Give Your Lover A Trophy Day!
The most important thing is the design. This should really say something special about what sets your Lover apart from all of the other lovers who've made your life such a wondrous playground of ass.
For example, let's say your lover has really strong arms and lots and lots of money. The trophy should feature a muscle-toned Adonis carrying two sacks with dollar signs on them. You should be curled up at his feet with one arm clawing up his leg as if you were a wild animal that needs to be fed or you won't be able to control yourself. The Adonis should have a bulge in his jogging shorts.
OR! Let's say your lover is the most beautiful neurosurgeon in medicine and she can't have an orgasm without punching you in the glasses and she's wheelchair-bound. First, the wheelchair should have wings on the back and it should be tilted up from the base of the trophy as if it's about to launch into the sky. Next, the woman in the wheelchair should be dressed in a bikini bottom (tasteful!) but no top (electric!) and she should be holding a human head in one hand and a power drill in the other (ew!). Finally, she should have a little pet dinosaur frolicking nearby.
OR MAYBE! If your lover is someone famous like Dabney Coleman or Michael Jackson, the trophy should feature just a big star with the words "You're A Famous Star And It's Why I'm Attracted To You, Sexy" etched into it.
The ceremony should be special, but not overdone. No one likes a big hoo-hah. Just a few hundred colleagues and a mermaid statue that queefs Veuve Clicquot. You might not be able to go since your lover is going to want to bring his or her mother to the ceremony because your lover is queer (surprise!).
Happy Give Your Lover A Trophy Day!
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Marry For Money Day
Marry For Money Day!
Tonight, until 12 midnight, any wealthy person who enters a marriage with a poor person will receive a bonus award of $30,000 upon the death of the poorer spouse,guaranteed! This award will be on top of, and completely separate from, any inheritance that might be passed on upon the death of the poorer person, should the poorer person manage to turn things around for him or herself and amass any assets, which is of course highly unlikely (the poor just want to eat Oxycontin). This promotion has been established to encourage the wealthy to again allow themselves to be taken advantage of by succumbing to the charms of a poor person and devoting the whole of his or her fortune to that same poor person.
Before today, when faced with the possibility of marrying an impoverished American, many wealthy have asked, "What's in it for me?" With this promotion comes the answer: $30,000. The offer stands until 12 midnight tonight. It might be considered hasty to enter into a marriage within such a short timeframe, but allowing for more time will only allow for the families of the wealthy to have the poor husband or bride-to-be either deported or slaughtered. So get down to city hall and get on line.
Happy Marry For Money Day!
Tonight, until 12 midnight, any wealthy person who enters a marriage with a poor person will receive a bonus award of $30,000 upon the death of the poorer spouse,
Before today, when faced with the possibility of marrying an impoverished American, many wealthy have asked, "What's in it for me?" With this promotion comes the answer: $30,000. The offer stands until 12 midnight tonight. It might be considered hasty to enter into a marriage within such a short timeframe, but allowing for more time will only allow for the families of the wealthy to have the poor husband or bride-to-be either deported or slaughtered. So get down to city hall and get on line.
Happy Marry For Money Day!
Monday, September 05, 2005
Unemployed Psychic Boyfriend To Remain Unemployed Day
Unemployed Psychic Boyfriend To Remain Unemployed Day!
Your unemployed psychic boyfriend is going to watch an Aqua Teen Hunger Force marathon instead of working on his resume.
Ask, in a calm and generous voice, "But weren't you going to try for that opening at Psychic Mart this week?"
He'll say, "I got a premonition that Bugsy Marks is gonna get the job. Decided not to bother submitting."
He'll toss a grape up in the air and catch it in his mouth. "Knew I was gonna catch that one," he'll say.
Again, very gently, say, "But might that be the outcome only because you refuse to submit your resume?"
He'll fly into a rage (without getting up): "Are you going to suggest that our fates are malleable? That my talent amounts to nothing more than suggestion and trickery?"
Say, "I just want to know how much longer I'm going to support us both on my salary."
He'll close his eyes and put his fingertips to his forehead. "Eight more months," he'll say. "Then the money will come pouring in and you'll never have to work again."
Relieved, go get dressed and head down to the restaurant. You're working a double today.
Happy Unemployed Psychic Boyfriend To Remain Unemployed Day!
Your unemployed psychic boyfriend is going to watch an Aqua Teen Hunger Force marathon instead of working on his resume.
Ask, in a calm and generous voice, "But weren't you going to try for that opening at Psychic Mart this week?"
He'll say, "I got a premonition that Bugsy Marks is gonna get the job. Decided not to bother submitting."
He'll toss a grape up in the air and catch it in his mouth. "Knew I was gonna catch that one," he'll say.
Again, very gently, say, "But might that be the outcome only because you refuse to submit your resume?"
He'll fly into a rage (without getting up): "Are you going to suggest that our fates are malleable? That my talent amounts to nothing more than suggestion and trickery?"
Say, "I just want to know how much longer I'm going to support us both on my salary."
He'll close his eyes and put his fingertips to his forehead. "Eight more months," he'll say. "Then the money will come pouring in and you'll never have to work again."
Relieved, go get dressed and head down to the restaurant. You're working a double today.
Happy Unemployed Psychic Boyfriend To Remain Unemployed Day!
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Burn The Santa Hat Day
Burn The Santa Hat Day!
Burn it in the sink. Let your eyes go blank as the flames climb higher and higher. Breathe calmly, surely, making it know that despite the growing smoke and ash graying the room away like an eraser on a chalkboard, your ironclad resolve will remain unscathed.
Once the Santa Hat is just some wet black dust, step outside and begin your journey North. It's time to destroy Christmas.
Happy Burn The Santa Hat Day!
Burn it in the sink. Let your eyes go blank as the flames climb higher and higher. Breathe calmly, surely, making it know that despite the growing smoke and ash graying the room away like an eraser on a chalkboard, your ironclad resolve will remain unscathed.
Once the Santa Hat is just some wet black dust, step outside and begin your journey North. It's time to destroy Christmas.
Happy Burn The Santa Hat Day!
Saturday, September 03, 2005
Rooting Through Your Son's Schoolbag Day
Rooting Through Your Son's Schoolbag Day!
You're going to find nothing but a wad of used condoms and a pistol with two shots remaining. He hasn't been doing his schoolwork.
"What happened to the other four shots?" ask him.
"I was just shooting cans," he'll say. "And some dirtpiles."
Lift his chin up so he's looking you in the eye. "Don't lie to me Tommy," say.
He'll start to cry. "It was a fair fight," he'll say. "A gunfight."
"Over a girl?" ask him. "Is that what all these condoms are about?"
He'll nod and wipe the snot from his nose. "I wanna marry her Mom. I'm gonna. But her ex-boyfriend, this jock jerkoff—"
"No swearing!" shout.
He'll say, "He came around. Telling her she was his. Telling me we had to fight like men. He said it at lunch, in front of the whole tenth grade. I couldn't back down."
Now it's you who'll wanna cry. For the fact that his father died before he could hear his son speak the words of so true and beautiful a man.
"I'll want to meet this girl," tell him. "She'll be setting with us for dinner. Tonight."
Your boy will sniffle. "Will you make your clams and spaghetti?"
Nod. Pull him into your arms.
"She can't wait to meet you," he'll say into your blouse. "I told her about your clams and spaghetti."
Say, "You go up and lay down." Then go into the kitchen and get to work.
Happy Rooting Through Your Son's Schoolbag Day!
You're going to find nothing but a wad of used condoms and a pistol with two shots remaining. He hasn't been doing his schoolwork.
"What happened to the other four shots?" ask him.
"I was just shooting cans," he'll say. "And some dirtpiles."
Lift his chin up so he's looking you in the eye. "Don't lie to me Tommy," say.
He'll start to cry. "It was a fair fight," he'll say. "A gunfight."
"Over a girl?" ask him. "Is that what all these condoms are about?"
He'll nod and wipe the snot from his nose. "I wanna marry her Mom. I'm gonna. But her ex-boyfriend, this jock jerkoff—"
"No swearing!" shout.
He'll say, "He came around. Telling her she was his. Telling me we had to fight like men. He said it at lunch, in front of the whole tenth grade. I couldn't back down."
Now it's you who'll wanna cry. For the fact that his father died before he could hear his son speak the words of so true and beautiful a man.
"I'll want to meet this girl," tell him. "She'll be setting with us for dinner. Tonight."
Your boy will sniffle. "Will you make your clams and spaghetti?"
Nod. Pull him into your arms.
"She can't wait to meet you," he'll say into your blouse. "I told her about your clams and spaghetti."
Say, "You go up and lay down." Then go into the kitchen and get to work.
Happy Rooting Through Your Son's Schoolbag Day!
Friday, September 02, 2005
Say Goodbye To Your New Daddy Day
Say Goodbye To Your New Daddy Day!
Tonight's the night. You're old Dad said so. He came by the playground the other day, first time you saw him in seven months. He asked how you liked living in your big new house. You told him the truth. That the house is nice, but that you miss living with him. And that Mommy's always telling you to be nice to your new Daddy, but you don't like your new Daddy and you don't think that he likes you.
"After 8:30, he won't let me come into the TV room," you said. "Even if I've done my homework. He doesn't like me playing in there when he's watching TV."
Your old Daddy told you three things before he told you he loves you with all of his heart. He told you not to tell anyone you saw him. He told you you're not going to have to worry about your new Daddy anymore. And he told you, "On Friday night after dinner, go to your room. No matter what you hear downstairs, don't come out until I come in and get you."
Your old Daddy's going to come and get you tonight. And mommy too. You think. Though he never said.
Happy Say Goodbye To Your New Daddy Day!
Tonight's the night. You're old Dad said so. He came by the playground the other day, first time you saw him in seven months. He asked how you liked living in your big new house. You told him the truth. That the house is nice, but that you miss living with him. And that Mommy's always telling you to be nice to your new Daddy, but you don't like your new Daddy and you don't think that he likes you.
"After 8:30, he won't let me come into the TV room," you said. "Even if I've done my homework. He doesn't like me playing in there when he's watching TV."
Your old Daddy told you three things before he told you he loves you with all of his heart. He told you not to tell anyone you saw him. He told you you're not going to have to worry about your new Daddy anymore. And he told you, "On Friday night after dinner, go to your room. No matter what you hear downstairs, don't come out until I come in and get you."
Your old Daddy's going to come and get you tonight. And mommy too. You think. Though he never said.
Happy Say Goodbye To Your New Daddy Day!
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Your New Job Starts Today Day
Your New Job Starts Today Day!
Wear a pair of pants that shows off your cock. They can be a little less than formal, as long as people can make out the girth of your cock's shaft. Once your coworkers spy that special "joie de vivre" bloating in your cock's tip, they'll clue you in on which three-hole punches will get the job done right, and which ones will make your printouts look like you just pulled them out of the mouth of a feral cat.
"This is the kind of thing that you usually have to find out for yourself around here," a coworker will say. "Not to be cruel. Just a rung on the ladder we all climb here is all. But since I can see how your cock pastes itself horizontal across the right plane of your pelvis when it's flaccid, I feel like I can tell you anything. I like to let mine rest on my scrotum, so it's all wrapped in a ball down there. You'll know when I wear my tighter pants. I save them for Fridays."
Once your tour is over, settle into your desk and call your Mom. Tell her, "I made it Mama. I got me a job. You tell Papa not to worry. Yeah, my cock looks good. You are? Thanks, Mama. I wanted to make you proud of me."
Happy Your New Job Starts Today Day!
Wear a pair of pants that shows off your cock. They can be a little less than formal, as long as people can make out the girth of your cock's shaft. Once your coworkers spy that special "joie de vivre" bloating in your cock's tip, they'll clue you in on which three-hole punches will get the job done right, and which ones will make your printouts look like you just pulled them out of the mouth of a feral cat.
"This is the kind of thing that you usually have to find out for yourself around here," a coworker will say. "Not to be cruel. Just a rung on the ladder we all climb here is all. But since I can see how your cock pastes itself horizontal across the right plane of your pelvis when it's flaccid, I feel like I can tell you anything. I like to let mine rest on my scrotum, so it's all wrapped in a ball down there. You'll know when I wear my tighter pants. I save them for Fridays."
Once your tour is over, settle into your desk and call your Mom. Tell her, "I made it Mama. I got me a job. You tell Papa not to worry. Yeah, my cock looks good. You are? Thanks, Mama. I wanted to make you proud of me."
Happy Your New Job Starts Today Day!
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Russian Roulette Day!
Russian Roulette Day!
Your hot streak at Russian Roulette is going to end tonight. But man was it a good run, huh?
Anyway, bet against yourself.
Happy Russian Roulette Day!
Your hot streak at Russian Roulette is going to end tonight. But man was it a good run, huh?
Anyway, bet against yourself.
Happy Russian Roulette Day!
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Your Worthless Sixteen Year Old Daughter Day
Your Worthless Sixteen Year Old Daughter Day!
She's pregnant. The father is a 25-year old, recently married policeman who's already got a one-year old daughter. He's cut your daughter off completely and has made it clear that things will be made hard for her, and for you and the rest of your kids, if she tries to force him to acknowledge that he's the father.
She wants to keep the baby, even though you already told her if she does you'll kick her out of the house. Don't back down. Pack her bags for her and throw her out. Change the locks tomorrow. You'll miss her, but she needs to learn. After all, your mom did it for you when you got pregnant at sixteen and you turned out just goddamn fine.
Happy Your Worthless Sixteen Year Old Daughter Day!
She's pregnant. The father is a 25-year old, recently married policeman who's already got a one-year old daughter. He's cut your daughter off completely and has made it clear that things will be made hard for her, and for you and the rest of your kids, if she tries to force him to acknowledge that he's the father.
She wants to keep the baby, even though you already told her if she does you'll kick her out of the house. Don't back down. Pack her bags for her and throw her out. Change the locks tomorrow. You'll miss her, but she needs to learn. After all, your mom did it for you when you got pregnant at sixteen and you turned out just goddamn fine.
Happy Your Worthless Sixteen Year Old Daughter Day!
Monday, August 29, 2005
Turnpike Breakup Day
Turnpike Breakup Day!
The morning traffic jam leading to your exit will look no different than the previous 736 weekday mornings of your life. You usually crawl for twenty minutes and then it's a clean stretch to your cubicle. But today, your heart will sink when you spot a young man walking backwards in between the cars. People don't generally get out of their cars unless there's an ugly wreck up ahead, which means you could be looking at over an hour's delay.
You'll be startled when the young man knocks on your passenger side window.
"Can you give me a lift?" he'll ask when you roll down the window for him.
Ask him, "Did your car break down?"
"No," he'll say. "My girlfriend doesn't understand me."
You'll unlock the door and he'll slump in the passenger seat. He'll tell you that he couldn't take her nagging anymore and stormed out of his car. This will be followed by a long, bitter speech about how his girlfriend thinks that he's not really an artist just because he's a struggling cartoonist writing a yet-to-be-published comic strip about a talking raccoon and the family whose trash cans it is constantly raiding. Just nod and occasionally cluck your tongue when he talks about his girlfriend's (perfectly sensible) insensitivity to his need to remain unfettered by employment in order for his "vision" to mature. He'll be cute, and at least a decade younger than you, which means you can take him home today and control his every word and deed for as long as he's satisfactory in the sack.
"I'll get you out of here kiddo," say. Then call in sick to work and start maneuvering your way to a closer exit. Unbeknownst to you, his girlfriend will only be five car lengths ahead and will have watched him climb into your vehicle. She'll have positioned her car to follow you home well in advance. While you're having sex with her boyfriend later this afternoon, she's going to burst into the bedroom and pepper spray the both of you. You'll wake up hours later alone in your bedroom and tied to the radiator. You'll hear some noises coming from the living room.
Happy Turnpike Breakup Day!
The morning traffic jam leading to your exit will look no different than the previous 736 weekday mornings of your life. You usually crawl for twenty minutes and then it's a clean stretch to your cubicle. But today, your heart will sink when you spot a young man walking backwards in between the cars. People don't generally get out of their cars unless there's an ugly wreck up ahead, which means you could be looking at over an hour's delay.
You'll be startled when the young man knocks on your passenger side window.
"Can you give me a lift?" he'll ask when you roll down the window for him.
Ask him, "Did your car break down?"
"No," he'll say. "My girlfriend doesn't understand me."
You'll unlock the door and he'll slump in the passenger seat. He'll tell you that he couldn't take her nagging anymore and stormed out of his car. This will be followed by a long, bitter speech about how his girlfriend thinks that he's not really an artist just because he's a struggling cartoonist writing a yet-to-be-published comic strip about a talking raccoon and the family whose trash cans it is constantly raiding. Just nod and occasionally cluck your tongue when he talks about his girlfriend's (perfectly sensible) insensitivity to his need to remain unfettered by employment in order for his "vision" to mature. He'll be cute, and at least a decade younger than you, which means you can take him home today and control his every word and deed for as long as he's satisfactory in the sack.
"I'll get you out of here kiddo," say. Then call in sick to work and start maneuvering your way to a closer exit. Unbeknownst to you, his girlfriend will only be five car lengths ahead and will have watched him climb into your vehicle. She'll have positioned her car to follow you home well in advance. While you're having sex with her boyfriend later this afternoon, she's going to burst into the bedroom and pepper spray the both of you. You'll wake up hours later alone in your bedroom and tied to the radiator. You'll hear some noises coming from the living room.
Happy Turnpike Breakup Day!
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Find Everyone Who Ever Broke Your Heart And Evict Them Day
Find Everyone Who Ever Broke Your Heart And Evict Them Day!
Now that you are one of the most powerful real estate moguls in the country, with two hundred million square feet of business and residential space under your control, it's time to give your acquisitions department a slightly more emotional focus.
Give your scouts the names and any identifying details concerning all of those former paramours, unrequited loves, and prospective prom dates who laughed in your face when you asked. Locate their current residences, have a buyout plan prepped, and one by one take over their land and kick them out on the street.
They won't know why or what for. So you're gonna have to roll up in your limo and show your face. Just hang out the window and shout something like, "Guess you wish you'd have thunk twice before grinding my heart into the dirt! Enjoy homelessness." Then have your driver peel away in such a fashion that your limo speeds through a puddle and splashes any children your ex-lover might now have to transfer into a new, less desirable school district.
Happy Find Everyone Who Ever Broke Your Heart And Evict Them Day!
Now that you are one of the most powerful real estate moguls in the country, with two hundred million square feet of business and residential space under your control, it's time to give your acquisitions department a slightly more emotional focus.
Give your scouts the names and any identifying details concerning all of those former paramours, unrequited loves, and prospective prom dates who laughed in your face when you asked. Locate their current residences, have a buyout plan prepped, and one by one take over their land and kick them out on the street.
They won't know why or what for. So you're gonna have to roll up in your limo and show your face. Just hang out the window and shout something like, "Guess you wish you'd have thunk twice before grinding my heart into the dirt! Enjoy homelessness." Then have your driver peel away in such a fashion that your limo speeds through a puddle and splashes any children your ex-lover might now have to transfer into a new, less desirable school district.
Happy Find Everyone Who Ever Broke Your Heart And Evict Them Day!
Friday, August 19, 2005
It's the Girls Are Pretty "Goin' On An Eating Tour Of Your Butthole" Weeklong Sabbatical
It's the Girls Are Pretty "Goin' On An Eating Tour Of Your Butthole" Weeklong Sabbatical!
Prettygirl has been looking forward to this trip for months. The tram will launch just to left of your butthole. From there, it will progress into and up your butthole. In a week, the tram will come back out of your butthole. Throughout the entire week, Prettygirl will never once stop eating your butthole. Prettygirl hasn't eaten in hours and she is famished. Her bib has already been tied on tight. It reads, "Let's Cut Me A Slice Of Some O' Your Butthole Already, Nazi Fucker!"
Since Prettygirl will be busy all week gobbling up your butthole, the coming week's Holidays are going up in advance. As always, scroll way down to read today and try to avoid reading tomorrow's until tomorrow. If you get caught reading ahead, your eyes will be set on fire.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Teach The Pet Store Parrot To Say Stuff Day!
You didn't get hit by that car just to sit around for the rest of your life sucking on the fat of that insurance settlement did you? You always said if you were ever freed up from your responsibilities you'd use the time to finally exercise the extent of your genius. Of course, you never swallowed that horseshit anymore than your friends or you mom were willing to. But you could at least hobble down to the mall a couple of days a week and teach one of those parrots to say stuff. Possible phrases to inculcate into that parrot's skull are as follows:
Hey Fatso! Yeah, you fatso!
Yeah Baby!
Or…
[YOUR NAME] is supercool!
Good luck, teach.
Happy Teach The Pet Store Parrot To Say Stuff Day!
Friday, August 26, 2005
World Record For Drinking Without Dying Or Calling Your Estranged Daughter Day!
There are several different world-records pertaining to how much one person can drink in one day. There is the record held for highest volume of alcoholic beverages (18% or greater in alcohol content) drunk in one day, followed by that person's death within the week (set by Harrison Tucker of Jackson, Mississippi in March of 1987). There is the record for highest volume of alcoholic beverages (18% or greater in alcohol content) drunk in one day while consistently operating a motor vehicle without causing a fatality (set by Maureen Bowie of Anaheim, California last Sunday*). And there's the one you're going for: Highest volume of alcoholic beverages (18% or greater in alcohol content) drunk in one day without dying or calling your estranged daughter (set by Colin Heinz of Portland, Oregon on December 24, 1977). You have to drink 11.4 pints of vodka to win.
And remember, you can't die or call Helen. Eat something first.
Happy World Record For Drinking Without Dying Or Calling Your Estranged Daughter Day!
*Disputed.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Send The Vermin A Message Day!
Today, some kids on a speed-fueled bender are going to break into your apartment and try to beat you into a coma with some wrenches and pistol butts. They'll steal whatever they can find before fleeing via the fire escape, but it's really all about the thrill-beatdown. What you need to do is send a message to these kids and all their reprobate friends.
First, you're going to have to fight off all five of them and win.
Next, shave their heads and write little notes on their faces that say, "I'm going nowhere" and "I'm a punk."
When they go back to their neighborhoods, they'll be humiliated. And all their friends will discover that crime has consequences. Gun-related fatalities will plummet.
Happy Send The Vermin A Message Day!
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Bucket Of Pee Day!
The bucket of pee that you keep in the unfurnished bedroom upstairs is full. Time to start over.
Happy Bucket Of Pee Day!
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Ziti Hitler Day!
Finances have been tight ever since your wife took a leave of absence from the accounting firm to work on her sculpting. Tonight she will unveil her masterpiece for you and the kids. It will be an eight-and-a-half foot tall sculpture of Hitler composed entirely of uncooked ziti. You and the kids will burst forth with gleeful applause when she yanks the sheet from her creation. But almost immediately, his arm upraised in salute will loose its adhesive and fall to the ground. Your wife will be devastated.
This is where the bad time begins.
Happy Ziti Hitler Day!
Monday, August 22, 2005
Write An Anonymous Love Letter On The Field Hockey Field Day!
Summer practice has begun for your high school's fall sports, which means Heather will be out on the field hockey field bright and early at 8 AM today to get ready for her first year on Varsity squad field hockey. You should congratulate her and tell her how you've always felt about her but were too afraid to tell her by writing it all on the field in sideline paint. You'll have to break in to the groundskeeper's closet, and good luck because I don't know how you're going to pull that off. But once you do, get writing. You need to be done before dawn so no one will see you from the passing traffic. Your letter should make mention of how if there were a sport where sexy knees dominated, she'd be MVP.
Happy Write An Anonymous Love Letter On The Field Hockey Field Day!
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Come Up With An Excuse To Eat Part Of Your Own Thigh Day!
Say to yourself, "With all the starving people in, um, other countries, who am I to eat food that didn't come from my thigh."
They bought it! Now dig in!
Happy Come Up With An Excuse To Eat Part Of Your Own Thigh Day!
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Mating Season Day!
Watch out for yourself because mating season begins today. Everywhere you go, people and animals are going to come up behind you and try to penetrate you. Even when you've obviously got hold of someone or something else that you are attempting to penetrate from behind. Many of the people and animals that will try to penetrate you are not the sort of people or animals that you would ever find attractive. Be polite, but firm.
Happy Mating Season Day!
Friday, August 19, 2005
Bury The Hatchet (You And Your Former Best Friend Are 85) Day!
Being as you are 85, it's time to forgive your former best friend for stealing the woman you loved in 1962. After all, she hurt him in 1988 far more than he hurt you in 1962. Let bygones be bygones. Give him a call and say, "Being as it's amazing that either of us didn't wake up dead today, wanna call a truce?" Your former best friend will hang up on you without calling a truce, but he'll die first.
Happy Bury The Hatchet (You And Your Former Best Friend Are 85) Day!
Prettygirl has been looking forward to this trip for months. The tram will launch just to left of your butthole. From there, it will progress into and up your butthole. In a week, the tram will come back out of your butthole. Throughout the entire week, Prettygirl will never once stop eating your butthole. Prettygirl hasn't eaten in hours and she is famished. Her bib has already been tied on tight. It reads, "Let's Cut Me A Slice Of Some O' Your Butthole Already, Nazi Fucker!"
Since Prettygirl will be busy all week gobbling up your butthole, the coming week's Holidays are going up in advance. As always, scroll way down to read today and try to avoid reading tomorrow's until tomorrow. If you get caught reading ahead, your eyes will be set on fire.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Teach The Pet Store Parrot To Say Stuff Day!
You didn't get hit by that car just to sit around for the rest of your life sucking on the fat of that insurance settlement did you? You always said if you were ever freed up from your responsibilities you'd use the time to finally exercise the extent of your genius. Of course, you never swallowed that horseshit anymore than your friends or you mom were willing to. But you could at least hobble down to the mall a couple of days a week and teach one of those parrots to say stuff. Possible phrases to inculcate into that parrot's skull are as follows:
Hey Fatso! Yeah, you fatso!
Yeah Baby!
Or…
[YOUR NAME] is supercool!
Good luck, teach.
Happy Teach The Pet Store Parrot To Say Stuff Day!
Friday, August 26, 2005
World Record For Drinking Without Dying Or Calling Your Estranged Daughter Day!
There are several different world-records pertaining to how much one person can drink in one day. There is the record held for highest volume of alcoholic beverages (18% or greater in alcohol content) drunk in one day, followed by that person's death within the week (set by Harrison Tucker of Jackson, Mississippi in March of 1987). There is the record for highest volume of alcoholic beverages (18% or greater in alcohol content) drunk in one day while consistently operating a motor vehicle without causing a fatality (set by Maureen Bowie of Anaheim, California last Sunday*). And there's the one you're going for: Highest volume of alcoholic beverages (18% or greater in alcohol content) drunk in one day without dying or calling your estranged daughter (set by Colin Heinz of Portland, Oregon on December 24, 1977). You have to drink 11.4 pints of vodka to win.
And remember, you can't die or call Helen. Eat something first.
Happy World Record For Drinking Without Dying Or Calling Your Estranged Daughter Day!
*Disputed.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Send The Vermin A Message Day!
Today, some kids on a speed-fueled bender are going to break into your apartment and try to beat you into a coma with some wrenches and pistol butts. They'll steal whatever they can find before fleeing via the fire escape, but it's really all about the thrill-beatdown. What you need to do is send a message to these kids and all their reprobate friends.
First, you're going to have to fight off all five of them and win.
Next, shave their heads and write little notes on their faces that say, "I'm going nowhere" and "I'm a punk."
When they go back to their neighborhoods, they'll be humiliated. And all their friends will discover that crime has consequences. Gun-related fatalities will plummet.
Happy Send The Vermin A Message Day!
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Bucket Of Pee Day!
The bucket of pee that you keep in the unfurnished bedroom upstairs is full. Time to start over.
Happy Bucket Of Pee Day!
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Ziti Hitler Day!
Finances have been tight ever since your wife took a leave of absence from the accounting firm to work on her sculpting. Tonight she will unveil her masterpiece for you and the kids. It will be an eight-and-a-half foot tall sculpture of Hitler composed entirely of uncooked ziti. You and the kids will burst forth with gleeful applause when she yanks the sheet from her creation. But almost immediately, his arm upraised in salute will loose its adhesive and fall to the ground. Your wife will be devastated.
This is where the bad time begins.
Happy Ziti Hitler Day!
Monday, August 22, 2005
Write An Anonymous Love Letter On The Field Hockey Field Day!
Summer practice has begun for your high school's fall sports, which means Heather will be out on the field hockey field bright and early at 8 AM today to get ready for her first year on Varsity squad field hockey. You should congratulate her and tell her how you've always felt about her but were too afraid to tell her by writing it all on the field in sideline paint. You'll have to break in to the groundskeeper's closet, and good luck because I don't know how you're going to pull that off. But once you do, get writing. You need to be done before dawn so no one will see you from the passing traffic. Your letter should make mention of how if there were a sport where sexy knees dominated, she'd be MVP.
Happy Write An Anonymous Love Letter On The Field Hockey Field Day!
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Come Up With An Excuse To Eat Part Of Your Own Thigh Day!
Say to yourself, "With all the starving people in, um, other countries, who am I to eat food that didn't come from my thigh."
They bought it! Now dig in!
Happy Come Up With An Excuse To Eat Part Of Your Own Thigh Day!
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Mating Season Day!
Watch out for yourself because mating season begins today. Everywhere you go, people and animals are going to come up behind you and try to penetrate you. Even when you've obviously got hold of someone or something else that you are attempting to penetrate from behind. Many of the people and animals that will try to penetrate you are not the sort of people or animals that you would ever find attractive. Be polite, but firm.
Happy Mating Season Day!
Friday, August 19, 2005
Bury The Hatchet (You And Your Former Best Friend Are 85) Day!
Being as you are 85, it's time to forgive your former best friend for stealing the woman you loved in 1962. After all, she hurt him in 1988 far more than he hurt you in 1962. Let bygones be bygones. Give him a call and say, "Being as it's amazing that either of us didn't wake up dead today, wanna call a truce?" Your former best friend will hang up on you without calling a truce, but he'll die first.
Happy Bury The Hatchet (You And Your Former Best Friend Are 85) Day!
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Crowd Control Day
Crowd Control Day!
Today, a crowd of angry people will surround you demanding refunds. You'll try to explain that you don't sell products, but they'll tell you that they were told you were the one to sign off on this. When you ask them what product they're trying to return, you won't be able to make it out because they'll all start shouting at once. When you revert back to, "But I don't sell products," they'll grow firey and ask you why you asked them which product they're unhappy with if you don't sell products. Suddenly, they'll all take out their receipts and read from the return policy on the back in unison. It will sound beautiful. Occasionally, they'll fall silent and allow one little boy with an angelic voice sing important passages solo, like, "If the item is not in it's original packaging…" Once the recitation ends, they will all begin pummeling you with the products they wish to return. At first, this will be hilarious, since they will all be trying to return a plush toy frog that "Rib-its" when you squeeze it. But it won't be long before they stuff one of the frogs into your mouth and hold your nostrils closed. The name of the plush toy frog product is "Wally Warts."
Happy Crowd Control Day!
Today, a crowd of angry people will surround you demanding refunds. You'll try to explain that you don't sell products, but they'll tell you that they were told you were the one to sign off on this. When you ask them what product they're trying to return, you won't be able to make it out because they'll all start shouting at once. When you revert back to, "But I don't sell products," they'll grow firey and ask you why you asked them which product they're unhappy with if you don't sell products. Suddenly, they'll all take out their receipts and read from the return policy on the back in unison. It will sound beautiful. Occasionally, they'll fall silent and allow one little boy with an angelic voice sing important passages solo, like, "If the item is not in it's original packaging…" Once the recitation ends, they will all begin pummeling you with the products they wish to return. At first, this will be hilarious, since they will all be trying to return a plush toy frog that "Rib-its" when you squeeze it. But it won't be long before they stuff one of the frogs into your mouth and hold your nostrils closed. The name of the plush toy frog product is "Wally Warts."
Happy Crowd Control Day!
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Stab Somebody's Eye Out Day
Stab Somebody's Eye Out Day!
Whether your Mom isn't watching you and your little brother when you start to play with your grandfather's antique ice pick collection, or you decide to strike back against your Peeping Tom landlord who drilled holes in the ceiling above your living room so that he could watch you watch TV every night (you haven't been touched in years), today's the day to stab somebody's eye out. It's going to be awful and you'll never forgive yourself.
Happy Stab Somebody's Eye Out Day!
Whether your Mom isn't watching you and your little brother when you start to play with your grandfather's antique ice pick collection, or you decide to strike back against your Peeping Tom landlord who drilled holes in the ceiling above your living room so that he could watch you watch TV every night (you haven't been touched in years), today's the day to stab somebody's eye out. It's going to be awful and you'll never forgive yourself.
Happy Stab Somebody's Eye Out Day!
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Explain Why You Cry Sometimes Day
Explain Why You Cry Sometimes Day!
He'll say, "You cry so much for no reason. I want to break up."
Tell him, "I can't help it. I been through some stuff."
He'll lift up your chin and look at you with tenderness. "Molested?" he'll ask.
Say, "Ew."
He'll get angry again. He'll say, "Unless you tell me why you cry, and you give me a good reason, I'm laters. It's been a good couple months, but hell."
Breathe deep. Get ready to let it out. Say, "Christmas tree fires."
He'll repeat, "Christmas tree fires?"
Tell him that your mother ran off because your father was a strange and holy man. When she left, his faith ran wild with him. He believed the celebration of Christmas to be evil and he had a small following that agreed. After Christmas, his followers would travel through the towns in trucks, knocking on doors offering to dispose of the neighborhood's Christmas trees at no charge. Everyone knew they were up to something strange, but they were all so poor (you and your father too) that the remnants of Christmas spirit in the neighborhood made it hard to deny them anything. The only time people refused was when his followers were unable to disguise their disgust with what they perceived to be sinful observers of an apocryphal holiday. Around January eighth or ninth, your father would preside over a ceremonial Burning of the Christmas Trees. And he and his followers would rejoice as the crackling dry wood and tinsel fire soared towards the sky.
"That was my Christmastime," tell him. "We'd dance and sing hymns and hug around the warmth of that terrible bonfire."
He'll say, "Holy fucking shit."
Say, "I've felt guilty ever since. Because I love Jesus, just the way my father taught me to love him. But I think I've always loved Christmas trees even more. And I dreaded those fires. I used to run into the woods pretending to pee over and over again so that my father couldn't see me cry. But I knew Jesus could. I just never was able to love him more than those beautiful Christmas trees."
He'll say, "Motherfuck!" And then he'll put his shirt on and book it out the door. You'll be alone again. Try to get some work done this time, Jesusface.
Happy Explain Why You Cry Sometimes Day!
He'll say, "You cry so much for no reason. I want to break up."
Tell him, "I can't help it. I been through some stuff."
He'll lift up your chin and look at you with tenderness. "Molested?" he'll ask.
Say, "Ew."
He'll get angry again. He'll say, "Unless you tell me why you cry, and you give me a good reason, I'm laters. It's been a good couple months, but hell."
Breathe deep. Get ready to let it out. Say, "Christmas tree fires."
He'll repeat, "Christmas tree fires?"
Tell him that your mother ran off because your father was a strange and holy man. When she left, his faith ran wild with him. He believed the celebration of Christmas to be evil and he had a small following that agreed. After Christmas, his followers would travel through the towns in trucks, knocking on doors offering to dispose of the neighborhood's Christmas trees at no charge. Everyone knew they were up to something strange, but they were all so poor (you and your father too) that the remnants of Christmas spirit in the neighborhood made it hard to deny them anything. The only time people refused was when his followers were unable to disguise their disgust with what they perceived to be sinful observers of an apocryphal holiday. Around January eighth or ninth, your father would preside over a ceremonial Burning of the Christmas Trees. And he and his followers would rejoice as the crackling dry wood and tinsel fire soared towards the sky.
"That was my Christmastime," tell him. "We'd dance and sing hymns and hug around the warmth of that terrible bonfire."
He'll say, "Holy fucking shit."
Say, "I've felt guilty ever since. Because I love Jesus, just the way my father taught me to love him. But I think I've always loved Christmas trees even more. And I dreaded those fires. I used to run into the woods pretending to pee over and over again so that my father couldn't see me cry. But I knew Jesus could. I just never was able to love him more than those beautiful Christmas trees."
He'll say, "Motherfuck!" And then he'll put his shirt on and book it out the door. You'll be alone again. Try to get some work done this time, Jesusface.
Happy Explain Why You Cry Sometimes Day!
Monday, August 15, 2005
In The Trunk Of Your Car Day
In The Trunk Of Your Car Day!
A cute but skinny boy is going to give you a love poem today. It will read as follows:
I don't care who you're with
Just let me ride
In the trunk of your car
After we graduate
When you head off to college
Let me ride in the trunk of your car
If you go away for some time abroad
Or pursue a graduate degree
I just wanna ride in the trunk of your car
One day you'll marry a man
A man who's richer than me and slicker than me
That's fine. Cause I just wanna ride in the trunk of your car
Maybe one day you'll divorce
But even then I won't pretend you'll come running to me
But I'll be right where I was all along, riding in the trunk of your car
And when you die that hearse won't carry you alone
Cause I'll slit my wrists and curl up beside you
Whatever it takes for one last ride inside the trunk of your car
You'll fold the poem up and spend the rest of your classes trying to diffuse your blush. You're a pretty one and you've been asked out in a lot of different ways by lots of different boys. But you never thought such a skinny little boy would write for you such a pained and beautiful plea for butt sex.
Check the box for yes. Happy In The Trunk Of Your Car Day!
A cute but skinny boy is going to give you a love poem today. It will read as follows:
I don't care who you're with
Just let me ride
In the trunk of your car
After we graduate
When you head off to college
Let me ride in the trunk of your car
If you go away for some time abroad
Or pursue a graduate degree
I just wanna ride in the trunk of your car
One day you'll marry a man
A man who's richer than me and slicker than me
That's fine. Cause I just wanna ride in the trunk of your car
Maybe one day you'll divorce
But even then I won't pretend you'll come running to me
But I'll be right where I was all along, riding in the trunk of your car
And when you die that hearse won't carry you alone
Cause I'll slit my wrists and curl up beside you
Whatever it takes for one last ride inside the trunk of your car
You'll fold the poem up and spend the rest of your classes trying to diffuse your blush. You're a pretty one and you've been asked out in a lot of different ways by lots of different boys. But you never thought such a skinny little boy would write for you such a pained and beautiful plea for butt sex.
Check the box for yes. Happy In The Trunk Of Your Car Day!
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Prepare For A Nuclear Holocaust Day
Prepare For A Nuclear Holocaust Day!
Preparing for a nuclear holocaust means a lot more than going out shopping for bulk prices on canned goods and porn. It also requires that you use your children's college money to dig under your home and fortify the walls in iron. You'll have to buy some bandanas too. And small arms to keep out the neighbors who will come banging on the door to your shelter, forgetting how they used to call you a damned fool when you first broke ground. And like it or not, you'll eventually have to choose a daughter with whom you'd be willing and likely to procreate should the propensity of the species fall on your shoulders.
There's no better day than today to get started. Especially since its safest to assume that at any given moment a horde of warheads are hurtling across the Atlantic just itching to incinerate your freedom into the dust. Remember, every time you fall asleep the communists are breaking into your home, placing their dicks on your shoulder and taking Polaroids.
Happy Prepare For A Nuclear Holocaust Day!
Preparing for a nuclear holocaust means a lot more than going out shopping for bulk prices on canned goods and porn. It also requires that you use your children's college money to dig under your home and fortify the walls in iron. You'll have to buy some bandanas too. And small arms to keep out the neighbors who will come banging on the door to your shelter, forgetting how they used to call you a damned fool when you first broke ground. And like it or not, you'll eventually have to choose a daughter with whom you'd be willing and likely to procreate should the propensity of the species fall on your shoulders.
There's no better day than today to get started. Especially since its safest to assume that at any given moment a horde of warheads are hurtling across the Atlantic just itching to incinerate your freedom into the dust. Remember, every time you fall asleep the communists are breaking into your home, placing their dicks on your shoulder and taking Polaroids.
Happy Prepare For A Nuclear Holocaust Day!
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Your Commemorative 9/11 Bong Is In Bad Taste And You Should Be Ashamed Of Yourself Day
Your Commemorative 9/11 Bong Is In Bad Taste And You Should Be Ashamed Of Yourself Day!
Haven't you noticed how whenever people come over they always decline a hit from your bong, opting instead to light up their own pipes? No one wants to suck smoke out of the Twin Towers. I know you think it's because they don't know how to hold it without banging their noses on the antenna atop Tower 2. But the real problem is that each time someone takes a hit, everyone has to sit and watch as leftover smoke billows up from Tower One. Consider the mellow harshed, my friend.
It was cool at first, true. But that was only because of the inscription at the base:
9/11: We Remember
Considering that the We in question was guaranteed to be you and your pothead friends (especially Clyde) sitting around in front of a Space Ghost DVD, how could one not be tickled? But everyone's been complaining of bad dreams lately (especially Clyde). Just throw the thing away and break out the R2D2 bong again. Everyone loved that one. And though you refused to smoke out of it "in protest against the crimes George Lucas has committed against your childhood," it's safe to say that Lucasfilm Ltd never got the press release.
Break out R2. Clyde's gonna be by any minute now.
Happy Your Commemorative 9/11 Bong Is In Bad Taste And You Should Be Ashamed Of Yourself Day!
Haven't you noticed how whenever people come over they always decline a hit from your bong, opting instead to light up their own pipes? No one wants to suck smoke out of the Twin Towers. I know you think it's because they don't know how to hold it without banging their noses on the antenna atop Tower 2. But the real problem is that each time someone takes a hit, everyone has to sit and watch as leftover smoke billows up from Tower One. Consider the mellow harshed, my friend.
It was cool at first, true. But that was only because of the inscription at the base:
9/11: We Remember
Considering that the We in question was guaranteed to be you and your pothead friends (especially Clyde) sitting around in front of a Space Ghost DVD, how could one not be tickled? But everyone's been complaining of bad dreams lately (especially Clyde). Just throw the thing away and break out the R2D2 bong again. Everyone loved that one. And though you refused to smoke out of it "in protest against the crimes George Lucas has committed against your childhood," it's safe to say that Lucasfilm Ltd never got the press release.
Break out R2. Clyde's gonna be by any minute now.
Happy Your Commemorative 9/11 Bong Is In Bad Taste And You Should Be Ashamed Of Yourself Day!
Friday, August 12, 2005
Home Invasion Spree Day
Home Invasion Spree Day!
Today, invade some homes. Get a couple of friends together and storm through a suburban neighborhood bursting through front doors and climbing into ground floor windows. When you get inside, you'll find a stay-at-home parent and some kids, or just some people who are unemployed. Regardless of why they're at home, they'll be excited that you want to play Home Invasion Spree, and they'll spring into action to defend their kingdoms.
First, they'll run to the kitchen and start flinging carving knives and electric crock pots at your head. If either hits you, you could die so stay frosty.
Next, they'll take off upstairs with their children and lock themselves in a bedroom. You need to break down the bedroom door with an axe (or a bat) and get a hold of them before they climb out the window and warn everyone else on the block that they should prepare defenses against a home invasion spree.
Once you've gotten into the room, tie everybody up and duct tape their mouths. Now it's time to plant your flag. Drill a hole into the floor boards and insert the staff there, being sure to hold it in place with some caulk. Then begin your dance around the occupants and sing your Home Invasion Victory Song:
You can lock your doors
And load your guns
But you can't stop The Havenhurst Municipality Bandits!
So hide behind the couch
And cover the floor in boiling fat
The Havenhurst Municipality Bandits will still rule!
Ev – en
If – You
Shoot – Our
Face-es
We –will
Prob – Ly
Die
So don't shoot the faces
Of The Havenhurst Municipality Bandits
And we won't spraypaint anybody!
Now that the home has been claimed, move onto the next house. But don't steal anything on your way out because stealing is wrong.
Happy Home Invasion Spree Day!
Today, invade some homes. Get a couple of friends together and storm through a suburban neighborhood bursting through front doors and climbing into ground floor windows. When you get inside, you'll find a stay-at-home parent and some kids, or just some people who are unemployed. Regardless of why they're at home, they'll be excited that you want to play Home Invasion Spree, and they'll spring into action to defend their kingdoms.
First, they'll run to the kitchen and start flinging carving knives and electric crock pots at your head. If either hits you, you could die so stay frosty.
Next, they'll take off upstairs with their children and lock themselves in a bedroom. You need to break down the bedroom door with an axe (or a bat) and get a hold of them before they climb out the window and warn everyone else on the block that they should prepare defenses against a home invasion spree.
Once you've gotten into the room, tie everybody up and duct tape their mouths. Now it's time to plant your flag. Drill a hole into the floor boards and insert the staff there, being sure to hold it in place with some caulk. Then begin your dance around the occupants and sing your Home Invasion Victory Song:
You can lock your doors
And load your guns
But you can't stop The Havenhurst Municipality Bandits!
So hide behind the couch
And cover the floor in boiling fat
The Havenhurst Municipality Bandits will still rule!
Ev – en
If – You
Shoot – Our
Face-es
We –will
Prob – Ly
Die
So don't shoot the faces
Of The Havenhurst Municipality Bandits
And we won't spraypaint anybody!
Now that the home has been claimed, move onto the next house. But don't steal anything on your way out because stealing is wrong.
Happy Home Invasion Spree Day!
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Supermarket Checkout Girl Day
Supermarket Checkout Girl Day!
Today, you're going to watch your favorite supermarket checkout girl get arrested for kidnapping. She'll be ringing up your items and chatting you up with the same jovial demeanor that she always has when two detectives in suits will walk up behind her and say, "Pamela Worth?"
She'll turn around and say, "Yes?"
One detective will hold up his badge for her to see. "Ma'am, you are under arrest for your role in the kidnapping of Mary Radano."
Mary Radano disappeared seven months ago and no one could talk about anything else for weeks. But it's been a while since anyone but the newspapers mentioned her name. She's been missing for so long it's too sad a story to gossip over.
The whole store will freeze in time when the detective says that name. Later, you'll remember that the moving checkout conveyor belts all froze as well. Everyone will stop and watch your favorite supermarket checkout girl get handcuffed. She'll look up at you while she's bent over her register, her eyes big with shame.
Ask her, "Is Mary Radano still alive?"
She won't tell you. But you'll find out when you get home and turn on the TV. Next week, you'll start bringing your cart to checkout number 9 where Collette, your second favorite checkout girl, is stationed. Collette is pleasant enough, but she has acne that can flare up from time to time and her face gets so raw it makes you look down into your wallet while you're waiting for her to double your coupons.
Happy Supermarket Checkout Girl Day!
Today, you're going to watch your favorite supermarket checkout girl get arrested for kidnapping. She'll be ringing up your items and chatting you up with the same jovial demeanor that she always has when two detectives in suits will walk up behind her and say, "Pamela Worth?"
She'll turn around and say, "Yes?"
One detective will hold up his badge for her to see. "Ma'am, you are under arrest for your role in the kidnapping of Mary Radano."
Mary Radano disappeared seven months ago and no one could talk about anything else for weeks. But it's been a while since anyone but the newspapers mentioned her name. She's been missing for so long it's too sad a story to gossip over.
The whole store will freeze in time when the detective says that name. Later, you'll remember that the moving checkout conveyor belts all froze as well. Everyone will stop and watch your favorite supermarket checkout girl get handcuffed. She'll look up at you while she's bent over her register, her eyes big with shame.
Ask her, "Is Mary Radano still alive?"
She won't tell you. But you'll find out when you get home and turn on the TV. Next week, you'll start bringing your cart to checkout number 9 where Collette, your second favorite checkout girl, is stationed. Collette is pleasant enough, but she has acne that can flare up from time to time and her face gets so raw it makes you look down into your wallet while you're waiting for her to double your coupons.
Happy Supermarket Checkout Girl Day!
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
My Cheating Husband's Volvo Day
My Cheating Husband's Volvo Day!
Your wife found out about you and your secretary a month ago, and she reacted the way any betrayed woman of virtue would react. She entered your Volvo V50 Sportswagon in a demolition derby. And she won.
And she's been winning. Every week since she stopped speaking to you she's been heading to the dirt bike track out by the airport and smashing up triumph after triumph. She's turned into a sensation amongst regulars. When she pulls into the ring with those four words spraypainted onto the hood, My Cheating Husband's Volvo, the crowd stirs itself into a frenzy. They revel in the joy of some foolish husband's car about to be destroyed by his woman scorned. But when she starts to win (after all it is a Volvo), there is no limit to how hard that crowd wants to cheer her on. The Derby commissioner says he's never seen a Derby star breakout so fast.
Tonight's the division championship. If she wins tonight, she takes your wagon out to Cleveland for a shot at a $50,000 cash prize and an endorsement for next year. If you wanna make amends with her, you can send her fanbase reeling by getting on a bus and taking yourself out to that track.
When you first see your car, you'll want to scream. She's been keeping it parked in a garage behind the track and you'd been forced to assume she drove it into a lake since she's refused to respond to your queries. But when you see what she can do, when you see what art she can make from her rage and her defensive driving skills, you'll fall in love with her like never before.
You don't want to let her know you're there ahead of time. Just buy your ticket and cheer her on with the rest of the civilians. Wait until she wins. When she's standing in the center of the track and is being handed her trophy, interrupt the ceremony by climbing down and walking halfway to her.
Your wife and the commissioner will both stop the ceremony to see what you're up to. The crowd will read in your wife's body language that it was your Volvo all this time. They'll immediately start booing you and pegging you in the head with beer and batteries. Just stand there about twenty feet from your wife with your arms held out from your sides, waiting. The tension will be thick enough to stop up a blown muffler. But when she finally drops her trophy and runs into your arms, the crowd will roil itself into such a fever pitch you'll think we finally figured out how to win that Iraq thing over there.
Stand by her side as she finishes the ceremony, and then go to your Volvo and climb into the driver's seat. Pull away slow, letting your wife hang out the passenger side window so she can wave goodbye to every last one of her fans. They'll all wish her the best, as they'll be worried her having made up with you will stamp out her rage and pull her out of the demolition game forever. You'll be wondering too. Guess you'll find out for sure in September when you're in the stands in Cleveland, screaming your head off while your wife busts the shit out of a big mess of chrome with her Cheating Husband's Volvo.
Happy My Cheating Husband's Volvo Day!
Your wife found out about you and your secretary a month ago, and she reacted the way any betrayed woman of virtue would react. She entered your Volvo V50 Sportswagon in a demolition derby. And she won.
And she's been winning. Every week since she stopped speaking to you she's been heading to the dirt bike track out by the airport and smashing up triumph after triumph. She's turned into a sensation amongst regulars. When she pulls into the ring with those four words spraypainted onto the hood, My Cheating Husband's Volvo, the crowd stirs itself into a frenzy. They revel in the joy of some foolish husband's car about to be destroyed by his woman scorned. But when she starts to win (after all it is a Volvo), there is no limit to how hard that crowd wants to cheer her on. The Derby commissioner says he's never seen a Derby star breakout so fast.
Tonight's the division championship. If she wins tonight, she takes your wagon out to Cleveland for a shot at a $50,000 cash prize and an endorsement for next year. If you wanna make amends with her, you can send her fanbase reeling by getting on a bus and taking yourself out to that track.
When you first see your car, you'll want to scream. She's been keeping it parked in a garage behind the track and you'd been forced to assume she drove it into a lake since she's refused to respond to your queries. But when you see what she can do, when you see what art she can make from her rage and her defensive driving skills, you'll fall in love with her like never before.
You don't want to let her know you're there ahead of time. Just buy your ticket and cheer her on with the rest of the civilians. Wait until she wins. When she's standing in the center of the track and is being handed her trophy, interrupt the ceremony by climbing down and walking halfway to her.
Your wife and the commissioner will both stop the ceremony to see what you're up to. The crowd will read in your wife's body language that it was your Volvo all this time. They'll immediately start booing you and pegging you in the head with beer and batteries. Just stand there about twenty feet from your wife with your arms held out from your sides, waiting. The tension will be thick enough to stop up a blown muffler. But when she finally drops her trophy and runs into your arms, the crowd will roil itself into such a fever pitch you'll think we finally figured out how to win that Iraq thing over there.
Stand by her side as she finishes the ceremony, and then go to your Volvo and climb into the driver's seat. Pull away slow, letting your wife hang out the passenger side window so she can wave goodbye to every last one of her fans. They'll all wish her the best, as they'll be worried her having made up with you will stamp out her rage and pull her out of the demolition game forever. You'll be wondering too. Guess you'll find out for sure in September when you're in the stands in Cleveland, screaming your head off while your wife busts the shit out of a big mess of chrome with her Cheating Husband's Volvo.
Happy My Cheating Husband's Volvo Day!
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Assassination Day
Assassination Day!
Today at work, Norman Dilansky, the HR guy who comes down to your floor every morning to take roll call, will be shot twice in the neck and once in the back by a sniper positioned on the roof of the Landers Mutual building across the way. In the wake of the tragedy, a group of your coworkers will use the assassination as an excuse to leave for the bar and start drinking at 11:30 AM.
"Guess someone really didn't like having his name taken for roll call," you'll suggest, just before downing your second of ultimately six gin and tonics.
"It is pretty demeaning," Jennifer, the hot technical writer will offer. "It's like we're in grade school."
"That's true," Ben will say. Ben is handicapped, so everyone will turn around from their stools to look down at him in his wheelchair, because it's polite. "Dilansky had it coming. He should've watched his step."
A few others from the office will be sitting in the corner of the bar sobbing into each other's embrace. You won't know them and you'll assume they're full of crap, like the ones who make a big show of wishing you a happy birthday when the cafeteria sends up the requisitioned birthday cake.
Manny the temp will slam his drink down on the bartop. "You guys really think this is about roll call? Jesus, open your eyes. It's Iraq!"
When you get back to the office, you'll find out that Dilansky's assassin was his wife. Apparently Dilansky had been prostituting his daughter to his poker buddies. She decided the world needed to be wiped clean of the likes of him and as his wife, she felt it was her responsibility to spring for the rifle and bullets.
Happy Assassination Day!
Today at work, Norman Dilansky, the HR guy who comes down to your floor every morning to take roll call, will be shot twice in the neck and once in the back by a sniper positioned on the roof of the Landers Mutual building across the way. In the wake of the tragedy, a group of your coworkers will use the assassination as an excuse to leave for the bar and start drinking at 11:30 AM.
"Guess someone really didn't like having his name taken for roll call," you'll suggest, just before downing your second of ultimately six gin and tonics.
"It is pretty demeaning," Jennifer, the hot technical writer will offer. "It's like we're in grade school."
"That's true," Ben will say. Ben is handicapped, so everyone will turn around from their stools to look down at him in his wheelchair, because it's polite. "Dilansky had it coming. He should've watched his step."
A few others from the office will be sitting in the corner of the bar sobbing into each other's embrace. You won't know them and you'll assume they're full of crap, like the ones who make a big show of wishing you a happy birthday when the cafeteria sends up the requisitioned birthday cake.
Manny the temp will slam his drink down on the bartop. "You guys really think this is about roll call? Jesus, open your eyes. It's Iraq!"
When you get back to the office, you'll find out that Dilansky's assassin was his wife. Apparently Dilansky had been prostituting his daughter to his poker buddies. She decided the world needed to be wiped clean of the likes of him and as his wife, she felt it was her responsibility to spring for the rifle and bullets.
Happy Assassination Day!
Monday, August 08, 2005
Washed Up Rock Star Corey Hart Day!
Washed Up Rock Star Corey Hart Day!
You drink too much, which explains why last night you went home with washed up rock star Corey Hart. He's making a lot of noise putting together some pancakes in the kitchen, and you're lying in bed trying to figure out how to get him out of your apartment before your roommate spots him.
"You don't have any blueberries," he'll say when you walk into the kitchen. "I thought I saw a produce stand on the corner. I'll go get some."
Say, "That's okay Mr. Hart."
Corey will turn around. "Wait a minute. Mr. Hart?"
"Sorry. Corey," say. "I'm sorry, I just remember you from when I was a kid, dancing all day and night to your song."
Corey Hart will lean against the kitchen cabinet. "It was a great song wasn't it."
Nod. "It was pretty good. Definitely fair."
Corey Hart will move to you and take your cheeks in his hands. "But now you're a woman. And I'm still the man who sang that song for you."
Take his hands off of your cheeks. "You sang your song for the world. I hold no claim on you Mr. Hart."
"I'm yours if you'll have me," he'll say. "Forget the blueberries. Lemme make you a frittata."
"I don't want Corey Hart to make me a frittata. I want you to stay the way you were the day I first heard you," tell him. "I'm sorry, but if we go any further, it will ruin what you've meant to me all these years."
Corey Hart will say, "But we already went further. For like 40 minutes. You were a stallion."
"Luckily, I was drunk enough that I don't remember anything about that," tell him. "And sure, I could keep drinking and go on seeing you while in the debilitating throes of a blackout…"
You and Corey Hart will look at each other, suddenly freed from the bounds of nostalgia. "Eureka!" you'll say.
Corey Hart will pull the bottle of Wild Turkey down from the top of the fridge. You'll down as much of it as you can while he leads you back to your bedroom with just a gentle pull on your fingertips.
Happy Washed Up Rock Star Corey Hart Day!
You drink too much, which explains why last night you went home with washed up rock star Corey Hart. He's making a lot of noise putting together some pancakes in the kitchen, and you're lying in bed trying to figure out how to get him out of your apartment before your roommate spots him.
"You don't have any blueberries," he'll say when you walk into the kitchen. "I thought I saw a produce stand on the corner. I'll go get some."
Say, "That's okay Mr. Hart."
Corey will turn around. "Wait a minute. Mr. Hart?"
"Sorry. Corey," say. "I'm sorry, I just remember you from when I was a kid, dancing all day and night to your song."
Corey Hart will lean against the kitchen cabinet. "It was a great song wasn't it."
Nod. "It was pretty good. Definitely fair."
Corey Hart will move to you and take your cheeks in his hands. "But now you're a woman. And I'm still the man who sang that song for you."
Take his hands off of your cheeks. "You sang your song for the world. I hold no claim on you Mr. Hart."
"I'm yours if you'll have me," he'll say. "Forget the blueberries. Lemme make you a frittata."
"I don't want Corey Hart to make me a frittata. I want you to stay the way you were the day I first heard you," tell him. "I'm sorry, but if we go any further, it will ruin what you've meant to me all these years."
Corey Hart will say, "But we already went further. For like 40 minutes. You were a stallion."
"Luckily, I was drunk enough that I don't remember anything about that," tell him. "And sure, I could keep drinking and go on seeing you while in the debilitating throes of a blackout…"
You and Corey Hart will look at each other, suddenly freed from the bounds of nostalgia. "Eureka!" you'll say.
Corey Hart will pull the bottle of Wild Turkey down from the top of the fridge. You'll down as much of it as you can while he leads you back to your bedroom with just a gentle pull on your fingertips.
Happy Washed Up Rock Star Corey Hart Day!
Friday, August 05, 2005
It's The Girls Are Pretty "Gonna Go Try To Stop A Wedding" Weekend
It's The Girls Are Pretty"Gonna Go Try To Stop A Wedding" Weekend!
Hey there. So a lover that Prettygirl pushed away is marrying someone else this weekend. The wedding's upstate and Prettygirl's gotta get up there and make a scene to try and put the kibosh on the whole thing. It's not a "Now that I know I can't have you I realize you're the one I want" kind of deal. It's more like, "Even though I don't want you, I demand that you never love again." Time to pack!
The wedding's Saturday, but Prettygirl's gonna try to go tubing on Sunday, so the whole weekend's gonna go up right now. As per convention, scroll down to read today's today. Don't read tomorrow's until tomorrow. You wouldn't want to find out in advance that tomorrow you're going to get lost in a man-made cave, now would you?
Sunday, August 7th, 2005
Cotton Candy Machine Day!
Using all the money you've saved from not drinking, you bought a cotton candy machine for your wife.
"Can you believe that last year I wasn't able to buy this for you because I was spending so much money on alcohol," you'll say to her.
She'll nod. "You really did waste a lot of money on alcohol," she'll say.
Flop onto the couch and tell her that no matter how hard you try to make amends, she won't cut you any slack. "You make me wonder why I stopped at all!" say.
"I'm sorry," she'll say. "I really love the cotton candy machine. I'm so proud of you."
Say, "Too late!" and start drinking again. Beginning tonight, disappear for four days, leaving her with nothing to warm up to at night but a contraption that spits out edible fur. See how she likes that!
Happy Cotton Candy Machine Day!
Saturday, August 6th, 2005
Get Lost In A Man-Made Cave Day!
As you try to make your way back outside, use a rock to scratch sketches of yourself into the cave wall at various points. Underneath the sketches, write "If you see this man, in this cave, no matter how cool he tries to seem, he's lost. Help him." Eventually you'll stumble into the man-made cave's janitor's closet, and you'll find evidence that the janitor has been The Man-Made Cave Strangler all along. He'll chase you down, and he knows this man-made cave better than you, but you have to get that evidence to the fuzz.
Happy Get Lost In A Man-Made Cave Day!
Friday, August 5th, 2005
Warts And All Day!
When your girlfriend tries to break up with you tonight, say, "It's because of my warts isn't it?"
Your girlfriend will say it's not just your warts, it's also that you're poor.
Using a really whiny voice, say, "But the only reason I'm poor is because I have to spend all my money on wart removal!"
Just then, one of the warts that you had dry-frozen at the dermatologist's office will fall off of your cheek and into your soup.
Say, "See, they're going away!" Then, using a high-pitched scream, ask her not to leave you like this just when things are starting to turn around for you. She'll run.
Happy Warts And All Day!
Hey there. So a lover that Prettygirl pushed away is marrying someone else this weekend. The wedding's upstate and Prettygirl's gotta get up there and make a scene to try and put the kibosh on the whole thing. It's not a "Now that I know I can't have you I realize you're the one I want" kind of deal. It's more like, "Even though I don't want you, I demand that you never love again." Time to pack!
The wedding's Saturday, but Prettygirl's gonna try to go tubing on Sunday, so the whole weekend's gonna go up right now. As per convention, scroll down to read today's today. Don't read tomorrow's until tomorrow. You wouldn't want to find out in advance that tomorrow you're going to get lost in a man-made cave, now would you?
Sunday, August 7th, 2005
Cotton Candy Machine Day!
Using all the money you've saved from not drinking, you bought a cotton candy machine for your wife.
"Can you believe that last year I wasn't able to buy this for you because I was spending so much money on alcohol," you'll say to her.
She'll nod. "You really did waste a lot of money on alcohol," she'll say.
Flop onto the couch and tell her that no matter how hard you try to make amends, she won't cut you any slack. "You make me wonder why I stopped at all!" say.
"I'm sorry," she'll say. "I really love the cotton candy machine. I'm so proud of you."
Say, "Too late!" and start drinking again. Beginning tonight, disappear for four days, leaving her with nothing to warm up to at night but a contraption that spits out edible fur. See how she likes that!
Happy Cotton Candy Machine Day!
Saturday, August 6th, 2005
Get Lost In A Man-Made Cave Day!
As you try to make your way back outside, use a rock to scratch sketches of yourself into the cave wall at various points. Underneath the sketches, write "If you see this man, in this cave, no matter how cool he tries to seem, he's lost. Help him." Eventually you'll stumble into the man-made cave's janitor's closet, and you'll find evidence that the janitor has been The Man-Made Cave Strangler all along. He'll chase you down, and he knows this man-made cave better than you, but you have to get that evidence to the fuzz.
Happy Get Lost In A Man-Made Cave Day!
Friday, August 5th, 2005
Warts And All Day!
When your girlfriend tries to break up with you tonight, say, "It's because of my warts isn't it?"
Your girlfriend will say it's not just your warts, it's also that you're poor.
Using a really whiny voice, say, "But the only reason I'm poor is because I have to spend all my money on wart removal!"
Just then, one of the warts that you had dry-frozen at the dermatologist's office will fall off of your cheek and into your soup.
Say, "See, they're going away!" Then, using a high-pitched scream, ask her not to leave you like this just when things are starting to turn around for you. She'll run.
Happy Warts And All Day!
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Be The Witness Day
Be The Witness Day!
Today, you should happen upon the scene of a crime that involves the highest levels of government. The crime should be murder, but if it can't be murder, it should be arson.
When you spy the crime taking place, first, hide. You'll make a little bit of noise when you find your place in the dark corner of the schoolbus garage or when you hoist your feet up in the bathroom stall, but not to worry. When the henchman comes over to check things out, he'll be called away just before he's about to discover your hiding place. (PHEW!)
Next, watch the crime take place. The crime will either be the murder of a bespectacled bookkeeper who is screaming "I swear to God I don't! know! anything!" Or it will be the illegal setting on fire of a bespectacled bookkeeper who is screaming "I swear to God I don't! have! the ledger!"
Finally, let the shock of the crime you've just witnessed disorient you so that you accidentally make a little bit of noise (you start jerking off and rattle a bucket full of shovels) that attracts the attention of the Mayor, the Comptroller, and the entire Tri-Lateral Commission. You'll have to make a run for it, and you might never be able to stop running. Here's hoping you don't have any kids, because fuck them. You're running.
Finally, turn the tables. Tell the Mayor, the Comptroller, and the entire Tri-Lateral Commission something along the lines of, "If I don't make a phone call in a half hour, my story gets mailed to all the major newspapers." Except tell them something that will actually scare them. When you're finished, sit back and take a deep breath because you run this town now. First thing you should do is ask for access to the Tri-Lateral Commission's records room so you can follow through on your theory about the link between the Kennedy assassination and the alien craft kept hidden at Roswell.
Finally, use your access to the Tri-Lateral Commission's records room to find out which of your high school girlfriends were spies, and which were dudes.
Happy Be The Witness Day!
Today, you should happen upon the scene of a crime that involves the highest levels of government. The crime should be murder, but if it can't be murder, it should be arson.
When you spy the crime taking place, first, hide. You'll make a little bit of noise when you find your place in the dark corner of the schoolbus garage or when you hoist your feet up in the bathroom stall, but not to worry. When the henchman comes over to check things out, he'll be called away just before he's about to discover your hiding place. (PHEW!)
Next, watch the crime take place. The crime will either be the murder of a bespectacled bookkeeper who is screaming "I swear to God I don't! know! anything!" Or it will be the illegal setting on fire of a bespectacled bookkeeper who is screaming "I swear to God I don't! have! the ledger!"
Finally, let the shock of the crime you've just witnessed disorient you so that you accidentally make a little bit of noise (you start jerking off and rattle a bucket full of shovels) that attracts the attention of the Mayor, the Comptroller, and the entire Tri-Lateral Commission. You'll have to make a run for it, and you might never be able to stop running. Here's hoping you don't have any kids, because fuck them. You're running.
Finally, turn the tables. Tell the Mayor, the Comptroller, and the entire Tri-Lateral Commission something along the lines of, "If I don't make a phone call in a half hour, my story gets mailed to all the major newspapers." Except tell them something that will actually scare them. When you're finished, sit back and take a deep breath because you run this town now. First thing you should do is ask for access to the Tri-Lateral Commission's records room so you can follow through on your theory about the link between the Kennedy assassination and the alien craft kept hidden at Roswell.
Finally, use your access to the Tri-Lateral Commission's records room to find out which of your high school girlfriends were spies, and which were dudes.
Happy Be The Witness Day!
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
The Roof Party Jumper Day
The Roof Party Jumper Day!
It's just a lucky break that you have roof access and that your rooftop has been done up as a beautiful outdoor deck. You're not rich, and neither are any of your friends. And as is common amongst the Not-Rich, many of your friends are depressed and/or chemically dependent and/or emotionally demonstrative (the rich learned to contain themselves long ago). With all of this being evident, you should know before you invite all of your friends up to your roofdeck for a party that one of your friends will break up with another of your friends (it will have been a long time coming. At dinner parties, all they do is quietly undercut each other and even more quietly cry), and that the one who gets dumped will climb onto the ledge and start making noise about jumping and about how he just wasted two years and eight months with an unimaginative drone.
You should know that everyone else will start shouting, "Get off the ledge Robby."
And that Robby will retort, "I'll get down shortly. But let me first say that Melissa Martinez is going to live a very long life and when she dies, she will not have felt a single thing. There's a woman on the roof who has never known passion and based on who she's leaving me for, she never will. And there's a man on the roof who's about to be a man on the ground."
You should know, before you send out the evite, that your rooftop party will be ruined when Robby throws himself over the ledge and dies on the sidewalk. While this won't bode well for your party, the rooftop party across the street, packed full of rich people who are no strangers to rooftop parties, will watch impoverished Robby somersault to his death and they will find this to be immensely entertaining. Thus, your sad little attempt at tasting a slice of the beautiful life will at least provide some diversion to those who are actually meant to live such a life. So you should go ahead with the rooftop party. For the benefit of the rich.
Happy The Roof Party Jumper Day!
It's just a lucky break that you have roof access and that your rooftop has been done up as a beautiful outdoor deck. You're not rich, and neither are any of your friends. And as is common amongst the Not-Rich, many of your friends are depressed and/or chemically dependent and/or emotionally demonstrative (the rich learned to contain themselves long ago). With all of this being evident, you should know before you invite all of your friends up to your roofdeck for a party that one of your friends will break up with another of your friends (it will have been a long time coming. At dinner parties, all they do is quietly undercut each other and even more quietly cry), and that the one who gets dumped will climb onto the ledge and start making noise about jumping and about how he just wasted two years and eight months with an unimaginative drone.
You should know that everyone else will start shouting, "Get off the ledge Robby."
And that Robby will retort, "I'll get down shortly. But let me first say that Melissa Martinez is going to live a very long life and when she dies, she will not have felt a single thing. There's a woman on the roof who has never known passion and based on who she's leaving me for, she never will. And there's a man on the roof who's about to be a man on the ground."
You should know, before you send out the evite, that your rooftop party will be ruined when Robby throws himself over the ledge and dies on the sidewalk. While this won't bode well for your party, the rooftop party across the street, packed full of rich people who are no strangers to rooftop parties, will watch impoverished Robby somersault to his death and they will find this to be immensely entertaining. Thus, your sad little attempt at tasting a slice of the beautiful life will at least provide some diversion to those who are actually meant to live such a life. So you should go ahead with the rooftop party. For the benefit of the rich.
Happy The Roof Party Jumper Day!
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Go To The Street Magician Day
Go To The Street Magician Day!
There's a street magician in the park who will tap his hat and pull a rabbit from it. Or scarves. Go to him. Perhaps he can help.
Stand at the rear of the crowd ooing and aahing at the appropriate times, such as when the magician convinces his magic wand to levitate. Keep your head down low when the hat is passed around and filled with money. Wait until the street magician sits down on his bench to smoke a cigarette. Then race to his side before he might be approached by anyone else.
Say, "Great show, big guy."
The street magician will say, "You could have said as much by dropping some cash in the hat." He'll then open one eye wide at you and say, "I see all, even the cheapos."
Apologize. "I am poor," say. "I came here for help."
Explain that your son needs insulin, and you don't know how to get it for him because you don't have any money.
"Baby," he'll say, "I earned this bread. You saw me earn it. I'm sorry, but you gotta find someone at social services."
Explain that you're too proud to ask for money and you wouldn't presume that he might part with his performance fee. Explain that you were hoping he might make use of his magic hat.
"Perhaps you could make a vial of insulin appear in it?" say. "Or the cash equivalent. 78 dollars?"
The magician won't want to explain to you that his magic hat is nothing more than a hat with a trick flap. So he'll say, "It is done. Prepare to be amazed."
The magician will tap his hat twice, then he'll reach in and move the rabbit aside (you'll spy the ears poking out from the brim) and he'll move his hand around at the bottom of his hat and he'll find an unopened vial of insulin still in the pharmacy bag.
"Thank you," you'll shout when he places the bag in your hands. "You are truly a gifted sorcerer. Thank you good man!"
The magician will assume that you don't know his name, and so you won't know that that's his son's name on the label when you open it up later. He also won't know that you were aware that magicians hate to let on that they're not really magical, and that he has a kid with diabetes (word spreads when in a small town like yours). He's just happy he got to really wow somebody, and you're just happy that your kid's not gonna fade out any time soon.
So what if you took some trickster's kid's juice. He's got the power of darkness on his side. All you got is two ex-husbands and a drunk tenant living in the basement.
Happy Go To The Street Magician Day!
There's a street magician in the park who will tap his hat and pull a rabbit from it. Or scarves. Go to him. Perhaps he can help.
Stand at the rear of the crowd ooing and aahing at the appropriate times, such as when the magician convinces his magic wand to levitate. Keep your head down low when the hat is passed around and filled with money. Wait until the street magician sits down on his bench to smoke a cigarette. Then race to his side before he might be approached by anyone else.
Say, "Great show, big guy."
The street magician will say, "You could have said as much by dropping some cash in the hat." He'll then open one eye wide at you and say, "I see all, even the cheapos."
Apologize. "I am poor," say. "I came here for help."
Explain that your son needs insulin, and you don't know how to get it for him because you don't have any money.
"Baby," he'll say, "I earned this bread. You saw me earn it. I'm sorry, but you gotta find someone at social services."
Explain that you're too proud to ask for money and you wouldn't presume that he might part with his performance fee. Explain that you were hoping he might make use of his magic hat.
"Perhaps you could make a vial of insulin appear in it?" say. "Or the cash equivalent. 78 dollars?"
The magician won't want to explain to you that his magic hat is nothing more than a hat with a trick flap. So he'll say, "It is done. Prepare to be amazed."
The magician will tap his hat twice, then he'll reach in and move the rabbit aside (you'll spy the ears poking out from the brim) and he'll move his hand around at the bottom of his hat and he'll find an unopened vial of insulin still in the pharmacy bag.
"Thank you," you'll shout when he places the bag in your hands. "You are truly a gifted sorcerer. Thank you good man!"
The magician will assume that you don't know his name, and so you won't know that that's his son's name on the label when you open it up later. He also won't know that you were aware that magicians hate to let on that they're not really magical, and that he has a kid with diabetes (word spreads when in a small town like yours). He's just happy he got to really wow somebody, and you're just happy that your kid's not gonna fade out any time soon.
So what if you took some trickster's kid's juice. He's got the power of darkness on his side. All you got is two ex-husbands and a drunk tenant living in the basement.
Happy Go To The Street Magician Day!
Monday, August 01, 2005
Rowboat Race Day
Rowboat Race Day!
Ten guys in ten rowboats are about to race across a lake to a dock where you're sitting in a deck chair. The first guy to reach the dock, jump from his boat and tackle you in an embrace without knocking you into the water wins your hand forever. If you get knocked into the water, the contest is over. Only ten guys were allowed to sign up for the race, and when the signup sheet was posted in the town square a gigantic fistfight broke out as every single man in three counties rushed for a shot at being your fella. You even got one or two married guys to go ahead and secure a quickie divorce in the hopes of securing your hand as their second or so-on wife. You're that hot (none of the quickie divorce guys made it into a rowboat).
The reason they can't knock you into the water is because you can't swim, and the rules dictate that if you go into the water, you're not to be rescued so that you'll have no choice but to learn to swim to safety. It's part of an ancient tradition in your town wherein the hottest girl in town is either married off or taught to swim in one fell swoop. Your town believes that the most beautiful women should either be married or they should know how to swim. Never both. Both is unseemly.
Your mother submitted to this process before you, and until the day she died of a lightning-strike, she wanted nothing more than for you to follow in her footsteps. However, she always hoped that you might be knocked into the water. Whenever things got hard between her and your father, your mother used to dream about what it would be like to know how to swim.
Happy Rowboat Race Day!
Ten guys in ten rowboats are about to race across a lake to a dock where you're sitting in a deck chair. The first guy to reach the dock, jump from his boat and tackle you in an embrace without knocking you into the water wins your hand forever. If you get knocked into the water, the contest is over. Only ten guys were allowed to sign up for the race, and when the signup sheet was posted in the town square a gigantic fistfight broke out as every single man in three counties rushed for a shot at being your fella. You even got one or two married guys to go ahead and secure a quickie divorce in the hopes of securing your hand as their second or so-on wife. You're that hot (none of the quickie divorce guys made it into a rowboat).
The reason they can't knock you into the water is because you can't swim, and the rules dictate that if you go into the water, you're not to be rescued so that you'll have no choice but to learn to swim to safety. It's part of an ancient tradition in your town wherein the hottest girl in town is either married off or taught to swim in one fell swoop. Your town believes that the most beautiful women should either be married or they should know how to swim. Never both. Both is unseemly.
Your mother submitted to this process before you, and until the day she died of a lightning-strike, she wanted nothing more than for you to follow in her footsteps. However, she always hoped that you might be knocked into the water. Whenever things got hard between her and your father, your mother used to dream about what it would be like to know how to swim.
Happy Rowboat Race Day!
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Public Display Of Affection Day
Public Display Of Affection Day!
Tonight at the bar, while carrying on a conversation with your friends, pause from time to time to lick your boyfriend's face and forearms.
One of your friends will say, "That's gross."
Tell her, "You're just jealous that no one loves you as much as we love each other."
Your boyfriend will say, "I don't love you that much."
Pull your tongue off of the underside of his elbow, where you were determinedly tickling the letters of the alphabet, and say, "Then what the hell have I been making such a fool of myself in public for all these years?"
He'll say, "You know just what to do with your tongue, and I wouldn't give you up for a million years. See, as you know, my Mom was a big drunk. I was left alone most of my childhood. The two housecats my Mom kept were more motherly to me than she ever was. Many nights, the only bath I got was when they'd lick my face clean. But I never felt a really deep love from either my Mom or those cats. I just really liked the feel of a tongue on my skin. Which is why I enjoy when you lick me so much, though I could do with your tongue being a little more sandpapery."
Say to him, "So I'm just a mother figure for you?"
He'll say, "No. You just remind me of the cats that used to lick my face. Don't ever go."
Your friend will ask him, "What were your cats' names?"
He'll say, "Asshead and Count Lovesalot."
Happy Public Display Of Affection Day!
Tonight at the bar, while carrying on a conversation with your friends, pause from time to time to lick your boyfriend's face and forearms.
One of your friends will say, "That's gross."
Tell her, "You're just jealous that no one loves you as much as we love each other."
Your boyfriend will say, "I don't love you that much."
Pull your tongue off of the underside of his elbow, where you were determinedly tickling the letters of the alphabet, and say, "Then what the hell have I been making such a fool of myself in public for all these years?"
He'll say, "You know just what to do with your tongue, and I wouldn't give you up for a million years. See, as you know, my Mom was a big drunk. I was left alone most of my childhood. The two housecats my Mom kept were more motherly to me than she ever was. Many nights, the only bath I got was when they'd lick my face clean. But I never felt a really deep love from either my Mom or those cats. I just really liked the feel of a tongue on my skin. Which is why I enjoy when you lick me so much, though I could do with your tongue being a little more sandpapery."
Say to him, "So I'm just a mother figure for you?"
He'll say, "No. You just remind me of the cats that used to lick my face. Don't ever go."
Your friend will ask him, "What were your cats' names?"
He'll say, "Asshead and Count Lovesalot."
Happy Public Display Of Affection Day!
Saturday, July 30, 2005
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!
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!
Friday, July 29, 2005
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!
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!
Thursday, July 28, 2005
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!
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!
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
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?
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?
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
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!
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!
Monday, July 25, 2005
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!
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!
Sunday, July 24, 2005
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!
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!
Saturday, July 23, 2005
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!
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!
Friday, July 22, 2005
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!
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!
Thursday, July 21, 2005
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!
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!
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
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!
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!
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
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!
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!
Monday, July 18, 2005
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!
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!
Sunday, July 17, 2005
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!
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!
Saturday, July 16, 2005
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!
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!
Friday, July 15, 2005
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!
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!
Thursday, July 14, 2005
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!
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!
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
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!
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!
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
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!
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!
Monday, July 11, 2005
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!
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!
Sunday, July 10, 2005
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!
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!
Saturday, July 09, 2005
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!
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!
Friday, July 08, 2005
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!
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!
Thursday, July 07, 2005
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!
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!
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
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!
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!
Saturday, July 02, 2005
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!
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!
Friday, July 01, 2005
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!
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!
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