Break Up With Your Girlfriend Who Is In Jail Day!

Two years ago your girlfriend got put in jail because she ran someone down with her car and then got scared and drove off. You and she were gonna get married, and you made a vow to her that you would stand by her until she got out. You’ve been visiting her every weekend. It’s been heartbreaking watching her sob through the plexiglass, telling you about indignity after indignity that she’s suffered. It’s been a real drag, and it’s made you wonder if you aren’t throwing your life away on the worst kind of long-distance relationship. That all came to a head when you met Darlene back in August.

“I didn’t want it to happen,” you’ll tell your girlfriend.

“You said forever,” she’ll argue.

“But we’ve grown apart. I’ve continued to live a life of freedom, doing as I please and showering alone. While you have stayed in prison and have gotten into all the stuff that goes on in there. The fights. The cell block searches for contraband.”

“What’s she got that I haven’t got?” she’ll ask.

“Skin that I’m free to touch,” you’ll say.

Your girlfriend won’t argue any further. She’ll know you’re making good points. She’ll wish you the best and go back to her cell block and she’ll make a deal with a white supremacist to have her people on the outside set fire to your house while you and your girlfriend are asleep inside. You and she have grown apart. It’s just a shame you didn’t know by how much.

Happy Break Up With Your Girlfriend Who Is In Jail Day!

Try And Buy The Honda Civic Hatchback You Lost Your Virginity In Day!

You got hit buy a city vehicle a couple years back and you won a huge settlement on account of it was an election year and you lost an arm. Now that you have a lot of excess money and you don’t have to work no more, you’ve been killing time by going out and buying mementos from your youth. You bought the land behind the high school where you and your friends used to have keggers and you opened a bar (the high school was a little pissed). You bought the company that fired your dad and ran it into the ground. Now you’re looking for the sky blue Honda Civic hatchback you lost your virginity in in 1989.

Your quest will lead you to the boy who took your virginity, Nicky No-Nose. He was called that because his nose was almost flat on his face and because his father was a member of the mafia (since deceased in a clamhouse gun battle). You go and ask Nicky No-Nose whether he knows what happened to the hatchback.

“Do yourself a favor, don’t go asking nobody about that hatchback,” he tells you.

But you’re not used to being told no now that you’re rich so you keep asking people about that hatchback. Eventually, you find out that the hatchback was used to pick up the stabbed to smithereens body of someone who didn’t pay his vig and drive it someplace where no one will look. The car and the body were taken to a junkyard and crushed into a cube. The cube’s still there so you buy it for 80 dollars. You bring it home and pay a metals expert to try and stretch it back out, but the body inside makes the cube start to stink when you stretch it out, so you leave it as a cube and occasionally go out and climb atop it with your one arm and you sit and remember the night when you had two arms and you were just sixteen and getting popped for the very first time. You have a good memory of it because you had to lay your back along the pushed forward front seats, which acted as a kind of raised recliner for you, so you could see everything, your whole body underneath a panting Nicky No-Nose. You remember your beautiful right hand caressing his gorgeous skin.

Happy Try And Buy The Honda Civic Hatchback You Lost Your Virginity In Day!

You Steal Bikes And Give Them To The Poor Day!

You hate seeing all these poor people walking around with no bike to ride. It breaks you heart to think of how many bikes there are in the world, and how they only ever go to people who can afford them. So whenever you see a bike left unlocked, or when you see one locked up with a lock that can be snapped with a bolt cutter, you steal the bike and give it to the poor.

It goes okay for a little while, but then when the poor person who was given one of your bikes leaves it unlocked or locked up with a lock that you can snap with a bolt cutter, you just steal the bike again and give it to some other member of the poor. On more than one occasion, the first poor person who got the bike would see the second poor person riding around on it and they would get into a fight. It’s not the outcome you had hoped for.

Today the unthinkable is going to happen. You’re going to steal a bike back from a member of the poor that you gave it to, then you’re going to give it to another member of the poor and the first member of the poor is going to kill the second member of the poor with an aluminum baseball bat. The killer poor will go to jail for life.

From now on, only steal bikes from bike shops. It’s the only way to hang onto the nickname the papers have given you: THE HUFFY ROBIN HOOD. It’s not a very good nickname, but you’ve never had a nickname before and you want to enjoy this one while it lasts.

Happy You Steal Bikes And Give Them To The Poor Day!

One Day The Crossing Guard Just Hung Up Her Orange Vest Day!

“I’m a fraud!” she screams at her ‘long-time roommate.’

“Thirty years without a fatality,” her long-time roommate says back.

“What do I know about getting kids across streets?” she says, packing her bag. “I’m going through the motions out there. There’s a stoplight that’s handling everything. All I do is obey the light like a goddamn lab rat. The light’s red, I hold up my palm. The light’s green, I start waving my arms like a goddamn idiot.”

“You make them feel safe,” her roommate says.

“I fool them into feeling safe. There’s no bigger danger than that. I’m out.”

Her roommate walks behind her and wraps her arms around the crossing guard.

“What will you do?” the roommate asks.

“I’m gonna get myself across the street for once,” the crossing guard says. She then checks the chamber of a handgun and stuffs it in her duffel bag. The roommate lets go.

“A score?” the roommate says. “You can’t even stand up for the cycle of a traffic light without resting in a beach chair again.”

“That’s all the time I need,” the crossing guard says. “The Brink’s truck is required to obey the speed limit and stop on the yellows. I hit it at a light and I have a full 45 second window.”

“You sure about this?” the roommate asks.

“I spent 30 years doing nothing but watching lights change. This is locked down.”

“We would have the money to put Mom in a home,” the roommate says. They both look at the rooommate’s mom, who is asleep in a big chair in the living room, not knowing that her daughter and her daughter's girlfriend are about to go back into a life of violent crime.

“We’d have the money to do whatever we want. But we gotta get to that intersection right now, today.”

The roommate gathers her knives into her socks and she and the former crossing guard go out to do what they do best: steal and kill.

Happy One Day The Crossing Guard Just Hung Up Her Orange Vest Day!

Wake Up Before Your Alarm Day!

You should hook your alarm clock up to one of the archaic yet ingeniously reconstructed bear traps that's attached to someone's head in the upcoming sure-to-be-a-hit horror movie Saw 4. If you don't wake up before your alarm and it goes off, then everyone in the audience for Saw 4 will have to watch the bear trap snap shut and slice an innocent young social studies teachers' head right through the middle (like around the nose-line). Of course, that's what everyone in the audience will have come to see anyway, so if you do wake up before your alarm goes off, an entire theater of people will feel gypped. This service will only cost you $49.95 per wake-up. If you're wondering why the makers of Saw 4 are letting people who need to be more disciplined about when they wake up in the morning determine the action and plotting of their movie for a nominal fee, the answer is simple: piracy!

Happy Wake Up Before Your Alarm Day!

Depressed Roommate Who Isn’t Eating His Ice Cream Day!

Your roommate has been depressed for a couple of months now. He’s spending all his time alone in his room, sleeping all day or sitting in the tub for hours on end. He always looks unkempt, like it was a real effort for him just to get dressed. Anytime he comes home from work he just marches right past you without saying a word and goes into his bedroom, slamming his door behind him. It’s been great for you because you get to watch whatever you want on TV.

The problem is, he bought some ice cream back before he got depressed and he hasn’t opened it yet. You’d like to open it and eat it but you’re afraid that if you eat his ice cream that might be the thing that sends him over the edge and makes him off himself. It’s almond swirl.

Today you should try to pretend that you want to cheer him up so you can say, “Come on, pally. Buck up! Hey I know! Why don’t we eat that ice cream in the freezer? That’ll lift your spirits. Mmm. Ice cream. I’ll go get two spoons and a bowl.”

When you knock on his door to ask him if you can come in to talk, he’ll open the door with a pile of his CDs in his hand. He’ll say, “I don’t feel like talking. But here, I want you to have these. I won’t be needing them soon.”

The CDs are all really good and you’ll go into your room and start listening to them. It’ll be a lot of fun, but you’ll keep having this nagging thought that something’s not right. You’re sitting in there listening to all of your roommate’s CDs, and you just know it would feel so much better if you could listen to your roommate’s CDs while eating your roommate’s ice cream.

Tonight, you’re not going to be able to handle it anymore. You’re going to go to the freezer and open up his tub of ice cream and stick a spoon in it. As you walk back to your room with the tub, he’ll open his bedroom door and see you spooning a hunk of the delicious dessert to your mouth. You’ll stop where you’re standing, and he’ll stare at you, not quite angry, not quite hurt. He won’t appear to be feeling anything really. Neither of you will move before he shuts his bedroom door again. You’ll decide that since he didn’t say anything, he must be fine with you eating his ice cream, maybe even glad that it's not going to waste, that someone who can still enjoy things is digging into that delicious tub of joy he bought back when he could still enjoy things, so you did the right thing.

Happy Depressed Roommate Who Isn’t Eating His Ice Cream Day!

That Pile Of Clothes Looks Like A Person When The Lights Are Out Day!

When you turn the lights out, that pile of clothes on your chair looks like a person. Tonight you’re going to start talking to it.

“I’m going to call you Jesse because I’ve always wanted a friend named Jesse. Jesse, I once saw a little boy drowning in a cold river and I did nothing. I just kept walking because I didn’t want to risk my own life to save him. The next day I saw that the boy was in a car with his parents and they’d driven off the road and into the river. The parents managed to swim to shore, but the boy got caught in the current and was dragged away from them. His parents felt like they killed their own son with their reckless driving. I know because I used to sneak up to their house at dinnertime and listen to them through the open window while they fought and cried over their meal. I did that every night for a couple of months, then I decided that what’s done is done and there’s no more point in worrying over what I didn’t do. I still think about that kid a couple of times a day, and I don’t sleep, but I say that he wasn’t my soul to save. Not my responsibility. You don’t think I’m a horrible person do you Jesse? Say nothing if you don’t.”

The pile of clothes then takes corporeal form and manages to wheeze out the words: “Coward. I have strained to become a man for just an instant in order to say that to you. Coward.”

Then the pile of clothes goes back to being a pile of clothes. Tomorrow, you’re doing laundry.

Happy That Pile Of Clothes Looks Like A Person When The Lights Are Out Day!

Start Throwing Up And Never Stop Day!

To pull this off, you need to hear some kind of news that would trigger the kind of nausea that would doom you to a lifetime of endless and uninterrupted vomiting. Like maybe you just found out the woman for whom you’ve always held an unrequited love is going to marry the guy who tricked you into thinking you were the prom king in high school only so you he could shoot a watercannon full of diarrhea into your mouth when you started to give your acceptance speech. You already can’t think of that guy without remembering all that diarrhea you ingested that night in front of all your peers, which made you vomit quite a bit in its own right. But that guy also represents everything in life that you’re against. He is the embodiment of all that is base and shallow and hurtful. So when you hear that the girl you love is going to marry that guy, it makes all your hopes for there to be some sort of order to your existence come crashing down. What is beautiful and right and true can love pure, wretched evil, and what’s in your heart means nothing to the world around you. That alone makes you want to puke, but then you remember the taste of the diarrhea and it just starts coming and never stops. You die in 80 hours because you can’t constantly puke for very long without dying.

Happy Start Throwing Up And Never Stop Day!

Don’t Forget To Take The Drug Money Out Of Your Old Mattress Before The Mattress Delivery Guys Take It Away For You Day!

Today you’re going to be so excited to get your new mattress that you’re going to forget to take out all the drug money you had stuffed in your old mattress before the delivery guys take it away for you. You’ll be rolling around on your new mattress for a good ten minutes before you remember.

“Shoot!” you’ll say. Then you’ll call the mattress store and tell them that you left several hundred thousand dollars in your old mattress and you’d like to know when to come and pick it up.

“Sorry, when we take a mattress away its ours, bedbugs and all,” the mattress associate will tell you.

“But the money isn’t mine,” you’ll say. “It belongs to a drug cartel and if I don’t get it to them, they’ll kill me and everyone I’ve ever cared for.”

“Read your agreement,” the mattress associate will say. You’ll read the delivery agreement you signed, relinquishing all rights to your old mattress once it crosses the threshold from your home.

“Oh, I didn’t realize,” you’ll say. “Sorry to bother you.”

“Yeah well next time,” the mattress associate says, “Realize!”

You’ll hang up, then you’ll rip open your couch to find the semi-automatic weapons you keep there. But you’ll remember that you sold the couch with the weapons on Craigs list. This is your new Crate and Barrel sectional and you haven’t stored any weapons inside it because you wanted it to maintain its support.

You’re going to have to sell all the cocaine you still have in the house and try to make the money back before the cartel comes calling. You tear apart the painting on the wall to grab the kilos stored in its frame. But it’s empty. You must have auctioned off the painting with the kilos hidden in it. This is the new Chagall you just acquired.

“Why must I be so active in the art world yet so forgetful when it comes to drug dealing?” you lament.

You go into the bathroom to take a bath, and you find a small boy. You’d forgotten that you had kidnapped the only son of a crooked Colombian diplomat. All you have to do is get that ransom money and you’re right as rain.

“I got my meal ticket right here,” you say, tousling the boy’s hair. “Now where did I put your Dad’s cell phone number?”

The boy makes a motion like a key in a lock on his lips, letting you know he’s not gonna give you the number. You’d better hope you didn’t accidentally throw out that slip of paper when you cleaned earlier, which is just the kind of airhead thing a drug dealer/kidnapper/art lover like you would do you fucking ditz.

Happy Don’t Forget To Take The Drug Money Out Of Your Old Mattress Before The Mattress Delivery Guys Take It Away For You Day!

The Party City Massacre Day!

Today you’re going to go into Party City, your local discount party superstore, and you’re going to give the girl behind the counter a note that says you have a bomb in your pants and she’d better start filling up the helium balloons or it’s curtains.

The girl will push the police call button under her register that’s there for just this sort of emergency, and then she’ll start filling up the balloons. Soon the police will surround the place asking what you want. Tell them a jet to buy some time while the girl keeps filling up helium balloons. Soon the entire store will be full from floor to ceiling with balloons. The windows will be completely blocked by them. To move back and forth you have to shove your way through that giant huddle of balloons.

Once the girl behind the counter fills up the last balloon, shout out to the police, “You’re out of time.” Then just start shooting the balloons down, one by one. Happy Birthday, Congrats To The Grad, Big 4-0, and Welcome Home, all of them are gonna get it from your .38. The bullets will tear apart the balloons and they’ll fall like the empty clothes in “War Of The Worlds.” The police will be outside cursing the God that made you as they listen helplessly to the massacre inside. Finally, when enough balloons have been shot down that they can see inside, they’ll send in their assault team and take you down. For every balloon they save, that’s another gathering of people given the chance to party.

“No one takes away a citizen’s right to party,” the commanding officer says. “Not in my city. Deploy SWAT.” Then SWAT deploys right up your pants leg and in and out of the goddamn ball sack pocket of your brief underwears.

Happy The Party City Massacre Day!

Hunting For Toucans Day!

Today you’re going into the jungle to hunt and kill some toucans. Along the way you’ll stumble upon a tribe of savages who will think that you are their God because you look like the cave painting someone did of their God one time, and they’ll all bow down to you and tell you you can have anything you want as long as you finally make the trees bear fruit again. If you don’t make the trees bear fruit again, they’ll burn you because that’s what it said to do within the instructions someone once wrote on the cave wall near the painting of God.

“Okay,” you tell them. “First thing I need is as many dead toucans as you can bring to me.”

They run out into the woods and start strangling toucans. They bring back to you a big pile of the birds and lay them all at your feet. You start to bag them up when the savages ask about the trees bearing fruit.

You’ll say, “I have to confess, I don’t know how to…”

Just then, one of the savages will point up at the trees. Bananas will be growing from their branches like you’re looking at them in fast-forward. God, the real God, must have made that happen. He must hate toucans too and he’s rewarding you for getting so many of them to die by letting you keep your life as well as all those toucans. Congratulations and have fun eating toucan salad sandwiches for the next year and a half.

Happy Hunting For Toucans Day!

Some Kids From MTV Are Here To Watch You Do Stuff Day!

You’re not sure how they got in. They’re all on the floor lining the wall of your living room, and they’ve filled up the couch as well. They’re here to watch you do stuff without paying any real attention to you. Mostly, they’ll just be looking at someplace past you where there’s probably a camera or a producer signaling them. On occasion, when you’ll be on the phone and you’ll say something funny, a few of the kids will chuckle just a second or two late, so that it’s not clear whether they were laughing at what you said or at a private joke.

Don’t eat too fast. You might think that you can eat with abandon since you have all those kids there, but they won’t give you the Heimlich. They’re barely aware of where they are, let alone that you are a human being who can feel and die like them.

Happy Some Kids From MTV Are Here To Watch You Do Stuff Day!

The Magical Wardrobe Day!

You’re a thirteen year old boy who has just discovered that your wardrobe has the magical ability to teleport you to another place in time. Whenever you go inside the wardrobe, a bright light appears and you find yourself inside the locked broom closet of a bus station in Minneapolis, eight minutes into the future. You don’t know how to get out of the closet, and there’s nothing really for you to do there. The best you can do is go into the wardrobe and then listen through the broom closet door to the conversations in the bus station, trying to see if you can get some hint of what the future holds based on what the travelers are all talking about. So, for example, let’s say it was the day OJ was acquitted back in 1994 at the close of the Trial of the Century and you were eight minutes away from the verdict. You could go into the wardrobe and then listen through the broom closet door to people shouting in either joy or disillusionment at the verdict. Eventually someone might say something like, “I can’t believe he got off,” and you would have known the verdict before anyone else.

Since a situation like that doesn’t come along too often, you’ve been using the wardrobe to smoke cigarettes without your parents catching you, and without and risk of harming your lungs since you always smoke in the future. When you return, it’s like you never left and therefore never smoked. You’re really enjoying smoking and it’s getting hard to wait to get into the wardrobe to have another cigarette.

Happy The Magical Wardrobe Day!

Abstinence Makes The Heart Grow Hornier Day!

You and your buddies down at the mill decided to have a contest to see who can go the longest without having sex with a woman. After eighteen years it’s just you, Marcus and Joey left. Chris ended up screwing a hooker when he went to Reno in 2000. And Matt divorced his wife in 1998 and so he kind of went on the warpath and had sex with two different women in 1999. He married the second and kept on having sex with her until 2003. Matt is so out of the running.

Chris and Chipper have started a side contest since Chris hasn’t had any since 2002 and Chipper just did that one deed in 2001 when his ex-wife rolled into town to try to get her new husband pissed. They’re thinking that maybe you, Marcus and Joey will eventually either dip your wicks or die, so they should keep the faith to see if they can outlive you and top your record, whomever of you sets it.

The thing is, after eighteen years without, you're really horny and you’re starting to worry that the absence of intimacy has turned you mean. You’re an elementary school vice-principal and sometimes at the end of the year you look back on the discipline you’ve handed out for even the most innocent of indiscretions and you just marvel over what you’ve become. When it’s all over, is this really the life you want to have lived? You wonder. Then you imagine telling Marcus or Joey that you had sex with somebody and you can already see the smug looks on their faces. Makes you want to puke. You’ll either have to wait it out, kill them both, or kill yourself. No way you’re giving those shitheads the satisfaction of knowing their wills are stronger than yours. No way.

You’ve already got the rifle. It’s just a choice of whose heads are gonna get caved in. Yours, or theirs? Or all three of ya's? Win, lose, or draw, your involvement in this contest ends tonight.

Happy Abstinence Makes The Heart Grow Hornier Day!

The Dog That Drank Himself Into A Coma Day!

You moved to a new city five months ago and you haven’t made any friends yet, so you spend a lot of time at home drinking alone, which you hate. You’re really lonely and you feel awful just sitting there at your kitchen table drunk with no one to talk to or raise your glass with or take a swing at. The only other living thing in your house is your dog, Larue.

Tonight you’re going to spike Larue’s water dish with a little bit of whiskey. Not too much, just a few drops to symbolically ordain him as your drinking buddy. Larue will lap it up, and then he’ll sit by you and listen while you talk to him like a pal.

“How about that game today, Larue,” you’ll say. “Those fairies got trounced.”

Larue will pant, and you’ll say, “Oh, you want another? Well I’ll buy.” Then you’ll pour a little more whiskey into his dish, which he’ll again drink down very quickly.

“This summer ever gonna end? Sweatin’ my ass off,” you’ll say to Larue, and he’ll answer with a bark.

“Another round sounds good to me too.” Larue will have drunk up all the water in his dish, so you’ll pour him a small helping of straight whiskey. He’ll drink it in seconds.

“Not a fan of that porker Jonah Hill. He was pretty much over before he started, ain’t that right Larue?”

Larue will lay down at your feet and whimper a bit. You’ll pour yourself another glass, and without thinking about it you’ll go and fill up Larue’s bowl to the rim, all the while singing the teenage wasteland part to “Baba O’Reilly.” Larue will go and lap up a good bit of the whiskey, then he’ll fall asleep next to the bowl. You’ll fall asleep with your head in your arms on the kitchen table.

When you wake up tomorrow morning, hungover like any other Tuesday, you’ll find Larue still asleep next to his bowl. You’ll kick him gently and his limp body will just lay there. You’ll shake Larue, but he won’t wake up. Then you’ll see his water dish full of brown whiskey and you’ll remember what an idiot you were last night.

You’ll rush Larue to the vet’s office, fearing you killed him. Your vet will tell you that Larue went into a coma.

“What happened yesterday?” she’ll ask.

You’ll burst into tears. “I was lonely and wanted someone to drink with!”

Your vet will hold you in her arms and tell you to never do that again. “From now on, if you need someone to drink with, you call this number,” she’ll say. “It’s my home number.”

“Really?” you’ll ask.

“I’m only thinking about the dog’s well being,” she’ll say.

You’ll thank her, and you’ll call her that very night. She’ll invite you to her place and you’ll share an evening that one day you’ll tell your grandkids about. “He was everything I hated in a pet owner, and yet there was something so adorable about him I just had to come up with a reason to get him to call me,” she’ll tell the family when she’s 81 and you’re already two years dead of natural causes.

Happy The Dog That Drank Himself Into A Coma Day!

You’re Like The Dexter Of Shoplifters Day!

You’re a security guard at a mall Boscov’s, and you probably bust one shoplifter every two days. Though your store publicly claims that its policy is to prosecute shoplifters to the fullest extent of the law, the real policy is that shoplifters are to be caught, taken to the security office where they are photographed and warned to never return to the store or risk prosecution. You’ve turned a total of two shoplifters over to the police, and in both cases the perp got violent when you caught him. Otherwise, they get their picture taken and sent on their way. That’s it.

Not good enough, sez you.

Today you’re going to enact a new policy. From now on, every shoplifter who gets caught and then let go is going to be paid a visit by you. They won’t know it of course. Not until they discover that one of their very valuable possessions has been stolen. You can start with the college student whom you’ll catch trying to walk off with a pair of fur ear muffs in her bag this afternoon.

You’ll let her go, as usual. But not before you get her photo and address. Tomorrow, call in sick and drive over to her dorm while she’s at class. Then break in and steal something you know she’ll miss (the mini-fridge). Leave a note in its place that reads, “It’s not so fun when shrinkage happens to you is it?” When she asks around to find out that the word shrinkage doesn’t just refer to that Seinfeld episode but is also the term used for lost retail revenue due to shoplifting, she’ll know what just happened.

“Justice,” she’ll whisper to herself while crinkling the edges of the note in her hands. “It hurts so good.”

She'll look at the six pack of diet cokes she just brought home from the store. No mini-fridge to keep them cold, not anymore. "A shoplifter like me doesn't deserve cold soda," she'll say. She'll get into bed and spend the next three semesters in a deep depression. Your work is done, security guard.

Happy You’re Like The Dexter Of Shoplifters Day!

You Don’t Want To Rent Dune Buggies Out In The Desert Day!

“I don’t like the desert,” tell him. “It’s dry, and dune buggies are dangerous. We’ll never get insured.”

He’s turning 35 in a year and eight months and he wants to get out of the rat race in advance of that. His idea is to go out into the desert, live in a wooden shack and rent out Dune Buggies to people who want to come out and have fun in the sand, or who are looking for someone who went into the desert and never came back.

“Get your feet off my dreams,” your fiancé will say. “I don’t want to be a wealthy securities broker when I’m 35. I wanna feel sand on my lips. I wanna smell the rubber of big round tires. I wanna live in a house with inventive plumbing.”

Tell him if he does that, the marriage is off. He’ll go and think about it, then come back to you.

“Okay, never mind the dune buggies. Let’s own and operate a roller coaster in Illinois.”

He’ll show you a Craig’s List ad for a Roller Coaster that is for sale. It’s located not far from where the man you truly love lives. This is a sign. You are meant to operate that roller coaster so he can take his kids there, see you, and the two of you can throw yourselves into a thrilling and careless affair.

“Done,” say. Your fiancé will kiss you on the lips in gratitude. He has no idea.

Happy You Don’t Want To Rent Dune Buggies Out In The Desert Day!

You Know Lou Barlow Day!

You don’t have all that much going for you except that you know Lou Barlow. You and he used to be roommates way, way back when, and after losing touch with him, you moved into his current neighborhood solely so that you would be able to contact him and tell him you and he should get together again. You had brunch in 2005, and that’s the last you and he spoke face to face. Though you do send him emails.

Since there’s really not much to be said for you and what you’ve done with yourself while you’ve existed, it doesn’t take you too long to tell someone you’ve just met that you know Lou Barlow. “We have brunch sometimes,” you say. 85% of the time, you have to explain who Lou Barlow is. Of the 15% who don’t need you to explain, only 4% of them seem impressed, and of that 4%, 95% are faking it because they’re just happy to finally have something to talk to you about.

Today Lou Barlow is going to call you and ask if you can come pick him up from a service station. His car broke down and since you live in his neighborhood, he figured you wouldn’t mind that much. Unfortunately, he’ll call when you’re not getting a signal. When you get the message, you’ll call him back and leave a voicemail asking if he still needs a ride. A few hours later, he’ll text back with “never mind.” You’ll call him and leave a voicemail with a long apology, and Lou Barlow will text back “don’t worry about it.” Tonight, you’ll feel like that was your last shot at really having a relationship with Lou Barlow and you blew it. You’ll spend the next ten years coming to terms with the fact that it’s all downhill from here.

Happy You Know Lou Barlow Day!

Troublemaker Day!

Your Dad is a taxidermist and you’re a rebellious teenager so it’s time for you to rebel against him by stuffing M-80's inside the dead animals that are brought to him and blowing giant holes in their carcasses.

“Do you know how much extra work you’re making me do when you do that? I have to sew up those rips and tears and make sure that the fur covers over the seams. You’re slowing my business down.”

Tell your dad you don’t care.

“Well I’ll make you understand the value of a dollar,” your dad will say. Then he’ll sell your bed to pay for an assistant to help him with the extra work and he’ll make you sleep on a bed of the dead animals waiting to be stuffed.

“Can’t I sleep on the couch?” you’ll ask. Your Dad will tell you that he had to sell the couch too, in order to keep his business from going under.

“Now do you understand the value of a dollar?” your Dad will ask as you settle into the pile of bloody pelts and crunching animal bones.

“No!” you’ll say just to be obstinate. But you’re starting to understand it. People who don’t have dollars make their sons sleep on dead animals. You’ll probably do the same to your son one day.

Happy Troublemaker Day!

Sad Rock And Roll Star Day!

The rock and roll star is sad because his brother is trapped in a mine.

“I’m gonna do a concert for him,” the sad rock and roll start will say. “Right next to the mine. And I’m gonna keep playing until he’s rescued. I’m gonna play for the rescue workers to keep their spirits up, and hopefully my brother will be able to hear me down there in that mine, and he’ll know I’m waiting here to give him a hug and buy him a beer.”

The concert starts off with a really exciting two and a half hour set, broken up by lots of stories about when the rock and roll star and his brother were growing up together and how much fun they used to have. “My brother used to always tease me about my music,” the rock and roll star will tell the crowd. “He prefers classic rock, not the kind of electroclash influenced emo that I like to play. But he always supported me. He told me not to give up. Well brother, I’M NOT GIVING UP!!!” Then he’ll launch into his next hit and the crowd will roar their approval.

After a short break, the next hour-long set is a little more subdued. Then the breaks start getting longer and the sets shorter. The Rock and Roll Star starts singing a lot more covers. By day two, after being awake and performing for 24 hours, he just starts singing things like “99 Bottles of Beer on The Wall” and “Happy Birthday.” Then he gets a second wind and does a really long set of nothing but Christmas carols. On Day three he brings a laptop on stage and sings the entire Duran Duran album “Rio,” reading the lyrics off the web. On day 4 he does a 45 minute version of the song “Ghostbusters” in which he doesn’t sing any of the verses, just occasionally shouts the refrain “Who ya gonna call” and makes the crowd shout “Ghostbusters!” which we all stop doing after a while. On day 5, the rock and roll star stops singing in any known language and he gives a performance that is hard to comprehend, but has flashes of absolute brilliance. On day 6, sleepless and crazed, the sad rock and roll star dies.

That’s when his brother is finally rescued from the mine. When he surfaces, he tells the cameras, "I was fine. I just heard my brother up here singing that crap of his so I hid from the rescuers until he finished." Everyone laughs and commiserates over how crappy his brother's music was.

"What do you mean was?" the rock star's brother says. When they tell him his brother died on stage, the rock star's brother screams "No!" at the sky. Then he punishes himself by diving back into the mine just as it collapses again.

Happy Sad Rock And Roll Star Day!

There’s A Prince At The Door Day!

He’s got a cock ring and he wants to see if it fits you. Someone left it behind at a masquerade ball the night prior. Try it on and maybe you can be his princess.

“Well?” you’ll say when you come out of the bathroom sporting the glittery rubber ring.

The Prince will look at you and shake his head. “Good God no. Take that off at once and wash it.”

You’ll do as he says. You’ll feel very stupid and rejected while scrubbing away at the cock ring. Once or twice you’ll hear the Prince sigh impatiently outside the bathroom door.

“Here,” you’ll say, holding the cock ring out to him. “Sorry I made you wait.”

“As you should be, peasant,” the Prince will say.

“Who’s out there Bryan?” your roommate, Leon, will shout to you from his room.

“Just some Prince, Leon,” you’ll say.

Leon will race into the living room and he and the Prince will lock eyes. The Prince will hold the cock ring out to Leon, and you’ll know before he even bothers to try it on that it will fit perfectly. When Leon comes out of the bathroom looking absolutely majestic in his cock ring, the Prince will whisk him away to live the rest of his life as royalty, and you’ll go on Craig’s List to place yet another ad seeking a roommate.

Happy There’s A Prince At The Door Day!

Man You Are Really Into Egg McMuffins Day!

You decided to start a website devoted to the wonder and beauty of the McDonalds Egg McMuffin, hoping that maybe there will be other people out there who also love Egg McMuffins who have been looking for someplace where they can get together and meet people who have similar interests.

“Here’s my online shrine to the Egg McMuffin,” your homepage reads. “Hope all you other McMuffin lovers enjoy my little world wide McMuffin club, and maybe we can all get together and talk about our first experience with the Egg McMuffin and why it turned us into devoted followers of the McMuffin’s many travels and adventures over the decades. I’ll start:

When I was eleven my babysitter gave me a handjob while she was eating an Egg McMuffin. Occasionally she’d use both hands, but she wouldn’t put her half-eaten McMuffin down, she’d just hold it in her finger and thumb while stroking me with her palm. The McMuffin grazed my penis several times and later I found cheese on my little shaft. It was my very first sexual experience, and I have enjoyed Egg McMuffins ever since. Now you!”

Your visitors will arrive by the millions and they’ll all pretty much have had the same experience. Eventually you’ll start receiving threats because you don’t have a page where people can post McMuffin fan fiction. You’ll create one, but it will be too late and that’s why one of your website fans is going to kidnap your son tonight.

Happy Man You Are Really Into Egg McMuffins Day!

Your Mom’s Second Husband Moved Into The Building Across The Street Day!

He likes to strangle himself while masturbating, apparently. His name’s Lou and your Mom (dead six years now, natural causes) married him in 1991, then divorced him in 1994. Lou is presently jerking off while hanging from a belt attached to a large hook mounted on his bedroom wall. He’s kicking his legs.

She cheated on your Dad with him. Since he was the guy who brought about the downfall of your parents’ marriage, Lou has always loomed pretty big in your family history. Though after she divorced him, anytime he was brought up in conversation your Mom would just shake her head as if she were embarrassed by her foolishness in marrying such a man. As Lou’s hand jerks with even more fury and his face turns purple, you think you understand why.

By the time Lou comes and releases himself to drop from the belt to the carpet below him, you’re crying. The coincidence of Lou moving in across the street, and the lucky break that he doesn’t care for curtains, has opened your eyes to a whole new side of your dearly departed mom. It’s like you’ve just had a conversation with her where you’ve learned something new about her. You were always so grateful for those rare moments when she let you know she’s just as human as you, and she’s made just as many mistakes as you will. When you get the chance, you’re going to go over to Lou’s building and tip the doorman so you can find out Lou’s apartment number and send him up some anonymous flowers as thanks. For now though, you’re just going to keep watching to make sure Lou gets back up off his carpet.

Happy Your Mom’s Second Husband Moved Into The Building Across The Street Day!

College Sophomore Day!

Today you’re a college student starting up your sophomore year and you’ve decided to switch it up as regards the identity thing.

“I’m gonna go transgender,” you tell your dad as he drives his hatchback full of your Bed Bath and Beyond bags onto campus. “Or transsexual I mean. Whichever one doesn’t involve me getting my junk chopped up.”

“Sounds like this decision is going to be sending a pretty hefty credit card bill my way,” your dad will say. “New outfits and all.”

“Goddammit why do you have to try and strangle my personality development with your talk of interest rates and finances,” you’ll shout. “The LGBT Union has the coolest parties on campus. Everyone does it right out in the open.”

“Yeah but only the gay guys could be called traditionally attractive,” your Dad will argue.

He’s got a point. The parties might get wild with potential for an orgy breaking out, but there aren’t a whole lot of attendees there that you’d ever want to see naked.

“I wanna transfer to Brown,” you’ll say.

Your Dad will make a U-turn, cursing as he tries to reprogram his GPS for Rhode Island.

Happy College Sophomore Day!

The Ex-Girlfriend Across The Street Day!

You left your ex a few weeks ago and promptly moved in with the girl you were cheating on her with and you’ve never been happier. It was really just such a great decision. Except that your ex-girlfriend doesn’t want to let go.

“It’s just really creepy,” your new girlfriend and former secret lover Stacey says. “Why does she have to wear a nightgown and no shoes?”

“That’s what she used to wear to bed when we were together. I guess she thinks it’s bedtime. Come away from the window and go to sleep.”

“It’s starting to rain,” Stacey says. Indeed it is. But you know that won’t send your ex away. She’s been coming to the sidewalk across the street from your building every night at 11 PM. And every night she stands there until sunrise, staring at your window. And occasionally screaming wordlessly.

Stacey comes away from the window. “I’m starting to think you like having her there. That you like knowing she can’t move on.”

“Hey I left her for you. You have no right to be jealous. I’m with you now.”

“And if you ever get bored with me you can just go right across the street into her waiting arms.”

Just then you hear your ex scream. It’s a longer one.

“Can’t you just tell her to go home?” Stacey asks.

“It would be easier if I got someone who lives in the building across the street to break up with her boyfriend so that her boyfriend would hold vigil on this side of the street and he and my ex could spend the nights staring into each other’s eyes and eventually they’d realize they have a lot in common, namely the tendency to stand on a sidewalk in their nightclothes for days at a time when they’ve been wronged, and they’d both just go off together and get some rest.”

You and Stacey look at each other. You both know it’s just crazy enough to work! But you’re going to have to get into that building across the street before you can convince one of the tenants that she should break up with her boyfriend, so you’d better start learning to pick door locks.

Happy The Ex-Girlfriend Across The Street Day!

Best Cocaine In Maine Day!

You’ve become known throughout Maine as the supplier of the best cocaine in the whole State. You deal to everyone from the lobster trappers to the bed and breakfast operators to the school kids. It’s safe to say that if you were to die, there wouldn’t be parties in Maine for quite a long time.

“I want to be known for something else,” you think. “I want to run and win a marathon.”

So you enter a marathon in support of some cause or other and you train for months and then when the big day comes, you run your heart out. And when you hit your last five miles, you make sure to do a bump of your own cocaine, which sends you speeding to the head of the pack it's so good. It looks like you’re going to win, but that bump might have been a little too heaping, as you start having major chest pains in your last mile and you end up coming in fourth. You’ll later learn you had a minor heart attack.

“Looks like I was asking for too much,” you think while in your hospital bed. “I got greedy. I wanted all the glory in the state of Maine, so I tried to be known for dealing the best coke as well as winning the big race. I should be happy to be known for anything at all, and goddammit if I die with no more glory than being the supplier of top-notch blow for an entire state, sounds like I can die pretty proud.”

Just then there’s a knock on your hospital room door. When it opens, everyone in Maine is waiting to come in. From the Mayor of Maine on down to the guy who washes dishes at Maine Tavern and Lobsters. They all came to see you and wish you well and buy some coke. Tell them to split up into two lines, one for people who have money, and the other for people who want to know whether they can pay in ass.

“It feels good to be known in your hometown,” you tell them. They all cheer and shout, then a fight breaks out when someone tries to butt into one of the lines. There’s a stabbing.

Happy Best Cocaine In Maine Day!

You Give People Boners Marsha Day!

Today your boss is going to fire you, Marsha, because you give people boners.

“I’ve got one right now,” he’ll say.

“Ew,” tell him.

“Your fault.”

Ask him if he’s aware of just how fast you’re going to sue him for inappropriate conduct and unjustified dismissal.

“Give it a shot,” he’ll say. “And when the judge takes one look at you and gets a boner I’m sure he’ll see my side. Man, mine’s dripping now.”

“Some judges are women,” tell him.

“You give women boners too. Give a listen.” He’ll push the intercom for his secretary.

“Yes sir?” his secretary will ask.

“Got a boner?”

“I’m sitting on a towel.”

He’ll take his hand off the intercom button.

“Well how am I supposed to make a living?”

“You could probably be used in the war. Go look into that, Marsha. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to get going so we can all finally get up from our desks again.”

Get the hell out of there, Marsha, and go down to the Man’s office to see about a space for you in the war effort.

Happy You Give People Boners Marsha Day!

This Time, It Really Kinda Will Be Adam & Steve…Sort Of… Day!

After your last breakup, you decided to move into an underwater bio bubble and live under the observation of some scientists while being constantly filmed by MTV. The scientists are watching to see what sort of society you and your roommates will create when thrown into a microcosm of the world above. MTV is watching to see three of you get drunk and have sex in a hot tub.

The two worlds will collide when all seven of you start to argue over who gets to be among the three people who have sex in the hot tub. After several months of living in your underwater realm, you’ve all become consumed with the need to procreate and protect the species. An essential element to the experiment is that you have no contact with anyone on the surface world, including the scientists and production staff from MTV. Thus, not only do you have no clue as to whether the world above has been wiped out by nuclear holocaust and/or environmental catastrophe, you’ve all accepted that it has with absolute certainty.

“I know they said we’d never hear from them,” Steve the danceclub DJ tells the rest of you during the weekly chore meeting. “But do you really think they’d actually go so far as to never once make contact? They’re all dead. We’re it! We have to make sure the human race lives on!”

“This is just the bubble fucking with you,” Nancy the environmental activist replies. “Hold on to your senses.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” says Denise the girl with HIV. She leaves the room and when you all smell smoke, you realize she’s lit your house on fire to see if anyone comes to help put it out. You all rush to extinguish the fire and when Denise tries to stop you, you club her to death.

“Murderers!” shouts Andy, the video artist who was in love with Denise. Andy comes running at the rest of you with a lamp. He manages to kill Doris, the singer/songwriter from Niger. The rest of you swarm Andy and crush his skull under a West Elm sofa.

Now that both Denise and Doris have been killed, you, Nancy, and Leona the Vegan are the only women left, and you really want to be the one who gets to have three-way sex in the hot tub, thereby becoming mother of the species. So tonight when Leona and Nancy are asleep you’re going to stab them in their chests and necks. Tomorrow you will enter the hot tub with Steve the danceclub DJ and Adam, the med school student who will certainly up the ratings when he climbs into the tub with you and Steve and promptly comes out of the closet. Steve will still be willing to make it happen with you, though it is pretty cool that this time around the origin of humanity will actually be able to reference both Adam and Steve as being present and you all acknowledge that for the cameras while surrendering to hot, wet, bicurious species propagation.

Happy This Time, It Really Kinda Will Be Adam & Steve…Sort Of… Day!

You’re An Alcoholic And You Just Got A Brilliant Idea Day!

You’ll be sitting around your apartment not drinking when it will hit you.

“I should drink now!” you’ll think. You’ll immediately sprint outside and find alcohol.

“It worked! It worked!” you’ll shout after you ingest the alcohol and stop feeling sad and scared.

You’ll drink throughout the rest of the day, just to see what happens. Occasionally, you’ll start to take notes on a bar napkin, but it will always devolve into doodles of the “Star Wars” logo or Yoda.

At the end of the day, you’ll conclude that the presence of alcohol in your system created an overall effect of everything not being awful, excluding the occasional twenty minute period of directionless fury. In the end, you’ll decide that drinking was a brilliant idea and that you are a genius. To celebrate, you’ll leave your daytime bar and head over to your nighttime bar for a drink or two.

On your way to the nighttime bar, you’ll think to yourself, “I’m like Stephen Hawking with legs that work!” Then you’ll stumble on an uneven sidewalk and fall down, which will be so funny that you’ll wish you weren’t alone. You'll wish there was someone you could laugh with.

Happy You’re An Alcoholic And You Just Got A Brilliant Idea Day!

Sell State Secrets To Hostile Foreign Governments Day!

You’re out of light bulbs, stamps, and toner cartridges. Where’s all the money gonna come from to get back up to speed?!

“That is it!” you think. “I need a new job and fast!”

You should start selling state secrets to hostile foreign governments. All you need to do is get your hands on some state secrets (make love to a head of state and then write down everything he says in his sleep) then you need to advertise to hostile foreign governments (don’t use Craig’s List or you’ll get caught by the CIA. Just go to the Capitol buildings of hostile countries and stand outside with a sandwich board telling everyone with eyes what you’ve got in your jacket lining).

For a good state secret (launch codes, where the frozen aliens are hidden) you can make anywhere from a trillion to a googol dollars. For a bad state secret (abort codes, who to bribe in the parking space lottery drawing) you can make 20 to 40 billion dollars. For state secrets that everyone already knows (where America is, what America is) you’ll really be selling that stuff just for the frame it comes in. You can still make a couple of million though. Just make sure you don’t get caught or you’ll get hanged. But no one said taking some initiative to improve your financial well-being wasn’t risky!

Happy Sell State Secrets To Hostile Foreign Governments Day!

You Live In A Windmill Day!

Your lease is up next month on your windmill apartment, and you have to tell your landlord today whether you want to sign on for another year at a 4% rent increase. You just can’t decide whether or not you’re ready to settle down into a real relationship with one of the many women who come back to your windmill for a one-night fling and never return.

It’s not hard to get a woman to go home with you. You could do it every night if you had the stamina and the drinks money. “You live in a windmill?” they ask incredulously. You’ve heard it as a question so many times it’s hard not to ask, “I live in a windmill?” in response. Then they inevitably accept your offer to come see it. They know they’re getting married before they turn thirty (to someone else) and they want to have the story of the time they did it in the windmill under their belts.

But the next day, when you suggest a second date, the question from last night suddenly becomes the most obvious and self-explanatory statement they’ve ever made. “You live in a windmill.” Then they make a “don’t you get it, I could never move my things in here, what with all the whirring” face and call a car service. And you go out that night and find someone new.

So it’s lease time. How old are you now and how lonely does it get up in that big wooden fan? Ready to open up the possibility that someone might want to remember your address? Or is another year of hastily forgotten sex on the menu? You have to mail that letter of intent back today you know.

Happy You Live In A Windmill Day!

A Eulogy Which Demands That Mourners Line Up To Feel Your Muscle Day!

So your Dad died and today’s the funeral. You being the only son, everyone’s excited to hear your eulogy. They’ve all been talking all week about it, speculating as to what you might say. Some people think you’re going to talk about how your Dad taught you that hard work is what makes a man. Others are hoping you’ll throw a curveball and tell everyone that your Dad is a son of a bitch and he had a secret second family two towns over (and you’ll point to the family in the rear pews, and then you’d scream at the sky “Who do you think you are? You didn’t even have enough love to give for one family you son of a bitch!”).

Instead you’re going to tell them all that you never felt closer to your Dad than when you’d go down to the basement and lift weights with him. “My Daddy had really big arms and I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. I told him that, so he showed me how to lift weights to become a stronger man.” Then you go from talking about looking up to your Dad into a litany of bragging about what you can bench and how certain types of weight-gainers work better than others. It’ll be real shameless and boring, especially when you complain about how bad Mega-Mass tastes. In the end, you’ll announce that your bicep is the product of your Daddy. The strength in your arms is the strength of the influence your father had on your life. “You can’t get closer to my father than these arms,” you’ll tell the church. “Come get close to my Dad. Feel my muscle and say goodbye. Come on up.”

After a little more prodding, the mourners will rise from their pews and line up in the aisle like there’s going to be a second communion. They’ll move to the front of the church and one by one they’ll squeeze your bicep. Some of them will burst into tears when they squeeze. Others will give it a perfunctory tap and look at you with utter disappointment (these are your sisters and mother, BTW). A few others will squeeze your muscle, then they’ll hold up their arms for you to feel theirs, but you’ll tell them that today is about your Dad, not theirs. One or two ladies in the crowd will smile and tell you that your muscle is really big.

Finally, after everyone has come up and felt your muscle, you’ll look up at the sky and say, “I’m gonna stay strong for you Dad.” You’ll choke down some tears and say, “Today, I’m gonna channel all my grief over your and wail on my glutes.” You’ll be pretty sure that you hear a few people laughing when you finally return to your pew (these are your sisters and mother, BTW). Sorry about your Dad.

Happy A Eulogy Which Demands That Mourners Line Up To Feel Your Muscle Day!

Muscle Butts Day!

Someone’s been sending threatening letters to the editor of Muscle Butts Magazine. The first one told him that the butts on the women in his magazine are starting to look a little flabby, and if he doesn’t change the direction he’s taking this very important magazine, he’ll be killed. After that, they started getting angrier. All about how Muscle Butts Magazine was the last refuge for a man who appreciates a woman with a squared, caustic ass. “The kind of ass you can stub your toe on,” it read. The editor has been blamed for kowtowing to the mother’s boys of America who need everything on a woman to be soft and forgiving. “Take away my muscle butts and I’ll kill you I swear it!”

The editor came to your security agency looking for a bodyguard and, since you’re one of the few females on staff, you got the assignment (Muscle Butts is a predominantly female office and it was felt that a female bodyguard would be less jarring to the environment). It won’t be long before you and the editor of Muscle Butts fall in love, and when you fail to thwart his assassination you’ll resign from the security firm so that you can give full devotion to your vengeance. Ultimately, you’ll find the killer alone in his room masturbating to the website boxyboobs.com. You’ll kill him slow.

Happy Muscle Butts Day!

Brother Vs. Sister Naked Jello Wrestling Day!

Your Dad’s in prison and your mom’s nowhere to be found. You and your brother need to raise money to get him a good lawyer but you don’t know how.

“I know,” you’ll say. “What about if we hold brother vs. sister naked Jello wrestling matches and we charge people admission?”

Your brother won’t even know how to respond. He’ll consider running away right then and there and never coming back, he’ll be so horrified. He’ll feel like his whole world is crashing in around him, just from having listened to that suggestion.

“I don’t mean you and me,” you’ll say, acknowledging the misery on his face with a light chuckle. “I mean we get another boy who isn’t related to me to wrestle me, and we just say that he’s my brother. We could do just boy vs. girl, sure. But Brother Vs. Sister would really get people’s attention. We’ll clean up!”

“You just have a boy you want to wrestle naked with don’t you?” your brother will say.

You’ll blush. “His name is Kenny. He’s such a dream!”

“Can’t you think about Dad?” your brother will ask.

“Dad would want me to go on living my life,” you’ll say. Then you’ll send Kenny an email pitching the idea to him. He won’t respond ever and your Dad will rot in prison.

Happy Brother Vs. Sister Naked Jello Wrestling Day!

Be A Loanshark Day!

Today you’ll find that you have an extra 740 dollars in your checking account just doing nothing but sitting there wondering why no one will ask it to dance. Why not put that money to work and become a loanshark? There are a whole lot of people out there who need money in a hurry and have nowhere else to go. Tell them they can come to you.

You’ll need to spread the word by putting up some signs around the neighborhood announcing that there’s some new money out on the street if anyone wants to make use of it. Don’t advertise your interest rate on the signs. You want them to come to you first so that you can show them the 740 dollars (get it in tens and fives so it looks like a lot). Once they see it, as long as your interest rate is competitive with the rate offered by the dozens of check cashing places throughout the city, the needy borrower won’t be able to resist.

At first you’ll have a whole lot of people showing up at your apartment looking for several hundred thousand dollars at a time so that they can put up the front money for a shipment of cocaine or a remodeled baby’s room. They’ll be a little annoyed when they find out they wasted their time for a shot at a measly 740 dollars. Tell them to check back with you in a few months when you expect your loansharking business will have taken off and you’ll have as much as nine or even ten hundred dollars to be offered in loans.

Several members of the criminal underworld might pay you a visit as well, depending on where you live. If there is anyone in your area who is already operating a loansharking business, they might want to set you on fire to keep you from competing with them. If you tell them immediately that you only have 740 dollars to loan out, you should be able to avoid violence since the loanshark will likely start laughing at you until he is winded. However, be very careful because the loanshark might suggest that you take a loan from him in order to really get your loansharking business off the ground. Don’t accept it. Unlike you, most loansharks are amoral sociopaths who love the thrill and the danger of committing murder. Just explain to him that you want to do this on your own because you’re trying to prove something to yourself. Many loansharks were once doubtful young men who wondered if they have what it takes to rise to the top of the unregulated finance industry, and he might respect you for your ambition and let you keep your face.

Ultimately, you’ll be approached by an elderly man who wants to buy his wife of many years some new blankets, and he’ll take you up on a loan of $500, with interest of course. One day you’ll remember that man when you’re sitting on a big pile of money you’ve bled from the neediest in your community. But for now, just make sure he pays you his monthly interest. If he doesn’t, you’ll have to make some kind of threat that will scare him, such as the old dog doo on a stick threat. Stab a stick into some dog doo and hold it towards the old man’s face. Tell him you’ll smoosh it if he doesn’t pay up. If that doesn’t make him pay, he’s a shit freak and you can kiss the money goodbye.

Happy Be A Loanshark Day!

Watcha Gonna Do With That Wallet You Just Found Day!

Today you’re going to find a wallet on the sidewalk. It will contain hundreds of dollars as well as many credit cards. You’ll pick it up off the sidewalk and take it into the nearby corner store.

“Watcha gonna do with that wallet you just found?” the man behind the counter will ask. He saw you pick it up.

“I’m gonna finally live the life that I was meant to live,” you’ll say. “I’ll live like a bigshot, like this guy here probably lives.” You’ll search for his driver’s license but there won’t be one. You’ll check his credit cards but they’ll all have different names on them, each harder to pronounce than the last.

“Be careful,” the shopkeeper will say. “You didn’t earn that money. Nothing you buy with that money will bring you anything but pain.”

“Fuck you and gimme a Cherry Coke Zero!” you’ll shout. The shopkeeper will oblige. You’ll pay with one of your new hundreds. When you open the bottle, it will explode all over your shirt.

“Told you,” the shopkeeper will say. “Get rid of that wallet before it’s too late.”

“You’re just superstitious,” you’ll say to him. “Gimme one of those nailclippers.”

The shopkeeper will oblige. You’ll pay with another of your new hundreds, and when you clip the overgrown nail on your index finger, you’ll cut too deep and expose the sensitive underskin.

“Goddammit boy what’s it gonna take?” the shopkeeper will ask. “It’ll be days before you can play the guitar again. Get rid of that wallet before it’s too late.”

“Save the old wive’s tales for an old wife and gimme a box of those off-brand condoms.”

The shopkeeper will sell you a 12-pack of Wild Cheetah brand condoms. You’ll run outside and go to a nightclub to meet a nice woman. You’ll use the Wild Cheetah brand condoms when you make love to her, but because they are an off-brand of condom they were all pierced with a safety pin at the factory before being shipped off to corner delis (just like it says on the wrapper). The woman from the nightclub will get pregnant with your child and you’ll be overcome with joy and love for your baby-to-be. But the woman from the nightclub will have only been cheating on her husband with you and she’ll tell you that she has to abort in order to keep her husband from finding out. You’ll mourn that little life.

“What’d I tell you,” the shopkeeper will say when you come in for more tissues to cry into. The first batch, which you bought with one of the hundreds from the wallet, contained a moisturizer that gave you a rash. “You think you’d be crying over a baby that never had a chance if you had bought some condoms with money you earned yourself?”

“You’re right,” you’ll say. “This wallet took my first-born. I just wanted to be a big shot.”

The shopkeeper will pat your shoulder. “There’s no bigger big-shot than a hard worker.”

You’ll thank the shopkeeper for the advice, and that night you’ll get rid of the wallet. But not before you use some of the hundreds to buy a plane ticket, hoping that the plane will crash. Instead, a storm will come and all flights will be grounded, leaving you to find some other way to bring an end to all this hurt you feel. It just hurts too much.

Happy Watcha Gonna Do With That Wallet You Just Found Day!

It’s Just A Herpes Commercial Day!

That’s what you’re trying to tell yourself as you unleash a torrent of violent sobs. All the mountain-biking couple did was stop in their mountain-bike trip to tell a camera that even though one of them has herpes (the guy – he doesn’t say so but it’s fucking obvious), they’re not going to break up. Instead, they’re both taking medicine to keep the girl from catching the guy’s herpes. They don’t even kiss or hug or anything in the commercial. They just talk about medicine, and then they get back on their bikes. Nonetheless, you can’t watch it without bursting into tears. And you don’t even have herpes. You had crabs once, sure, and you caught it when you cheated on your fiancé and then infected her, sure. She called off the engagement because of it, yes, and this all took place while you were on vacation with her family for two weeks in Europe, sure. It would have been nice if there was a medicine that could have kept you two together is all you’re thinking. If anything, you’re crying for the state of medical research in this country. Let it out.

Happy It’s Just A Herpes Commercial Day!

Some Words With The Creator Of The Robot Dad And Robot Dad Itself Day!

You’re a journalist and you’ve got an exclusive interview with the guy who created the Robot Dad, the groundbreaking new invention that is making the world rethink intelligence and father-son-relations. You’ll also get to speak with the prototype Robot Dad itself.

When you ask the creator why he wanted to pursue this project, he’ll say, “I was looking for a Dad that I could be in control of. My own dad was a drunk and he beat me. Robot Dad won’t do that.”

“He beat you?” Robot Dad will ask his creator.

“Yes,” the creator will say.

Robot Dad will rise from his chair then burst through the wall and take off running. One half hour later it’ll return holding two recently severed human arms.

“I have made sure that your human Dad will never strike you again.” It will toss the arms at the feet of his creator.

“I love you, Dad,” the creator will say.

“I am in love with you son,” Robot Dad will say. The creator will explain to you that there are still a few glitches to be worked out. When you ask him why he gave Robot Dad genitalia, the Creator will say that every child first sees a penis when he catches his father walking from the bathroom to the bedroom.

“Children who are raised by Robot Dads should not be deprived of this developmental milestone,” the Creator will say.

“Have you seen a penis yet?” Robot Dad will ask you.

You’ll say yes.

Robot Dad will look like he wants to ask you if you’d like to see another one, but it hasn’t been programmed to do that yet. The frustration evident in its face will make you pity the robot. It’s been given the gift of intelligence and the ability to reason, but only so far as man has seen fit to program it.

The Creator will also see that Robot Dad wants to say something that it hasn’t been programmed to say, and the Creator will begin to cry.

“I can’t stand watching him bump his head against the limitations of his circuitry,” the creator will say. When Robot Dad strokes its Creator’s hair, comforting him the way a father would, you’ve got a pretty good idea how you’re going to end your article.

Happy Some Words With The Creator Of The Robot Dad And Robot Dad Itself Day!

Those Guys On The Boat In “The Perfect Storm” Are Still Alive Day!

Tonight after watching the middle forty minutes of the movie “The Perfect Storm” on TNT, you’re going to go up to bed but you’ll be woken up when the air in the room goes cold. Standing by the window, lit up with moonlight, will be what looks like the ghost of Marky Mark.

“I’m not a ghost,” he’ll say. “But I am a vision. Remember at the end of the movie when I started talking to Diane Lane via my internal monologue?”

“Never saw the end,” you’ll say.

“Well that doesn’t matter,” the ethereal vision of Marky Mark will say. “Because had you seen to the end of the movie, you would not have seen what I started talking about via my internal monologue after that. I started saying, 'And if anyone out there can hear my internal monologue, I hereby vow to stay alive until you come for me. I will do whatever it takes, but alive I will stay. Never stop looking!'”

“Oh my God!” you’ll say. “So you’ve managed to stay alive in the Ocean all these years?”

“I learned to sleep without sinking so that I can regain my strength when I’m tired from swimming. And I can also catch fish with my hands and eat it raw now. Why did they stop looking for me?!”

“Because they cut that part out of the movie I guess,” you’ll say. “But I can hear you now. And I’ll make sure you’re saved.”

“Thanks,” the ethereal vision of Marky Mark will say. Then he’ll ask if he can stay there in the room and watch you sleep. He’ll say that he likes to watch girls sleep. You’ll consent.

The next day you’ll check wikipedia and you’ll learn that neither the boat nor the bodies were ever found. You’ll go to the coast guard and tell them what you saw, but they won’t believe you. So you’ll buy a rowboat and row out into the Ocean until you find Marky Mark, pull him into your boat, then take him home where he can thank you by marrying you. Congratulations.

Happy Those Guys On The Boat In “The Perfect Storm” Are Still Alive Day!

Don’t Get The Girl Day!

Today you should be the guy who doesn’t get the girl. But instead of being a caring, funny, warm-hearted nerd who doesn’t get the girl because he’s not cool, you should be the kind of guy who was locked in an attic by evil step-parents who kept you confined to a world of darkness and silence for eighteen years, and so whenever you ask girls out you don’t know how to use words, only grunts and short punches at the thing you want and your eyes should be orange.

Happy Don’t Get The Girl Day!

Fake Your Death Day!

Find someone who looks just like you and mail him some of your clothes. He'll be confused at first, but eventually he'll put on the clothes and go outside because what would you do? Make sure you're there when he does because it will probably only happen once that he'll put on an entire outfit of your clothes without mixing and matching them into his own wardrobe. When you see him in your clothes, run up to him and hand him your wallet. Say, "I want you to have this. It's what I want." He'll again be confused by such random behavior, but he'll take the wallet because what would you do? It would be rude not to. He'll put the wallet in his pocket then you'll spray him with gasoline, making sure to get his face and hands really wet with the gas, and then you'll set him on fire. Once he's dead, kick all his teeth in and steal them. When the police come, they'll say, "His face, hands, and teeth are gone, so we'll have to identify him by his clothes and his wallet." They'll report you officially dead and you won't have to go in to work tomorrow or worry about whether you'll ever have an experience singular enough that you could tell someone about it without them falling over dead from boredom. Unless in your new life you get a new job and make new friends who are waiting for something remotely interesting to fall out of your mouth.

Happy Fake Your Death Day!

Health Insurance Day!

Today you are going to have health insurance for the first time ever (you’re fifty!). Immediately after electing for a comprehensive PPO plan, you start looking around the house for all the stuff you’ve been dying to shove up your rear end but were too afraid of the super-high health costs you might incur if something gets stuck and you require professional retrieval. You have a very large coffee table, so you gather all the items on your wish list and line them up on your coffee table, in the order that you’d like to try them out. That order is as follows:

- Your “If My Face Is In This Mug, Get Yours Out Of My Cubicle” coffee mug
- The remote that came with your cable box
- One of those tubes of toothpaste that you sit upside down on the sink so the paste is always ready to come out
- A footstool (the legs are braided wood)
- A pair of Seven for All Mankind jeans
- Colin, your wife’s Puggle (won’t stay on the table)
- A photograph of Chow Yun-Fat
- Roll of nickels
- Dreams and notions
- A small, vibrating ass-plug

When your wife comes home, she’ll see all the items on the able and say, “Today’s the big day then?”

You’ll look at her with a grin that both thanks her for being understanding and sort of asks her once more whether she’s sure she’s okay with this.

“I’ll be staying at the Comfort Inn on 76,” she’ll say. Then she’ll kiss you. “I’m proud of you.”

Your wife will leave and you’ll sit down on the couch, staring at your bounty, trying not to cry.

“I’m lucky,” you’ll say. The puggle will bark and you’ll go into the bathroom to ready yourself.

Happy Health Insurance Day!

Your Mom Is A Time Traveler Day!

A few months ago your Mom stuck a fork into the toaster while hitting the “Whip” button on the blender and she was sent hurtling through time. She came back and told you all about it.

“I met Jimmy Page when he was in high school,” she said. Then she went back in time again because she had a date with Jimmy Page.

It looks like your Mom and Jimmy Page hit it off, even though she was in her early forties when she went back in time to date him. Apparently young Jimmy Page was looking for an older woman in his life.

The problem is, Led Zeppelin sounds weird now. More than half of their songs don’t exist, and the other half sound a little bit like Foghat. Radio stations never say that they’re getting the led out, because that would just announce that they’re about to play a forgettable kind of pop rock. And while it’s not clear that the two are related, Iran is a democracy.

All because your Mom wanted to do it with Jimmy Page more than she wanted to stick around and watch her child grow up. Don’t tell anybody what you know. If the world's population found out they could have had Led Zeppelin if only you were a more enjoyable kid, they'd never stop ritually sacrificing you.

Happy Your Mom Is A Time Traveler Day!

The Barber Is Going Mad Day!

Today you are going to go to the barber to get a professional shave. Unfortunately, he has been going mad of late, and he will be convinced that you are the man from the government come to keep tabs on how the emotional manipulation experiment is going.

“I don’t know of any experiment,” you’ll say.

“Then I suppose my wife left me just because she wanted to? It wasn’t so that you could measure the negative effect it would have on me and my well-being.”

His wife left him for you, actually, though he doesn’t know that.

“Prove to me that you’re not from the government,” he’ll say.

“Could a man from the government love your Melissa the way I do?”

Your barber will accidentally slice your neck, not too deep. He’ll back away.

“You,” he’ll say.

“I love your wife,” tell him. “But I love your shaves more.”

Wipe the blood from your neck.

“Finish,” say.

“You trust me not to kill you?” he’ll ask.

“I trust that when that straight-razor is in your hand, all that can come of it is beauty and perfection. I trust that you love your craft, that you love the muse that guides your hand more than you could ever love any earthly woman. I trust that when a man gets up from this chair, he is guaranteed to be more debonair than he ever—“

The barber will slice your neck deep and quiet. Instantly, your torso will be soaked with blood. The blood will pool around and under your belt and it will fall down your legs and drip from your shoes, mixing with the tufts of strange hair on the ground.

Happy The Barber Is Going Mad Day!

Little Kids Who Love Their Moms Too Much Day!

Today is your first day in the personal development workshop, “Little Kids Who Love Their Moms Too Much.” It’s for children in your age group (5-8) who seem overly needy for their mothers’ attention. You were recommended for the workshop by your teacher after your fourth day arriving at Kindergarten, crying for your mom to not let you go and then spending the first few hours saying, “I want my Mommy.” It was decided that you had dependence issues.

At the workshop, you are introduced to various women of your mom’s age and you’re given time to get to know these women and learn that the world is full of women just as intelligent and interesting as your mother. The first you’ll meet is Carrie, who loves jazz.

“Listen to those horns,” Carrie will say as she snaps her fingers to a compact disc she’s playing for you. “Man those cats can howl.” You’ll kick Carrie’s shins.

Next you’ll meet Laraine. Laraine is an urban planner. “I decide where stuff should go and when someone says they wanna build something I tell ‘em how high.” Laraine will spend a lot of time on her cell phone. She’ll get angry when you pick up her purse and dump its contents on the floor.

You’ll also spend time with Sue (a lawyer), Barbara (a Hertz car rental agent) and Mandy (a nutritionist). They will all tell you about their jobs and their hobbies and they’ll all seem very nice, but none of them will have that smell or that softness or that unnameable warmth that your mom has. By the time you reach Kathy, you’ll be crying.

“You miss your Mom?” Kathy will ask.

You’ll nod.

“I miss my son,” she’ll say. “He just started kindergarten. I thought I’d come here to play with other kids and it would take some of the sting away. But man I can’t be without that kid for a second. He’s so awesome.”

“My mom is great,” you’ll tell her.

Kathy will whisper, “Wanna get out of here?”

You’ll nod, and Kathy will throw a chair through the window and lift you through it. Then she’ll follow and the two of you will take off running, hand-in-hand, never stopping until you get what’s yours (a hug).

Happy Little Kids Who Love Their Moms Too Much Day!

You Left Your Fish Tacos Under The Couch Day!

Last night you went out and ordered yourself a big Mexican meal. Unfortunately, you filled up on banana daiquiris before your entrée came and you had lots of leftover fish tacos so you brought them home in a doggy bag. Today you’re gonna go looking for the doggy bag in the fridge but it won’t be there. After a furtive search, you’ll remember that when you walked into your apartment you instantly fell down on the floor and you didn’t want to get back up, so you stuffed the doggy bag underneath the couch for safekeeping, just in case any burglars came in, and you went to sleep there for a dozen hours.

Now you’re fucking starving and you really want to eat those fucking fish tacos. But are they still good if they weren’t kept refrigerated and are now covered in dust bunnies and credit card receipts and long lost universal remote controls?

“No,” your friend Barbara will say. “Don’t eat them.”

Explain to Barbara that you want to eat them.

“Don’t,” Barbara will say. “And don’t call me at the hospital again. They pulled me out of a surgery for this.”

Assume that Barbara didn’t get what you mean when you said you want to eat the tacos and call Gerald for a second opinion.

“Don’t eat the tacos,” Gerald will say. Tell Gerald you think it’s really rude of him to just rush to judgment like that after you made it clear to him that you want to eat the tacos. Gerald will hang up on you. Unbeknownst to either of you, you will both sit down at your respective desks and simultaneously write each other letters severing your friendship.

After a few more calls to friends who won’t pay attention to what you want, you’ll take a bite of one of the tacos. It will not taste as good as at the restaurant, but at least you’ll be doing what you want and that’s what’s important because this is America. Call all your friends back and tell them they can love it or they can leave it on their answering machines (no one will answer your calls for a few days). After you bite into a dust bunny that is crunchy with a dead cricket, you’ll decide you’ve eaten enough of your leftovers and you’ll go and cruise True.com and check out who’s lonely this week.

Happy You Left Your Fish Tacos Under The Couch Day!

Try To Get Through To These Kids Day!

You’re a schoolteacher and your students are having a pregnancy contest to see who can have a baby the fastest. The girl who has her baby last will be shunned socially and her life will pretty much stink, at least while she’s in middle school. You need to get these kids to wake up!

“Come on!” tell them. “It’s not cool to be mean to girls because they aren’t as fertile as you or because they can’t deliver their babies as fast as you. You girls need to stick together as you go through this, the most magical experience a teen can have.”

The girls will gather into a group hug, and you’ll be proud of yourself for finally reaching them. Until one of the girls sucker-punches another in her big stomach. All of the other girls will laugh while the girl who got punched miscarries. Then the bell will ring.

The girl who miscarried will stay behind after class.

“I’m out of the contest,” she’ll say, near tears.

“Bet you’d like a milkshake,” say to her.

The miscarrying girl will smile at you, then she’ll clean up her mess and let you take her down to the ice cream shop for a milkshake. She may not be one of the cool pregnant girls anymore, but at least she knows that people can still be kind.

Happy Try To Get Through To These Kids Day!

Your Girlfriend’s Band Just Hit It Big Day!

Your girlfriend’s band HOT SEXY MUSIC PLAYING is becoming huge with their new single NAUGHTY DANCEY SONG ABOUT TITS sweeping the nation like a bunch of fast eagles trying to get from one end of the nation to the other and then back again. You’d better find out whether she still wants you in her life or not.

“Honey,” you’ll say through her dressing room door. There’s a star on it. “Everything okay between us?”

Her manager will tell you through the door that you and your girlfriend are broken up, and that they had you barred from the building where she gets dressed, so you’re officially trespassing.

“The police are on their way and they’ll shoot you on sight,” he’ll say.

“But I don’t have any weapons. I haven’t done anything,” you’ll argue.

“The police love NAUGHTY DANCEY SONG ABOUT TITS,” he’ll say. “And they’ll do anything to insure that HOT SEXY MUSIC PLAYING releases more awesome music. Sorry but that’s rock and roll.”

You’ll feel two gunshots to your back. The police must have snuck up from behind and started shooting.

“You’d better not get any blood on that dressing room door,” your girlfriend’s manager will say through the door. As you die, you’ll do your best to wipe the door clean of your blood with your sleeve, but the blood will just smear. You’ll die hoping that if you can get that blood off the door, maybe your girlfriend will get back together with you for the last few seconds of your life, but watching that blood smear you’ll know that it’s not going to work out and you are going to die single.

Happy Your Girlfriend’s Band Just Hit It Big Day!

The Saga Of Worthless Wilma Day!

When Worthless Wilma was eleven years old, she walked past a well and heard a little girl screaming for help from the bottom. Instead of going to find an adult who might help, Worthless Wilma went to the creek to look at crayfish. That little girl died at the bottom of the well. Ever since then, she’s been known to everyone as Worthless Wilma.

Today Worthless Wilma turns thirty-four. She’s spent her whole life trying to shed her nickname “Worthless,” but it seems that anytime anyone might count on her she ends up wandering off to go and waste time doing something of no value whatsoever (walking through a public garden, entering a Sun Chips eating competition, attending the test screening of “Who’s Your Caddy” and marking the questionnaire with 3’s all the way down). But today she’s going to change all that.

Today, on her way to her birthday party, she’s going to see a car by the side of the road with a flat tire. A man and a woman will be standing by the car. Worthless Wilma will pull over, and they’ll ask her for a lift. “I can’t risk being delayed,” she’ll say. “But when I get to where I’m going, I’ll phone for help for you.” They’ll thank Worthless Wilma very much.

On the drive to her party, Worthless Wilma will practically chant to herself to strengthen her resolve to follow through on what she promised those stranded motorists. “Must. Call. Tow Truck. Must. Finally. Help Someone!” Once she gets to the restaurant, she’ll rush her hellos to everyone, telling each person, “I can’t greet you for very long as I have to call a tow truck for some stranded motorists.” She’ll fill only a very small plate from the order of nachos in the center of the table. She’ll drink only one margarita, making sure to order her second so that it’s on the way, and then she’ll say to the waiter, “Sir I need to use your phone if I may!”

The waiter will shake his head no and he’ll suggest that Worthless Wilma use her cell phone, or the cell phone of one of her sixteen dinner companions. Worthless Wilma will be shaken by the wrench thrown into her plans and she’ll wait for her second margarita to arrive so that she’ll have something to drink while she considers what to do. To help her mind relax, she’ll complete the child’s maze on her place-mat, and then she’ll ask her neighbor at the table what he does for a living (he’s a parking attendant). Finally, after much deliberation, just before the waiter returns with dessert menus, Worthless Wilma will announce to the table, “I need to call for help!”

She’ll dial information on her cell phone and ask for AAA. When they answer, she’ll hang up and begin playing Tetris on her phone. Realizing that she has not yet done enough, she’ll call back and tell AAA that there is a car with a flat tire someplace. When they ask where, she’ll name the city in which she lives. AAA will ask on which road she saw the car, and Worthless Wilma will shout, “Good God I am just one woman! Flesh and blood, and yet you seem to demand of me divinity!” Just then a cake will arrive and everyone will sing Happy Birthday to Worthless Wilma.

On her ride home, she’ll keep an eye out for the car with the flat tire, but will see no stranded motorists. “Success,” she’ll think. “I helped somebody tonight,” she’ll think. “At age thirty-four, I have finally managed to be of use.” Proud of her accomplishment, Worthless Wilma will drive on home, and she’ll get out of her car and toss her cigarette onto the neighbor’s lawn, setting their rosebushes on fire.

Happy The Saga Of Worthless Wilma Day!

Shoot The Messenger Day!

Today you’re going to shoot a singing telegram in the stomach. He’ll be dressed like Shrek and he’ll be singing about how it’s okay being green because at least he’s not thirty-six (today’s your 36th birthday). You’ll claim that you were cleaning your gun and it went off, but you’ll be charged with second-degree murder anyway. Once you’re in jail, you’ll finally find out who sent the singing telegram. It was your ex-wife.

“I wanted to win you back,” she’ll tell you when she visits you. “I wanted to make you laugh again. And I know you love Shrek. He’s really funny.”

“Shrek sucks,” you’ll tell her. You’ll later regret being so candid when a transcript of this conversation is used against you in court. “The only good thing that will come out of this is that I got to watch that ogre die. You always gave me terrible presents, with no clue what I actually wanted. This is just like when you bought me that James Bond box set even though I hate James Bond movies. Now you’ve topped them all. You gave me a present that got me thrown in jail, maybe for decades.”

It will be for decades. Two and a half actually. The judge will be a Shrek fan and he’ll want to set an example in case anyone else out there is thinking of killing that lovable ogre. Your ex-wife will come to visit every week, and you’ll refuse her visit every time. When you finally get paroled in 2025, you and your ex-wife will be in your fifties. She’ll be waiting outside the gate when you’re released. You’ll let her drive you to her place since you have nowhere else to go. As a welcome back present, she’ll give you an action figure of a Moose in a tuxedo. Later you’ll find out his name is Murray Moose, and he’s the star of an animated movie that swept the nation the year prior. When you watch the movie, you’ll think it blows, but you'll stick by your ex-wife anyway since it's either her or the halfway house.

Happy Shoot The Messenger Day!

Cash In Your 401K Again Day!

Call Vanguard and ask the guy, “How much is in my 401K now?”

“602 dollars,” he’ll say.

“Sweet! I’m going to the shore this weekend. How fast can you get that to me?”

He’ll tell you about the penalties incurred by cashing in early, stuff you’ve all heard before. But then he’ll add that there’s a sixty dollar fee for getting a rush wire transfer of funds.

“Sixty bucks? So after the fees and the penalties, how much will I get?”

“206 dollars,” he’ll say.

“Kickass! Lemme have it.”

He’ll ask you how old you are and you’ll say fifty-one. He’ll ask if you have a retirement goal and you’ll say, “Yeah. It’s called ‘Dying Early.’ And if I use that 206 bucks right, I should be a whole lot closer to that goal after this weekend. Hoo baby do I have some fun lined up for me down in Cape May.”

He’ll ask you what you got planned and you’ll tell him and while you give him the details the Vanguard guy will just keep saying, “Wow, no kiddin’?!” By the end of the call, the Vanguard guy will start to think maybe you’re the one who’s got it all figured out, and all those billions of dollars under Vanguard management are the treasure chests of a bunch of Nervous Nellies who are scared to sleep with beach prostitutes because of the possibility of contracting some very minor and treatable diseases.

Happy Cash In Your 401K Again Day!

You Wore Out The Sex Scene On Your VHS Copy Of “An Officer And A Gentleman” Day!

You don’t like to have people over to your home anymore because at some point in the night your friends always start rooting through your expansive collection of VHS movies and it’s inevitable that one of them will come back to the living room shouting, “Hey Guys, he’s got 'An Officer And A Gentleman' here!"

Everyone else will note that they haven’t seen that movie in years, as it hasn’t been aired on cable or elsewhere since 1989. You’ll say that it’s not really as good as they remember, but they’ll ultimately take a vote and agree to pop it into the VCR. That’s when you’ll start to squirm.

They’ll all be enjoying the movie, the push-ups, the small-town gals looking for husbands, Lou Gossett Jr. But you’ll know what’s coming. You’ll know that when the sex scene between Richard Gere and Debra Winger begins, the picture is going to go fuzzy and warped, and then it will disappear completely.

At first they’ll complain: “Hey what gives? I thought VHS tapes were supposed to last forever.” Then they’ll try and fix it: “Maybe if we rewind?” Then they’ll start making accusations: “The picture is bad because [YOUR NAME] wore out the tape because [YOUR NAME] likes to jerk off to it and he has to rewind and replay over and over again because the scene isn’t very long!”

And then they will laugh.

“It’s true,” you’ll say, quieting their laughter. “I do use the sex scene from ‘An Officer And A Gentleman’ as erotica. It’s very graphic, yet very tender. And I have always dreamed of having a love like that between Richard Gere and Debra Winger. I dream of trying to achieve a better character, and of being wanted by a woman who’s having it hard and just wants a little bit of help.”

Now they’re crying. Not at you. The movie’s still on and they just found whatshisname hanged. They forgot what you said already, and all that’s left is for Richard Gere to carry Debra Winger through the factory. Let them watch alone. Go into your bedroom and pop in your VHS copy of “Coming Home” and rub one out while they’re finishing their movie in the living room. Make sure to listen for “Love Lift Us Up Where We Belong” so you can get out there to watch the end with them and say goodbye. You need to hide your VHS movie collection better. It says far too much about yourself and no one really wants to listen.

Happy You Wore Out The Sex Scene On Your VHS Copy Of “An Officer And A Gentleman” Day!

You Open Prisons Day!

Today, you’re the girl who goes out and finds new and interesting neighborhoods where you can open prisons. It’s a good job. You travel the country, scoping out the lay of the land and trying to find that special patch of America where the next big maximum security prison will make a home. Naturally, most of your fellow Americans are always quick with a friendly word.

“My baby’s father goes to prison a lot, on average he spends half the year there,” one woman will tell you when you meet her in a coffee shop. “So if we had a prison right here in town, I wouldn’t have to get fired from my job every time I go and visit him in one of those pens three states over anymore. I could just go over on a Saturday.”

“I could finally achieve my dream of selling fake baby drawings from a roadside table,” another man will tell you as you and he wait to check out at a Stop N’ Shop. “No need for such a thing in any old town. But on the road outside of a prison, when a parent visits his or her spouse but has forgotten to bring any of their baby’s drawings to show off, that’s where I come in. I just love to make fake baby drawings of birds flying out of bird cages that say Daddy on them.”

"The fear of escapees would cut down on folks picking up hitchhikers,” an anti-hitchhiking advocate will tell you. “That’s all I care about. ‘Make ‘em walk’ is our slogan. ‘They should’ve thought ahead and arranged transportation for themselves,’ is another slogan of ours that we don’t use all that much.”

Almost everybody will be for you and your prison coming to town and building over the public parks and recreation centers. Everybody except for the president of the local chapter of the “Our Town’s Just Fine The Way It Is Association.” He’ll be another in a long line of rabble-rousers who think it’s in his town’s best interest to send the convicts and their unlimited tax revenue elsewhere.

You know how to handle these opponents. You go to bed with them and let your opposing forces battle it out underneath the sheets, yielding some of the best sex any American can have outside of a jail cell. Just don’t fall in love again. That’s the tough part about being the girl who goes looking for places to open prisons. Trying not to fall in love with the good guy. He’s always just so dismissive of you and everything you stand for, you can’t help but hand him your heart.

Happy You Open Prisons Day!

Just Trying To Buy Some Stereo Components Day!

Today you need to buy some stereo components, including a tweeter, but there’s that little problem of you blowing the big game against Jefferson back you when you were a field goal kicker in high school.

The man who sells the items (called a “salesman” in the Circuit City industry) will approach you with a wide smile. Get it all out of the way.

“Before you begin your pitch, the answer is yes, my name is [YOUR NAME] and at only eighteen yards I blew the big field goal kick that could have finally buried those smug bastards at Jefferson back in 1990. But I had a lot on my mind. My father had been entered into a psychiatric hospital the night before. He was bipolar.”

The salesman, still smiling, will say, “Hey I knew I recognized you! Don’t you worry about all that crud. Your Daddy okay now?”

Shake your head no. The salesman will try to look sorry for you while still maintaining that big smile on his face. Then he’ll direct you to the components that you’re looking for. He’ll sell you on something slightly more expensive than you wanted, but he’ll make you believe that the price is worth it.

A week later, after many hours of listening, you’ll realize that these stereo components you purchased were not at all worth the higher price. You’ll call the Circuit City and ask for the salesman who helped you.

“I said I was sorry, dammit!” you’ll shout when he comes to the phone. “My father was ill. He’s gone now. Isn’t that enough for you people?”

“Most of those kids in those bleachers didn’t even have Daddies to give a damn about!” the salesman will shout back. “You walk into my store holding a big pile of excuses for ruining my high school spirit, well then you’ll walk out holding a big pile of overpriced, shit-ass components, including that tweeter which has been known to set some of the thicker carpeting on fire. Go Edgemont!”

Then he’ll hang up. And you’ll go back into your living room and listen to your shitty stereo system, accepting your punishment, and wondering why God had to go and make your Dad sick. Why your Dad?

Happy Just Trying To Buy Some Stereo Components Day!