Blood In The Barbecue Sauce Day!

At the State Fair last night, you lost the Boldest Baddest Best BBQ Sauce Contest to Louie Watkins. Today you’re going to take his life.

“I knew you’d come,” he’ll say from behind his grill.

“It’s not fair,” you’ll say. “Your sauce tastes like assholes.”

Louie will turn off a pork shank. It will sizzle.

“The people have spoken,” he’ll say.

“I have a rebuttal,” you’ll say to Louie. Then you’ll shoot him twice in the chest. A cloud of red will form on his apron, blotting out the “If You Don’t Like My Ribs, SUCK THE BONE!” decal. Louie’s young daughter will go to her daddy and hold his hand while he dies. She’ll look up at you.

“I have to raise you now,” you’ll say.

“I don’t want you to raise me,” Louie’s daughter will say.

“It’s the way things are done,” you’ll say. “It’s in the sauce.”

You’ll snatch Louie’s daughter and the two of you will take off for Kansas City where you’ll build a BBQ empire with a brand new sauce recipe. Your sauce will put Louie’s daughter through Harvard. It will buy her and her husband a house. It will fill the space under her Christmas tree with presents for her grandkids. After many years she’ll visit your sauce factory and find several small glass tanks of blood labeled, “Louie’s Blood. Add One Small Drop per Fifty Vats.”

Suddenly she’ll realize her entire life of luxury has been built from her father’s murder. She’ll want to throw everything away in honor of her father, but can she? And did she know all along? Couldn’t she have guessed when you chose the slogan, “Sauce So Good You’ll Think I Murdered My Daughter’s Biological Pappi!” Yes, she probably could have guessed. That slogan is very obvious and she probably could have guessed.

Happy Blood In The Barbecue Sauce Day!

Guess Who’s Back Day!

Your Mom’s back and she’s sitting on your couch. She ran off on you and your Dad when you were seven. You’re seventeen now, and you’re not doing so well.

“Your Dad still suck?” she asks.

“He’s making do,” you say. “He wasted a lot of time wondering where you’d gone and what he could have done to make you stay.”

“He used to tell the worst jokes and he snored,” your mom says.

You don’t say anything.

"His breath stunk too. I’m just saying. I had my reasons.”

You don’t say anything.

“If you’re just gonna sit there and not say anything, maybe I shouldn’t have come back at all.”

You ask your Mom, “Why did you come back?”

“I wanted to see how tall you got,” she says.

You stand up against the door-frame where they used to mark your height. The last mark is only three feet from the ground. Your mom marks the wood at over six feet.

“Those are my genes you know,” she says. “Your Dad and his whole family are real short. Fat too.”

“Is it your genes that are making me fail out of school and break into houses so that I can buy drugs?” you ask. “Or am I just doing that because my Mom ran off when I was seven?”

“Sorry kid,” you Mom will say. “But I’m betting it’s because you’ve been living with your Dad all these years. I mean, man does he suck.”

Just then your Dad walks into the house. He farts while chewing with his mouth open then he says something racist and makes a phone call to his real estate company to tell them to make a business deal that leaves thousands of low income families without a place to live. He’s bleeding from someplace on his body and he’s tracking blood on the carpet.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he says when he sees your Mom.

Your Mom takes off. After she’s gone, your Dad tries to clean up the blood with a rag that he wet with grape juice. It upsets you, but admitting that he’s doing something sucky would be siding with the mother who ran off on you all those years ago. So you get down on your hands and knees and help him rub grape juice into the carpet. While you’re down there, your Dad gets angry and hits you.

Happy Guess Who’s Back Day!

Satellites Falling All Over The Beach Day!

Today all of the satellites are going to fall out of the sky and land on the beach. You’ll run to and fro trying to dodge the giant metal beasts, but there will be just so many.

“Over here!” someone will shout. You’ll discover a man hiding in the doorway to the men’s room structure near the entrance to the beach. You normally don’t go near the men’s room because ever since you were a kid it was well known that the men’s room at the beach was where gay guys had sex with each other and you wanted nothing to do with that.

“This is pretty weird right?” you’ll ask the guy who called you over. “Think this means we’ve finally screwed up our atmosphere beyond repair? Think this is the end?”

“That stall’s free,” he’ll reply, nodding towards a stall where two men are walking out towards the sinks, aglow.

“Sorry, I just came here for safety,” you’ll say. “You guys don’t ever quit do you? I mean, the world looks like it’s coming to an end right now.”

He’ll shrug. “Hey, when you finally decide to go to a public restroom and have sex with a stranger while hovering over a dirty toilet seat, it’s hard to shift your focus to current events. You sure you’re not up for it? I mean, like you just said, it’s the end of the world.”

He’s got a point.

“If not now…”

“When?” you’ll say. Then you’ll take his hand.

Happy Satellites Falling All Over The Beach Day!

The Cute New Gas Station Attendant Day!

Today after the cute new gas station attendant fills up your car with gas, he’ll come around to your window and ask, “Why are you crying, lady?”

Tell him, “Because I came here to seduce you. But then I heard you just now on your cell phone talking about how you saw the movie TMNT. My high school age son saw that too. I’m ashamed of myself. I never thought that at this point in my life I would find myself in special undergarments at the gas station with the intent of making love to a gas station attendant who is the same age as my son.”

The gas station attendant will say, “TMNT was awesome. If you saw it, it might make you cry a little less.”

Tell him, “It’s not that I need to see an exciting children’s movie. It’s that I’ve hit such a bottom that even though I’m here and I’m admitting how terrible I feel about all this, I still hope that I’ll get to make love to you in the back of my car today.”

Later, after having brief terrible sex with the gas station attendant in your car, you’ll return him to the gas station and he’ll say, “I can fill you back up with the gas you burned driving to the park and back. On the house?”

You’ll nod and the gas station attendant will go to the tank and squeeze once on the nozzle, sending one sixteenth of a gallon into your car. It’s a nice gesture. He’s a nice boy. Tonight you’ll want to ask your son whether he makes a point of doing nice things for the desperate older ladies who pull up beside him on his way home from school and seduce him, but you’ll keep your trap shut.

Happy The Cute New Gas Station Attendant Day!

They’re All Either Married Gay or Crazy Day!

Today you’re going to meet four men and they’re all either married, gay, or crazy. The first man is Carl the 92-year old. Have you guessed what Carl is yet? That’s right, he’s both gay and crazy. He’s been slowly losing his mind for a decade now. Thinks he’s in the war. The next man is Louis, the osteopath. You guessed right. Louis is married. The next man is Kevin, the Wendy’s manager. You guessed wrong, Kevin is married, not crazy. The last man is Julian, the racecar driver. You guessed wrong, Julian is both gay and married, just like you.

You guessed two right, so you can keep two of your fingers on each hand. The thumb and the index finger are recommended. With those two, you can still be “OK.”

Happy They’re All Either Married Gay or Crazy Day!

Laptop Switchup Day!

Coming through security at the airport, you accidentally picked up the wrong laptop. It looked like yours, but once you got on the plane and opened it, the wallpaper was of a little girl, somebody’s daughter probably, and not a secretly captured “upskirt shot” of a strange woman in a park. You cursed your luck and hoped that you would be able to get your own laptop returned to you. Then you started poking around the directories until you found a document called “My Top Secret Recipe For Mustard.”

When you got home you mixed up a batch according to the recipe and darn if it wasn’t the best damn mustard you ever had. So you patented it, got funding and today your brand new revolutionary brand of delicious golden mustard hits grocery store shelves.

You never did get your laptop back. The mustard chef never bothered to come looking for you, not even when news got out about the new mustard on the market. Apparently, he so enjoyed the thousands of secretly captured “upskirt shots” of strange women in parks that you had on your computer (it’s your hobby) that he was willing to give up the recipe in order to hang onto them. Everybody wins.

Happy Laptop Switchup Day!

A Visit To The Optometrist Day!

Over the weekend you got mixed up in a pretty bad misunderstanding and you ended up putting your own eyes out.

“Lemme guess,” your optometrist will say.

“Please don’t,” you’ll say. “Is there anything you can do?”

“Since you were smart enough to heat up the knives beforehand, the wound is already pretty solid so I don’t have to sew anything up. That was good thinking.”

You’ll feel good about yourself. You’ve always been known for planning ahead. It’s what your Dad used to praise you for before you murdered him Saturday.

“I can give you some color contacts so you won’t look so gross.”

“Can you make my eyes blue? My Dad had blue eyes so…”

“So you figure your mom is into blue-eyed men?”

You’ll feel bad about yourself.

“Hey,” your optometrist will say. “I’m an optometrist. We don’t ask questions. And we don’t judge!”

He’ll plug some blue contacts over your dead eyes. They’ll look sort of like a burnt charcoal gray because of the deep black of the wounds on your eyeballs.

“You look handsome,” your optometrist will say. “Go get her.”

You’ll pay your co-pay and feel your way out the door.

Happy A Visit To The Optometrist Day!

Sportsmanship Day!

Today when you lose the big game because you throw like a girl, tell the other team’s star player that you only lost because you don’t really care about sports. Tell him you think books and being with family is far more important.

“I think you’re full of it,” he’ll say. “You would give up everything, even your ability to read, if you could be me for a day.”

Tell him he’s wrong. But that you are relatively certain the opposite is correct. Tell him you believe that he wishes there was more to his character than just being able to throw a ball. Tell him you believe he would like to be respected for something other than a physical talent. In short, tell him that you think he wishes that he could be you. During the pummeling that will ensue, tell him that his every punch confirms your suspicion, then quiet down and just admire his athletic prowess as the fists fly.

Tomorrow when the two of you wake up you’ll have switched bodies. You’ll be really good at sports (you’ll find out when a jock shoots a spitball at you and you duck out of the way really fast) and he’ll be really good at academics. You’ll both agree that this is exactly what you’ve both always wanted and you’ll do nothing to try and switch back. In the end, he’ll go off to Harvard and you’ll win the Homecoming game, then you’ll stay stuck in this dead-end town for the rest of your life with nothing more than a beer gut and a couple of kids to show for yourself.

Happy Sportsmanship Day!

In Loving Memory Of Ray Ray Day!

You used to be in a street gang in the fifties. You were called “The Rough Stuffs.” You wore that on the back of your leather jackets and it let everyone in town know that if they messed with you guys, they were in for some rough stuff.

You got into lots of rumbles in your day. You’d rumble over which gang gets to hang out at the soda fountain in the afternoon, which gang gets to park their Thunderbirds in the senior parking lot at school, and which gang gets to occupy the dance floor during the sock hop. With every successive rumble the fighting seemed to get a little more violent with the stakes raised a little higher.

Eventually, you all started fighting with knives. Things came to a head when Ray Ray got killed. You were rumbling with a rival gang, The Bad News Paperboys, over which gang gets to sit in the back row at the movie house. The Bad News Paperboys cornered Ray Ray during the rumble and they used their switchblades to pry his eyes out of his skull, then they stabbed him in the belly twelve times. When he fell over, they stuffed a knife in his anus.

But you won the rumble. And today, like you do every year on this date, you’re going to take your 67-year-old self back to that movie house and take your seat in the back row. And if you see any members of the Bad News Paperboys, you’re going to shoot them in the face with the revolver in your front pocket. This rumble isn’t over as long as Ray Ray’s still dead.

Only problem is that old movie house is a Best Buy now, so instead of sitting in the back row, your turf is now the Mobile Devices section. Browse with your head held high Rough Stuffer!

Happy In Loving Memory Of Ray Ray Day!

Dramamine Day!

You and your new bride both got real sick on your honeymoon cruise and you both took lots of Dramamine which fucked you both up and made you see stuff.

“What’d you see?” you’ll ask three years into your marriage.

“You first,” she’ll say.

Tell her, “I saw the world in your face. It was a world of peace and beauty.”

She’ll say, “I saw bugs everywhere.”

Admit to her, “Yeah me too. I was just trying to protect you.”

She’ll ask if you really think those bugs are real and you’ll say, “Don’t you?” Then the two of you will run to the shower and scrub at each other with metal brushes under scalding hot water.

“I wanted to do this to you the day we were married,” you’ll say. She’ll smile and you’ll kiss her bloody teeth. Then she’ll scream for you to keep scrubbing, and you’ll scream just to keep vigilant.

Happy Dramamine Day!

Your Thirteen Year Old Son Got His Dick Caught In One Of The Mousetraps Day!

You placed them throughout the house in various nooks and corners. It’d be absolutely impossible, even by accident, for anyone to get his penis anywhere near one of those traps. Unless he was really curious.

“You’re not in trouble,” you’ll tell your son after you set him free. “But can you just tell me if you have any…questions? About anything?”

Your son will burst into tears and scream, “I’m not dirty! NOT NOT NOT DIRTY!” Then he’ll run away. Nice going.

Happy Your Thirteen Year Old Son Got His Dick Caught In One Of The Mousetraps Day!

The Restaurant Where You Wait Tables Is On Fire Day!

You can only lead one person to safety. You’re in the weeds tonight. There are forty covers waiting to not burn to death, including the older divorcee who has been a regular of yours for years who loves to chat you up for a half hour or more before you even take her order, but there’s also a birthday party crowded with six year olds, but there’s also a two-top of newly-weds, but then again, there’s also a man who says he just found the cure for cancer and before he tells anybody about it he wanted to celebrate with a nice dinner.

“I choose to rescue the new waitress whom I have not tried to sleep with yet,” you say. Then you lead her out to the sidewalk where she tells you that she has a boyfriend just before the roof collapses on the screaming patrons.

Happy The Restaurant Where You Wait Tables Is On Fire Day!

You Make Your Mortgage Payments In Quarters Day!

Your mortgage payment is due today. Just like you’ve done every month for the past twelve years, you’re going to go down to the bank with a giant burlap sack containing $1121.56 in quarters (and six pennies) and thump it onto the desk in front of Jeff Blugard, the bank manager.

“God you're an asshole,” Jeff will say.

“Fuck you Jeff, now mark it paid,” you’ll say.

“Gotta count it first don’t I, you cock,” Jeff will say.

“I’ll wait for my receipt,” you’ll say.

“Fucker.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fucker.”

“Fuck you, Jeff.”

Jeff will shove the bag off his desk so that it drops into the little red wagon he bought especially for your mortgage payments.

“Fucker,” he’ll say once more before wheeling your mortgage payment into the back to start pouring it into the change counter. He’ll come back an hour and a half later with your receipt.

“Here you go fuckdick,” Jeff will say. “See you next month, ass.”

“You wanna get lunch?”

Jeff will shrug and the two of you will go to Quizno’s. You’re still angry that Jeff had an affair with your wife, but the mortgage payments are vengeance enough. And ever since she passed, you feel the need to keep Jeff around. You like having the company of someone who came close to knowing just how wonderful she was.

Happy You Make Your Mortgage Payments In Quarters Day!

At The Bottom Of Every Bottle Of Bourbon, There’s A Prize Day!

Today, as encouragement to get people to drink all of their bourbon, there’s going to be a prize at the bottom of every bottle. Some of the prizes will be too small and if you drink your bourbon too fast you’ll swallow your little plastic toy. Many will experience damage to the esophagus. Scraping. Many others will drink the toy without realizing it and they’ll think they are very unlucky, or they’ll assume they were ripped off and demand refunds.

Some of the prizes will be too large, which is where the slogan “When The Bottle’s Dry, Smash It On the Curb and See What’s Inside!” came from. This will result in a city covered in glass and many gnarled bloody hands clenched around little plastic toys. Hospitals will be overrun.

Some of the toys will be just right, and when you take the last sip of that perfect bottle of bourbon, your toy will come rushing out just as you close your lips and it’ll give you a little kiss and land in your hand. Then you’ll unwrap the plastic and you’ll see that because you drank your whole bottle of bourbon, you just won a whistle. Congratulations, special drinker.

Happy At The Bottom Of Every Bottle Of Bourbon, There’s A Prize Day!

And Then The Plane Crashes Gently Into The Sea Day!

You wish you could die in a plane crash with the sound turned off. There will be no screaming and no unearthly sound of metal being wrenched from metal. And when the flames fill the cabin, they won’t actually incinerate anybody, the fire will simply erase, or rather, displace the passengers and the cabin they were in. As the fire slowly floods the cabin, one second there will be a passenger staring at a thick wall of approaching flames, and the next, the flames will have extended into that passenger’s space and that passenger and his chair and his magazine will be gone, like magic.

And then the plane crashes gently into the sea. It looks like a cardboard cut-out of a plane on fire. You can see the pilot in the cockpit flying like he always does with two eyes and a mouth. The people who haven’t already been replaced by fire can be seen through the windows breathing from their airmasks. There are waves in the ocean and the moon is bright and when the plane hits the ocean in two big pieces, that’s the end. The plane is in the ocean after that. The passengers don’t all die in specific ways and at specific times like drowning at 10:02 or fire displacement at 10:01. It’s as if all of the passengers and the plane itself are one giant living thing that dies when it crashes gently into the sea. After that, when the plane goes under the water, everyone stays in their seats and everyone is plastic. And the people who were displaced by fire are back because the fire is gone. They stay like that forever. Parents can swim down and look at them.

Happy And Then The Plane Crashes Gently Into The Sea Day!

Hang Onto Your Spot At The Mall Day!

Today at the mall, you’ll find that the bench in front of the Superpretzel will be completely empty. Run to it and take a seat, putting your Kohl’s bag on the other half of the bench so that no one else will sit with you.

That bench is the best spot in the entire mall. Always has been, ever since you first started hanging out at that mall in 1981. It’s got perfect sun from the skylight, and it’s right near the overhang so you can lean over the edge and look down shirts. You still remember when you sat your wife there to make out with her in public back when she was just your high school sweetheart. The spot is never available and when you caught it empty that day with your high school sweetheart you knew she was the one for you always.

Here comes your wife now.

“We gotta go,” she’ll say.

“Can’t,” tell her. “I got the spot. Not gonna let it go.”

Your wife will stare at you. You have a great deal of mental illness in your family and you can see her sometimes watching you for any manifestations. Then she’ll look at the bench and remember.

“Oh this is where we used to kiss! How cute. But seriously, we gotta get to my sister’s.”

“I’m staying,” tell her. “Got the spot. Not gonna let it go until I know why.”

Your wife will stare again. She’ll wish she were a violent person.

“Let’s go,” she'll say.

“Anytime this spot comes empty for me, it’s for a reason. It was empty the day I knew you were the one for me. It was empty the day my father died and I didn’t know it yet. It was empty when I came here after I didn’t get my promotion. Remember that?”

She remembers.

“And it was empty the day Robbie got kidnapped,” you’ll say. Robbie is your son and he’s been missing for a year. It hasn’t been easy.

“It’s the best spot in the mall and I need to know why it’s empty today. I need to wait.”

Your wife will reach for the bag at the end of the bench.

“No!” you’ll say. “I need to sit here alone. Leave the bag.”

“But my sister’s present,” she’ll say.

“Buy another one,” tell her. Then throw your credit card at her.

She’ll go, and you’ll sit and wait. You’ll sit all day, not minding waiting because you’re in the spot and everyone in the mall who sees you knows you’re on the cusp of enlightenment and they're jealous of you. They shove their kids along, or tussle with their classmates, wondering when they’ll get their day in the spot.

Today is your day, and at the end of it, when you stand up and lift your bag, you’ll see carved into the wood, “Robbie wuz here, 2/12/07. U Just Sat In Hiz Fartz.”

It’s your son’s work, there’s no doubt. He was alive and walking the mall as recently as a month and a half ago. He must be one of those kidnapped kids who just live with his abductors in the same town as his parents without trying to run away, the way kids like to do these days. You son is alive, and you just sat in his fartz.

Happy Hang Onto Your Spot At The Mall Day!

Animals Can See Your Homosexuality Just Like It Was A Hostile Ghost Day!

You know how animals can see ghosts that humans can’t see? Like when a ghost enters a room, the first thing that happens is a dog will start barking or a cat will raise its fur and hiss, and the owner will ask “What’s wrong boy?” right before books start flying off the shelves or the TV reception gets sucky? The same thing happens anytime you pay a visit to one of your pet-owner friends and their dogs or cats get a look at your denied homosexuality, which is so obvious and blatant it almost takes the form of a glittery glow constantly hovering just off your right shoulder, and yet you still somehow manage to pretend it isn’t there.

“So I asked out Julia at work,” you’ll say. “I think she could be the one.”

“What’s wrong boy?” your friend will ask his dog, who is now barking and snarling at your denied homosexuality.

“She’s got the most divine gazongas,” you’ll say.

Your friend’s dog will snarl even more now. Foam will sputter from his snout.

“I think I might take her to the Clay Aiken concert. She’s that special to me,” you’ll say. Your friend’s dog will then bury his front half under the couch and whimper in fear.

“Boy what got his boxer-briefs in a bunch?” you’ll ask.

“Beats me,” your friend will say. “So I heard you’re learning to make your own sorbet."

Happy Animals Can See Your Homosexuality Just Like It Was A Hostile Ghost Day!

Jigsaw Puzzle Day!

You found the box with the jigsaw puzzle pieces deep in the back of the closet, and you don’t remember putting it there. You wondered whether this might be one of those jigsaw puzzles where it ends up depicting you, in the room you’re sitting in, doing a jigsaw puzzle, except in the puzzle there’s a face in the window. Sure enough, when you read the front of the box it says “500 Pcs Jigsaw Puzzle Depicting You, In The Room You’re Sitting In, Doing A Jigsaw Puzzle, Except In The Puzzle There’s A Face In The Window.”

You sit down and do the jigsaw puzzle. As you put more and more pieces together, your spine tingles when you see the room you’re sitting in appear with almost photographic precision on the table before you. After several hours, you hold the final piece in your hand, the piece that will surely fill in the window directly across from where you’re sitting. You can’t look up. You and only look at the puzzle. You place the final piece in place and there in the window puzzle-piece window you see the face of Anthony Geary, the guy who played Luke of Luke and Laura on General Hospital, your favorite soap opera when you were young.

You look up at the window across the room, excited to see a celebrity, but no one is there.

“What a gyp!” you say into the silence.

That’s when you hear a car pull up. A car door slams but the engine keeps running. You hear footsteps outside. The sound makes you break into a sweat. Someone is coming. You watch the window, it’s pure blackness. Then with a flash, Anthony Geary steps in front of the window and stares straight at you.

Wave.

Anthony Geary will shoot his finger your way, then he’ll walk back down the hill away from your house. You’ll go to the window to watch him get back into his cab and pull away down the dark and stormy road. You now remember buying the jigsaw puzzle, and you understand why it cost you $4500.

Happy Jigsaw Puzzle Day!

Teach The Kids What’s Right And Wrong Day!

Today you’re going to be walking down an alley looking for someone to party with when you'll spot two kids who have trapped a skinny gray cat in a corner. You’ll hang back for a second just to see if they’re gonna do anything funny to the cat, then you’ll be horrified when they take out a book of matches and a hairspray can. One of the kids will light a match, then he’ll send a stream of hairspray through the flame trying to make a blow torch aimed at the cat. Luckily the spray will just blow out the flame and end up spraying the cat’s fur with hairspray. You’ll run over to stop them.

“Hey kids,” say. “Setting cats on fire is wrong!”

One of the kids will ask, “Why is your head bleeding?”

You’ll say, “What?”

The other kid will ask, “Oh my God are you gonna die?”

You’ll say, “What?”

The kids will look at you for another second, scared. Then they’ll look at each other and run away. You’ll drop to your knees in front of the cat, woozy. You’ll touch your fingers to your head and feel the blood pouring down from your scalp. You’ll try to remember if you got into a fight or got jumped, but nothing will come. Then everything will go black and you’ll fall forward onto the ground. The stray cat will step across your back and walk away, its fur held perfectly in place.

Happy Teach The Kids What’s Right And Wrong Day!

Your Foolproof Method For Scoring Chicks Sucks Day!

Your foolproof method for scoring chicks sucks, but it just so happens that it’s perfect for getting kids to choose not to join street gangs. You made a point of trying to be as straightforward and no-nonsense as you could, thinking that chicks like guys who are direct. It should have worked on chicks and it might still. You should let someone who is attractive to women try it and see if it works.

The awesome thing is, though it didn't score you any chicks, your method is perfect for convincing inner city teens who are considering joining street gangs to forget about gang life and stay in school. That same no-nonsense, on-the-level approach is exactly what at-risk teens need to hear from an adult, and it’s rare that that’s what they get. If you were to use your method for scoring chicks to keep teens out of street gangs, and if you taught social workers and community leaders to use it too, you could help a lot of kids stay on the right path. It’s too bad you’re so obsessed with finally scoring some chicks that you couldn’t care a damn what happens to at-risk teens. Good luck at the bars tonight, you lonely asshole.

Happy Your Foolproof Method For Scoring Chicks Sucks Day!

Your Dad Misses His Cellmate Day!

Your Dad spent four months in prison on an old warrant for trying to buy a gun from an undercover cop back in Denver. You missed him like crazy while he was away, and according to his letters, he missed you too. But now that he’s back, he seems kind of distracted. Ask him why.

“I miss my cellmate, Ronald,” he’ll say. “He was a born again, serving time for his second meth bust, and we used to sit up all night talking about all kinds of things. You’re really great to talk to, don’t get me wrong. It was just different with Ronald.”

“Maybe I can talk like Ronald,” you’ll say, trying to come up with anything to keep your Dad from taking a swing at a cop just to get thrown back in jail to see his friend again.

“You and I talk about Daddy-Daughter stuff,” he’ll say. “Ronald and I talked about prison stuff.”

“I sure am tired of being in prison,” you’ll say in as deep a voice as you can muster from your eleven year old throat.

Your Dad will just look out the window. “It’s sweet of you baby, but it’s not working.”

Don’t give up. “I bet you can’t wait to get out and see your daughter again.”

Your dad won’t say anything. He’ll stare off across the front yard, like he’s waiting for a car to pull up.

“Your daughter really misses you and when you get out everything’s going to be perfect!” you’ll say, still with the deep voice.

Your Dad will rub the top of your head, then he’ll walk past you out the door. He’ll get in his car and drive off. You’ll go upstairs and clean your room so hard that he’ll have to come back, won’t he?

Happy Your Dad Misses His Cellmate Day!

Try To Get Some Free Chili Day!

With the recent turmoil surrounding the Department of Health and all the vermin sightings in fast food restaurants, everyone is a little on edge. It’s really easy to get free chili from places like Wendy’s in this kind of environment. Just chop off someone’s finger and bring the finger with you into Wendy’s when you order some chili. After you eat half of the bowl, drop the finger into the bowl and swish it around, then bring the bowl up to the manager and say, “Look! A Finger! What are you guys trying to pull?”

“You probably cut that finger off yourself and dropped it in that bowl,” the manager will say.

“Maybe I did. And maybe I didn’t. You want the media to decide?”

The manager will say, “Anything. I’ll give you anything if you’ll keep this quiet.”

“I’d like my money back for a start.”

“You got it!” the manager will say.

“And a large Frosty.”

The manager will hesitate.

“You don’t want me to go pointing any fingers do you?”

The manager will hasten to pour you a Frosty.

“And I’d like my finger back,” tell him. He’ll use a spoon to fish the finger out of the bowl and put it on your tray with your Frosty. Go to your table and drink half of the Frosty, then drop the finger into the cup and bring it up to the manager and demand another Frosty, or else you’ll squeal.

“My God,” the manager will say. “I am completely at your mercy. With that severed finger in your possession, you can take whatever you want from the restaurant. I’m helpless aren’t I?”

“Even without the finger,” you’ll say. Then you’ll show him the plastic bag of turds you brought with you. “I drop one of these babies on top of my baked potato and you can bet Action News would be taking my phone calls. I own you.”

The restaurant manager will run screaming through the storefront window. Ask for the assistant manager and explain what’s what.

Happy Try To Get Some Free Chili Day!

Today’s The Day To Complete Your “Reign Over Me” Action Figure Collection Day!

Your friends are going to be so jealous when they see that not only do you have the Don Cheadle wearing a dentist coat action figure, but you also have the long-haired Adam Sandler acting like he’s retarded action figure (they’re the only two action figures available for this movie so far). You’d better clean your apartment though because they’re all going to want to come over and take turns playing with the “Reign Over Me” action figures while drinking vodka drinks (you’re all in your late 30’s). Make sure to hog the stage for a while, showing them all of the special features on the action figures, like when you pull the string in Adam Sandler’s back he says how 9-11 was wrong. Or when you tug on the handle sticking out of Don Cheadle’s butt, he looks at Jada Pinkett-Smith to see if he’s allowed to go outside. Your friends might get angry when they find out there’s no Jada Pinkett-Smith action figure, and they’ll talk about how they heard you can buy one from Japanese online retailers. But they’ll all shut up when you show them how you can make the action figures comfort each other with silent knowing glances. After playing for a while, your friends will point out that their friendship with each other is just like the friendship between the Don Cheadle action figure and the Adam Sandler action figure, except that none of you lost your entire family when Saddam attacked the twin towers on 9-11. You’re all going to feel a little closer after tonight.

Happy Today’s The Day To Complete Your “Reign Over Me” Action Figure Collection Day!

Sell Suits Day!

A high-end department store is hiring salesmen in their Men’s Suits department. Before you apply, put lots of grease into your long, gray, curly hair and then pull it into a pony tail. Look disgusting? Perfect! Now get into that HR office and impress.

“Why do you want to sell suits?” the interviewer will ask.

“I’m too gross to wait tables. I look like a rapist, whether I am one or not, so I can’t be a high-rise building’s doorman. I’m covered in thick body hair, which makes me really hot in the summer, so I can’t work construction. I’m the worst man alive, so I figured, might as well sell suits.”

“I notice you’re not spitting when you talk.”

Don’t say anything.

“I say I notice you’re not spitting when you talk,” the interviewer will repeat.

Look contrite. “I have chronic cotton mouth. I don’t spit when I talk, you’re right. But it makes my breath smell terrible. Win some, lose some.”

The interviewer will appear to be thinking it over. Quickly hand the interviewer an invite to a swingers’ party, and your case will made. By this weekend terrified men of all walks of life will have no choice but to let you touch their persons.

Happy Sell Suits Day!

Your Staff Knows Your Wife Left You Eleven Years Ago Day!

It’s a testament to how great a boss you are that they haven’t let on. They’ll stand in the break room with you on a Monday morning, listening to your endlessly imaginative fabrications of your weekend with the wife. They’ll hear “we had a big day at Home Depot” and they’ll smile and nod with all the vigor of someone trying not to burst into tears over how sad they are for you. “Sometimes I worry Sharon might just move into her vegetable garden she spends so much time out there,” you’ll say, and they’ll just laugh along with you. They take your incessant “Sharon” name-dropping in calm stride, to the point where they don’t even blink. On those occasions when you have Margie, the prostitute you sometimes go and see, call in and pretend to be Sharon leaving a message for you, your secretary will go all out when you return to the office, greeting you with “Sharon called and it sounded urgent” loud enough for the whole floor to hear.

Only a handful of staffers are still on the floor who were there eleven years ago when Sharon snuck upstairs during your personal leave to gather a box of papers from your office that she needed to give to her divorce lawyer. They helped her and they hugged her, wishing her good luck, knowing they might never see her again. When you came back and didn’t once let on that there was even a problem, they felt for you, thinking you’d eventually announce your split when you felt ready. After several months of the charade, they knew something else was at play. They talked it up endlessly over happy hour drinks, and they decided if this is the life you wanted to pretend to live, they’d be there to live it with you. You’ve always been good to them. No reason they shouldn’t return the favor.

Tonight is Sharon’s birthday. You’re going to call your secretary and two assistants who sit nearby into your office and show them the necklace you bought for Sharon. They’ll ooh and aah and they’ll tell you that Sharon is going to absolutely love it. “I wish my husband was more like you,” one of the assistants will say. When you get a call, they’ll take the opportunity to leave your office, go into the supplies closet, link arms around each other’s shoulders and sob for you.

Happy Your Staff Knows Your Wife Left You Eleven Years Ago Day!

Bucket Of Heartbreak Day!

Your girlfriend loves her fried chicken more than she loves you, her parents, life, or the limitless freedom to excel and prosper granted to every citizen of this great country.

“Fried chicken beats all that shit,” she likes to say. In fact, right before she rips the lid off of another bucket (which she has no intention of sharing) she says a little prayer of Grace, listing all of the things that she thinks are far less important than a good hot bucket of fried chicken.

“A child’s laughter. Kittens playing with an apple in a baby’s crib. Being asked out by a guy who’s rich. It’s all shit compared to my next bucket of chicken.”

You love this woman and you want her to marry you. You’ve given the girls behind the counter at Kleinfeldts’ Fried Chicken Cabana your engagement ring and you’ve asked them to deposit it at the bottom of the next bucket of chicken your girlfriend orders. You’ll be sitting across from her after she finishes her fifth piece of chicken and finds that shiny diamond ring sparkling up at her from the bottom of the bucket.

You’ll say, “Will you marr—“

Before you can get your proposal out, she’ll smack you across the head with a wing, screaming about how you fucked up her bucket of chicken. Apparently, she likes to keep her buckets pure of foreign objects, no matter how expensive they might be or how deep the love they represent.

“We’re through!” she’ll shout. Then she’ll run through the plate glass window of the Kleinfeldts’ and take off sprinting down the street. The Kleinfeldts’ assistant manager on duty will tell you that you’re gonna have to pay for that window, and that it just wasn’t meant to be for you two.

“But at least you put yourself out there,” he’ll say. “There’s always a chance you’re gonna find out you matter less than a bucket of chicken, and it’ll hurt, but you’ll never know for sure if you don’t take that risk. The window’s 800 dollars.”

Happy Bucket Of Heartbreak Day!

Music To Your Ears Day!

You’re deaf and bitter, and you’ve been campaigning to make music illegal for years. Your platform is that if deaf people can’t enjoy music, no one should be allowed to because it’s mean to deaf people. Anytime someone challenges you, you accuse them of trying to be mean to the deaf and they relent. Today, the world governments have figured out a way to shut you up. They’re going to pretend to take a vote on your proposal, and they’re going to pretend that the vote was unanimous in favor of there being no more music.

“That’s music to my ears,” you’ll sign.

For the rest of your life you’ll go through your days feeling proud that you managed to get music eliminated from the planet. The rest of the world will go on listening to music the same way they always did, and you’ll never know since you can’t hear it. Everybody will laugh at you for being fooled so easily, but you’ll never hear the laughter either so it won’t ever make you feel bad. In other words, everybody wins.

Happy Music To Your Ears Day!

Take The Mirror Off Your Ceiling Day!

You and your wife stopped having sex a long time ago, so it's time you took the mirror off your ceiling. All that mirror shows you is two people who aren't having sex, and you hate looking up at ceilings and seeing yourself not have sex.

"It's gotten so I can't even look at my ceiling anymore," you tell your wife. "I used to love my ceiling. I could always see myself having sex on it. It was so hot."

"Tomorrow the mirror will come down and it will be all better," your wife says.

The next day the laborers will come and take your mirrors off your ceiling. You'll leave the house for a while so you won't hear them snicker about how you probably don't want a mirror anymore because all it ever shows is you not doing it. When you get home, your wife seems rather excited, but she doesn't say anything.

You manage to avoid looking at the ceiling until you finally lay down for bed. There on the ceiling you discover that your wife has commissioned a mural of you and she having sex. You're laying on your back and she's straddling you with her head thrown back. It looks really hot, so hot you start to cry.

"Now you can always look up and see yourself having sex," she tells you.

"It's beautiful sweetie," you say. "I want to buy a coffin and have the muralist paint the same thing on the inside of the lid. I want to look up and see myself having sex on a ceiling even after worms have eaten my eyes."

Your wife asks, "Same position?"

Tell her, "Do the coffin with both of us lying on our sides, me behind you. And have him paint me wearing my black rubber mask."

Your wife enters the notes into her blackberry, then rolls over and kisses you. Then the two of you lay on your backs, side by side, not even touching, and you stare at the ceiling and watch yourselves have the red hot sex of yesteryear. Pleasant dreams.

Happy Take The Mirror Off Your Ceiling Day!

Tell Your Girlfriend You're Worried You Might Be A Werewolf Day!

"What makes you so sure?" she'll ask.

You'll shrug and say, "Just trust me on this." Then tell her to chain you to the couch when the full moon hits.

On the night of the full moon, your girlfriend will chain you to the couch, then she'll sit and watch you.

"How do you feel?" she'll ask.

"Okay," you'll say. Then you'll add, "Wait, actually, I don't feel so good. I feel like something's about to happen to me." Your girlfriend will wait in breathless silence. Then you'll fart.

"Jerk," your girlfriend will say.

"Sorry."

The next day, you?ll both wake up exactly where you spent the night, her in the easy chair and you chained to the couch.

"I guess you're not a werewolf," your girlfriend will say.

"Guess not," you'll concede.

"Then you must be able to remember where you spent the night last month when I couldn?t reach you at home," she'll say.

The werewolf thing didn't work and you?re out of ideas. You're going to have to tell her about the affair.

Happy Tell Your Girlfriend You're Worried You Might Be A Werewolf Day!

Your Wife Wants To Know Why You've Been Secretly Videotaping Your Teenage Son While He Has Sex With His Girlfriends Day!

She found the tapes and the camera you installed outside the skylight in his bedroom ceiling. She wants answers.

"Our son is very charming, right?" you tell her.

She agrees.

"He's one of the most charismatic people I've ever met," you tell her. "That's probably why he has so many girlfriends, yes?"

Your wife agrees again, but is growing impatient.

"And what of his politics?" you ask her.

Your wife concedes that your son has some rather fascistic tendencies. He's midway through his second term as student council president and he has been roundly criticized for turning the lunchroom into something akin to a police state.

"Imagine if he ever ran for public office," you tell her. "Our boy has the magnetism to hold a country under his sway. And God help our country if that ever came to pass."

"You'll release the tapes?" your wife asks.

"I'll release the tapes," you tell her. "He'll be brought down in a sex scandal and democracy will be saved."

"But they're of nothing more than two teenagers having sex, unaware that they're being taped surreptitiously," your wife argues. "Those tapes won't do anything but send you to jail for child pornography."

"Maybe in the kind of big brother nation our son would like to create it would be illegal to make tapes of kids having sex, but not in my America," you tell her.

Your wife counters that it is in fact presently illegal to make tapes of kids having sex.

"I'm sure a judge would understand that I only taped my son having sex because I didn't like his politics."

Just then your son walks in and spots the two of you watching a tape of him having sex with a girl. "Pervs!" he screams, and then he runs into his bedroom to sulk, probably over the fact that his political career is over before it even got started. Looks like he got the message.

Happy Your Wife Wants To Know Why You've Been Secretly Videotaping Your Teenage Son While He Has Sex With His Girlfriends Day!

Your Behavior At Your High School Reunion Could Bring Down Your Supermarket Chain Day!

Tonight is your 25th high school reunion and you�re going back to your alma mater as a minor celebrity. You�ve built a nationwide supermarket chain that has grown more successful with every year, and you�ve appeared in all of your commercials, tying your face and your name to the chain. When you see your old high school friends tonight, they�ll all be excited to have a drink with the face of their favorite market. So excited that they�ll put quite a few drinks back with you, and by the time you drive off you�ll be plenty drunk and you�ll accidentally hit one of your fellow alums as she makes her way to her car. A quick look around the lot will make you believe no one saw, and in a panic you�ll take off, leaving her to possibly die on the concrete. Unfortunately for you, your old high school will have installed an excellent network of parking lot security cameras in the years since you�ve graduated, and the tape of you mowing down a woman, then peeling away after searching the lot for witnesses will be all over the internet by the end of the week. The face and name of your chain of markets will now always be linked to a grainy video of a woman being run over in a dark parking lot and left for dead. Parents will stop shopping at your market on principal. There�s only one way for you to keep your customers from abandoning your supermarket chain forever, and it�s called TRIPLE COUPON MADNESS!

Happy Your Behavior At Your High School Reunion Could Bring Down Your Supermarket Chain Day!

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!