide attempt. But you can tell she's been fading. You're going to have to get into the big one.

"Look," tell her. "There's something I have to tell you that I hoped you'd never find out."

You won't hear anything for a second. Then, barely, "I'm listening."

Say, "I'm not proud of this."

Her voice will be a little louder, "Go on."

Go on. "When I got out of college," say. "I fell in with kind of a weird crowd. I'm afraid I ended up spending a few years as the world's highest-paid star of gay pornography."

She won't say anything.

Ask her, "How does that sit with you."

You'll hear some shuffling on the other side of the wall. "Tell me everything," she'll say.

Her heart may be breaking, but at least it's still beating. You're keeping her alive.

"It all started the summer I worked at Borders Books," say to her. "On a lunch break my manager dared me to see how much of a pocket dictionary I could fit in my mouth…"

Happy You're Going To Have To Tell Her About Your Days In Gay Porn Day!

Get Loved Day

Get Loved Day!

I know this is impossible, but by the end of tonight you have to have been loved. That doesn't mean you have to have been made love to or squished to death by a Love-Beast (Icelandic readers only), but your existence has to have inspired love in someone.

Your Mom counts. I know that doesn't help. Your Dad counts too, but I know that made you laugh really hard. Your pets, however, do not count. This is simply because it is the opinion of this website that your pets do not love you. Yes, we know what you believe as regards your pets and frankly, we're disgusted. Your pets are animals. You're just a fling to them.

Any human counts, excluding exes with whom you broke up over one year ago (just hanging on to whatever they think they had) and Grandmoms (loving you keeps her from howling into the dark silence of her Home late at night). But again, Moms count.

Here's the thing, if you aren't loved by midnight, some people will come for you. They'll take you to a place where people like you are put to use. IT'S NOT A ROCK QUARRY! That's a rumor. Suffice to say, you'll finally be able to serve your fellow man via the one resource you still have to offer, that being your ability to work.

Midnight tonight. I'd suggest, if by dinner you don’t see any eyes glinting in your direction, you run. You just run.

Happy Get Loved Day!

Break The Blue Wall Of Silence Day

Break The Blue Wall Of Silence Day!

You became a cop to help people, not to sell drugs to little kids. It may put your life on danger, but you have to get up on that stand and tell the truth.

"We sold drugs to little kids," say.

"How little?" the DA will ask.

Say, "About three feet. Maybe three-six. We ran a stand on the corner of Washington and 80th. Lotta little kids over there who like to party."

The courtroom will gasp. The judge will threaten the courtroom with clearance.

The DA will ask, "Why little kids?"

Say, "Dunno."

The DA will ask, "How high up did this conspiracy go?"

Say, "Well, is the mayor's office high enough for you?"

No one will gasp. Sit back down.

The DA will ask, "Why are you here today?"

Say, "I wanted to break the blue wall of silence."

The courtroom, the DA, and the judge will applaud. Your wife will cry. After the trial, when you go to the bathroom, you'll be shot in both eyes.

Happy Break The Blue Wall Of Silence Day!

Surgery In A Hurry Day

Surgery In A Hurry Day!

Your Dad got knifed in the yard again. Your Mom's gonna have to sew him back up. She needs you to pour his whiskey when he needs it. You're eight and you're scared but if your Dad doesn't get enough whiskey to keep from screaming, your Mom will screw up the surgery and he'll die there in your kitchen.

Don't be scared. By the way, since your Mom's not a doctor, she's going to screw up anyway. They'll go to the hospital tomorrow though. Cheapskates.

Happy Surgery In A Hurry Day!

Death March Day

Death March Day!

You and your buddies were on vacation in a small Southeast Asian country that was recently shaken up by a coup. You tried to get out, but the prostitutes you'd solicited the night prior slowed you down. Soldiers raided all of the hotels and quickly rounded you up into camps. Your photos have been pasted all over the American newspapers, but as far as you know, America isn't coming.

Today you and your buddies are going to be taken on a death march. A death march is exactly what it sounds like. You're going to march until you're dead. When you fall, they'll prop you back up and try to make you keep marching. When it's clear you can't march anymore, they'll leave you there to die.

"At least we're gonna be able to go out together," you'll say to one of your buddies this morning before sunrise.

"That's true. I always loved you guys," one of your buddies will respond.

Your other buddy will say, "You wanna just roll over and die for them? Fuck that. We're busting out of here. Before they come for us. Let's do it now!"

You and your other buddy will say, "Yeah!"

A soldier will walk in and say, "Time for the death march guys."

You and all your buddies will say, "Fuck!"

The soldier will say, "Sorry. I know it sucks. But y'know."

The buddy who came up with the idea of escaping will say, "They're just too good."

You'll tell your buddies you always wanted to touch them. On the march, they'll ridicule you until they start to die.

Happy Death March Day!

Houseguest Day

Houseguest Day!

Write a note.

"By the time you read this, I will be gone. Don't try to follow me. Leaving is the right thing to do. To sleep in your guest bedroom is to spite this home. There is too much love here, and there is too much darkness inside of me. My presence mocks your happiness. I cannot help but wish you ill. Deep down, I neither like nor respect either of you. I've taken some of your more expensive electronics to sell along my travels. I hope you'll understand."

Put the note on the fridge, then go up to bed. Make sure to wake up tomorrow when you hear some pots and pans banging in the kitchen. Head down there and when they're both hovering over the note in disbelief, say, "What smells so good?"

They'll show you the note. Say, "Did I write that? Oh my God I'm sleepwalking again. I can't be left alone guys, can I stay here for a while?"

They'll reluctantly agree because they're good people. Now you'll have a place to crash for a while, and you'll get to have fun writing progressively more horrible things about your friends that they'll be forced to read and generously dismiss every single morning. You need to find work.

Happy Houseguest Day!

Pansy Rumble Day

Pansy Rumble Day!

For weeks now, the whole town has been papered with beautifully designed, four-color posters advertising tonight's Pansy rumble. "Come See Your Town's Skinniest, Weakest Pansies Like You've Never Seen Them Before," read the posters. "It's The Pansy Rumble! Pansies From Grades Six Through Eight Will Fight Until Only The Triumphant Are Left Standing. At The Baseball Field. First Rain Of The Summertime."

The weatherman made it clear that there's going to be a storm tonight. So everyone is going to be heading over to the Baseball Field to find out what a Pansy Rumble looks like. The bleachers will be full, and many people will sit on the hoods of their cars and watch from the parking lot. Two gangs of pre-pubescent pansies will face each other from either end of the outfield, holding their palms up to the sky waiting to feel a rain drop.

When the lightning cracks, the leader of one gang of Pansies (The Westsdie Gollums) will shout, "What do we find cool and refreshing?!" And everyone in his gang will respond, "Pansy blood!" And the leader of the other gang of Pansies (The Gramercy Dungeonmasters) will shout, "Are you Pansies or are you [inaudible]?" A burst of thunder will muffle the last part of his question and his gang won't respond. Both gangs will then let forth an angry roar and run towards each other. When there is only about twenty feet between them, all of the pansies will pull handguns from the waistbands of their pants and fire into the thick of the gang attacking them. 90% of both gangs will be killed. Those who live will run from the field, some with wounds. The audience will at first scatter, then the ones who had relatives taking part in the rumble will go into the piles of dead to see if maybe, just maybe, their son or daughter is still alive. A few audience members will be shot by stray gunfire, so if you go, stand in the back behind someone's big Dad.

Happy Pansy Rumble Day!

The Jesus Christ Of Partying Day

The Jesus Christ Of Partying Day!

They call him that because after every party he doesn't wake up for three whole days.

"Does that ever scare you?" ask him.

"It terrifies me," he'll say. "Not because I'm afraid I'm sick or that I'm going to die. But when I think of all the time I'm losing to my insatiable need for sleep following a fun party, it's like I'm putting myself in prison every Friday night at 4 AM."

Suggest that maybe he should party less.

He'll say, "But parties are fun."

Say, "So are museums."

He'll disagree. Then he'll pass out. While he may not always be there for you in a lot of ways, it is nice to be able to just wander in every six to eight hours and cuddle with him without worrying about him waking up and demanding sex.

Happy The Jesus Christ Of Partying Day!

Your Father's Going To Come Into Your Bar Tonight. He'll Have Blood On His Shirt Day

Your Father's Going To Come Into Your Bar Tonight. He'll Have Blood On His Shirt Day!

You'll come in to close the place up early. You've been doing that a lot lately. It's not even that there is any new competition in town pulling your customers away. The place is just in a slump.

If you stuck around for a year or two, you would probably see things pick back up. Towns like this one don't let their bars shutter. But you don't think in terms of years. You never intended to die in Texas.

"A guy finished The Heart Of The Lone Star State tonight," your bar-back will tell you.

The Heart Of The Lone Star State is a five pound slab of shitty steak. You got a bunch of them with the last meat order that came in right before you switched suppliers. You instituted that half-assed promotion to try and get rid of it. Anyone who finishes The Heart Of The Lone Star State drinks for free.

"How much booze did he hit me for?" you'll ask.

"Nothing," he'll say. "He didn't even seem to enjoy eating the steak. Just finished it like he had a job to do, then waited for me to take his Polaroid. Then he was gone."

The bar-back will point to the Polaroid on the bulletin board behind the bar. "Check out the steak sauce all over his shirt," he'll say.

When he points to the Polaroid, you'll be all the way across the bar sitting in a booth counting out that night's bank from the drawer. Something will pull you out of your seat and send you over to take a look at that Polaroid.

"What in the hell are you doing still alive?" you'll ask your father's frozen smile. Just then the window will shatter and the barback will take a bullet in the shoulder.

"Out back!" you'll shout when he falls into your arms. You'll drag him through the office out the back door and into your car. You'll peel away, watching in the rear view mirror as the flames quickly engulf your bar.

The barback will be bleeding and howling in the back seat. "Who was that? Was that the guy in the Polaroid?" he'll shout.

"Yeah," you'll say. "That was my Dad. He's been pretty pissed at me ever since me and my Mom left him to drown in a lake. Fucker's supposed to be dead." Then you'll explain to him that you're going to have to roll him out of the moving car at the Emergency Room's entrance because your Dad probably has you in his rifle site as you speak and you can't risk slowing down.

Happy Your Father's Going To Come Into Your Bar Tonight. He'll Have Blood On His Shirt Day!

Arrow Through Your Back Day

Arrow Through Your Back Day!

This morning you'll wake up to find an arrow sticking out of your chest (you'll wake up on your side). You won't have lost a lot of blood. Just enough to form a neat round cake on your nightshirt.

You'll try to roll over to check on your girlfriend, but that will make the arrow tear at your skin. So you'll get out of bed and look at her. She'll still be asleep.

In the bathroom, you'll get a good look at the arrowhead under the light. You'll check for markings that might indicate who shot it. You'll find only file-marks where the markings might have been.

Your girlfriend will wake up when you grind the beans for coffee.

"Oh my God!" she'll shout when she sees the arrow poking out from both sides of your torso. You try to find something false in her shock.

"Pretty freaky huh? Someone must have shot it while I was asleep," you'll say.

"Who could have done it?"

You won't answer. You'll put the Netflix DVDs into their envelopes to be dropped in the mail later today.

You girlfriend will ask again, "Who do you think is responsible?"

"Who was here?" you'll ask.

Her face will turn sour, the way she looks at you when you've had too much to drink at a get-together.

"I was asleep last night," she'll say.

"So was I," you'll reply. "I guess we both slept so deeply that someone was able to break in here with their bow and arrow and shoot me through the sternum without either of us being disturbed."

"This is bullshit," she'll say. "Fuck you."

Say to her, "I'm gonna take a shower. If you remember anything you heard or saw last night, tell me when I get out."

Go into the bathroom and turn on the water, then lean your ear against the door. You'll hear her talking to someone on her cell. Rip your nightshirt off from around the arrow and wash up under the water. When you're finished, go out there and apologize and ask her if she'll go to the hospital with you. When she goes into the bathroom to shower, check the outgoing calls on her phone. I think you'll find a surprise there (she'll have called City Hall).

Happy Arrow Through Your Back Day!

Rafting Disappearance, Day 9 Day

Rafting Disappearance, Day 9 Day!

Today, you and your classmates are going to give up on everyone who disappeared during the Model Congress Year-End Rafting Trip. It's been nine days and only one member of the Congress has been found. That was day six and he was discovered walking naked down the middle of a trucker roadway. He hasn't spoken yet. No one expects him to. He was the Model Comptroller.

There's going to be a gathering tonight. Posters went up on the walls at school yesterday morning, but they said "Memorial" on them. By 3PM they'd all been taken down and replaced with makeshift flyers that said "Gathering." You should go. The girls will huddle together and cry, even though no one was ever really friends with anyone in Model Congress. Model Congressmen and Model Congresswomen moved within their own small circles of driven youth.

The Gathering is going to be on the football field. You don't know much about it, beyond the fact that you're supposed to bring a candle. But afterwards, in the woods behind the football field, you and six other guys are going to do the shrooms that you all chipped in for on Monday. You had all picked tonight to do them, before you knew about the gathering, and you really don't want to reschedule. So you'll go and ponder the absence of your lost classmates for about an hour, then you and your friends will sneak off through the fence to sit on rocks and wig out.

It's going to be the time of your life.

Happy Rafting Disappearance, Day 9 Day!

Apply For A Job At The Ice Cream Factory Day

Apply For A Job At The Ice Cream Factory Day!

The human resources lady will ask you why you want to work at an ice cream factory.

Say, "My current job doesn't give me the freedom to be around ice cream as much as I'd like to be. I'm a United States Senator."

The human resources lady will show you a short movie on how ice cream is made. The movie will show graphic scenes of kittens being killed with a hammer.

"Why do they have to do that to the kittens?" you should ask.

The human resources lady will sit on the corner of her desk and look at you with some condescension. She'll say, "Look this isn't Congress. You might not have the stomach to make ice cream."

Ask her, "Will I have to kill kittens with a hammer?"

"Not unless Kevin calls in sick," the human resources lady will say. "We all pitch in around here."

"Just one thing…" you'll say, but the human resources lady will interrupt you.

"The kittens don't go into the ice cream. We just kill them because our ice cream is so delicious, for every pint we manufacture there has to be a moment of extreme tragedy brought into the world in order to balance out the cosmos. We kill the kittens with hammers in order to keep the universe from balancing itself out by hurting our human babies or the economy."

Say, "The economy. Now that's something I know something about!"

The human resources lady will laugh. "Of course! Because you're a United States Senator."

You'll laugh along with her. Then she'll ask you when you can start.

"Tomorrow!" you'll say. Then you'll ask if you can use her phone to call Capitol Hill and tell Congress to put you on speakerphone so you can tell everyone to fuck off.

Happy Apply For A Job At The Ice Cream Factory Day!

Jill The Sexy Exterminator Day

Jill The Sexy Exterminator Day!

When Jill The Sexy Exterminator knocks on your door, you'll be trying to drag a drug dealer's corpse into the bathroom so that you can begin sawing him apart in the tub.

"Am I interrupting something?" Jill The Sexy Exterminator will ask coquettishly.

Say, "It's not what you think."

Jill The Sexy Exterminator will shut the door behind her and say, "What I think is that a very handsome man has a dead body to dispose of and he's so frazzled he might not even have time to make love to his exterminator."

Let the drug dealer's body drop to the floor and say, "I'll make time." Then make love to Jill The Sexy Exterminator.

When you're done making love, go back into the bathroom and starting sawing the drug dealer's body apart while Jill The Sexy Exterminator sprays your baseboards and behind the fridge with insecticide.

Happy Jill The Sexy Exterminator Day!

Some Guy's In The Bushes. He's Got A Hammer In His Hand Day

Some Guy's In The Bushes. He's Got A Hammer In His Hand Day!

He doesn't look like anyone you've ever dated, but he definitely looks heartbroken. You're only crashing at this house for a few weeks while you wait for all the craziness to die down back in Portland before you go back for the $9,000 you're owed. Your friend Karen lives here with two other girls, Nina and Lisa. You know everyone Karen's ever dated, so this guy must be after Nina or Lisa.

The hammer comes crashing through the glass and his hand juts through the broken windowpane. The shards of glass slice through his skin like it was all part of the plan.

"Nina and Lisa aren't here," you tell him.

"It's Karen I'm after," he says.

"Really?" you say. "She never told me about you."

"She wouldn't have. She told me I was the one she wanted to keep to herself."

You sit him on the couch and demand to hear everything. His name's Leo and he's a carpenter. Karen had visited his workshop a few times this past spring. One day she said she'd come and never showed, and Leo went out of his mind.

"My business is about to go under. I can't do anything but pursue her. She's breaking me."

"Perhaps you were just a bit of fun for her," you suggest. "If it's not right for both of you, it's not right."

Leo says, "I never thought about it that way."

He apologizes for the window and gets up to leave. Just then you spot Karen outside coming home with her boyfriend. She sees Leo through the broken window and stops in her tracks. To keep Leo from going outside, you grab him and put your tongue down his throat. And thus ends the meet-cute story that you and Leo will one day tell your grandchildren.

Happy Some Guy's In The Bushes. He's Got A Hammer In His Hand Day!

Toss A Pumice Stone Through The Window Of Your Undesirable Neighbors' House Day

Toss A Pumice Stone Through The Window Of Your Undesirable Neighbors' House Day!

Write on the pumice stone in magic marker, "TAKE CARE OF THOSE CALLUSES OR GET OUT."

The lady of the house will read the pumice stone and say, "That's a big pumice stone."

The man of the house will say, "Told you not to wear Tevas to the block party. Those calluses are disgusting."

The lady of the house will say, "How can you not support me at a time like this? When the whole neighborhood is demanding that I mutilate my own body just to fit in with their neatly manicured lawns and culture of hidden alcoholism."

The man of the house will say, "I'm just thinking of the children. They're being teased at school."

The lady of the house will say, "You'll dare accuse me of not considering my children?"

The man of the house will say, "For Christ's sake just get a fucking pedicure. Our house is being vandalized."

They'll divorce.

Happy Toss A Pumice Stone Through The Window Of Your Undesirable Neighbors' House Day!

Your High School Girlfriend Is Now An Ass Model Day

Your High School Girlfriend Is Now An Ass Model Day!

Write to her via Popshot Posters, the poster publishing company that prints and distributes the poster in which you found her. Something like…

Dear Popshot Posters,

I've recently noticed that an old acquaintance of mine is featured in one of your posters. The poster I am speaking of features four women in thong bikinis bent over like animals who've spotted prey with their rear-ends raised and perched atop the closed gate of a bright yellow flat-bed truck. Two bearded, obese gentlemen are hanging out of the truck's driver and passenger side doors. The caption to the poster reads, "Fatso's Butt Truck. Free Delivery. Fort Lauderdale." The model with whom I am acquainted is the third from the left, in the blue thong bikini. Her name is Tamara Hull. We had a thing.

I haven't seen her since prom and I was hoping you'd be able to forward this note along to her. Let her know that I said, "It's Dave! Dave Jesser! I'm good. I'm good. Congratulations on the whole poster thing. That's so great. That's so great. That's so, so great."

Let Tamara know that I'm still in Township Falls and I see her parents around a lot. I never visit Fort Lauderdale but I've always meant to, and if Tammy ever wants to get together and catch up (I'd love to hear about the modeling and what it's like to ride in a truck!), she should send me along her contact info and I'll be in touch. I'm single and my brother died this year.

Thanks Popshot Posters!

Happy Your High School Girlfriend Is Now An Ass Model Day!