Get James Garner's Character In "The Notebook" To Watch "Memento" Day!

Today, if you see James Garner's character from the movie "The Notebook," get him to a Blockbuster fast and make him rent "Memento."

"Well, I'll be damned," James Garner's character from the movie "The Notebook" will say. "That just might work."

"Hell yes it'll work," tell him. "Now get back to that old folks home and get your sharpie ready, you hear me Rockford?"

James Garner's character from the movie "The Notebook" will then race back to the retirement home and start reading the notebook from the movie "The Notebook" to Gena Rowlands' character from the movie "The Notebook." As soon as she starts remembering again, James Garner's character from the movie "The Notebook" will tell her, "Okay, now I'm gonna write all over your body about who you are and how much you dig me. Cool?"

James Garner's character from the movie "The Notebook" will probably only get a few lines written before she flips out again, but it's a start. If only James Garner's character from the movie "The Notebook" had been played by Guy Pearce's character from the movie "Memento." If you want to know who's to blame for Gena Rowlands' character from the movie "The Notebook" having dementia, look no further than the casting director for the movie "The Notebook."

Happy Get James Garner's Character In "The Notebook" To Watch "Memento" Day!

True Lava Always Day!

You went to Hawaii on your honeymoon and as luck would have it, a volcano erupted and killed your husband. He got caught in a shower of lava and he turned into one of those lava people who get preserved as an ashen sculpture in the exact position where they were standing. You kind of hate going to visit him on that pretty hill, because of all the people who got preserved by lava there, your husband is the only one who is both picking his nose and scratching his balls at the same time.

'He must have been a professional baseball player,' you'll hear the other tourists joking as they take pictures with their arms around his shoulders.

'Hey lava man, need help getting that boogie snot out?' another tourist will yell.

'Scratch that shit, lava man!' locals will shout from their car.

'I couldn't imagine having balls,' a female tourist will tell her companion as she passes your husband.

'They're awesome,' her companion will respond.

'He was a wonderful, warm, and endlessly loving man and the whole world should have fallen apart when he died,' you want to tell each and every one of them when they pass.

But you don't. Instead you stand before him and you call up your sweetest memories of him, of the day you met when by chance you both walked out of a restaurant together and walked in the same direction for a block before you looked over at each other and shared a smile. You remember his shirts and you remember the way he used to call you at midnight before you were living together, and you'd both just lay in silence with your phones to your ears until one of you fell asleep. You let these memories dance through your mind, hoping this time will be the time that you can be solemn and respectful and tender, and then you look up at him with his finger in his nose and his hand on his balls and you just burst out laughing and run back down the hill.

Happy True Lava Always Day!

The Chairman Had An Accident Day!

Today, while speaking to investors during the quarterly state of the company conference call, you're going to crap your pants. Everyone listening in on the conference call will hear the sound of someone crapping their pants and speculation will run rampant as to whether or not it was you and whether you crapped your pants because you saw a statement of losses the company has been hit with. Rumors will go out over the web, with people describing the deep, throaty sound of the pants crapping as the kind that could only come from someone with your husky build. Analysts will begin to downgrade your stock. 'When a chairman craps his pants like that, things can only be going from bad to worse. Sell!' To end the panic, you're going to have to admit that, yes, you crapped your pants, but it was only because a ghost walked into the room and pointed straight at you. The ghost looked like he might have been a member of one of the tribes your company displaced in South America in order to build a weapons plant. Everyone will feel reassured that the company is doing well. You'll slowly go mad.

Happy The Chairman Had An Accident Day!

You Never Read The Bible Day!

'And then Moses said, I'd rather be fishing,' you tell your bible study class. 'And then the most majestic fishing rod appeared in his hands, and Zeus and Pegasus and King Arthur started applauding and saying, 'Go catch a big one, Mo.'

Leon, the most Jesus-y in the class, slams his fist on his desk and shouts, 'What you know about the bible I could fit on one of my pubes.'

'Prayer time,' you say. 'Everybody pray quietly.'

'No!' Leon will say. 'Tell us who you are and why you're teaching bible study here at the school for boys.'

'I admit,' you admit to them, 'I faked my way in here because the job offered free room and board, and I don't like to have to pay for things like room or board. But while my intentions were to deceive, since I've been here my eyes have been opened. I've really learned a lot about Jazziz.'

'Jesus!' Leon will shout, exasperated.

'Jesus. Right. Sorry. Wasn't it Jesus who said, Don't tell on your teachers. Or else you'll rot in hell?'

Leon will relent. 'Fine, we won't tell on you,' he'll say. 'But you really have to try and teach this class. No more just showing us old Martin Scorcese movies and telling us to find the parts where the Italians get all religious. Put together a lesson plan.'

'I will. Tomorrow,' tell him. 'For today. Mean Streets!'

The bible class will erupt in a cheer.

Happy You Never Read The Bible Day!

You Dig Bearded Ladies Day!

Today you're going to sneak onto an empty cargo car on the train that's carrying the traveling circus to their next stop three states over. You'll settle in on a bale of hay and try to get some shut-eye, but then a bearded lady will come into the car with a flashlight. One look at the thick beard on her face and you'll fall head over heels in love.

'Another stowaway,' she'll say to you. Then she'll swing a bat at your knees. The pain will knock you out.

When you wake up, the bearded lady will be holding ice packs to your knees. You'll scream with pain.

'The pain is from me hitting your kneecaps with a bat,' she'll tell you.

'I know!' you'll shout. 'Why are you icing them down now? Why didn't you just throw me off the train?'

'Because in the instant when I was swinging the bat down on your kneecaps, I looked in your eyes and felt like we had something. Did you feel it?'

'Of course I did,' you'll say. 'It hit me harder than that bat ever could.' Then you'll bury your face in her mound of stubble.

You'll get off with her at the next stop and live at the circus in her trailer while your legs heel. Every night, when she's finished wowing the crowd at the freak show, she'll come back home and let you sink your lips into her bristling mass once more. When you're finally able to walk again, you'll tell the bearded lady, 'Now I got no use to stay locked up in your trailer.'

The bearded lady will grab her bat and break your knees again. After lots of screaming, you'll explain that you only said that to be sweet, and she doesn't have to hobble you anymore because you ain't going anywhere. Unless she shaves.

Happy You Dig Bearded Ladies Day!

Push Your Way Hot Baby Son Into Child Modeling Day!

'But I don't wanna model,' your son will tell you. 'I wanna play little league!'

Tell your son little league will let in any number of ugly bastards who know how to swing a stick. 'But you got the goods,' tell him. 'You're unbelievably hot, and you shouldn't waste it standing out in left field where you're nothing but another eleven-year old kid who has to pee.'

'But modeling's for girls!' your son will tell you.

'Hot girls!' retort. 'You don't want in on that?'

'Yuck! Girls are gross!' he'll say. 'I just want to play video games with my friends!'

'I told you I don't want you hanging around with those boys anymore,' tell him. 'Your friends are hideous. Now help me pick out some pictures for you. I think this one's a little too 'come hither' don't you?'

'Yeah but this one makes me look like I'm uncertain about what to do with my hands!' he'll whine. 'I don't want people to think I don't know what to do with my hands!'

Take your little treasure in your arms and tell him, 'Shhhhh. They won't think that. No one will ever think that about my baby. We'll pick the pictures that let everyone know my baby knows exactly what to do with his hands.'

Then let him go. He's your son and you can't force him to do anything he doesn't want to do. If he goes upstairs and gets dressed for his callback with Gap Kids, he's in. If he runs headlong into a doorknob in order to disfigure himself, he's out. You may hate him for throwing away all that money, but try not to let it show that often. I read once that if you let your son know you resent him because he didn't let you make a lot of cash off his looks, he'll grow up to be a dick.

Happy Push Your Way Hot Baby Son Into Child Modeling Day!

Dermatologist Appointment With A Happy Ending Day!

The first time your dermatologist offered you a handjob, you were thrown.

"I've got a good practice here," she said. "But the HMO's make it next to impossible for a doctor to make over $400,000 a year. Anyway, gimme 75 bucks and I"ll finish you off."

You argued that most massage parlors charge far less, but your dermatologist countered that she knows a thing or two about skin. "Nerve endings are very cliquish," she said. "They like to gather in groups. I went to school for six years to learn where to find them."

You gave her the 75 and it was worth every penny. For a while there, you looked forward to your dermatologist appointment like it was prom night. However, while you've felt a great deal more relaxed, your acne has been getting worse. Your dermatologist has been keeping her office open until 4 AM to cater to the strip club crowd and compete with the massage parlors and whorehouses. As a result, she doesn't pay attention to your complexion as much as she used to.
"I think I might need to see another dermatologist," tell her today.

"I don't blame you," she'll say. "Honestly, I bet I'm just making things worse for you considering where my hands have been. But man, this handjob racket really pays the bills."

"Speaking of handjobs, can I still come back and get them? I mean, can I just pay you the seventy five bucks without the copay for the checkup?"

"Sure thing," your dermatologist will say.

"Can I have one now?" ask her.

"Sure thing," your dermatologist will say. Then she'll jerk you off.

Happy Dermatologist Appointment With A Happy Ending Day!

You're From The Ocean, She's From The Red States Day!

Arguing with her has grown so frustrating that lately you just try to keep your mouth shut. She talks about where she grew up and the way her parents used to talk as if she had no choice but to believe the exact same things.

"You don't know what it was like," she'll say. "You grew up amongst the coral and all those luminous plants."

"Oh so because I'm from the ocean I'm able to avoid acting like a complete bigot?"

"I'm just saying our experiences were different growing up. It was simpler for you."

She's so fucking condescending sometimes. The only thing she knows about life in the ocean she learned from watching The Little Fucking Mermaid.

"I guess I just didn't experience the extreme hardships caused by all those weak immigration laws. Your family must have truly suffered in their suburban Missouri neighborhood."

Today's going to be a rough day, but you've put off making plane reservations long enough. You're going to have to tell her you're not going home with her for Easter.

"Some old friends invited me to spend the weekend in their underwater cave in the Atlantic 900 miles off of the UK."

She'll let it sink in. Then: "How long will you be gone?"

When you don't answer, she'll start to cry.

"Let's just give it a shot," you'll say. "I'm from the Ocean, you're from..."

"I know where I'm from! And you've been hanging onto that I'm from the Ocean shit as your get out of this relationship free card ever since I met you! It's like you only dated me because you knew it wouldn't work out and you'd have a perfect excuse when it was time to walk away!" Then she'll run to the bedroom.

It's true what she said, you know. You haven't really tried very hard.

Happy You're From The Ocean, She's From The Red States Day!

Gawker Stalker Day!

Today you're going to spot George Clooney on the street. In the middle of the street, to be exact. He'll be standing in the middle of a very busy street, sobbing into this hands. Traffic on both ends will come to a halt. The drivers of the cars two and three lengths back will honk their horns incessantly, but the drivers of the cars at the front will keep their horns silent. They'll be thinking, "Hey, look it's George Clooney! Looks like he's having a rough time. Wonder what happened."

George Clooney will continue to cry alone in the middle of the street until Brad Pitt and Matt Damon happen to cross the street by chance. They'll almost walk past him, but Matt Damon will tap Brad Pitt's arm. Brad Pitt will say, "Quit tapping my arm you cunt." Then they'll both turn around and approach George Clooney hesitantly, not quite sure it's their friend.

"Our friend George Clooney?" Brad Pitt and Matt Damon will ask in unison.

George Clooney will stop crying and look up at his friends. He'll look to be explaining to them what happened.

"Quit being such a faggot," Brad Pitt will say to George Clooney. Then Matt Damon will offer George Clooney a sip of his two-liter bottle of Coke. George Clooney will take a sip, then all three of them will walk off together down the sidewalk, Brad Pitt and Matt Damon on either side of George Clooney, their arms around his shoulders while George Clooney continues to drink from the two-liter bottle of Coke.

Happy Gawker Stalker Day!

Quicksand Day!

You got a really good deal on your apartment. It's a nice size in a great location, and it gets a lot of sun in the morning. The only catch is the large pit of quicksand in the center of the living room.

"I can't have any cats," you tell people. "Learned that the hard way. Also, I have to keep a lot of long tree branches and bamboo rods around the house, and that shit can splinter all over the place. But aside from that, it's a really good deal."

Today you're going to come home and find your cousin Rodney trying to claw his way out of the pit of quicksand. You had forgotten he was coming to stay with you today. The super must have let him in.

"Holy fucking shit help me!" he'll scream when he sees you.

He'll grab onto the piece of bamboo you hold out to him and you'll drag him onto the hardwood floor.

"Why didn't you tell me you had a pit of quicksand in your apartment, Cousin?" he'll ask, in between coughing up clumps of soft, wet sand.

"Didn't I?" you'll say.

Your cousin will shower and you'll take his clothes down to the laundromat to wash the quicksand off, then you'll take him out to dinner and let him tell you all about why he dropped out of college. His mother asked you to give him a pep talk, but all he'll be able to tell you is, "Jesus, I almost died back there," and "Your apartment is really stupid, you know that right?"

Happy Quicksand Day!

Judy's On The Rebound Day!

Judy's on the rebound, and tonight, you'll do.

"Don't talk too much," Judy says. "Just pay for drinks and touch me where I say and you'll do just fine."

Nod here.

"You're not Brian and you never will be, so don't even bother trying. Now buy me vodka."

You obey. At the bar, you wonder who Brian could be and why it ended. She'll tell you when you get back to the table.

"He was so fucking full of shit," she'll say, wiping her tears off of her cheeks. "He talked about the future like it was some unknowable mystery where anything can happen. Meanwhile he's worked at the same shit job, lived in the same mess apartment, and complained about the same boring ass shit for the last eight years. The only thing in his life that ever changed was how many bourbons it took to get him wasted. But he claims he can't promise what his life will be like two years from now."

Sounds like Judy gave Brian an ultimatum, and Brian didn't blink. You've got about four days before Judy asks him to come back so you better not waste any"

"Let's go," Judy says. She grabs your head and starts making out with you. When she pulls away, you can see her shaking her head a little bit in disbelief. You assume she's amazed at how inferior your kiss is to Brian's. Hurry into your coat and get her into a cab.

At your apartment, you and Judy have sex. Hectic sex. Lot's of shoving and annoyed grunting, like you're two strangers pushing your way through a crowd to make a train. When it's over, Judy falls asleep immediately. While she's asleep, write your phone number on the back of her hand with a sharpie. Who knows? Maybe tomorrow night she'll decide you were sufficiently not annoying and she'll give you a ring. It's fun to be with someone who doesn't care a damn about what your big fancy plan for yourself might be.

Happy Judy's On The Rebound Day!

Buy Some Beer For A Teen Day!

Today when you go to the liquor store, a teenager will approach you at the entrance and he'll ask you if you can pick up a six-pack for him and his friends.

"We're all underage," he'll say. "But we wanna get drunk and have the time of our lives."

Say, "Well, you will need alcohol you're right about that."

"Is it as awesome as they say?" the kid will ask.

"I've been drinking 42 years now," tell him. "It just keeps getting better every single sip. Sometimes, when I get drunk enough, the world looks so beautiful I have to shut my eyes to keep from crying."

"Wow," the kid will say. "Please mister, help me see what you see."

Tell him, "I want to kid, but how do I know you won't sell me up the river?"

"Pardon?" he'll ask.

"I know how you kids work," tell him. "If you get caught doing something bad, like drinking beer or cheating on a test, you grab the nearest adult and you accuse him of trying to bang you. All of a sudden you're the victim and you get accepted early admission to college while I go to jail on a kiddie raper beef."

"But mister I wouldn't..."

"Now you wouldn't," tell him. "But what about when your parents and the police and your faggot guidance counselor is all hovering over you telling you that it's gonna go on your permanent record? What's to keep you from telling 'em all that you didn't even ask for it, but some pervert outside the market offered it to you if you'd show him your pecker? My momma didn't raise no fool, kid. Well, 'cept for my brother."

"Was your brother falsely accused of child molestation?" the kid will ask.

"Nah, he fucked those kids," say. "But I ain't him! And I ain't gonna fall for it."

"Mister," the kid will say. "If you buy me this six-pack, if you introduce me to the beautiful world contained within those six aluminum cans, it would be impossible for me to betray you. How could I betray the man who opened my eyes to such wonderful sights?"

The kid will have a point.

"You ain't gonna tell nobody that I tried to fuck ya's?" ask him once more. "You swear it?"

"I swear," he'll say. And you'll believe him. Not because you'll think him honest, but because you know the truth found in a sip of alcohol. That truth is bigger than you, than that kid, it's bigger than all your worries and all your cynicism. It's big enough to hold a little faith.

"What kind you want?"

"I heard Busch Lite's real good," the kid will say.

"You heard right," you'll tell the kid. Then you'll go inside and buy him his very first glimpse of the perfect endless sky.

Happy Buy Some Beer For A Teen Day!

Your Real Dad's Just Not That Into You Day!

You ran away from home to go live with your real Dad because your new step-dad won't stop trying to win you over with big stuffed bears and new mopeds.

"He's trying too hard," you'll tell your real Dad. "I hate that."

"But when I ran off when you were four," he'll explain, "It's because I knew I didn't want to raise you."

"That's what I like about you," you'll say. "You know what you want. You're not desperate to make something happen where it can't happen. You just said to yourself I'm not into my daughter so I'm gonna split. Can I stay?"

A girl a few years younger than you will come wandering into the living room. Your Dad will introduce her as his daughter, Carol. Your name's Caroline.

"I see what's going on here," you'll say. "Carol. Caroline. You're totally trying to make her into an approximation of me."

Your Dad will laugh. "Carol's actually my Mom's name. I wanted to name you Carol, but your Mom wanted to make it Caroline."

"Yeah, suuuure," you'll say.

"Really, it's not that I was trying to make her like you. More like I was trying to get it right this time."

You'll burst into tears. Your Dad and half sister will run to console you.

"It's all right," you'll sob. "It's my fault. I'm always chasing after the guy who doesn't want me."

Your half-sister will say, "But that's probably because your Dad ran off. So really, it's his fault. Let her stay Dad."

"But I don't want her to stay," your Dad will tell his daughter. "That's why I ran off, remember?"

"Oh right," your half-sister will say.

Your Dad will suggest that maybe you should just go back and give your new stepdad a shot. "He sounds like a nice guy," he'll say. "Even if he's coming on a little strong."

"Pffft. Nice. Who likes nice?" you'll say.

"She's got a point," your half-sister will say. "Nice guys are gross. I wouldn't want that guy as my step-dad neither."

Your real Dad will blame himself for teaching the both of you to think that a relationship with a man must necessarily involve chasing after his affection.

"Don't worry about it," you'll say. "I'll go back and give it another shot. I mean, he says he'll pay for my college and all, so it might be worth it."

"He's paying for your college!" your half-sister will say. Then she'll start yelling at your real Dad, who'll argue that college is for fags and he spent all his money already. They'll keep fighting while you walk out to the highway, where you'll see by the electronic sign on the median that your lame-ass coming-on-too-strong stepdad had the police issue one of those retarded Amber Alerts about you.

"Okay, I get it! You dig me!" you'll say as you stick out your thumb to hitch a ride home.

Happy Your Real Dad's Just Not That Into You Day!

You Like To Suck On Icicles Day!

Ever since you were a kid, you've always loved to break an icicle off of an awning and suck away at all that frozen winter. Unfortunately, you used to be a cranky school teacher and many of your old students have waited a long time to get back at you for being such a sourpuss and giving out so many detentions. They've been looking for ways to get back at you for many years. Last night they climbed up on the roof of the building from where you like to grab your icicles and they dripped all sorts of terrible liquids over the side to freeze into some of the most digusting and harmful icicles imaginable. They dripped pee, snot, throw-up, and Liquid Plumber. Today, you'll grab the liquid plumber one first and you'll die before having to drink any of the pee, snot, or throwup. Your former students will be a little bummed that they didn't get to giggle about you licking pee, snot, and throwup before you died.

"He was always one step ahead of us," one of your former students will say.

"Oh my God we're murderers," the other of your former students will say.

"He was asking for it," the first student will say. "All those detentions."

The second student will take off running. He'll hide in the hills.

Happy You Like To Suck On Icicles Day!

You Like To Heckle People While They Have Sex Day!

Ever since you blossomed into womanhood, you've never been so sexually gratified as when you get to watch other people have sex and tell them how crappy they are at it. You have to spend a lot of time posting and maintaining your casual encounters ads on Craig's List, but you usually get a response at least once every two weeks. It'd be nice if you could find a couple who would schedule a regular rendezvous with you. The only problem is, you aren't a very articulate heckler.

When you see someone performing what you consider to be lackluster cunnilingus, you'll shout, "You call that cunnilingus? Get some glasses."

If you see anal sex that you don't think is very adept, you'll shout, "You call that anal sex? Get some glasses."

Or, if the people having sex start to kiss each other gently just after finishing, you'll shout, "You call that afterglow? Get some glasses."

Today will be no different, and the couple will grow frustrated with your repetitive heckling. "We're wearing glasses," the woman will say. They both in fact will be wearing glasses. "Can you come up with anything a bit more creative, Ma'am?"

"Yeah I can switch it up," you'll say. Then you'll watch the couple get into position for doggystyle.

You'll shout. "You call that doggystyle? What are you blind?!"

They'll get out of bed and throw you out of their house, reminding you that they don't come down to where you have sex and slap the dicks out of your mouth. You'll remind them that you made it clear in your ad that you only wanted to heckle, and if they want to be able to slap dicks out of someone's mouth, they should place their own ad. They'll tell you that you suck as a heckler, and they'll sick a dog on you.

Happy You Like To Heckle People While They Have Sex Day!

Missile Time Day!

Today, write a children's book that begins when the missiles are in the air and the world has seventy-seven minutes left before obliteration. The kid in the book then spends the duration of the story asking his Mom if he can do all the stuff he was never allowed to do before and she lets him because the end of the world is coming.

Mommy may I climb the big oak tree outside?
Yes you may sweetie, since this will be your only chance.
Mommy may I play with the oven?
Yes you may honeybunch, but be quick about it before the whole world becomes an oven.
Mommy may I drive the car?
Yes you may my handsome boy, just don't go far and don't go fast.
Mommy may I call my Daddy?
Yes you may little man. Here's his phone number. Say goodbye.
Mommy may I pee right here?
Pee whereever you like my baby. It'll all be cleaned up by the scrub-brushes of flame.

The illustrations will show the boy having the most fun he's ever had in his short little life while missiles soar overhead and his neighbors run around packing up their cars or shrieking at the sky in terror. Your book will be celebrated as the first children's book to help kids not be scared of the coming nuclear winter because it'll be a time when they can do anything they want without getting into trouble because all bets are off.

Happy Missile Time Day!

You And Your Social Studies Teacher Drive Over A Cliff Day!

You're twelve and she's thirty-eight, but love don't care. Your parents called the police on her, so she hopped in her Mazda and drove past your place honking the signal for you to climb down from your window with a packed bag. You've been on the run from the law ever since. All because you're in love. (And you murdered a storekeeper's family during a holdup in Tucson.)

They've got you racing towards a cliff now. Not quite the Grand Canyon. But it's big and deep. (Like the hole you made in that crotchety old shopkeeper�s neck when you fired that gun. Blood shot out like the water fountains at school and you liked it.) The police have stopped their cars a hundred yards back. They know they've got you cornered. (The shopkeeper's wife died in a corner. She begged you to let her live. But her pleas only made you thirstier for her blood). They're using the megaphone to ask your social studies teacher to let you go because you're just a boy. (The shopkeeper's son was younger than you. His head came clean off his neck. Why can a gun sometimes make a clean hole and other times make a head come flying off of a neck like that? You wanted to ask your social studies teacher but she was too busy screaming for you to stop.) Your social studies teacher is looking at you now.

"Are you going to let me go?" you'll ask.

"I loved you," she'll say. "Before the robbery."

You'll sit quietly, remembering the shopkeeper's wife.

"You're no good, are you?" she'll ask.

You'll grab at the door handle but it'll be locked. The second it takes you to find the lock is enough time for your social studies teacher to take the two of you over the cliff. You'll be bummed that you have to die right after you found out how much fun it is to kill. In your last seconds, you'll pray to God to let you survive and kill some more. Or at least to let you watch your social studies teacher die. Or even, to let your soul escape your body so that you can watch yourself die. Your social studies teacher will be remembered as a remorseless, homicidal perv. They'll have the perv part right, but if only they knew just how many lives she'll have saved by taking yours.

Happy You And Your Social Studies Teacher Drive Over A Cliff Day!

Desert Men Day!

Today you're going to drop out of society and wander the desert. After wandering for a while, you'll start to meet some other men who had the same idea. Except you're dropping out because you're sick of writing ad copy. They all dropped out because they didn't want to raise their kids or pay child support.

"So I chucked it all and went into the desert," Bearded Max will tell you. "You sure you haven't seen any water? You ain't holding out on me are you?"

"No," you'll say. "Nice to meet you Bearded Max."

They'll all of them have the same story to tell without much variation. Had a child. Got kind of pissed about it. Went into the desert. No hassles ever since.

"'Cept for looking for some fuckin' water!" Dusty Mike will tell you. "You sure you haven't seen any?"

"No Dusty Mike," you'll say.

When you meet Scraggly Brian, he'll be on his way back into society.

"Do you miss your kid Scraggly Brian?" you'll ask.

"Not as much as I miss water," Scraggly Brian will say. "I'm so thirsty I'm about willing to put that kid through college if it'll get me a glass of iced tea."

"Kiss your child once for me, Scraggly Brian," you'll say.

Scraggly Brian will say, "Ew. I have a son. Wouldn't that be gay?"

Shake Scraggly Brian's hand and send him on his way. By nightfall, you'll start to get a little lonely. You'll start to envy all of the other desert men who didn't just run away from a crappy job. They all can live here knowing that back in society there's a little person wondering where they are and if they'll ever come home. Must be nice, you'll think. Then you'll go mad from dehydration and you'll start screaming at a cactus.

Happy Desert Men Day!

Fishing With Mom Day!

Your Mom is going to take you on a fishing trip today.

"I realize since I drove your Dad away when you were two, you never had no Daddy to take you out fishing," she'll say. "So I figure let's do it today and you can get it out of your system."

"But I'm 33," you'll say.

Your Mom will tell you to just shut up and get some rubber pants on.

At the lake, you and your mom will be freezing, but the sandwiches will be tasty and the beer will go down like a toy boat over a waterfall. When you catch your first fish, you and your Mom will jump around and dance like a war just came to an end. Then you'll start to cry.

"What is it pumpkin?" she'll ask.

"I just wish I hadn't had to wait so long to find out how much fun this is," you'll say.

Your Mom will berate you for giving her shit about driving your Dad away again, but you'll tell her you just wish she could have taken you fishing sooner. She'll say bullshit, no one wants to go fishing with their moms, and she'll tell you to find your own way home. Then she'll drive off and leave you there. Way to go.

Happy Fishing With Mom Day!

Evil Superstar Chef Day!

Today you are an evil superstar chef with six hip Manhattan restaurants offering your menus and surviving on your reputation of making delicious food whilst being supremely evil.

Your evil deed for the day will be a phone call reporting your dishwasher as an illegal to the INS. You force all of your dishwashers to have sex with you or risk being fired and/or deported. What you don't tell them is that every time you have sex with one of them, you feel such shame that you can't stand to have them in the same country as you anymore. So you have them deported. Today, it's Alejandro's turn to go home.

It's not difficult for you to send your dishwashers away. Not since Manuel. The shame that followed sex with Manuel was nothing compared to the hunger for another graze of his fingertips upon your skin. You kept Manuel in your employ for six weeks, starting and finishing every day with that man in your arms, one of you perched on the edge of the sinks while the other had his way, trying not to thrust so violently as to make the tower of clean glasses topple to the floor.

Soon people started to talk. Gossip columns started mentioning your hands-on approach to scrubbing the squash from dinner plates. You are no stranger to gossip columns, and you have no issue with being known for making it with the help, but your devotion to one dishwasher in one restaurant meant your other five kitchens were being left unattended, and your investors did not like the sound of that. There was going to be some hemming and hawing when you sought money for your new takeout Sushi/Fried Chicken storefront if you kept it up with Manuel. So you sent him back to Guatemala.

Not a day goes by that you don't think of him. Sometimes you wonder, did the world need a new Sushi/Fried Chicken takeout place with drive-thru and to-go mojitos? Did the world need that more than it needed two people to live the love that they'd found? It's a question you try not to answer.

Happy Evil Superstar Chef Day!

JennyFest 07 Day!

You want to show Jenny how much you love her, so you've organized an all-day music festival in her honor. The trouble is, you don't know how to organize music festivals. You figured this would be a point in your favor, since if you were Ron Delsener of Ron Delsener Productions or some other asshole who puts on big shows all the time, it wouldn't be that big a deal to hold a music festival in a girl's honor. You not knowing how to put on a festival demonstrates just how much work you're willing to put in to make Jenny feel special.

In theory, this would be true. For example, if you learned Japanese so that you could speak directly to your Japanese girlfriend's parents, that would be very impressive. The difference is, if you fail at putting on a music festival, people die. If you fail at learning Japanese, the only person who might die is a Japanese man who is about to get hit by a car while you try to remember how to tell him to look out.

People are going to die today at the all-day music festival you're putting on in your girlfriend's name. Thousands of people. You'll get them to come out by advertising that Radiohead and the White Stripes will be headlining for free. Since you'll hold the festival in upstate New York, the people will be forced to light trash on fire to keep warm. Fights will break out when people push closer to the flames, and several people will be shoved into the fires and will suffer severe burns.

There won't be any bathrooms (you didn't think of that). And there won't be any food or drinks served (you didn't think of that). Those who had the foresight to bring food and water and toilet paper will have to protect themselves from marauding gangs of thieves and looters. Many people will be beaten and robbed of their goods. Several will die this way.

Your security force will amount to a bunch of large wild dogs. Every once in a while, you'll flash on the video screen messages that read: "Behave Or We Will Release The Dogs." Unfortunately, the dogs will get loose and just start attacking the people. Many will die this way.

Radiohead will leave when they see the dogs eating their fans. The White Stripes will never show up in the first place. The only band left will be a reunited School Of Fish (with new singer). They'll play their one hit, "Three Strange Days," and the crowd will calm down enough to enjoy it. For fear of making the crowd angry with a song they aren't familiar with, they'll just play "Three Strange Days" a couple more times before running off stage and taking off in their van.

The crowd will start demanding that either Radiohead or the White Stripes play their set. They'll start throwing burning trash at the stage. The dogs will continue to attack many concertgoers. The ones still alive will chant "Worst! Concert! Ever! Worst! Concert! Ever!" You'll start to panic that in an effort to honor your girlfriend (ex, actually. She broke up with you two days ago because you were spending too much time putting this concert together) you'll have created a disaster that will be remembered for years and years to come as the day thousands of music fans were killed. Without any idea of how to placate the crowd, you'll come on the PA and shout, "And now, ladies and gentleman, for the first time ever, Radiohead and the White Stripes, playing together!"

The crowd will rush the stage, trampling many. They'll be excited, crushing many at the front up against the stage. Several minutes will pass before it becomes clear they were lied to. At this point, people will push toward the stage even harder to try to get to you and hurt you, and many will die. People will throw burning trash at the stage, but many of the throws will fall short and the trash will land in the crowd, setting fire to the clothing of concertgoers, and many will die. The dogs will rush into the meat of the crowd, feeding on as many concertgoers as they can, and many will die. By the time the night is over, in honor of Jenny, you'll have murdered thousands.

You'll take off running into the woods and you'll hide there for several weeks, trying not to freeze to death. When you return to society, you'll be charged and convicted of mass murder in the second degree. You'll serve several thousand consecutive life sentences. Jenny will not visit you in prison. She'll be happily married to Ron Delsener or Ron Delsener Productions.

Happy JennyFest 07 Day!

An Australian Man Is Making Love To Your Wife Day!

At this very moment, an Australian man is making love to your wife. They're in your bed. She's naked and on her back, and he's wearing only a snakeskin vest. Your wife just shouted "yes" and the Australian man just said "Crikey," which means, "this sex is excellent."

They met when your wife was pulling out of the supermarket and she saw him wandering around by the side of the road, looking really lost. Your wife pulled over and asked if he was okay, and he called her a "Sheila," which means "woman." She offered to give him a lift, and he was so adorably naive while at the same time rugged that she couldn't help herself. She brought him home and they began making love.

After they're done, he'll ask her to make him a vegemite sandwich. She'll tell him that she doesn't have any vegemite, and that here in America, men and women are equal and that he should make his own sandwich. He'll say "Crikey," which still means, "this sex is excellent."

Happy An Australian Man Is Making Love To Your Wife Day!

An Abortion Debate Ruins The Pizza Party Day!

Today's weekly pizza party is going to devolve into a battleground for angry rhetoric when someone brings up abortion and how it should be kept legal, and someone else responds with a chortle and an accusation of Godlessness.

"Guys, let's just eat pizza," you'll plead. But it won't work. The delicious pizza pie will be no match for their anger. When you came up with the idea for a pizza party, you had been worried about the intrusion of "the big issues." You wanted to have people over to enjoy pizza and laugh and maybe dance to records without everyone suddenly pulling out their soapboxes to shout at each other as if raising their voices makes their arguments any more cogent or even remotely original. That's why instead of inviting your circle of self-righteous friends, you posted an ad on Craig�'s List.

Weekly Pizza Party Starting Up

Straight, white male seeks male companions for weekly pizza party. All those interested in enjoying pizza, laughing, and maybe dancing to records please send emails introducing yourselves as well as photos so I can determine your race. Only room for twelve, so reply soon! Cant'a Wait'a For'a The'a Pizza'a Pie'a!

You got 200 emails but only eight of them showed any real interest in pizza, and only six of those included a photo of something besides an erect penis. You thought that a random gathering like this would avoid "the big issues" since they wouldn't know each other all that well and they'd be trying to be polite. But talk of abortion will find a way.

"Please guys, the pizza!" you'll beg. They'll ignore you and continue arguing. You'll shout, "I wish the debate over abortion had never been born!" They'll all laugh and pat you on the back. When they do, run to put on a record and get them to dance. Your pizza party has spunk, and it just might be able to survive abortion after all.

Happy An Abortion Debate Ruins The Pizza Party Day!

Tuxedo Man Day!

Today your boss is going to fire you because you wear a tuxedo to work every single day.

"Are you interviewing?" he'll ask. "To be a maitre'd or a ballroom dance instructor or something?"

"I love my job," you'll tell him. "It's just that I was starting to have trouble breathing because it felt like every day I was just a little less alive, so my therapist told me to live every day like it was the most important day of my life. What would you wear on the most important day of your life? Khakis? I think not."

Your boss will regretfully tell you that he wants you to clean out your desk and go because your attire gives the office a kind of party atmosphere. "This is serious business we're engaged in here," he'll say. "And when you walk in, everyone gets thirsty for champagne. Just go."

You'll go home and wait for your wife. She has to pick your daughter up from her school since the teachers think that when you show up in a tux in the middle of the day, you must still be drunk from a late night gallivanting with a crowd of high society types. And since you wear a tux every day, they worry that you've got your morals buried under a bowl of caviar. "We won't leave her alone with him" they told your wife. "The wealthy and bored, in their tuxes and their ball-gowns, they find it harder and harder to be entertained and they're capable of anything, as long as it presents a shot at novelty."

When your wife comes home she'll tell you that she wants to go to her mother's funeral without you. "You don't wear a tuxedo to a funeral," she'll say.

You'll say, "It's black."

Your wife will start throwing stuff at you, including a potted plant, and it will dirty your tuxedo jacket, which means that you'll have to change into another tuxedo (you have twelve) if you want to make it to the funeral in time. When you walk into the church, all of the married men will remember how they wanted to throw a big party, with a pinata even, when their mother-in-laws died, but they figured it'd be insensitive. Find a pew and release a torrent of sobs in tribute to this woman who raised and nurtured your beautiful, loving wife (who is planning to leave you at sunrise).

Happy Tuxedo Man Day!

Your Robot That Carries Drinks From The Kitchen Into The Living Room Is In Love With Your Teenage Daughter Day!

Thanks to the miracles of science, you now have a Cocktail Robot that carries drinks from the kitchen into the living room, and it only cost you eleven thousand dollars. It will even sometimes gather your empty glasses and bring them back into the kitchen, though it doesn't know the difference between "empty" and "still working on it" just yet.

It also doesn't appear to know the difference between a robot composed of wires and circuits and a human teenage girl. Any time your sixteen-year-old daughter Christine walks past, your Cocktail Robot will follow her with its robot eyes, its clunky robot head whirring on its neck until his head has turned all the way around. It will always try to offer Christine a gin and tonic, which she thankfully doesn't accept. And yesterday, you found out that your Cocktail Robot can teach itself words. When Christine passed through the living room, out of nowhere your robot blurted out "Beautiful."

Tonight something tragic is going to happen. While you're out at a ribbon-cutting ceremony, Christine will have her new boyfriend Ronald over. The two of them will order your Cocktail Robot to bring them peppermint schnapps all night long. Then Ronald will get fresh with Christine. She will playfully put up a fight, but your Cocktail Robot won't think she's being playful and it will tear one of Ronald's arms off.

Happy Your Robot That Carries Drinks From The Kitchen Into The Living Room Is In Love With Your Teenage Daughter Day!

You Are A Serial Killer With The Hiccups Day!

Every time you're hidden away in the perfect little nook and you're about to kill some naked teens, the excitement makes you breathe faster and you end up getting the hiccups. The teens hear the noise and they race into their clothes and take off running. This sucks in a big way because, ideally, you'd like to make just a small noise that makes the teens put on towels or pants only and come looking for you, basically walking right up to you as if they were reaching out to shake hands with your nail gun. Instead, they run from your guttural, hellish hiccups and you have to go chasing after them and you end up with a kill rate of around 40%. The only thing less dignified than a serial killer who races after his prey is one who does it while hiccupping like a bitch. The saddest part is, you could get rid of the hiccups if someone would just jump out and scare you, but who's going to try and scare a serial killer? Poor little serial killer with the hiccups.

Happy You Are A Serial Killer With The Hiccups Day!

Red Light Day!

Your boyfriend left a week and a half ago. He left in the middle of the day while you were at work. All he took was one small bag of clothes and his car. The note was brief and heartbreaking.

I'm sorry.
I thought I could do this but I can't.
It's best to just forget about me.

You didn't detect that there was anything wrong in the slightest. In fact, you and he had never been happier. His leaving came so far out of left field, you can't help but assume that a massive lie had been told. He has a wife. He's a fugitive. He's gay. Something.

Today the truth will arrive in the form of a black and white photo. He'll receive a letter from the department of transportation. You'll open it and find a traffic ticket for running a red signal. The violation will have been caught by one of the automated traffic cameras that have been installed at so many intersections. The citation will include four photos of his car crossing into an intersection. The date will be the day that he left.

You'll look closely at the photos creating the stop-motion movie of your boyfriend driving away from you forever. The first photo will be his car approaching the intersection. The second will have his car in the middle of the intersection. The third will be a closeup of his license plate. And the fourth will be a closeup through the windshield of the car. You'll be able to recognize your boyfriend behind the wheel just as clearly as you'll be able to recognize his ex-girlfriend sitting in the passenger seat next to him. Far less recognizable will be what you believe is a gun held in her hand, aimed at your boyfriend's side.

Go to the police and report the kidnapping. Bring the ex's old letters which tell how she can't tolerate knowing he's moved on. He never showed them to you, but luckily you were insecure and went snooping. The police will brush you off, telling you that it could just as well be a cup of Starbucks in her hand and you're just indulging in some wishful thinking. It's going to be up to you to rescue him from his ex.

You're certain that that's a gun in her hand in that photo. You're absolutely sure your boyfriend was kidnapped by his ex. You just better hope you're right, or else this could be really embarrassing.

Happy Red Light Day!

Dig Up The AIDS Meteor Day!

The stories that we�ve been fed about the origin of the AIDS virus were all manufactured by the government to hide the truth about extraterrestrials from us. AIDS was created by aliens and they infected a meteor with it and sent the meteor to Earth. Anyone who fucked the meteor got AIDS. It just makes sense.

The meteor landed in 1977 in the backyard of the house you just moved into. The guy who used to live there fucked it and died. His kids realized the AIDS meteor was a problem and they buried it in the yard, but they couldn't resist fucking it just once before they filled the hole with soil. They then lived long enough to spread the disease to others.

You need to go dig up the meteor and give it to a scientist. If that meteor is the source of the virus, studying it could yield a cure. Just remember not to fuck the meteor once it's dug up. Be careful because the meteor is really attractive. It has that certain... something. If any of your new neighbors asks you why you're digging so many holes in your yard, just tell them you're looking for the AIDS meteor and ask them if they have any idea where it might have been buried. They might know.

Thanks in advance for curing AIDS.

Happy Dig Up The AIDS Meteor Day!

You Don't Know Anything About Airplane Safety Day!

Today you're going to try to fake your way through an airplane safety seminar because you are pretending to be an FAA Safety Inspector.

"When the hatch is opened while a plane is in flight, it makes all the light bulbs burst. Light bulbs are very fragile and they can't handle the pressure," you'll stammer. "The two main causes of death when someone opens the door on a plane is people getting cut really bad from light-bulb glass, and people freaking out on each other because it�s dark all of a sudden."

The safety inspectors in training will take notes. Only one or two will appear suspicious. They did the reading.

"Do a good job, but don't be too hard on yourselves. No matter how hard you work, if a plane flies over an island with a really strong magnetic pull, it's going down."

The trainees will continue taking notes. One in the back will say, "Isn't that from Lost?"

Don't be rattled. "While it's true that many planes are haunted, most of them are haunted by good ghosts. They whisper advice into the pilot's ear, so don't scare them away."

Now most of the trainees will start making noise and asking what gives. You'll try not to look at Charlotte, but how can you be expected to take your eyes off of her? Her eyes will narrow as she looks at you more closely.

"Donald?" she'll ask.

You'll play with your notecards, pretending not to hear her, hoping that the class will return to order on its own.

"Stop him!" Charlotte will shout.

Two of the trainees will rush the stage and grab your arms. One of them will rip your fake beard off of your face. The other will remove your fake afro wig.

"Call the police," Charlotte will shout. "Goddammit Donald!"

"Marry me Charlotte," you'll shout back at her. Then you'll shake the grip of the two trainees and run for the door. Scream, "Marry me Charlotte! Marry me! Marry me! Marry me!"

"Fuck you!" Charlotte will respond. "500 yards you piece of shit! You're going to jail this time!"

Run out the door and keep going as fast as you can to get off the grounds. Charlotte's wedding is Saturday, and you need to go with plan B. Impersonating her instructor to try and get close enough to propose didn't work. So now you're going to have to kidnap her sister and hold her captive until Charlotte promises to cancel her wedding to that guy. You can't pull that off if you get put away for violating a restraining order, so keep running.

Happy You Don't Know Anything About Airplane Safety Day!

You Used To Fuck Him When You Worked At Kinko's Day!

It's always awkward when you bump into someone you used to fuck when you worked at Kinko's. You'll usually see him at a bar or some other nightspot and he�ll always come on really strong really fast, hoping for another shot. You try to brush him off but he keeps pushing and you end up having to explain, "it was just a Kinkos thing."

"We were underpaid. The customer service standard was negligible. It was 3 AM and we had that big storeroom," you'll say. "Come on, man. It was just Kinko's."

That will usually get through, and after that he'll buy you a drink and toast "to Kinko's!" with you.

Today is going to be a different story. Today you're going to bump into Bryan at a florist when you buy a funeral bouquet for your boss' wife's father. Bryan will be waiting at the counter while a bouquet is being dressed for him.

"I'm a paralegal now," you'll say to him.

"I'm a sales rep for a company that manufactures paint thinners," he'll say.

You and Bryan only did it twice before he got fired for disabling the alarm on the back door. You did it on each of two consecutive shifts that you worked together. When you came in for the third shift and the manager told you Bryan wouldn't be coming back, you were surprised to realize that you had been looking forward to doing it with Bryan again. You even called him that day to find out what happened, but he didn't answer and you didn't leave a message. It felt like you would have been violating some sort of code if you had left a message. Kinko's employees are not supposed to let the Kinko's life bleed into their real lives.

The florist will hand Bryan his bouquet and he'll hand over his credit card.

"Those flowers for me?" you'll ask. With your eyes, you'll try to tell Bryan to invite you out for a drink.

"My girlfriend," he'll say. "We had a fight."

"She'd better watch herself," you'll say.

Bryan will smile. Then he'll lean in and kiss you on the cheek. "It was just Kinko's, you know?"

You'll nod and blush. It will be quite a surprise to be on the receiving end of that for once. You'll worry for a second that you might cry.

After Bryan leaves, you'll order your funeral bouquet. Then you'll ask the florist if he has Bryan's address on file. If so, have a bouquet of roses sent to his home so that his girlfriend will think he's cheating and maybe she'll break it off with him. Then maybe you and Bryan can see if it's possible for a Kinko's thing to turn into something real.

Happy You Used To Fuck Him When You Worked At Kinko's Day!

Spill Your Life Story Day!

"And that's when I met my Dolores," you'll tell the burglar. He'll be sprawled out on the kitchen floor, the blood spurting out of his neck forming a puddle all around him. He didn't stand a chance against Teddy, your Doberman. Teddy is hovering over the burglar while you tell him your life story.

"She was a taxi dancer at the Beltway on 72nd," you'll tell the burglar just as he dies. Those will be the last words the burglar hears. You'll keep talking for fifteen minutes after he's dead, then you'll call the police and ask them to take the body away.

Tonight you're going to sleep well. Over the course of the forty minutes that the burglar bled to death on your floor, you'll have managed to confess to some pretty weighty regrets. You'll have apologized to a few people who are no longer around to hear it. Maybe if the burglar makes it to heaven, he'll pass your words along. It was nice to talk to somebody again.

Happy Spill Your Life Story Day!

Bubble Bath Street Day!

Today when the rain is at its heaviest, a Bubble Bath Truck will swerve to avoid a pedestrian and it will overturn on its side right outside your apartment. The tank of bubble-bath will capsize and thousands of gallons of bubble bath will leak out into the sheets of rain. Within minutes, your entire block will be covered in bubbles ten feet high. All of your neighbors will run outside to play in the bubble bath. Even emergency personnel who arrive at the scene will be so excited that they finally get to play in a giant urban bubble bath that they'll forget to save the driver of the truck, who will be the only one to die when the cab of his truck explodes. The bubbles will protect everyone else from the blast. It's going to be a beautiful, bubbly rainy day.

And if you don't think there are any such thing as Bubble Bath Trucks, it's because you don't want to believe in Bubble Bath Trucks. It's because you're a negative person. That's a choice you're making. Being negative. It's a choice.

Happy Bubble Bath Street Day!

He Works In A Morgue Day!

You've been dating a boring boy that you don't like, but he works in a morgue. You've continued seeing him in the hope that one day he will take you to the morgue and show you some of the dead bodies. You've seen dead bodies before, at open-casket funerals. You just want to see some more. It's not like after you've seen one dead body the experience grows dull.

Tonight he's going to take you to the morgue and show you some of the dead bodies. He'll show you a man in his forties who just arrived, and two women, one in her twenties, another in her seventies. The one her twenties will have long surgical scars down her torso.

While you look at the dead bodies, the boy will occasionally put his arm on your back and shoulders. He'll be trying to see whether you're interested in having sex near the bodies. He won't actually try to kiss you or anything. You and he have not had the best communication when it comes to sex, so he won't be comfortable actually making a move or asking you what you want. He'll just awkwardly keep his hand near you. Eventually, he'll give up and let his hand rest by his side.

Once you've seen the dead bodies, you'll want to break up with him since you really weren't interested in anything else he has to offer. It seems like you could do it to his face at the end of the night. If he accuses you of having used him just to look at dead bodies, you can pretend to be outraged and he'll probably relent. But if you want to avoid that confrontation altogether, when he takes you home you should just start crying and run into your apartment building. Don't return his calls for a few days, then eventually call and tell him your experience in the morgue has upset you and you need to be alone for a while. Tell him he reminds you of the dead bodies now, so you're not sure whether you can see him again. This might make him call back a few times over the next month or two, but you can get away with ignoring him since he'll believe that you're not calling him back because he summons for you memories of the freshly dead. That beats the hell out of "She thinks I'm boring."

Happy He Works In A Morgue Day!

She Loves You Too Much Day!

Your girlfriend broke another one of your ribs. When she comes to your hospital bed, tell her she needs to control herself.

"What the fuck!" she'll argue. "Can I help it if I love you enough that I always end up squeezing the shit out of you? Jesus, now I'm getting shit for loving my man. Fucking hell." In her anger, she'll throw a chair against the wall and it will shatter into pieces on the floor.

"Fuck! Now where the fuck do I sit?"

She'll be upset about having no place to sit, so she'll kick the frame of your bed and knock it out of whack so that the automatic recline doesn't work anymore.

"Oh great. Does nothing in here work? Jesus fucking Christ."

Your girlfriend will punch a hole in the wall. She'll break two fingers and you'll summon a nurse to take her someplace to get a cast.

"I love you. DON'T FORGET THAT!" she'll bark. Just smile and tell her you love her too. Don't ask her to change anymore. Your girlfriend is really strong and she loves the living shit out of you. Be careful.

Happy She Loves You Too Much Day!

The Big Poker Game Day!

Tonight at the big poker game, things will get out of hand and when you bet your solid gold watch, Manny will see you by betting his seventeen year old son, Nicky. You'll win with four jacks.

"I'll bring him over on Saturday," Manny will say.

"Now, Manny," you'll say. "I had my watch ready to hand over. Go get your son. I want him in my possession in one hour or you welched."

An hour later, Manny will bring you Nicky and you�ll take him home to your place. You'll set up the pull-out.

"How long do I have to live here with you?" Nicky will ask.

"Until your Dad wins you back," you'll say. "In other words, forever!" You'll go to bed laughing so hard you won't even hear Nicky crying in the living room.

Nicky has his SAT test this weekend, but the move will have his head so messed up that he'll get very poor scores and he won't go to college. Instead he'll get some girl pregnant not long before he graduates high school and the two of them will end up taking crap jobs and scrounging for money. They'll borrow from you more times than you can count, and "borrow" never means they're planning to pay you back. Eventually he'll ask you to hook him up with a score.

"If you hadn't won me, my life wouldn't be so screwed up right now," he'll say.

"You mean, if your real Dad hadn't lost you!" you'll argue. But Nicky will just stare at you and wait. With him staring like that, you won't be able to deny that you owe him something.

"Goddamn I wish your Daddy was better at cards," you'll say.

So you'll bring Nicky in on your scheme to rob a diamond store on the day the diamonds are delivered (best day to rob them because they haven't sold any of the diamonds yet. They're all there!) Nicky will screw up and start shooting. The guards in the store will open fire and you'll take one in the chest.

With your last breath, you'll say to Nicky, "I'm glad your Dad wasn't better at cards Nick. Otherwise, I never would'a got hold of you, and I never would've won the best years of my life." Then you'll die.

Happy The Big Poker Game Day!

You Really Want To Teach Those Little Girls How To Dance Day!

Six months ago you were staying up for days on end in your cell because you heard the White Supremacists were looking to firebomb you while you slept. If someone told you back then that today the most important thing in your life would be whether or not a bunch of pre-teen girls win a stupid dance recital, you probably would have slit his throat from ear to ear and then cut his tongue out of his mouth to let the other hacks in Gen-Pop know he was talking shit. And yet, here you are.

You bluffed your way into this position as a jazz dance teacher after breaking out of prison because you knew you'd get caught by the Marshalls if you kept running. You needed to settle into a town and get a job as a cover while the hunt is still on. They'll look for you hiding in folks' tool sheds. They won't be looking in the Magic Steps Dance Studio.

At first, you'd just turn on a pop music radio station and tell the girls to dance however the hell they like. While they ran around and wrestled each other, you'd sit with a little mini-TV watching all of the soap operas you got addicted to while you were in the Pen. You barely even knew those girls were in the room. Not until you spoke with Dorothy.

Dorothy used to take the class with her twin sister Jill, who was a way better dancer than her. Last year, Jill got hit by a car and died. Now Dorothy's parents can't stop talking about how great a dancer Jill was and how all they ever wanted was to go to the big Jazz Dance competition and see Jill win. Dorothy told you how she just wants to learn to be as good as her dead sister, so that maybe her parents will be able to go to that competition after all.

That did it for you. Dorothy's story reminded you of how your own Dad started kicking your ass after your brother Mo died. You ended up running off and turning to crime. You weren't going to let Dorothy take the same path. YOu were going to teach that little girl how to dance. And if Dorothy's parents didn't end up loving her just as much as her dead twin sister, by God you'd find them and you'd stab them in their stomachs.

First thing you did was learn how to jazz dance yourself. You begged the instructor from a school one town over to teach you. Against her better judgment, she helped you. She always acted against her better judgment when it came to dangerous men. You learned how to jazz dance in four days.

Next, you had to win the girls' trust. After ignoring them for so long, they weren't too excited to follow your lesson plan. But then you bought them all some Bratz dolls and they eventually came around.

Finally, you had to whip them into shape and turn them into the best fucking jazz dancers in the region. Today's the day of the competition. And you're in jail.

The local sheriff glimpsed your wanted poster in an email from the justice department. He's got you locked up in his cell while he waits for the Marshalls to show. If you don't get out soon, you'll miss the entire recital. Those girls can't win if you being in jail is all that's on their minds.

"Please," you say to the Sheriff. "I'll do anything."

The local Sheriff isn't much different from the CO's at the Pen, and he agrees to let you go after you blow him through the bars of the cell. You make it to the recital just in time to see Dorothy win it all. Her parents rush up to the stage to hug her and drench her in their tears. The Marshalls show up and watch with you from the wings. You tell them they can take you back to prison whenever they want. Because as long as they let you hang on to this memory, you'll always be free.

Happy You Really Want To Teach Those Little Girls How To Dance Day!

One Of Your Movers Is Heartsick Day!

The move out of your apartment went well enough. It's the move into your new place that will meet with a snag. On around their third trip up, the head mover will drop a box in the middle of the living room floor, and he'll slump over the edge of the box and burst into sobs. The other three movers will gather around to place their hands on him and tell him it's going to be okay.

"What's wrong?" you'll ask them.

Another of the smaller movers will come to you and speak softly. "His girlfriend broke up with him on the they day they moved. He moved all their stuff in, then she went out for a soda and never came back. She sent him a letter, but it didn't arrive until after five days of him living in a quiet apartment full of unopened boxes."

The sobbing man will be shouting, "How could she? How could she?"

"Jeez," you'll say. "When did it happen?"

"Twelve years ago," the little mover will say. "He started this moving company the following year, thinking if he did enough moves there'd be so many that he wouldn't even be able to remember that day. Hasn't worked yet."

"Poor guy," you'll think. But a little part of you will wonder whether this is all a ruse to stretch the move time out since you're paying by the hour. And at the end of the move, when they present you with a parking ticket that they'll say they incurred because it was illegal to park on your block, you'll look closely at the ticket because you'll bet they just got their hands on some blank parking tickets so that they can fill them out themselves and charge the customers extra cash. But you won't accuse them of anything because some of them are large men and they're all still in your apartment. Also, the boss is still kind of broken up over everything. You'll tip them well.

"Thanks for using The She Done Me Wrong Moving Company," the boss will say. Then he'll burst into tears. "I'm sorry I thought I could handle this but I can't. I thought that enough time had past but it hasn't. Aw God." Then he'll run out the door. As soon as the other movers finish taking shits in your new bathroom, they'll leave too. Welcome home!

Happy One Of Your Movers Is Heartsick Day!

Your Boyfriend Is An Expert Juggler Day!

He can juggle up to five small items at once. It is very impressive to children and simpler adults.

"Leave him," your therapist says. "People learn to juggle when they feel the need to maintain various deceptions. More often than not, a man who knows how to juggle has a secret wife and kids hidden someplace."

"It's a way to make himself less threatening," says your gay neighbor who's always coming by for some dish. "I read this book. It said that during World War II when the government was recruiting spies and training assassins, they were all taught to juggle so that people wouldn't suspect them as being operatives. Once they start juggling, everyone thinks 'Oh look, he's a grown man who likes to do amusing things with small balls.' Hate to tell you this honey, but your boyfriend probably sneaks out of bed in the middle of the night runs off to slit the throats of sleeping diplomats."

"Get out as fast as you can," your mother will say.

"But Mom, Daddy knows how to juggle," you'll reply.

Just then, your mother will see your father through the kitchen window. He'll stop in his yard-work and the two of them will stare at each other. You'll feel a chill enter the room as the two of them look upon each other as if they were standing on either side of an international border. They did this all the time when you were growing up. They would see each other and cease all activity. With their mutual, ice-cold stare, each would silently ask of the other,
"How did it come to this?"

Leave them to it and go home. When you walk through the door, you'll find your boyfriend juggling three juice glasses and the little jingling mouse that the cat plays with.

"Check it out," he'll say.

"What are you hiding from me?" ask him.

His arms will drop to his sides and the juice glasses will crash on the ground, followed by the short jingle of the cat toy. His face will be grave as he approaches you. You'll start to shiver as you stare up into his blank eyes.

"Follow me," he'll say. Then he'll pull on a wall lamp and your living room bookcase will slide open to reveal a vast chamber where several ninjas are being trained...to juggle some bowling pins.

Happy Your Boyfriend Is An Expert Juggler Day!

Crawl Under The Covers And Get Drunk Day!

Today's the day for some "you-time." A special day when the world at large shows up at your door and gets turned away by the big, bold DO NOT DISTURB sign at the door. The office is closed temporarily. The doctor is out. In honor of absolutely nothing, this tiny little apartment will be dark for the day so that its occupant may curl up cozy in bed underneath a big thick pile of blankets and get drunk. If you have some clean sheets somehow, you should dress your bed with them first to prevent your drinking glass from getting dirty with weeks of accumulated lint and dandruff. You're free to choose your own spirits, but an icy cold day like today calls for some Maker's Mark. Get it in the short and fat bottle so it's easier to pour underneath the sheets. Or even better, if you have a hot sake dispenser that you can keep on your nightstand, please do. Place a plate of cold chicken at the foot of the bed on top of the sheets in case you get hungry. Once everything's in order, the day is yours. Today the world can envy the man who's keeping warm and seeing double while watching The Price Is Right.

Happy Crawl Under The Covers And Get Drunk Day!

99 Pushups Day!

You've been doing one hundred pushups every morning for the past 39 years. Today, do only 99. When you get up from the carpet, you'll find that your house is a run-down shack and the idyllic town in which you've lived all of your life is impoverished and there's graffiti everywhere.

"All over the place," you'll whisper to yourself as you take in all of the graffiti. "Even on the tree which once held my beloved tire swing."

A voice will bellow from behind you that you never swung from any tree in this town, because you were never born. You'll turn around and you'll see that the voice is coming from this big fat ghost.

"Is this because I only did 99 pushups today?" you'll ask.

The ghost will shrug. "They just send me down here when someone's given up on life. I'm here to show you what the world would be like if you were never born."

"But I haven't given up," you'll say. "I just cut down on my pushup regimen today. I've been doing 100 pushups a day for the past 39 years without fail. Today I wanted to see what would happen if I only did 99. I could argue that I was trying to live even more by throwing a little bit of variety into my life."

The ghost will say, "Look! Your mother is digging a latrine!"

Across the street you'll see your mother looking filthy, digging into the ground with a shovel.

"Since she never had you, she never felt any need to make anything special of her life. Now she digs latrines."

You'll watch your mother take a break and light a cigarette.

"And look, here comes your Dad!"

"My Dad?" you'll say.

You father will pull up in a pickup truck and get out to hand your mother her lunch box. Then he'll give her a kiss. The truck will read "Kevin and Cecile's A-Plus Latrine Digging." Kevin and Cecile are your parents.

"Neither of them really saw any reason to go for the gold, not without a son to pass on their dreams to, so they opened this latrine digging business and are making ends meet."

You'll say to the ghost, "You mean my mother and father are still together? But my Dad ran off when I was two. It broke my mother's heart and she never laughed again. Are you saying that if I was never born my father would have stayed with my mother?"

You'll watch them talk and then just before your father hops back in the truck, he'll say something that makes your mother bust out in laughter. Then he'll drive off.

The ghost will realize that he created an uncomfortable situation. "So anyway," he'll say. "If you want your mother to stop digging latrines and, um, if you wanna see all this graffiti go away, I suggest you go back and do that last pushup."

"But then my mother and father won't be together," you'll say. "She'll be miserable. Look how happy she is without me having been born."

The ghost will look at her. There will be a glow about her.

"Yeah, but the graffiti," the ghost will say.

You'll keep your eyes on your mother, taking in as much of her as you can. It's such a marvel to see her truly happy.

"Man my Dad sure must have hated me. He really loved her, and yet he still ran off."

The ghost will try to come up with some way to steer you towards a decision, since he can't leave until you either embrace life with a renewed vigor or you give up once and for all. But he won't think of anything to say but, "This is a tough break kid. Sorry."

You'll turn to the ghost and he'll hold you tight.

Happy 99 Pushups Day!

You Make Jews For Jesus Give Up Both Day!

You have a very specific look. Not only are you devastatingly beautiful, but you also give people the sense that you're spiritually gullible. This makes you a prime target for representatives of Jews For Jesus when they're handing out their poorly illustrated pamphlets on the outskirts of parks (the city won't let them in parks anymore). This is also why people are finding piles of Jews For Jesus pamphlets in trash cans all over the city. They're going to find another such pile today.

The way it works is, a Jew For Jesus will spot you from afar and based on the way you walk he'll decide that you look like an easy convert. He'll approach you, but as he gets closer he'll start to forget his own sales pitch ("I know what you're thinking� 'Jews For Jesus? What'll they think of next?' Well that's what I used to think until I read this embarrassing pamphlet�") because your beauty will strike him to his core and it will seem like an injustice to sing the praises of anybody but the very woman walking towards him on the sidewalk just ten paces away.

He'll stand before you and you'll wait for him to find some words. He'll stammer out, "I know what...I...What was I thinking?"

You'll say, "Oh dear, not another one."

"I've been a fool, searching everywhere for answers and then a face like yours appears from out of nowhere and I can't even remember the question."

"Isn't there someone you can talk to before you give it all up?"

He'll toss his pile of pamphlets into the garbage.

"Please, they're all morons. Have you seen the pamphlets they make us hand out?"

You'll plead with him, "But your faith. I can't displace that."

"Too late," he'll say. "No way Jesus is prettier than you. I'm going to go watch TV. Unless, can I buy you some coffee?"

You'll shake your head sadly. "I'm seeing someone."

"Then I'm going to go watch TV," the former Jew For Jesus will say. He'll wander off into the park for the first time since he embraced the faith. You'll worry about him, but there's no need. If he was able to become a Jew For Jesus, it won't be long before he joins some other church that meets in the back of a pizza place. You're real pretty and all, and your face may have robbed him of his faith, but if he was giving Jews For Jesus a shot his faith wasn't screwed on all that tight in the first place.

Happy You Make Jews For Jesus Give Up Both Day!

Dangerous Toys Day!

You've spent the last thirty years being the top American manufacturer of the kind of unsafe knockoff toys that are only sold in 99-cent stores. Chinese and Korean manufacturing behemoths have made it harder and harder for you to stay in business, but you keep going. Because you still remember a time when Americans were able to buy cheap, harmful toys that were MADE IN AMERICA.

Today you're going to interview a woman for the nursing position that opened up. Last week, the nurse you've had on staff for the past year just couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm not going to lie to you," you'll tell her. "It's a busy job. We've got a lot of kids trying out the toys here in our product-testing department. They're from low-income neighborhoods and their parents need the extra money so they bring the kids bring in. And since our toys are pretty much lacerations waiting to happen, a lot of the kids end up getting cut pretty bad."

You'll raise your finger in the air triumphantly to add, "But we've never lost one!"

"And you're not about to," the woman will say.

"You mean you'll take the job?" you'll ask.

"I grew up very poor," she'll tell you. "Your toys were all my parents could afford to buy me. I was lucky that someone like you was willing to cut enough corners to provide cheap knockoff toys for those who couldn�t afford the real thing. And I will consider it my duty to make sure all those poor kids growing up today get a fun if potentially harmful toy for their birthday this year."

Just then, a child will run into your office with blood gushing out of his neck.

"Looks like you were having a fun time!" your new nurse will shout.

"This is Clarence," you'll say. "Clarence, meet your new nurse."

The boy will try to talk but his voice box will appear to have been sliced open. He'll be holding one of your dangerously sharp, fake 'Rambo' knives (they're called 'Rambo II Survival Knives,' but the packaging features an image clearly from the movie Cobra).

"She'll be taking care of you from now on," you'll tell Clarence. When your new nurse stabs a pen into Clarence's neck and he starts to breathe easy again, you'll start breathing easy too. You normally don't like to hire anybody who has ever played with your toys. Too often it ends up that they just want to get close to you so they can avenge the death of a sibling who died while playing on one of your knockoff slip-n-slides (called the "Trip N' Skid"). But looking at the way she takes care of Clarence, you know it won't be long before that child is having fun times with your toys again. Whatever her intentions are towards you, the important thing is that your children are in good hands.

Happy Dangerous Toys Day!

You Can't Join The Carpool Program Day!

You testified against a mob boss a few years back and now you're in the witness protection program with a pretty stable job selling information technology products that you don't quite understand, but your days on the streets taught you enough to know how to close a deal.

The only problem with your job is that the company has been aggressively pushing its carpooling program, and everyone thinks you're a wasteful, polluting, Saudi loving dick because you refuse to share rides with people. You can't tell them you're afraid that it's only a matter of time before your old friends back east track you down and give you what you deserve. You can't tell them you'd be late picking people up because you always park your car in a supermarket parking lot so that you can drive in circles around the empty lot in the morning, slamming on the brakes repeatedly to be sure no one's rigged them to fail midway through your drive. And when your carpool companions complain about the smell of your car, you wouldn't be able to explain that you have to pay a homeless person twenty bucks to start your engine every morning in case the ignition is rigged to blow. You can't tell them that you're just trying to protect innocent, hard-working citizens from the just consequences due for a sniveling, backstabbing rodent.

You're going to have to spread a rumor that you have a drinking problem. Get caught drinking and driving once. The company has a program in place to handle the rehab, and the cops can't put you away because they know you'll be killed by mob associates minutes after you arrive in your cell. Get pulled over and everyone will assume that you didn't want them to ride with you because you need to sip from a hip flask in order to see straight in the morning. Better that they see you as a drunk than that you turn their kids into orphans and their wives into widows on the day Fat Mikey finds out you been hiding out in Iowa ever since you turned rat.

Happy You Can't Join The Carpool Program Day!

Huff Buddies Day!

You met this girl Tara back when you were huffing paint and you fell in love. The two of you spent a few months huffing paint and then screwing in alleys. Eventually, you both got kind of worn out and all you wanted to do is huff paint. Then you lost track of each other because you both huffed enough paint that you got too stupid to remember when you were supposed to meet each other or where. Now that you're clean, the only thing you can remember about that time is Tara's name and how much you loved her. You're still in love with Tara, and it feels like something's been cut out of you now that she's gone. The trouble is, you can't remember her last name, her address, or what she looks like. Your days of huffing glue left you so stupid, when you're in your apartment you have to tie your wrist to the bathroom door so you can remember where it is when you have to go really bad. You're pretty sure that if you were in her presence, you�d know it was her because you'd feel like a giant part of your soul had been given back to you. So you spend your days just kind of walking up to girls and standing next to them to see what happens. No dice yet. The doctors keep saying brain cells regenerate over time, and you might eventually remember what Tara looks like and where you can find her. You just hope love can wait that long.

Happy Huff Buddies Day!

Someone's Got To Do Something About All The Garbage Day!

You love everything about your new baby except for all the garbage she generates with her diapers and all the paper towels you use to clean up her spills. You've always been ashamed of your garbage, refusing to toss it all into the communal bins in the basement for fear of people judging you by your copious waste. It actually got to the point where you started to resent your daughter for making you look like you do nothing all day but fill up trash bags with filth. Now your wife resents you because the co-op board just voted that you must sell your unit and be out as soon as possible. They didn't like that you were going to up the roof and setting all your trash on fire. They see it as a fire hazard and that�s enough justification to vote you out. Your wife has been giving you lots of crap about it. She keeps saying that throwing out lots of diapers is part of having a baby and no one thinks it's gross, as long as they don't have to touch it. You stopped trying to make her understand, so you're resigned to letting her resent you. It's hard for you not to blame your daughter for causing all of this. To punish her for it, you've been holding her less. Sometimes when it's just you and her in the house, you'll sit her on the couch and let her reach out and cry to be held, but you'll just stand there and stare at her angrily. She knows why.

Happy Someone's Got To Do Something About All The Garbage Day!

It's Been A While Since You Saw Her Day!

You'll be working the register at your luncheonette when a girl you went on a couple of dates with three years ago is going to stick a gun in your face and demand that you give her everything in the drawer.

"Marcy?" you'll ask. "Is that you?"

"How the fuck do you know my name?" she'll bark.

"Who the fuck is that?" her burly partner will shout. He'll have his back to you and Marcy, keeping his gun aimed at the customers.

"We went on a couple of dates remember?" you'll say. "Back in like 2003?"

A spark of recognition will change the expression on her face. She'll suddenly seem less hostile and just sort of uncomfortable.

"Oh right. Right," she'll say. "I'm sorry I never responded to all those emails you sent."

You'll say, "I didn't send that many emails."

Marcy will shrug. "It was kind of a lot," she'll say.

Marcy's partner will come to the register and ask what's taking so long.

"This is that guy," she'll say. "The one with all those emails?"

A smile will appear on her partner's face. "This is him!" he'll say, suddenly giddy.

"Did you show people my emails?" you'll ask.

"No, not really," Marcy will say. "Look, maybe you should just give us the money so we can get out of here."

"What'd they say?" one of the customers will ask.

"Oh they were classic!" Marcy's partner will say. "Long poems. Photo attachments of himself when he was a baby. He was downright proposing to her and they only went out like twice!"

The customers will start to laugh at you. The regulars will really give you heck. "You proposed over email?" they'll ask.

"I did not propose!" you'll shout, suddenly turning beat red.

Marcy's partner will throw his arm over her shoulder. "Hey don't worry about it pal. We've all done that once or twice with a chick when we get too lonely. 'Course, that chick usually doesn't end up robbing us later!"

That will make everyone in the luncheonette burst out laughing. You'll start shoving the contents of your register into a paper bag. Before they go, Marcy will say, "I'm sorry about this. I hope you're well."

They'll leave, but all of your customers will continue to razz you. The police will join in on the teasing when they show up to take a report. Later tonight, when you're eating dinner alone, you'll wonder whether Marcy really chose to rob your luncheonette by accident or whether she was just looking for an excuse to talk to you again. You'll assume the latter and send her an email telling her it was good seeing her today.

Happy It's Been A While Since You Saw Her Day!

Warn Elementary School Children About What's In The Sewers Day!

You've spent the last few years giving "Scare Assemblies" at elementary schools. It's a pretty good circuit. The pay is limited by school boards, but in the past decade it's been voted up to a pretty good sum since parents have been demanding that schools shell out more money to scare their kids away from more stuff. The key to making a living is to choose a topic that isn't too overcrowded.

The sex scare racket is so crowded that there's practically one act per school. Same with drugs. "Cult Awareness" is a pretty good one to get into, but you're not going to be competitive unless you've actually spent a few years in a cult and managed to escape. Way too much of an investment.

"Bullies" will still get you some gigs in the Midwest. "Gangs Are Bad" will work most anywhere, but again, you have to have either been a gangmember or a cop. "Eating Disorders" is like a license to print money. But guess what, that one is usually run by ladies. When it came time to figure out what kind of lecture to give, you looked at your qualifications (you're missing an arm, you know what's in sewers), and you wrapped it all up in a bow.

"You think you know what's in the sewers?" you start off. "Think it's just a nice little stream of tadpoles? Well maybe you oughta just climb down there and see if you're right. And if you see the thing that took THIS�!" That's when you whip out your stump of an arm and all the kids gasp. "Make sure and tell it hi from me."

You lost your arm in a drunk driving accident in '86 (your fault), but as far as your paycheck is concerned, it gotten eaten off by something that lives in the sewers.

"No matter how much you like to explore and pretend you're one of the Goonies or whatever, don't go down into the sewers kids," you always tell them. Then you list what's down there.

Giant rats
Giant snakes
Giant raccoons
Vengeful abandoned babies
Terrorists
Escaped convicts
The homeless
Bat-Tigers (blind tigers with giant bat wings)
The Queen of the Underthings and Her Bloodthirsty Minions
Needles
Pee
Germs

"There are also some baseballs down there. Stickballs. Hockey pucks. Every ball you ever last during a street game. Those balls cost you about 2 bucks at the sporting goods store. How much do you think THIS cost?!" You show them the stump again and all the kids gasp again. Then you say thank you.

At the end of today's lecture, when they all start clapping, you'll notice one kid who's sitting still as a stone, staring straight ahead with a sneer on his face. Go to him.

"Nice show," the kid will say.

"You been there," say to him.

He'll nod once.

"What'd you see?"

The kid will turn to you. "The question you ought'a ask is, what'd I take?"

Wait for him. He'll make you wait a second. Then he'll open up his bookbag and pull out a ball of cafeteria napkins. He'll unwrap the ball and reveal a black furry chunk of a Bat-Tiger's wing.

"No one's ever returned from a battle with the Bat-Tiger with a tale to tell," you'll say to him.

"I don't have any tale to tell just yet," the kid will say. "The story ain't over. You wanna be a part of it?"

Say to the boy, "We go down tonight. At midnight."

Then get away from the boy before a school administrator is forced to add you to a pederast watch-list. Nothing can kill a scare lecture career faster.

Happy Warn Elementary School Children About What's In The Sewers Day!

Airport Girlfriend Day!

For the past four months you've been emailing with a girl who lives in Europe. You tell your friends that she's your girlfriend, but they don't believe you. So you sent her $700 to fly in today and prove to your friends once and for all that she's real.

Gather your friends by the gate and warn them not to be dicks. "I mean it," tell them. "If you guys are dicks I'm not driving you home." Your friends will swear to be cool.

When your girlfriend steps through the gate, all of your friends will look at their printouts of the email you sent them containing her photo. They'll be shocked to find that very girl walking towards you with a big smile on her face.

"He really does have a girlfriend!" one of your friends will shout.

"Not so fast. Maybe she just wants to be friends," another will respond. "The only way to truly tell if a girl is your girlfriend is if she lets you touch her butt while you kiss her."

You'll be pretty nervous about your very first real-world kiss with her (you both have web-cams), but your girlfriend won't let your nerves get the best of you. She'll march right up and plant her lips on yours. You'll almost get lost in the kiss when you hear one of your friends clear his throat. When you move your hand to your girlfriend�s butt, your friends will gasp.

"I guess he really does have a girlfriend," you'll hear one of them say.

"That's amazing. Look, his hand's still there," another will add.

"He's my hero now," another will say of you. "I want to be just like him and get a girl to let me do stuff."

Finally, you and your girlfriend will stop kissing and you'll introduce her to your friends. Her flight back to Europe won't leave for another ninety minutes, time enough for some chicken fajitas at the airport Mexican bar and grill. You and your girlfriend will sit at your own table, and your friends will sit nearby so they can watch you.

When it's time for her to go to her gate, you'll be surprised at how sad you are. You'll start talking about how maybe you should just go with her, but your friends will tell you that you can't because they need a ride home. Finally, you'll say goodbye and head back to your car with your friends trailing behind you, all of them looking upon you as if you're some kind of God who has come down to earth to teach them how a life is to be lived.

Happy Airport Girlfriend Day!

Flags Of Our Fathers Day!

Your father was never in a war. The military didn't want him because he walked funny, like a gay chicken, and though he was never diagnosed with a physical infirmity, his way of walking was enough for the draft office to send him home.

"But I want to raise a flag on a foreign beach, like those guys!" he shouted to the man looking for kids to send to Viet Nam.

"Maybe you can do your part by going home and learning to sew," the military man giggled. "Someone's got to make the flag before it gets raised, you know."

Your father took the man's advice and started a custom flag-making business. He distributes his share of American flags, especially around the Fourth of July, but his specialty is the custom design.

"A group of us meet every month and collect tadpoles from the creek," a man seeking a flag might say to your father. "We're all in our forties."

"I've got it," your father will say. Then he'll sketch out a pattern of earth tones with a solid block in the corner containing three wormy looking creatures held in a palm worn down with time.

"I'm a serial killer and I like to stick a little flag inside the eye-socket of my victims," another customer might tell your father. "Fucks with the police something fierce."

Your father will ask the killer how many people he plans to kill, then he'll quickly cover a sheet of sketch paper in blood red colored pencil. In the corner will be a block of stars, just like the American flag, but three of the stars will be upside down. "You stick this in your third victim. I'll need to give you one for every person you kill. This is going to be expensive."

The serial killer would place the order and would then start saving money before he went on his killing spree. Your father might end up getting stuck with the flags if the killer came to his senses or got caught molesting a farmer's crop or something else that would send him to jail, but your father was the kind of man who would take the risk for the sake of his vision. Compromising a design was a far greater sacrifice than the monetary investment.

Your father's never made you a flag before. Today, as a grown man, you're going to go into his shop and place your order.

"I want a flag that says Oops on it so I can raise it in the air every time I fart."

Your father won't sketch right away. First he'll need to wipe the tears from his eyes. He always dreamed that one day you would come to him like this. Cry with him.

Finally, he'll wipe his nose, take a breath, and he'll say, "Do you want 'Oops' with an explanation point or a frownie face?"

Happy Flags Of Our Fathers Day!

Nametag Day!

Today, at the Superfresh, when your cashier asks you whether you'd like anything else. Say to her, "No, that'll be all." Then take a pause to look at the nametag on her breast, and add, "Sarah."

The cashier will smile. "Actually, this isn't my nametag. I borrowed this from somebody because I left my nametag at home. But I appreciate you taking the time to address me by my first name. It seems like we all do everything we can to run from transaction to transaction, casting people out of our lives as quickly as we pull people in, making an effort to not remember a single detail of the strangers we meet in our day. I mean, if I place my fingertips to the skin of your palm when I hand you your change, are we really strangers anymore?"

"Precisely," you'll say. "So what is your real name?"

The cashier will say, "It's Sara, but without the H."

Ask to speak to the manager and complain that Sara without the H was getting nitpicky with you. Threaten to never shop there again and he'll give you some special coupons.

Happy Nametag Day!