Today while walking down the street you are going to fall down an open manhole and land twenty feet underground in a sewer. Your right leg will snap and twist up like a pretzel underneath you and the pain will be excruciating. You’ll scream up at the street but no one up there will be able to hear you. Someone down below will, though.
Three children will creep up out of the darkness, approaching you cautiously. A little boy and two little girls. They will be filthy, as if they’ve been down there for months.
“Hey,” you’ll say. “Oh thank God, you need to get help. I can’t move. I’m in so much pain.”
“We can’t go for help,” one of the little girls will say. “Our foster parents would find us. We can’t let them find us.”
“Please,” you’ll say. “If I’m down here for very long my leg will turn gangrenous and kill me.”
“We’re sorry that you fell,” the other little girl will say. “But we came down here on purpose to hide from our foster mother. She’s very evil. Show him.”
The little boy will lift his sleeve to show you a string of black scars that look like cigarette burns.
“See?” the second little girl will say. “If you’d ever been in foster care you’d understand why we must stay hidden in the sewers until we’re old enough and strong enough to fight our foster mother with a baseball bat. Now give us any food you have on you.”
“What?”
The little boy will stomp on your broken leg, sending bolts of pain through your body. The two little girls will root through your backpack until they find a cheese sandwich.
“Again, we’re sorry,” the first little girl will say. Then they’ll move a few feet away and split up your cheese sandwich right in front of you. The boy will growl while he eats. He’ll sound like a raccoon. The last thing you think about before you pass out is if you ever get out of that sewer alive, you're going to do everything you can to add more oversight to the area's child services programs.
Happy Fall Down An Open Manhole (NOT IN A GAY WAY) Day!
Friday, July 20, 2007
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Lost In The Woods Day!
Today while hiking you’re going to get lost in the woods and you’ll meet the boy of your dreams who will also be completely lost.
“At least I found you,” he’ll say.
“A part of me never wants to be found,” you’ll tell him. Then he’ll look down and see your ring.
“Me too,” he’ll say. Then he’ll take his ring out of his pocket and slip it on his finger. He always takes it off when he goes hiking, in case he meets someone out in the woods. Pretty gross, but are you any better?
“Then let’s walk this way,” you’ll say with a wink as you lead him down a barely intelligible path. You’ll wander through the woods together for hours, pretending that here under cover of the trees the vows you made to your spouses can’t find you. But bears can and you’ll both be mauled to death by one because that’s what happens to cheaters. They get mauled by bears.
Happy Lost In The Woods Day!
“At least I found you,” he’ll say.
“A part of me never wants to be found,” you’ll tell him. Then he’ll look down and see your ring.
“Me too,” he’ll say. Then he’ll take his ring out of his pocket and slip it on his finger. He always takes it off when he goes hiking, in case he meets someone out in the woods. Pretty gross, but are you any better?
“Then let’s walk this way,” you’ll say with a wink as you lead him down a barely intelligible path. You’ll wander through the woods together for hours, pretending that here under cover of the trees the vows you made to your spouses can’t find you. But bears can and you’ll both be mauled to death by one because that’s what happens to cheaters. They get mauled by bears.
Happy Lost In The Woods Day!
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
If You Had A Million Dollars Day!
If you had a million dollars, today you would use some of it to bail your college-age son out of jail. He was arrested last night for vehicular manslaughter after running down a teenage girl while driving drunk. This is the first time he ever got arrested, or even a traffic citation for that matter. But witnesses say he apparently looked like he wanted to keep driving after he hit her. After the crash, a bystander ran and stood in front of your son’s car and put his hands on the hood to keep him from pulling away. One of the tires was flat too.
You’d bail him out, which would cost around $50,000. Then you might use the rest of that million dollars to hire a really good lawyer who could perhaps keep him out of jail. What he did was horrible and stupid and you agree with the laws that might put him behind bars. But you would do anything right now to make as much of it go away as you can. He’s your son, and you wanted him to finish college and then show you what kind of life he can make for himself. If you had a million dollars, maybe his whole life wouldn’t be already decided with one incredibly stupid mistake at age nineteen.
You have no idea what really happens in prison. If you had a million dollars, maybe your son wouldn’t have to find out for you. All you can think about now is whether, when you visit him, will you talk through those glass partitions? Or will you get to sit in one of those big open rooms with all the tables where women bring babies to show to their inmate fathers?
Happy If You Had A Million Dollars Day!
You’d bail him out, which would cost around $50,000. Then you might use the rest of that million dollars to hire a really good lawyer who could perhaps keep him out of jail. What he did was horrible and stupid and you agree with the laws that might put him behind bars. But you would do anything right now to make as much of it go away as you can. He’s your son, and you wanted him to finish college and then show you what kind of life he can make for himself. If you had a million dollars, maybe his whole life wouldn’t be already decided with one incredibly stupid mistake at age nineteen.
You have no idea what really happens in prison. If you had a million dollars, maybe your son wouldn’t have to find out for you. All you can think about now is whether, when you visit him, will you talk through those glass partitions? Or will you get to sit in one of those big open rooms with all the tables where women bring babies to show to their inmate fathers?
Happy If You Had A Million Dollars Day!
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Your Girlfriend Is Asleep Outside Your Favorite Bar Day!
She’s asleep sitting up, her back against the doorframe and her head bent forward on her neck. The door occasionally shoves her aside when it opens wide enough, but she doesn’t stir from her slumber. The bartender kicked her out over and hour ago and sometime between getting off of her stool and stepping out the front door, she apparently got real tired. So she sat down on the sidewalk and fell asleep.
The only reason you’ll find her there is because it’s your favorite bar she’s sleeping outside of. You don’t own it, but when you two have a fight, that’s the bar where you go to drink alone until you’re drunk enough to have angry conversations with yourself. You didn’t know your girlfriend even knew about the place.
When you see her, you don’t try to wake her up right away. You first go inside and get the bartender to come out and take a look.
“She’s a regular, sure,” he’ll say. “She comes here almost as often as you. Can drink as much as you too.”
“She’s my girlfriend,” you’ll say.
“Well then, scoop her up,” the bartender says before going back inside.
You slap your girlfriend until her eyes flutter enough that you think she’s awake. You tell her that you were wrong to fight with her earlier about her wanting to get married, and now that you see she drinks alone at the same bar where you drink alone, and you both chose that bar completely independently of each other, you can’t see any better reason for the two of you to tie the knot.
On your knees, holding her limp head up on her neck, you’ll ask, “Will you marry me?”
Your girlfriend will throw up on your arms and she’ll call out the name of another guy. Then she’ll fall asleep. A dark stain will form on the crotch of her jeans.
“I’ll take that as an absolutely,” you’ll say. Then you’ll wipe your arms on a fire hydrant, fling your fiancé over your shoulder and carry her home.
Happy Your Girlfriend Is Asleep Outside Your Favorite Bar Day!
The only reason you’ll find her there is because it’s your favorite bar she’s sleeping outside of. You don’t own it, but when you two have a fight, that’s the bar where you go to drink alone until you’re drunk enough to have angry conversations with yourself. You didn’t know your girlfriend even knew about the place.
When you see her, you don’t try to wake her up right away. You first go inside and get the bartender to come out and take a look.
“She’s a regular, sure,” he’ll say. “She comes here almost as often as you. Can drink as much as you too.”
“She’s my girlfriend,” you’ll say.
“Well then, scoop her up,” the bartender says before going back inside.
You slap your girlfriend until her eyes flutter enough that you think she’s awake. You tell her that you were wrong to fight with her earlier about her wanting to get married, and now that you see she drinks alone at the same bar where you drink alone, and you both chose that bar completely independently of each other, you can’t see any better reason for the two of you to tie the knot.
On your knees, holding her limp head up on her neck, you’ll ask, “Will you marry me?”
Your girlfriend will throw up on your arms and she’ll call out the name of another guy. Then she’ll fall asleep. A dark stain will form on the crotch of her jeans.
“I’ll take that as an absolutely,” you’ll say. Then you’ll wipe your arms on a fire hydrant, fling your fiancé over your shoulder and carry her home.
Happy Your Girlfriend Is Asleep Outside Your Favorite Bar Day!
Monday, July 16, 2007
All The Peeping Toms In The Whole Wide World Day!
At 8:25 PM EST, a warm wind will blow around the globe when all the Peeping Toms in the whole wide world peer out their windows through their telescopes, binoculars, and nightvision camcorder lenses, and they all at once let out a sigh of unparalleled boredom.
You’ll unbutton another button on your top when you feel the gust of hot breath hit your neck. You’ll assume it to be a hint of another sweltering day to come, but it’s just the Peeping Toms lamenting over just how dull other people’s private moments can be sometimes.
“Who do I have to blow to get someone to do something filthy in front of their goddamn bay windows?” a Peeping Tom will shout from his 33rd floor apartment, too high for anyone on the street to hear. That Peeping Tom (full name: Thomas Carter, distant cousin of the former US president) is a very angry Peeping Tom and he is prone to yelling when his peeping activities are for naught.
Most of the other Peeping Toms will let out their hot sighs and return to the inner rooms of their apartments and homes to find some other activity to pass the time. Thomas Kang, an Anaheim, CA Peeping Tom will sit at his desk, crank up the AC, and begin another fan letter to Eva Longoria. Tommy Wojohowicz, a Peeping Tom who has lived for the last twelve years in Warsaw, Poland, will go into his kitchen and fix himself a sandwich with sausage and pickles. And when Tom Brokaw (no relation), a twelve-year-old Peeping Tom who lives in New York City and hopes to one day become a television news anchor (seriously, no relation) finishes his long sad sigh, he’ll lay down on the bottom bunk and ask his nine-year-old brother (top bunk) why it is that nothing ever seems to be going in people’s houses during the summer.
“Everyone’s at camp?” his little brother will offer.
“Except for us,” young Tom Brokaw will respond. “I wish Dad didn’t get fired from his job.”
Then Tom Brokaw will pick up his binoculars again and see whether anyone is doing anything fun in any of the apartments across the way. He’ll note the flutter in the leaves in the trees as the sigh of the world’s Peeping Toms continues to sweep through the air. His blood will race when he spots what he thinks are boobs in the sixteenth floor window straight ahead, then he’ll focus his binoculars and realize it’s just some halogen lamps.
Happy All The Peeping Toms In The Whole Wide World Day!
You’ll unbutton another button on your top when you feel the gust of hot breath hit your neck. You’ll assume it to be a hint of another sweltering day to come, but it’s just the Peeping Toms lamenting over just how dull other people’s private moments can be sometimes.
“Who do I have to blow to get someone to do something filthy in front of their goddamn bay windows?” a Peeping Tom will shout from his 33rd floor apartment, too high for anyone on the street to hear. That Peeping Tom (full name: Thomas Carter, distant cousin of the former US president) is a very angry Peeping Tom and he is prone to yelling when his peeping activities are for naught.
Most of the other Peeping Toms will let out their hot sighs and return to the inner rooms of their apartments and homes to find some other activity to pass the time. Thomas Kang, an Anaheim, CA Peeping Tom will sit at his desk, crank up the AC, and begin another fan letter to Eva Longoria. Tommy Wojohowicz, a Peeping Tom who has lived for the last twelve years in Warsaw, Poland, will go into his kitchen and fix himself a sandwich with sausage and pickles. And when Tom Brokaw (no relation), a twelve-year-old Peeping Tom who lives in New York City and hopes to one day become a television news anchor (seriously, no relation) finishes his long sad sigh, he’ll lay down on the bottom bunk and ask his nine-year-old brother (top bunk) why it is that nothing ever seems to be going in people’s houses during the summer.
“Everyone’s at camp?” his little brother will offer.
“Except for us,” young Tom Brokaw will respond. “I wish Dad didn’t get fired from his job.”
Then Tom Brokaw will pick up his binoculars again and see whether anyone is doing anything fun in any of the apartments across the way. He’ll note the flutter in the leaves in the trees as the sigh of the world’s Peeping Toms continues to sweep through the air. His blood will race when he spots what he thinks are boobs in the sixteenth floor window straight ahead, then he’ll focus his binoculars and realize it’s just some halogen lamps.
Happy All The Peeping Toms In The Whole Wide World Day!
Friday, July 06, 2007
You And Your Wife Only Communicate Via Spyware Histories Day!
You think your wife installed spyware on your computer (she has) so you are going to have to stop Googling her sister (her sister is one of those girls from the early days of Myspace who got a million friends because she wears glittery thong bikinis in all of her pictures) and start Googling things like “What do I do when I love my wife so much that I doubt I’ll ever be able to express my love adequately?” and “How do I make my wife even happier?” and “The opposite of looking at pictures of my wife’s sister.”
Not to be outdone, you should install spyware on your wife’s computer to keep her on the up and up. She’ll have already suspected that you’ll start monitoring her, so she’s going to stop Googling “Ways To Disappear Fast and Without a Trace” and, since you’re paying attention, she’ll start searching for things like “Ways to get my husband to be more considerate of my feelings” and “Ways to get my husband to agree to remodel the master bathroom” and “How do I tell my husband I know his spyware history is bullshit?”
It won’t be long before you and your wife are talking more than ever via your spyware histories. She’ll check your history one morning and find nothing but “Why do spouses resort to passive aggressive behavior?” and “Undermining wives and how to deal with them” and she’ll realize that she really hurt you the night before when she made that joke in front of the neighbors about you being skipped over for your promotion. So you’ll later check her history and find, “Ways to tell your husband you’re sorry” and “Tips on expressing just how proud you are of your spouse.”
Your sex life will improve too. After a few weeks of communicating your wants and needs to each other through web searches, you’ll both be brave enough to Google the sort of kinks you are both into but were always too embarrassed to actually speak up about. When you each log onto the other’s spyware history and you each find the search terms “Founding + Fathers + Roleplay + Harness” lined up in the exact same order, it’ll be like a magician just lifted a curtain at a magic show to reveal the secret reason why you married each other, hidden away all this time.
Happy You And Your Wife Only Communicate Via Spyware Histories Day!
Not to be outdone, you should install spyware on your wife’s computer to keep her on the up and up. She’ll have already suspected that you’ll start monitoring her, so she’s going to stop Googling “Ways To Disappear Fast and Without a Trace” and, since you’re paying attention, she’ll start searching for things like “Ways to get my husband to be more considerate of my feelings” and “Ways to get my husband to agree to remodel the master bathroom” and “How do I tell my husband I know his spyware history is bullshit?”
It won’t be long before you and your wife are talking more than ever via your spyware histories. She’ll check your history one morning and find nothing but “Why do spouses resort to passive aggressive behavior?” and “Undermining wives and how to deal with them” and she’ll realize that she really hurt you the night before when she made that joke in front of the neighbors about you being skipped over for your promotion. So you’ll later check her history and find, “Ways to tell your husband you’re sorry” and “Tips on expressing just how proud you are of your spouse.”
Your sex life will improve too. After a few weeks of communicating your wants and needs to each other through web searches, you’ll both be brave enough to Google the sort of kinks you are both into but were always too embarrassed to actually speak up about. When you each log onto the other’s spyware history and you each find the search terms “Founding + Fathers + Roleplay + Harness” lined up in the exact same order, it’ll be like a magician just lifted a curtain at a magic show to reveal the secret reason why you married each other, hidden away all this time.
Happy You And Your Wife Only Communicate Via Spyware Histories Day!
Thursday, July 05, 2007
You Weigh 800 Pounds Day!
You are an 800 pound person and you have a murder to solve. One of your three home health aides was stabbed in the back in his home, just a day after he asked you to hold onto a box for him. He shoved the box under the bed, left at the end of his shift, went home and got killed. Today you’re going to have another of your home health aides open up the box, and you’ll find a pile of birth certificates inside. It’s clear that your dead home health aide knew something about a black market baby trafficking ring, and you have to find out who decided he had to be eliminated.
The trouble is, you can’t get out of bed without the help of a intricate system of ropes. You also have to eat three whole chickens per lunchtime, which takes a good two hours. And most of your skin is red and tender, so you can’t dress in anything heavier than wet linen. But your home health aide trusted you. You can’t let his death be in vain. Take your gargantuan ass to the streets and find out who’s selling babies. Whoever it is, they are about to experience the burden of 800 pounds of justice.
You’re going to be gone for at least the whole morning, so pack a bag of meatballs.
Happy You Weigh 800 Pounds Day!
The trouble is, you can’t get out of bed without the help of a intricate system of ropes. You also have to eat three whole chickens per lunchtime, which takes a good two hours. And most of your skin is red and tender, so you can’t dress in anything heavier than wet linen. But your home health aide trusted you. You can’t let his death be in vain. Take your gargantuan ass to the streets and find out who’s selling babies. Whoever it is, they are about to experience the burden of 800 pounds of justice.
You’re going to be gone for at least the whole morning, so pack a bag of meatballs.
Happy You Weigh 800 Pounds Day!
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
That Videotape Of You Taking A Shit On A Church Day!
That camcorder videotape of you when you were fourteen taking a shit on the front steps of your local Parish recently surfaced and is making the rounds on the internet. You’re wearing your King Diamond tee and making devil horns with your fingers while you squat, giggling. The kid holding the camera (Chad, presently employed as an unemployment insurance case worker) is cackling and yelping while he tries to hold the camera steady. Another kid with greasy long hair and a Slayer “Reign In Blood” tee occasionally runs into frame to spit loogies on you, but you can’t do anything because you’re still shitting. It’s already been viewed several million times, so everyone has seen you wipe yourself with your hand then carefully pull your pants up and trot out of the frame. So naturally, they want to know how long you went before you finally washed your hand. However, when you make your statement tonight withdrawing yourself from the race for city Comptroller, don’t give them any answers. It’s best to leave the tape with its enigmatic ending. Instead, tell them something true, something that’s in your heart since this is the last time you’ll have their attention.
Look into the camera and say, only: “Metal is not dead.” Then thank the people for their time.
Happy That Videotape Of You Taking A Shit On A Church Day!
Look into the camera and say, only: “Metal is not dead.” Then thank the people for their time.
Happy That Videotape Of You Taking A Shit On A Church Day!
Monday, July 02, 2007
Scrunch Up Your Nose Like You’re About To Cry Day!
Today, anytime you scrunch up your nose like you’re about to cry, anyone who witnesses it will take a knife and carve into their own bellies to let their insides fall out onto the sidewalk, they’ll be so distraught that they allowed such a pretty face to do what yours is doing. The world will decide that if they can’t keep a smile on your face, if this world is a world that can actually bring someone as adorable as you to the verge of tears, there’s no point in bothering with anything except the opening up of their bellies so that their innards can cascade down from their body cavities like so many rubbery wet Slinkies™.
Happy Scrunch Up Your Nose Like You’re About To Cry Day!
Happy Scrunch Up Your Nose Like You’re About To Cry Day!
Friday, June 29, 2007
Hooker With A Heart Of Wet Cardboard Day!
You’re trying to write a screenplay about a mean, vicious hooker who is bitter and resentful and cruel. When a rich, sweet and divorced John falls in love with her, she has trouble accepting his love because she’s only ever been taught how to strike at people where they hurt and how to defend herself when she is retaliated against. You know how the story begins (the John picks her up and after they do it, she holds a knife to his scrotum and demands his watch and his money, which makes him track her down because the watch was his grandfather’s). And you know what happens in the second act (the hooker murders the John’s daughter and frames him for it. He is executed). But you’re just not sure how to get them to fall in love after that. You’re going to have to do some more research by soliciting sex from some more hookers, which you were going to do today anyway because today’s payday.
Happy Hooker With A Heart Of Wet Cardboard Day!
Happy Hooker With A Heart Of Wet Cardboard Day!
Thursday, June 28, 2007
The Banker And The Conservationist Day!
You’re a rich fat banker with hundred dollar bills constantly fluttering out of your pockets and lots of girlfriends who only will only eat stuff if you sprinkle cocaine on it first. You love to buy and immediately destroy everything you see. Wildlife refuges, low income housing developments, and schools for the one-armed children of tomorrow are just a few of the things you get a kick out of buying and then hastily turning into parking lots. Today you’re going to show up at the demolition of the landmark building you bought a little while ago. After much wrangling with City Hall, they’re finally going to let you level it.
When you get there, you aren’t surprised to find some conservationists chained to the front of the building to prevent its demolition. You are surprised to look into the eyes of one of the activists and see everlasting comfort and beauty like you never thought imaginable. Go and hit on her.
“Can I borrow a quarter?” ask her. “I need to call my doctor and tell him that my heart just skipped a beat when I caught a glimpse of your pretty face.”
She’ll spit in your face and tell you you’re the reason why children have to shiver at night. Then she’ll demand that you not level the building where Eleanor Roosevelt once spent an historic lost weekend in the company of several off-duty midwives.
“If I let the building stand, will you let me buy you dinner?”
She’ll agree. You’ll convince her to move in with you that night, with the threat that if she says no you’ll tell the wrecking ball to swing at dawn. You’ll spend the rest of your lives together, and anytime she says she wants to leave you’ll just pick up the phone and pretend to be calling the demolition company to tell them when to swing the wrecking ball. Your kids will see it as a cute little game between Mommy and Daddy. When you start to bicker, your kids will scream, “Call the wrecking ball Daddy!” Then you’ll wave the phone in their mother’s face and everyone will burst into giggles until you pull your principled little conservationist into a big fat capitalist kiss.
Happy The Banker And The Conservationist Day!
When you get there, you aren’t surprised to find some conservationists chained to the front of the building to prevent its demolition. You are surprised to look into the eyes of one of the activists and see everlasting comfort and beauty like you never thought imaginable. Go and hit on her.
“Can I borrow a quarter?” ask her. “I need to call my doctor and tell him that my heart just skipped a beat when I caught a glimpse of your pretty face.”
She’ll spit in your face and tell you you’re the reason why children have to shiver at night. Then she’ll demand that you not level the building where Eleanor Roosevelt once spent an historic lost weekend in the company of several off-duty midwives.
“If I let the building stand, will you let me buy you dinner?”
She’ll agree. You’ll convince her to move in with you that night, with the threat that if she says no you’ll tell the wrecking ball to swing at dawn. You’ll spend the rest of your lives together, and anytime she says she wants to leave you’ll just pick up the phone and pretend to be calling the demolition company to tell them when to swing the wrecking ball. Your kids will see it as a cute little game between Mommy and Daddy. When you start to bicker, your kids will scream, “Call the wrecking ball Daddy!” Then you’ll wave the phone in their mother’s face and everyone will burst into giggles until you pull your principled little conservationist into a big fat capitalist kiss.
Happy The Banker And The Conservationist Day!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Bumper To Bumper Day!
You’re stuck in vacation traffic and your kids are going crazy in the backseat. Now is about the time when you start peering into the other cars, wondering what it would be like to just step out of the driver’s seat and climb into someone else’s life and drive away. The car to your left is a beat-up old station wagon with an elderly couple inside and nobody in the backseat. The car to your right is a newish mini-SUV and behind the wheel is the woman you almost left your wife for ten years ago.
It’s her. It’s Michelle and she’s got a husband and kids. You had just proposed to your wife when Michelle started working freelance at your firm. You thought nothing could come between you and the woman you loved, which is ironically the way you justified your suddenly falling into bed with Michelle. ‘It must be right,’ you thought. ‘I wasn’t looking for it, I was perfectly happy, so it must be right and natural.’
You and Michelle snuck around together until she was about to head back to Atlanta and you started to panic. You began to talk about chucking everything and moving with her. Michelle was smart enough to know you were just scared over settling into your impending marriage, so she held you off long enough to get out of town without you. Your marriage has been happy, but Michelle is still the one you think about when you think about how it could have been.
Your wife is asleep in the passenger seat, so when Michelle looks over and recognizes you, you wave hello. Her husband is awake in the passenger seat, so she only smiles your way and wiggles one finger off the steering wheel. Your son saw you wave and he’s asking who that is in the car next to you. You tell him it’s nobody, hoping he won’t wake your mom. You’re busy studying Michelle’s husband and kids and trying to calculate which car is carrying the better life, and you don’t want to be interrupted. Her husband is about as attractive as you, or as attractive as anyone can be with two kids in the back seat. Michelle looks older but great as ever. Her kids might be fatter than yours, you can’t tell. When your son asks you why you keep looking into that car, you change lanes just as your wife is waking up. She leans over and hugs your arm, and you keep in the left lane for the rest of the drive to your summer rental.
Happy Bumper To Bumper Day!
It’s her. It’s Michelle and she’s got a husband and kids. You had just proposed to your wife when Michelle started working freelance at your firm. You thought nothing could come between you and the woman you loved, which is ironically the way you justified your suddenly falling into bed with Michelle. ‘It must be right,’ you thought. ‘I wasn’t looking for it, I was perfectly happy, so it must be right and natural.’
You and Michelle snuck around together until she was about to head back to Atlanta and you started to panic. You began to talk about chucking everything and moving with her. Michelle was smart enough to know you were just scared over settling into your impending marriage, so she held you off long enough to get out of town without you. Your marriage has been happy, but Michelle is still the one you think about when you think about how it could have been.
Your wife is asleep in the passenger seat, so when Michelle looks over and recognizes you, you wave hello. Her husband is awake in the passenger seat, so she only smiles your way and wiggles one finger off the steering wheel. Your son saw you wave and he’s asking who that is in the car next to you. You tell him it’s nobody, hoping he won’t wake your mom. You’re busy studying Michelle’s husband and kids and trying to calculate which car is carrying the better life, and you don’t want to be interrupted. Her husband is about as attractive as you, or as attractive as anyone can be with two kids in the back seat. Michelle looks older but great as ever. Her kids might be fatter than yours, you can’t tell. When your son asks you why you keep looking into that car, you change lanes just as your wife is waking up. She leans over and hugs your arm, and you keep in the left lane for the rest of the drive to your summer rental.
Happy Bumper To Bumper Day!
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Your Blacklight Poster Of The “Dark Side Of The Moon” Album Cover Has A Score To Settle Day!
You bought your blacklight poster of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side Of The Moon” at a yard sale. You were told a roommate who had moved out some time prior had left it behind in the house. He left a lot of stuff, including a Molly Hatchet blacklight poster, and a lot of loose beads that he must have been planning to string together one day.
Though you aren’t aware of it, today is the anniversary of the day your Blacklight poster’s owner walked out on it. When you smoke up first thing this morning, your blacklight poster is going to tell you to put on some pants because you and your blacklight poster have some work to do.
“Is this going to get violent, Blacklight Poster?” you’ll ask.
The prism will appear to crunch in on itself when it says, “We’re just going to teach somebody a lesson.”
The blacklight poster of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side Of The Moon” will tell you to unhook it from the wall and take it into the car with you. Then it will give you directions.
“Steve eats lunch at the Del Taco on Cahuenga,” the blacklight poster of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side Of The Moon” will say. “Pull up slow. And turn off the engine about 20 feet before we get to the restaurant.”
You’ll do as the blacklight poster says. You’ll pull up to a space by the window to the restaurant, and then you’ll wait. Through the glass, you’ll see a guy eating tacos with three friends. He’ll be wearing a Lynyrd Skynyrd tee shirt that you own yourself. You love that shirt.
The prism in the blacklight poster of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side Of The Moon” will send its refracted beam out of the poster frame and through the glass of the restaurant, directly into Steve’s eyes. Steve will look out at your car, his mouth hanging open in terror when he sees the poster he abandoned in his former house. Then the beams of refracted light will all turn bright orange and Steve’s eyeballs will turn into black coals. He’ll be screaming and tearing at his face when the blacklight poster of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side Of The Moon” tells you to drive away.
“Never leave me,” the blacklight poster of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side Of The Moon” will say.
You’ll shake your head vigorously. “I’ll never leave you. I’ll stay with you forever.”
“Forever and ever,” the prism will say.
“Forever and ever,” you’ll respond.
When you get home, you’ll take out the hook from the wall and hang your blacklight poster closer to the stairs, where the air is better, according to the blacklight poster of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side Of The Moon.”
Happy Your Blacklight Poster Of The “Dark Side Of The Moon” Album Cover Has A Score To Settle Day!
Though you aren’t aware of it, today is the anniversary of the day your Blacklight poster’s owner walked out on it. When you smoke up first thing this morning, your blacklight poster is going to tell you to put on some pants because you and your blacklight poster have some work to do.
“Is this going to get violent, Blacklight Poster?” you’ll ask.
The prism will appear to crunch in on itself when it says, “We’re just going to teach somebody a lesson.”
The blacklight poster of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side Of The Moon” will tell you to unhook it from the wall and take it into the car with you. Then it will give you directions.
“Steve eats lunch at the Del Taco on Cahuenga,” the blacklight poster of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side Of The Moon” will say. “Pull up slow. And turn off the engine about 20 feet before we get to the restaurant.”
You’ll do as the blacklight poster says. You’ll pull up to a space by the window to the restaurant, and then you’ll wait. Through the glass, you’ll see a guy eating tacos with three friends. He’ll be wearing a Lynyrd Skynyrd tee shirt that you own yourself. You love that shirt.
The prism in the blacklight poster of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side Of The Moon” will send its refracted beam out of the poster frame and through the glass of the restaurant, directly into Steve’s eyes. Steve will look out at your car, his mouth hanging open in terror when he sees the poster he abandoned in his former house. Then the beams of refracted light will all turn bright orange and Steve’s eyeballs will turn into black coals. He’ll be screaming and tearing at his face when the blacklight poster of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side Of The Moon” tells you to drive away.
“Never leave me,” the blacklight poster of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side Of The Moon” will say.
You’ll shake your head vigorously. “I’ll never leave you. I’ll stay with you forever.”
“Forever and ever,” the prism will say.
“Forever and ever,” you’ll respond.
When you get home, you’ll take out the hook from the wall and hang your blacklight poster closer to the stairs, where the air is better, according to the blacklight poster of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side Of The Moon.”
Happy Your Blacklight Poster Of The “Dark Side Of The Moon” Album Cover Has A Score To Settle Day!
Monday, June 25, 2007
Anonymous Donor Day!
Today you are the extremely wealthy individual who makes all those anonymous donations to people whose tragedies and acts of heroism capture the nation’s attention. It’s a busy job. Today alone you have to send a year’s supply of diapers to the woman who had quintuplets, you have to buy a first class ticket so that a man traveling for work in Peru can make it home for the funeral of his wife and four sons (they all fell down a well), and you have to send another $25,000 check to subway hero Wesley Autrey (he’s basically living off of an anonymously donated allowance now). Sometimes you get a little selfish and you wonder why you shouldn’t just hoard all your money and pass it along to your kids. But people need to believe that there are rich people out there who can’t help but just send out cash to people who get interviewed on Good Morning America. Even if you’re the only one doing it, as long as it gets reported on TV, people will still have something to hope for. When they’ve suffered the most tragic of tragedies, your generosity will send them to the mailbox every day hoping against hope to find a big fat check in there, signed “Anonymous” (you legally changed your name to Anonymous a couple of years back because your work is your life).
Happy Anonymous Donor Day!
Happy Anonymous Donor Day!
Friday, June 22, 2007
Holy Underwear Model Day!
You’re a very successful male underwear model whose real dream is to enter the priesthood. For the past three years, you’ve been saving every penny you’ve made from modeling to pay for Priesthood tuition. Today you’re going to find out that your Dad lied to you about the Priesthood charging tuition.
“Yeah,” he’ll say. “It’s free. They can’t expect dudes to never have sex and pay for it. I just told you that because I didn’t want you to become a priest.”
“It was my dream,” you’ll tell him. “How could you?”
“Let’s take a drive.”
Your Dad will drive you around town, past all of the billboards featuring your underwear-clad image towering over the populace. You’ll see you in some underwear holding a baby on a bare mattress, you in some underwear cooking bacon, and you in some underwear drinking a glass of Cutty Sark.
“Look at that up there,” your Dad will say. “That’s you, fifty feet high, with everyone in town looking up to you, waiting for you to tell them what to buy and what to drink or eat. It’s like this entire town is your church, this entire nation. Except you get to hold mass in your underwear. Would you really prefer to address your flock while wearing a big black dress?”
“I never thought about it that way,” you’ll say, because you’re very dim. Remember, you were convinced that priests paid tuition.
“You’re an underwear model, son,” your Dad will say. “If God didn’t want it that way, he would have made your groin area more ruddy. As it is now, you don’t even get bumps after a wax. You were born for it.”
You’ll stare up at a billboard which has you in some underwear feeding Fancy Feast to a kitten. You really do look great up there. Anytime you imagine yourself as a priest, you just see a world without ice cream and flowers, since your Dad also convinced you that priests are not allowed to eat ice cream or smell flowers. He also convinced you that priests can’t sit down when they have a bowel movement, but you stopped trying to figure out how that would work a long time ago.
“Be who you were born to be,” your Dad will say. “God gave you those abs for a reason.”
“I’m an underwear model,” you’ll say to the billboard which features you in some underwear reading the instructions that tell you how to build a child’s bicycle. “In service to the Lord.”
Your Dad will suppress his triumphant glee. He saw this whole thing as a battle for your future between him and Jesus, and he just kicked Jesus’ butt so he’s feeling pretty good about himself.
Happy Holy Underwear Model Day!
“Yeah,” he’ll say. “It’s free. They can’t expect dudes to never have sex and pay for it. I just told you that because I didn’t want you to become a priest.”
“It was my dream,” you’ll tell him. “How could you?”
“Let’s take a drive.”
Your Dad will drive you around town, past all of the billboards featuring your underwear-clad image towering over the populace. You’ll see you in some underwear holding a baby on a bare mattress, you in some underwear cooking bacon, and you in some underwear drinking a glass of Cutty Sark.
“Look at that up there,” your Dad will say. “That’s you, fifty feet high, with everyone in town looking up to you, waiting for you to tell them what to buy and what to drink or eat. It’s like this entire town is your church, this entire nation. Except you get to hold mass in your underwear. Would you really prefer to address your flock while wearing a big black dress?”
“I never thought about it that way,” you’ll say, because you’re very dim. Remember, you were convinced that priests paid tuition.
“You’re an underwear model, son,” your Dad will say. “If God didn’t want it that way, he would have made your groin area more ruddy. As it is now, you don’t even get bumps after a wax. You were born for it.”
You’ll stare up at a billboard which has you in some underwear feeding Fancy Feast to a kitten. You really do look great up there. Anytime you imagine yourself as a priest, you just see a world without ice cream and flowers, since your Dad also convinced you that priests are not allowed to eat ice cream or smell flowers. He also convinced you that priests can’t sit down when they have a bowel movement, but you stopped trying to figure out how that would work a long time ago.
“Be who you were born to be,” your Dad will say. “God gave you those abs for a reason.”
“I’m an underwear model,” you’ll say to the billboard which features you in some underwear reading the instructions that tell you how to build a child’s bicycle. “In service to the Lord.”
Your Dad will suppress his triumphant glee. He saw this whole thing as a battle for your future between him and Jesus, and he just kicked Jesus’ butt so he’s feeling pretty good about himself.
Happy Holy Underwear Model Day!
Thursday, June 21, 2007
You’re A Terribly Sexy, Terribly Sucky Divorce Lawyer Day!
You are as sexy as you are terrible at divorce law. You’re also real lonely. So when your female clients, half-crazed by the emotional whirlwind of divorce, inevitably come onto you, you can’t help but respond in kind. You don’t have time to go out and meet someone because you’re too busy trying not to suck at your profession (an uphill battle). Therefore, when an offer of intimacy comes your way, it’s hard not to accept.
It never works out though. Your clients are all out of their minds with mourning over the marriage that was supposed to last forever, and they don’t really want much more out of you than a few weeks of self-destructive nudity, and an awe-inspiring settlement.
The bloom comes off the rose when you lose their cases and leave them penniless without even managing to finagle them some child-support. You try to guilt them into staying, telling them that they should be ashamed for not valuing you for who you are over what you can do for them. But they just shout some crap about not being able to pay for their kid’s tuition to the school for the hearing impaired and having to put him back into special ed at the public school. Like that makes you feel any better. It’s lonely being a sucky divorce lawyer who’s really attractive. Poor thing.
Happy You’re A Terribly Sexy, Terribly Sucky Divorce Lawyer Day!
It never works out though. Your clients are all out of their minds with mourning over the marriage that was supposed to last forever, and they don’t really want much more out of you than a few weeks of self-destructive nudity, and an awe-inspiring settlement.
The bloom comes off the rose when you lose their cases and leave them penniless without even managing to finagle them some child-support. You try to guilt them into staying, telling them that they should be ashamed for not valuing you for who you are over what you can do for them. But they just shout some crap about not being able to pay for their kid’s tuition to the school for the hearing impaired and having to put him back into special ed at the public school. Like that makes you feel any better. It’s lonely being a sucky divorce lawyer who’s really attractive. Poor thing.
Happy You’re A Terribly Sexy, Terribly Sucky Divorce Lawyer Day!
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Water Park Turd Wranglers In Love Day!
When you first laid eyes on Amy reaching her net into the wading pool at the bottom of a waterslide to pull a turd from the water, you were standing by the rapids and a raft came splashing up against the wall, sending a wave of water raining all over you. It was like a baptism.
“I feel like God made me a turd wrangler solely so I could meet you,” you told her on your third date.
“I feel like God made you a turd wrangler just to test me,” Amy responded.
Amy loves her work. She relishes the challenge of catching a turd and netting it out of the water before too many mothers pull their sons out of line for the ride. It takes a special attentiveness to purpose to distinguish a little kid turd from just another stray pair of goggles. And the dexterity required to make that net, she feels like she could just as well be roping bulls at the rodeo.
“Then you came along,” she said. She’d been working her way up to this waterpark for years now. It only hires the most talented of summer job seekers to be their turd wranglers, and Amy wasn’t about to blow her shot at excellence just for love.
“I’m sorry,” she’ll tell you today. “But I can’t see you anymore. I can’t date another turd wrangler. This is too important to me.”
“I’ll quit,” you’ll tell her. “I’ll get a job at the go-cart track.”
“Oh,” Amy will say. “Sweet.” Then she’ll kiss you and that night you’ll get boob.
Happy Water Park Turd Wranglers In Love Day!
“I feel like God made me a turd wrangler solely so I could meet you,” you told her on your third date.
“I feel like God made you a turd wrangler just to test me,” Amy responded.
Amy loves her work. She relishes the challenge of catching a turd and netting it out of the water before too many mothers pull their sons out of line for the ride. It takes a special attentiveness to purpose to distinguish a little kid turd from just another stray pair of goggles. And the dexterity required to make that net, she feels like she could just as well be roping bulls at the rodeo.
“Then you came along,” she said. She’d been working her way up to this waterpark for years now. It only hires the most talented of summer job seekers to be their turd wranglers, and Amy wasn’t about to blow her shot at excellence just for love.
“I’m sorry,” she’ll tell you today. “But I can’t see you anymore. I can’t date another turd wrangler. This is too important to me.”
“I’ll quit,” you’ll tell her. “I’ll get a job at the go-cart track.”
“Oh,” Amy will say. “Sweet.” Then she’ll kiss you and that night you’ll get boob.
Happy Water Park Turd Wranglers In Love Day!
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
You’re Not Going To Pick Up Hitchhikers Anymore Day!
Today you’ll be on the second day of a four day trip back to Minnesota after a job down south and you’ll be about ready to drive into a ditch just to relieve the boredom when you spot a pretty girl in her twenties holding up her thumb for a ride (it happens!). You’ll pick her up and you and her will get along really well, talking about music and movies and roads that seem like they’re going to be perpetually under construction (she grew up not far from where you grew up). That night, you’ll pull into a motel and they’ll only have one room left and she’ll say that’s cool with her, she needs to save money anyway. So you’ll share a room and you’ll do it with her then she’ll start talking about her Uncle Mick and you’ll say, “I guess everybody’s got an Uncle Mick.” Then she’ll start talking about Uncle Mick’s wife, Aunt Evy, and you’ll say, “I guess everyone’s Uncle Mick’s got a wife named Evy.” Then she’ll talk about how Uncle Mick lost his right leg to cancer and how Aunt Evy supplements his disability payments with her job selling appliances. That’s when you’ll realize you just fucked your cousin and you’ll make a vow that you’re not going to pick up hitchhikers anymore, no matter how bored you get. It’s just too dangerous.
Happy You’re Not Going To Pick Up Hitchhikers Anymore Day!
Happy You’re Not Going To Pick Up Hitchhikers Anymore Day!
Monday, June 18, 2007
Girls Who Wear Fake Toes Aren’t Liars Day!
Back in high school you got heartbroken pretty bad and you vowed to never trust another woman again. You pulled it off for a couple of decades, until last week when you met Lucy at a waterfront bar near your work. She knew a colleague of yours and joined your table. You and she got to talking and before you knew it, you were making plans to have dinner the following Wednesday.
You and Lucy had about four dates before you found out about her fake toes. She’d invited you back to her place, and things looked promising. You were enjoying drinks on her couch, kissing a bit, when you looked down and saw she’d taken her sandals off. The sandals were sitting on the floor five feet away, poking out from under the glass coffee table. Her pretty toes were still in them.
You stopped kissing and grabbed one of the sandals. The hollow toes with the perfect bright red polish were made of a kind of thick rubber. Off the foot, you were shocked that you ever thought they were real.
You then saw her naked feet, and the toes on them. Oddly shaped, fat in all the wrong places, chipped and neglected nail polish barely coating her nails. Just a bunch of ordinary, everyday, ugly-ass toes.
“Toe cleavage,” she said. “It’s a big trend right now.”
You got up from the couch, went to the kitchen to grab the doggy bag you brought from the restaurant, and you got the hell out of there.
She left voicemails and sent you emails for several weeks and you stayed silent. Then she stopped trying to reach you. That’s when you realized how much you missed her. That’s when you panicked and told her you’d like to meet and explain. You’re having coffee tonight at six, and you’re going to tell her you were lied to around 23 years ago and therefore trust is a very big issue for you.
“Girls who wear fake toes aren’t liars,” she’ll say. “I just wanted to look pretty for you.”
You tell her about the prom. How you were surprised when the cheerleader asked you to go with her because you weren’t exactly quarterback material. Then when it was announced you had been elected prom king, it was like a dream. Then it turned into a nightmare when they dropped a pig on you.
“It was alive, but with its legs hog-tied. It pinned me there on the stage. They laughed, all of them, students and teachers, and they left me there stuck underneath that enormous pig while it squealed and shat all over me, and they went about their dance for another couple of hours, occasionally coming on stage to take a picture with me or to fart on my eyes. It wasn’t until they’d all gone that the custodial staff came onstage and rolled the pig off of me.”
Lucy’s crying when you finish your story. “That was the only reason that girl asked me to the prom. So her and her friends could trap me underneath a live pig while everyone pointed and laughed. I made a promise to never trust another woman again, until you came along. I didn’t want to hold anything back from you. Then I saw those toes.”
“Those toes were no more an effort to deceive than the lipstick on these lips,” she says. “Nothing more than an effort to make you want me just as much as I want you.”
You lean in to kiss those lips. She pulls back.
“You have to trust me,” she says. “This won’t work if you’re going to doubt my heart.”
You nod.
“You have to trust me,” she says. “I’m not a liar, and I want you in my life.”
You swallow. You say, “I trust you.” She reaches across the table and pulls you into her kiss.
Happy Girls Who Wear Fake Toes Aren’t Liars Day!
You and Lucy had about four dates before you found out about her fake toes. She’d invited you back to her place, and things looked promising. You were enjoying drinks on her couch, kissing a bit, when you looked down and saw she’d taken her sandals off. The sandals were sitting on the floor five feet away, poking out from under the glass coffee table. Her pretty toes were still in them.
You stopped kissing and grabbed one of the sandals. The hollow toes with the perfect bright red polish were made of a kind of thick rubber. Off the foot, you were shocked that you ever thought they were real.
You then saw her naked feet, and the toes on them. Oddly shaped, fat in all the wrong places, chipped and neglected nail polish barely coating her nails. Just a bunch of ordinary, everyday, ugly-ass toes.
“Toe cleavage,” she said. “It’s a big trend right now.”
You got up from the couch, went to the kitchen to grab the doggy bag you brought from the restaurant, and you got the hell out of there.
She left voicemails and sent you emails for several weeks and you stayed silent. Then she stopped trying to reach you. That’s when you realized how much you missed her. That’s when you panicked and told her you’d like to meet and explain. You’re having coffee tonight at six, and you’re going to tell her you were lied to around 23 years ago and therefore trust is a very big issue for you.
“Girls who wear fake toes aren’t liars,” she’ll say. “I just wanted to look pretty for you.”
You tell her about the prom. How you were surprised when the cheerleader asked you to go with her because you weren’t exactly quarterback material. Then when it was announced you had been elected prom king, it was like a dream. Then it turned into a nightmare when they dropped a pig on you.
“It was alive, but with its legs hog-tied. It pinned me there on the stage. They laughed, all of them, students and teachers, and they left me there stuck underneath that enormous pig while it squealed and shat all over me, and they went about their dance for another couple of hours, occasionally coming on stage to take a picture with me or to fart on my eyes. It wasn’t until they’d all gone that the custodial staff came onstage and rolled the pig off of me.”
Lucy’s crying when you finish your story. “That was the only reason that girl asked me to the prom. So her and her friends could trap me underneath a live pig while everyone pointed and laughed. I made a promise to never trust another woman again, until you came along. I didn’t want to hold anything back from you. Then I saw those toes.”
“Those toes were no more an effort to deceive than the lipstick on these lips,” she says. “Nothing more than an effort to make you want me just as much as I want you.”
You lean in to kiss those lips. She pulls back.
“You have to trust me,” she says. “This won’t work if you’re going to doubt my heart.”
You nod.
“You have to trust me,” she says. “I’m not a liar, and I want you in my life.”
You swallow. You say, “I trust you.” She reaches across the table and pulls you into her kiss.
Happy Girls Who Wear Fake Toes Aren’t Liars Day!
Friday, June 15, 2007
You’re A Filthy Goth Day!
You’re a filthy Goth, so late last night, while painting something black (your throw pillow or your bathroom mirror, those aren’t black yet) you responded to a TV commercial and you bought one of those lightbulbs that you can carry around the house from room to room, setting the bulbs into little sockets that you mount in places around your home where, for whatever reason, there is no wiring for electric light. It’s great for filthy Goths like you because you get to use the magic of electric light to pretend that you live in a time before there was electric light, when people had to carry oil lamps with them everywhere they went. Except you don’t have to worry about setting your eyelashes on fire.
Tonight when you use the lamp, you’ll discover that all those places in your house that are not wired for electricity were neglected on purpose. When the light comes on in the stairway leading down the basement, you’ll see the ghost of a teenage girl. She is blonde and beaming with joy, jumping up and down in a cheerleader’s outfit. Her perkiness offends your love of darkness and ruffled shirts.
When the light comes on in the stairway leading up to your guest bedroom, you’ll see the ghost of a well-built man with a sweater tied around his neck. He’ll appear to be calling his kids to take them all out to a waterpark. The wholesomeness of it all will disgust you.
When the light comes on in your pantry, you’ll see the ghost of a happy mother reaching for the top shelf, where you’ll see the ghost of a can of cake frosting. True and real and horrible.
You’ll hastily throw away the lightbulbs that you can carry around the house with you and rip the mounted sockets from their walls. These spirits can carry on their horrific reverie, just as long as you don’t have to watch the hideous obscenity occur. You’ll be under the silver mosquito netting over your princess bed, drawing on the sheets in the blood from your under-thigh thank you very much.
Happy You’re A Filthy Goth Day!
Tonight when you use the lamp, you’ll discover that all those places in your house that are not wired for electricity were neglected on purpose. When the light comes on in the stairway leading down the basement, you’ll see the ghost of a teenage girl. She is blonde and beaming with joy, jumping up and down in a cheerleader’s outfit. Her perkiness offends your love of darkness and ruffled shirts.
When the light comes on in the stairway leading up to your guest bedroom, you’ll see the ghost of a well-built man with a sweater tied around his neck. He’ll appear to be calling his kids to take them all out to a waterpark. The wholesomeness of it all will disgust you.
When the light comes on in your pantry, you’ll see the ghost of a happy mother reaching for the top shelf, where you’ll see the ghost of a can of cake frosting. True and real and horrible.
You’ll hastily throw away the lightbulbs that you can carry around the house with you and rip the mounted sockets from their walls. These spirits can carry on their horrific reverie, just as long as you don’t have to watch the hideous obscenity occur. You’ll be under the silver mosquito netting over your princess bed, drawing on the sheets in the blood from your under-thigh thank you very much.
Happy You’re A Filthy Goth Day!
Thursday, June 14, 2007
You Are The Ice Cream Woman Day!
Anytime the children see your Ice Cream Truck coming down the street, they come running at you to buy some of your delicious treats and to ask you questions like when is your husband coming home from Iraq and why is there war?
“I’d like one 4th of July Pop,” little Kimmy says. “And I’d like to know if you’re angry at George Bush for taking your husband away and making you drive his Ice Cream Truck.”
You explain that getting angry doesn’t help anybody, and you’d drive your husband’s ice cream truck to the end of the Earth if it meant his Ice Cream route would still be secure and profitable when he returns. “He loves this route and he misses you kids so much. I have to make sure it’s all still here for him when he gets back.”
“Fudgsicle,” Hank the fat kid says. “Is your husband winning the war?”
You give Hank his fudgsicle and you tell him your husband is doing his part.
“Banana Split Pop,” Lizzie the child of divorce says. “I’m uncomfortable buying Ice Cream from an Ice Cream Woman. Ice Cream should be bought from Ice Cream Men.”
You give Lizzie her pop and you tell her about the sacrifices that are made in times of war. Then you tell her about Rosie the Riveter and the Goldie Hawn/Kurt Russell movie “Swing Shift.” Lizzie points out that Goldie cheated on Ed Harris in “Swing Shift.” You quickly jump behind the wheel and peel out.
Happy You Are The Ice Cream Woman Day!
“I’d like one 4th of July Pop,” little Kimmy says. “And I’d like to know if you’re angry at George Bush for taking your husband away and making you drive his Ice Cream Truck.”
You explain that getting angry doesn’t help anybody, and you’d drive your husband’s ice cream truck to the end of the Earth if it meant his Ice Cream route would still be secure and profitable when he returns. “He loves this route and he misses you kids so much. I have to make sure it’s all still here for him when he gets back.”
“Fudgsicle,” Hank the fat kid says. “Is your husband winning the war?”
You give Hank his fudgsicle and you tell him your husband is doing his part.
“Banana Split Pop,” Lizzie the child of divorce says. “I’m uncomfortable buying Ice Cream from an Ice Cream Woman. Ice Cream should be bought from Ice Cream Men.”
You give Lizzie her pop and you tell her about the sacrifices that are made in times of war. Then you tell her about Rosie the Riveter and the Goldie Hawn/Kurt Russell movie “Swing Shift.” Lizzie points out that Goldie cheated on Ed Harris in “Swing Shift.” You quickly jump behind the wheel and peel out.
Happy You Are The Ice Cream Woman Day!
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
You’re Not There For Him Day!
Your son is a competitive eater and today he’s competing in the most important hot dog eating contest of his life. He’s made it this far thanks to your encouragement and your lessons of how important it is to discipline yourself to finish whatever you start, whether it be a plate of coleslaw or a plate of 75 hotdogs and some water.
You can’t be there to cheer him on because you’re in jail for embezzling from your own company, the company you built from scratch. Your son hasn’t visited you yet. The last you talked, it was the night before the sentencing.
“Is there discipline in stealing from what you’ve created? Do you take pride in hobbling your life’s work?”
“It was for your training,” you offered. You sent him to a Competitive Eating, Plate Spinning, and Sword Swallowing camp and it was very expensive.
“So it was for me that you threw away everything,” he said.
“It was for you that I did whatever it took.”
He put his hand on your cheek, it was the last time he touched you, and he said, “Would you have been proud of me if you knew I was stealing hot dog buns? Or, Jesus strike me down, hot dogs?!”
You hung your head in shame, and you didn’t see him when he left.
The C.O. set it up so you could watch the competition in the TV hall. By the look in your son’s eyes you’ll know immediately that he’s going to blow this. By midway through he’s trailing by twelve hot dogs. With ten seconds left he throws them all up into the bucket they provided for him by his chair. Then he just sits there and stares into the camera.
He’s staring at you. He knows you’re watching. And he’s letting you know it was in honor of you that he threw away his dream. Now more than ever you wish you could go back in time and not steal that money. Not to set a better example for your son, but just so that you could be there today to teach him one last lesson: If you strive for anything at all, you should strive to be a better man than your Dad. Anything less, and you’ve failed.
Happy You’re Not There For Him Day!
You can’t be there to cheer him on because you’re in jail for embezzling from your own company, the company you built from scratch. Your son hasn’t visited you yet. The last you talked, it was the night before the sentencing.
“Is there discipline in stealing from what you’ve created? Do you take pride in hobbling your life’s work?”
“It was for your training,” you offered. You sent him to a Competitive Eating, Plate Spinning, and Sword Swallowing camp and it was very expensive.
“So it was for me that you threw away everything,” he said.
“It was for you that I did whatever it took.”
He put his hand on your cheek, it was the last time he touched you, and he said, “Would you have been proud of me if you knew I was stealing hot dog buns? Or, Jesus strike me down, hot dogs?!”
You hung your head in shame, and you didn’t see him when he left.
The C.O. set it up so you could watch the competition in the TV hall. By the look in your son’s eyes you’ll know immediately that he’s going to blow this. By midway through he’s trailing by twelve hot dogs. With ten seconds left he throws them all up into the bucket they provided for him by his chair. Then he just sits there and stares into the camera.
He’s staring at you. He knows you’re watching. And he’s letting you know it was in honor of you that he threw away his dream. Now more than ever you wish you could go back in time and not steal that money. Not to set a better example for your son, but just so that you could be there today to teach him one last lesson: If you strive for anything at all, you should strive to be a better man than your Dad. Anything less, and you’ve failed.
Happy You’re Not There For Him Day!
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Chase A Lady Through Some Ruins That Smell Like Pee Day!
Jennifer married the wrong man, and she knows it, which is why when she comes by your place for the reception after your Dad’s funeral it won’t be long before she takes off running out the door and across the street into the ruins of the waterfront buildings that burned down in 1977.
You had your arm around her shoulder while you watched the buildings burn. The two of you were only ten years old. Your big brother and his friends were grabbing pieces of wood and garbage and tossing them over the fence into the flames. But you and Jennifer stood and watched like you were getting a look at a second 4th of July.
Jennifer’s husband wasn’t there when the waterfront burned down. He wasn’t even born yet. Just a thought in his mother’s head all the way across the country in Northern California.
“I can’t run through here,” you shout at her back. “Too much piss.”
Jennifer doesn’t stop. She races out of one cinderblock doorway and finds her way in another. You started drinking early today to get through the funeral, and you’re now praying for a rain that’ll at least stamp down the pee smell a bit.
“Jennifer please,” you shout. Then it comes. You bend over and you start throwing up on the floor of what was once a shoe factory. You retch loudly to make sure she hears you. It isn’t long before she’s by your side and rubbing your back.
In between your vomiting, when you pant for air and enjoy Jennifer’s hands on you, she explains why she’s married to a man over a decade younger than her, and not you.
“You stayed in the neighborhood,” she says. “You got a place right here looking at all these burned out buildings. You never wanted anything more.”
You start throwing up again. Then you stop.
“I pictured marrying you and I saw nothing more than the life my mother and father had,” she says. “I wanted control. I met this young boy, you know he’s not even thirty. He does what I want.”
You throw up. Then you stop again.
“I’m fooling myself, yeah,” she says. “I’m gonna get bored with my boy husband, I know. But I'll never be trapped.”
You’re done throwing up. You get on your feet and Jennifer looks in your eyes for the first time today. They’re bright red from the vomiting. Jennifer doesn’t move a muscle to stop you from grabbing her close and lifting up her dress. You keep your head on her shoulder, facing away from her so she can’t smell you, and you kiss her neck while she undoes your pants. Then her boy husband calls her name.
“Jenny?”
His voice and his footsteps turn you both into shadows. You’re up against a wall turned gray with piss and shaded by the trees hovering over the open roof. Your pants are down and her dress is up. Her boy husband comes closer.
“Baby?”
You consider calling him in so you can crack his head open with a block of wood. But that would mean letting go of Jennifer. You stay quiet. You and Jennifer look into each other’s eyes while you listen to his footsteps.
“Jenny?”
He’s just outside your building now. He’s stopped. He can see through the door that the roof has fallen in and it looks more dangerous in there than the other buildings. You wonder if the fresh scent of your puke is reaching him through all that pee.
“Jen?” He’s calling like he knows you’re just inside that room. Then his footsteps start up again. He’s walking away. When the sound of his steps disappears, Jennifer grabs your head from her shoulder and plants her lips on your disgusting mouth. You both move deeper into the shadows of the burned out building, not trying to be quiet anymore.
Happy Chase A Lady Through Some Ruins That Smell Like Pee Day!
You had your arm around her shoulder while you watched the buildings burn. The two of you were only ten years old. Your big brother and his friends were grabbing pieces of wood and garbage and tossing them over the fence into the flames. But you and Jennifer stood and watched like you were getting a look at a second 4th of July.
Jennifer’s husband wasn’t there when the waterfront burned down. He wasn’t even born yet. Just a thought in his mother’s head all the way across the country in Northern California.
“I can’t run through here,” you shout at her back. “Too much piss.”
Jennifer doesn’t stop. She races out of one cinderblock doorway and finds her way in another. You started drinking early today to get through the funeral, and you’re now praying for a rain that’ll at least stamp down the pee smell a bit.
“Jennifer please,” you shout. Then it comes. You bend over and you start throwing up on the floor of what was once a shoe factory. You retch loudly to make sure she hears you. It isn’t long before she’s by your side and rubbing your back.
In between your vomiting, when you pant for air and enjoy Jennifer’s hands on you, she explains why she’s married to a man over a decade younger than her, and not you.
“You stayed in the neighborhood,” she says. “You got a place right here looking at all these burned out buildings. You never wanted anything more.”
You start throwing up again. Then you stop.
“I pictured marrying you and I saw nothing more than the life my mother and father had,” she says. “I wanted control. I met this young boy, you know he’s not even thirty. He does what I want.”
You throw up. Then you stop again.
“I’m fooling myself, yeah,” she says. “I’m gonna get bored with my boy husband, I know. But I'll never be trapped.”
You’re done throwing up. You get on your feet and Jennifer looks in your eyes for the first time today. They’re bright red from the vomiting. Jennifer doesn’t move a muscle to stop you from grabbing her close and lifting up her dress. You keep your head on her shoulder, facing away from her so she can’t smell you, and you kiss her neck while she undoes your pants. Then her boy husband calls her name.
“Jenny?”
His voice and his footsteps turn you both into shadows. You’re up against a wall turned gray with piss and shaded by the trees hovering over the open roof. Your pants are down and her dress is up. Her boy husband comes closer.
“Baby?”
You consider calling him in so you can crack his head open with a block of wood. But that would mean letting go of Jennifer. You stay quiet. You and Jennifer look into each other’s eyes while you listen to his footsteps.
“Jenny?”
He’s just outside your building now. He’s stopped. He can see through the door that the roof has fallen in and it looks more dangerous in there than the other buildings. You wonder if the fresh scent of your puke is reaching him through all that pee.
“Jen?” He’s calling like he knows you’re just inside that room. Then his footsteps start up again. He’s walking away. When the sound of his steps disappears, Jennifer grabs your head from her shoulder and plants her lips on your disgusting mouth. You both move deeper into the shadows of the burned out building, not trying to be quiet anymore.
Happy Chase A Lady Through Some Ruins That Smell Like Pee Day!
Monday, June 11, 2007
You And Your Dad Find A Box Full Of Hashish And Some Money Day!
“I’m really glad we’re doing this, Dad,” you say. “It’s been hard for me since Stacey left. She told me I’m one of the ones that just gets thrown away, and I’d better get used to it. Honestly, I haven’t felt so helpless since I was a little kid waiting for you or mom to tuck me in.”
“Hey look, a box of hashish!” your Dad says, pointing out the window.
It’s an open box, like a high-walled lunch tray, sitting in the leaves on the ground. The five bags it holds must contain fifteen or twenty thousand dollars worth of hashish. There’s also a handful of hundred dollar bills.
“Here,” your Dad says, handing you the money. “I want you to have this.”
You mumble, “Thanks.” Your Dad is sorting through the drugs. You’ve seen that look in his eyes before. He’s adding up numbers, probably comparing the value of those drugs to whatever expenses he’s been trying not to face.
“You need to get yourself back on your feet,” your Dad says. “So your wife’s gone. Come on! Get back in action!”
He’s saying goodbye. This is the way he does it. He starts throwing out some quick advice, trying to cram in some fatherly-ness before vanishing. Then he finds the back door and you hear from him again when the decade turns.
“I’m gonna go take a leak,” he says. Then he gets out of the truck and just starts walking through the woods. You watch him stumble over rocks and underneath branches for about ten minutes. Then he’s too far away. He’s gone.
You sit there in the truck for a while, enjoying the woods. You got to see your Dad for part of an afternoon. No matter how it ended, you got that much. When the drug dealers come by looking for their stash and they ask you if you know who took it, you point them in the opposite direction of where your Dad headed. They thank you kindly. “You’re one of the good ones,” the drug dealers say.
Happy You And Your Dad Find A Box Full Of Hashish And Some Money Day!
“Hey look, a box of hashish!” your Dad says, pointing out the window.
It’s an open box, like a high-walled lunch tray, sitting in the leaves on the ground. The five bags it holds must contain fifteen or twenty thousand dollars worth of hashish. There’s also a handful of hundred dollar bills.
“Here,” your Dad says, handing you the money. “I want you to have this.”
You mumble, “Thanks.” Your Dad is sorting through the drugs. You’ve seen that look in his eyes before. He’s adding up numbers, probably comparing the value of those drugs to whatever expenses he’s been trying not to face.
“You need to get yourself back on your feet,” your Dad says. “So your wife’s gone. Come on! Get back in action!”
He’s saying goodbye. This is the way he does it. He starts throwing out some quick advice, trying to cram in some fatherly-ness before vanishing. Then he finds the back door and you hear from him again when the decade turns.
“I’m gonna go take a leak,” he says. Then he gets out of the truck and just starts walking through the woods. You watch him stumble over rocks and underneath branches for about ten minutes. Then he’s too far away. He’s gone.
You sit there in the truck for a while, enjoying the woods. You got to see your Dad for part of an afternoon. No matter how it ended, you got that much. When the drug dealers come by looking for their stash and they ask you if you know who took it, you point them in the opposite direction of where your Dad headed. They thank you kindly. “You’re one of the good ones,” the drug dealers say.
Happy You And Your Dad Find A Box Full Of Hashish And Some Money Day!
Friday, June 08, 2007
Go Bust Your Crazy-Ass Girlfriend Out Of The Mental Hospital Day!
The girl you love was admitted into a mental hospital the other day and they won’t let you see her because you aren’t family. Since you’re an idiot, you’ve concluded that her family is just trying to keep the two of you apart. While her parents would certainly love for their daughter to lose all interest in you, being as they are aware that you are a complete freaking idiot, the reason they admitted her into a mental hospital is because she’s been increasingly paranoid and delusional. She was under psychiatric care long before you showed up and decided you could make her all better by dragging her outside in her pajamas in the middle of the night so she could watch the first snowfall of winter and charming bullshit like that. Her medication has been futzed with more times than you’ve filled in the “do not withhold taxes” box on your unemployment forms, and this week it was recommend that she try inpatient for a few weeks so they can monitor her reaction to the medication more closely.
Unfortunately, due to your being a fucking moron and a dickhead who sucks anus, you’ve decided that’s all just a bunch of bullcrap and you’re going to go right over to that hospital and “rescue” her from her very expensive care. You’re going to put on an orderly’s uniform that you bought from a uniform shop, sneak past the front desk and creep about the hospital until you find your girl. Then you’re gonna kneel by her bed and propose, using a plastic ring naturally. Because she’s only been there for two days she’s presently tranq’ed out of her mind and she’ll say yes with the same enthusiasm she uses to affirm that she would like a piece of cornbread with her chicken at dinnertime. Then you’ll pull her from her bed and drag her down the hallways to the main exit, with dozens of orderlies chasing after the two of you. You’ll elude them and you and your new fiance will escape from the hospital and you’ll finally be free to explore your great and endless love for each other.
After three days without medication she’ll be completely unmanageable and you’ll abandon her in a Roy Rogers. The manager on duty at Roy’s will alert the police and her family will arrive in a few hours to return their little girl into the hands of her physicians, and you’ll run off and ruin everything for everyone someplace else, hopefully someplace where everyone owns rifles.
Happy Go Bust Your Crazy-Ass Girlfriend Out Of The Mental Hospital Day!
Unfortunately, due to your being a fucking moron and a dickhead who sucks anus, you’ve decided that’s all just a bunch of bullcrap and you’re going to go right over to that hospital and “rescue” her from her very expensive care. You’re going to put on an orderly’s uniform that you bought from a uniform shop, sneak past the front desk and creep about the hospital until you find your girl. Then you’re gonna kneel by her bed and propose, using a plastic ring naturally. Because she’s only been there for two days she’s presently tranq’ed out of her mind and she’ll say yes with the same enthusiasm she uses to affirm that she would like a piece of cornbread with her chicken at dinnertime. Then you’ll pull her from her bed and drag her down the hallways to the main exit, with dozens of orderlies chasing after the two of you. You’ll elude them and you and your new fiance will escape from the hospital and you’ll finally be free to explore your great and endless love for each other.
After three days without medication she’ll be completely unmanageable and you’ll abandon her in a Roy Rogers. The manager on duty at Roy’s will alert the police and her family will arrive in a few hours to return their little girl into the hands of her physicians, and you’ll run off and ruin everything for everyone someplace else, hopefully someplace where everyone owns rifles.
Happy Go Bust Your Crazy-Ass Girlfriend Out Of The Mental Hospital Day!
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Maybe He’ll Just Reach Out Of The Bathroom And Yank You In There With Him Day!
You and your boyfriend are out at a bar for his brother Matt’s birthday tonight and Levi is there. Levi is the only boy you’ve considered cheating on your boyfriend with in the six years you’ve been together. By “considered,” I mean “masturbated incessantly to the idea of.” You have no intention of making a pass at Levi. But you do like to put yourself into situations where he could make a pass at you. Like tonight, when Levi goes to use the unisex bathroom downstairs, you’ll follow close behind and get there just after him.
“Oh,” he’ll say, halfway through the door. “You want to go first?”
“That’s okay,” you’ll say. “Finder’s Keepers.”
If he wants, he could just reach out and yank you in there with him. The unisex bathroom is in the basement, down a hallway of creaky floors. There’s a set of men’s and women’s bathrooms upstairs so not too many people come down there. If he feels like it, or if you look at him the right way, he could just grab your hand and yank you in there with him and then…things will happen. Things that are beyond your control. You won’t have done anything but gone down to the bathroom and you’ll have just gotten yanked into someplace and then before you knew what was happening…
Levi shuts and locks the door in your face and you wait. Maybe when he comes out he’ll tell you the toilet has a weird flush and he’ll take you in there to show you and when you’re both hovering over the toilet like that, playing with the flush and lifting your pants cuffs so they don’t absorb the puddle on the ground, it’ll just be so perfect that…not your fault.
“I didn’t do that to the seat,” he’ll say when he comes out. You’ll laugh in a way that tries to get him to make eye contact with you and pull you into his arms and kiss you before you have a chance to do the right thing and say no, but he’ll just keep walking down the hall and back up to the party. You’ll go inside and while you’re wiping strange urine off the toilet seat you’ll wonder why it’s just gotta be so fucking hard to accidentally cheat on your boyfriend.
Happy Maybe He’ll Just Reach Out Of The Bathroom And Yank You In There With Him Day!
“Oh,” he’ll say, halfway through the door. “You want to go first?”
“That’s okay,” you’ll say. “Finder’s Keepers.”
If he wants, he could just reach out and yank you in there with him. The unisex bathroom is in the basement, down a hallway of creaky floors. There’s a set of men’s and women’s bathrooms upstairs so not too many people come down there. If he feels like it, or if you look at him the right way, he could just grab your hand and yank you in there with him and then…things will happen. Things that are beyond your control. You won’t have done anything but gone down to the bathroom and you’ll have just gotten yanked into someplace and then before you knew what was happening…
Levi shuts and locks the door in your face and you wait. Maybe when he comes out he’ll tell you the toilet has a weird flush and he’ll take you in there to show you and when you’re both hovering over the toilet like that, playing with the flush and lifting your pants cuffs so they don’t absorb the puddle on the ground, it’ll just be so perfect that…not your fault.
“I didn’t do that to the seat,” he’ll say when he comes out. You’ll laugh in a way that tries to get him to make eye contact with you and pull you into his arms and kiss you before you have a chance to do the right thing and say no, but he’ll just keep walking down the hall and back up to the party. You’ll go inside and while you’re wiping strange urine off the toilet seat you’ll wonder why it’s just gotta be so fucking hard to accidentally cheat on your boyfriend.
Happy Maybe He’ll Just Reach Out Of The Bathroom And Yank You In There With Him Day!
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Magic Samantha Day!
Today you are 76 and you’re going to tell your husband the truth.
“I’m actually not magic at all.”
“But all these years I’ve lived in fear of your powers. I gave up so much.”
You’ll explain that you just told him you were magic when you and he were back in high school because you wanted to go out with him and you didn’t want him to be friends with his stupid asswad rich kid clique anymore. So you told him your powers were great and he had to be your boyfriend and love you. If he refused, you warned him that you would turn him into a squirrel and you would set Marnie, the girl he really loved, on fire.
“My life. I’ve lived my whole life in fear. Of a fraud.”
“We had some good times.”
“Marnie. Marnie.”
He’ll just go on like that for a month. Moaning Maarnie. Maaaarnie! After a while you’ll wish you were magic so you could rip his tongue out without worrying about him biting your hand. Later, he’ll go.
Happy Magic Samantha Day!
“I’m actually not magic at all.”
“But all these years I’ve lived in fear of your powers. I gave up so much.”
You’ll explain that you just told him you were magic when you and he were back in high school because you wanted to go out with him and you didn’t want him to be friends with his stupid asswad rich kid clique anymore. So you told him your powers were great and he had to be your boyfriend and love you. If he refused, you warned him that you would turn him into a squirrel and you would set Marnie, the girl he really loved, on fire.
“My life. I’ve lived my whole life in fear. Of a fraud.”
“We had some good times.”
“Marnie. Marnie.”
He’ll just go on like that for a month. Moaning Maarnie. Maaaarnie! After a while you’ll wish you were magic so you could rip his tongue out without worrying about him biting your hand. Later, he’ll go.
Happy Magic Samantha Day!
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Dear Mountaineer Day!
You’ve been having trouble with your Mom lately, so you decided to write to your favorite nationally syndicated column, “Dear Mountaineer.” Your letter was published today! Check it out…
Dear Mountaineer,
My Mom says I’m too old to live in her house anymore. I’m forty-four. My Dad’s dead so it’s not like she doesn’t need a man around. Why is she being such an asshole?
-Mama’s Boy
Dear Mama’s Boy,
Your Mom is experiencing what we mountaineers call “Altitude Sickness.” Hope this helped.
-The Mountaineer.
The great thing about the Mountaineer is, you can tell by his prose that he really does hope he helped. If he didn’t, it’s a shame because the mountaineer has a strict policy of cutting people off after a single correspondence. You can’t be weighed down with a lot of letters when you’ve got the summit in sight.
Happy Dear Mountaineer Day!
Dear Mountaineer,
My Mom says I’m too old to live in her house anymore. I’m forty-four. My Dad’s dead so it’s not like she doesn’t need a man around. Why is she being such an asshole?
-Mama’s Boy
Dear Mama’s Boy,
Your Mom is experiencing what we mountaineers call “Altitude Sickness.” Hope this helped.
-The Mountaineer.
The great thing about the Mountaineer is, you can tell by his prose that he really does hope he helped. If he didn’t, it’s a shame because the mountaineer has a strict policy of cutting people off after a single correspondence. You can’t be weighed down with a lot of letters when you’ve got the summit in sight.
Happy Dear Mountaineer Day!
Monday, June 04, 2007
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!
“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!
Friday, June 01, 2007
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!
“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!
Friday, April 20, 2007
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!
“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!
Thursday, April 19, 2007
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!
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!
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
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!
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!
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
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!
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!
Monday, April 16, 2007
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!
“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!
Friday, April 13, 2007
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!
“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!
Thursday, April 12, 2007
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!
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!
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
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!
“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!
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
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!
“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!
Monday, April 09, 2007
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!
“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!
Friday, April 06, 2007
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!
“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!
Thursday, April 05, 2007
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!
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!
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
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!
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!
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
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!
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!
Monday, April 02, 2007
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!
“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!
Friday, March 30, 2007
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!
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!
Thursday, March 29, 2007
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!
“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!
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
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!
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!
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
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!
“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!
Monday, March 26, 2007
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!
“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!
Friday, March 23, 2007
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!
Happy Today’s The Day To Complete Your “Reign Over Me” Action Figure Collection Day!
Thursday, March 22, 2007
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!
“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!
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
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!
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!
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
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!
“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!
Monday, March 19, 2007
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!
“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!
Friday, March 16, 2007
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!
"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!
Thursday, March 15, 2007
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!
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!
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
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!
"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!
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
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!
Happy Your Behavior At Your High School Reunion Could Bring Down Your Supermarket Chain Day!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)