You’re Lorraine Of Lorraine’s Beauty Shop And Today’s The Day You Kill Day!

You knew the day was going to come eventually, the day when Karradine rolled back into town and made like you were still his bride.

“You ran off,” say.

“Twelve years ago and two days,” Karradine will say, leaning against the radiator cover with both hands.

You tell him you didn’t count the days. He’ll say you did, but you didn’t. You didn’t! You didn’t know that you could go ten seconds without Karradine, let alone over twelve years, back when he first roped you in. He was able to convince a young, scared girl like you to join his corral of fake wives. Brides. But it turns out you were so young he was just the first of many sideshows you’d throw a passing glance.

That’s where you have the advantage over Karradine. He doesn’t know how quick you fell in with another crowd, even more destructive than his, but that was nothing compared to the crowd that came after that, and after that, and after that. Karradine doesn’t know that he was essentially just another nobody in your world. In a sea of nobodies. He was the first nobody, the very first, the one who took your belief in goodness away, but just because he was the first that doesn’t make him something special. If you’ve had a life of nightmares, that doesn’t mean the first one is more powerful than the 145th. Karradine doesn’t know he’s not that big a deal to you, so you can just go ahead and look him in the eye and tell him he doesn’t barely merit a flutter of your eyelids. Tell Karradine he’s a nobody, nothing of consequence to you, and send him on his way.

“So,” Karradine will say, his hands still gripping the radiator cover, holding up his weight. “You ready to come home?”

Your answer comes in a blur. You pick up a decorative, Mexican, hard-glass egg and you wheel it over your head and down once, twice into his. You dig it down hard enough to smash a skull to pieces, not just a fatal crack, but to pieces in his sack of skin. The first nightmare is the first and you can’t have any others until you have your first, so it has to die for all the others to go away. The first is important. Karradine has to say goodbye.

Happy You’re Lorraine Of Lorraine’s Beauty Shop And Today’s The Day You Kill Day!

Famous Corpse Day!

You’re the world’s most famous corpse thanks to a sex tape that was released featuring a necrophiliac movie star having sex with your preserved cadaver (he paid a morgue to ship you to him on ice). Extra and Access Hollywood are fighting each other to score the first interview with your lifeless husk. Various branding managers are trying to get you to launch a clothing line with them, envisioning your dead body modeling gorgeous ready-to-wear items that twenty-something girls will be dying to be caught dead in. Meanwhile, parenting groups are accusing your corpse of setting a bad example for their daughters, now that there are reports of teenage girls drawing up their living wills to guarantee that their bodies get preserved and donated to the right morgue in the hope that their bodies will be sexed by someone famous once their souls have passed on. Though your memory is being scandalized, the money from the clothing line, book deal, and reality show (Stiff Livin’ on E!) is going straight into your kids’ college funds, so looks like that car accident wasn’t such a bad idea after all. The celebrity who had sex with your corpse was Adrien Brody.

Happy Famous Corpse Day!

You Can’t Remember Which Framed Painting Of Your Dick The Wall-Safe With All Your Money Is Behind Day!

Is it the painting of your dick wearing a mustache at the Lynyrd Skynyrd concert? Or the painting of your dick waving a flame-thower at some school kids? Or is it behind the painting where your dick is painting a painting of your dick? There’s 70 thousand dollars in cash in a wall safe behind one of those paintings of your dick. The way you set it up for you to remember is that you would look at all the paintings of your dick and you’d decide which one reminded you of your father the most. Behind that painting is a wall-safe full of money. So take a look around. Which painting of your dick reminds you of your father the most?

Happy You Can’t Remember Which Framed Painting Of Your Dick The Wall-Safe With All Your Money Is Behind Day!

Masked Dating Day!

There’s a terrible new dating site called Masked Dating that you’re trying out. You meet someone online and you two wear masks all night long. You can even strap one of those things to your throat to change your voice if you want. The site also recommends an assortment of poorly lit bars far away from both parties’ respective neighborhoods so neither of you has to worry about anyone who recognizes you walking up to your table and revealing personal details about you. Basically, you can go on a date with someone and not have to worry about the person you’re on the date with finding out you’re you. There’ve been two murders already, and the rest of the dates are with people in WitPro. Tonight, you’re going out with former mob rat Henry Hill!

Happy Masked Dating Day!

It’s An Epidemic Day!

Today people are dropping like flies and you’re scared because you just heard your husband sneeze.

“It wasn’t a sneeze,” he’ll say.

“I believe you,” tell him.

Don’t believe him. You know he’s got the Fatal Sniffles and you know it’s because he wasn’t careful. You know it’s because he saw her again. He probably went to say goodbye to her, knowing the quarantine would send her across the country away from him. He got infected because he was untrue and now he brings this home to you?

“Ahchoo!”

Smile calmly.

“It’s dusty in here.”

“I’m going for a walk,” tell him.

There’s kerosene in the garage. Bolt the door behind you so he’s trapped inside and spray the kerosene around the perimeter of the house then light a match. He brought this on himself, and on you. If this is how careless he is with your life, you should have no regard for his. Light the match and get to the Northeast 3 camp. There’s still room in that quarantine for people who want to stay alive.

Happy It’s An Epidemic Day!

You’re A Businessman Day!

“Sell,” you shout sometimes. “We need to get that to the mail room ASAP,” you also shout sometimes. “I don’t give a fuck about rain forests,” you’re shouting into the phone right now.

“But sir,” some nobody crybaby responds. “So many pelicans will die.”

“I like money and cheating on my wife with the secretaries!” you shout before slamming the phone down. Then you go to the restaurant and spend $75,000 on lunch because today you’re a businessman. Tomorrow you’ll be a surgeon.

Happy You’re A Businessman Day!

Make Movies About Girls Day!

Today make movies about girls who fall in love with ex-convicts who are trying to go straight but the criminal element keeps calling, and the only thing keeping them on the level is girls. Make movies about girls who love boys who are trying to overthrow fascist governments even though they’d rather just spend their time overthrowing girls. Make movies about girls who set boys on fire in protest against boys who cheat on them with girls who look just like them, and who beat boys to death in protest against boys who cheat with girls who look nothing like them. Make movies about girls who own pet shops, girls who own parking garages, and girls who own other girls. Make a movie about the first all-girl civil war army, the first all-girl major American city, and the first all-girl boy. You have six weeks.

Happy Make Movies About Girls Day!

Tips On Kisses Day!

It’s time for Tips On Kisses, the only place where you can get all the kisses tips you’ll ever need.

First things first, go find yourself someone to kiss.

Keep looking.

Keep looking.

Keep looking.

Not her.

Keep looking.

Keep looking.

Not him.

Keep looking.

Not that.

Keep looking.

Keep looking.

What is that? No, put that down you’ll get arrested.

Keep looking.

Keep looking.

Keep looking.

That’s my Dad.

Keep looking.

She looks inebriated. Ma'am have you been drinking? Then no. Keep looking.

Keep looking.

Keep looking.

Found someone? Great!

Okay Tip #2, point your toes at her toes.

Tip #3. Start breathing through your nose. If you have to blow your nose to clear those nostrils, do it now. You’re going to need to be able to breathe through your nose during the kiss, because your mouth will be on hers, your tongues touching, mixing your saliva with her saliva and that includes remnants of everything she’s eaten. You need to be able to breathe through your nose while you do all that, so make sure you’re all clear.

Tip #4. Look her in the eye but not angrily. Look at her like you’re thinking, “I wanna put it in my mouth. I wanna put it in my mouth and keep it. I wanna sneak it into a movie theater in my mouth then sit down in my seat and pull it out of my mouth, then I wanna put it in my mouth again.”

Tip #5. Say I love you.

Tip #6. Grab her by both of her hands, then spin her around like a ballerina. Girls need to feel like ballerinas. Don’t spin her too many times. 30 times and that’s it.

Tip #7. Start to lean in for the big moment but stop and say, “Wait, do you hear something?” Then run into the bushes and make scary animal sounds like you’re being attacked. Slice your own face open with a knife you should already have, then walk back out and say, “That bear won’t be bothering you ever again.” Girls need to feel like protected ballerinas.

Tip #8. By now she’s topless of her own volition unless you did something wrong. It’s time to ask her who she’s working for. Say, “I’m not a fool. You’re clearly just trying to get information out of me. No woman as beautiful as you would be interested in me unless you wanted to know what I know.” She’ll insist that she’s just into it and nothing more, but she’ll be happy because girls need to feel like protected ballerinas who are beautiful enough to be international spies.

Tip #9. Pull out your penis and waggle it. Explain, “It will get longer later. I promise.” If she agrees to believe your promise, shake hands. Note, don’t make this promise unless it’s the truth but it probably is.

Tip #10. Now is when you exchange hand-made presents. Dreamcatchers and lanyards are good first kiss gifts. No ashtrays. Even if she’s a smoker, you shouldn’t encourage that.

Tip #11. Tell your families that you’d both like to be excused from the dinner table. Your families will continue getting to know each other while the two of you go someplace private.

Tip #12. Follow the rose petals you should have already laid out as a path to your kiss tub. Get completely naked, climb into the tub together, and have intercourse.

Tip #13. Continue having intercourse for several months, maybe as many as a year, before you decide to move in together. Do so, but make sure you put the stuff that doesn’t fit in the apartment into storage in case things don’t work out.

Tip #14. Marry and have three children. It’s going to be a rough rocky road, and sometimes you’ll wonder if you two are even going to make it to your first kiss without splitting up, but you will.

Tip #15. Help each other through a difficult illness, the development of a differently abled child, and the death of both your parents. Be there for her when she needs you. Girls who are about to be kissed need to feel like beautiful, protected ballerinas who know that they can count on you through the tough times, so the sweet times will be that much sweeter.

Tip #16. Deal with an infidelity, yours or hers. It happens. Your love is stronger than that, the kiss you’re about to enjoy way too important.

Tip #17. Relish the time with your grandchildren. Marvel that you’ve raised such fine adults.

Tip #18. Receive a diagnosis that says you don’t have much longer together. It’s time to buy the pills.

Tip #19. Lie down, eat the pills, and pull the large plastic bag over your heads.

Tip #20. Lean in and slowly, gently, finally, give her the kiss she’s been waiting for, your first and only. Press your lips to hers and feel her mouth against yours as the pills slow your systems and the oxygen in the bag depletes and you calmly, quietly leave this world and carry each other into nothingness on the wings of your very first kiss.

Happy Tips On Kisses Day!

Home Invasions Count Day!

Today you’re going to experience a home invasion when two men knock on your door then burst in, tying you up, waving a gun in your face, and stealing all of your electronics and valuables before pistol whipping you and leaving. Though you’ve never seen them before and will never see them again, you’re going to count the whole ordeal as an evening of entertaining at home, something you haven’t done in the eleven years since your wife died (your wife cultivated most of the friendships in your marriage and people lost touch with you after she passed). You’re not going to call the police because you don’t want to remember this as a home invasion. You want to remember it as having had company over.

“See that Pam? I can still make friends without you,” you’ll shout at the sky. Then you’ll fall over on your side because you’re still tied to a chair. The paperboy will untie you two days from now.

Happy Home Invasions Count Day!

We Aren’t What You Ordered But We Are Who You Want Day!

You ordered a blonde prostitute but when the doorbell rings you’ll see three guys with dyed black hair in half shirts and Vans. “You aren’t what I ordered,” you’ll say. “But we’re who you want,” they’ll say. “Based on the questionnaire.” You did fill out a questionnaire and you answered the questions honestly. Invite the gentlemen in and don’t be surprised if you don’t find that the algorithm has landed you in the greatest solicited sexual arrangement you’ve ever enjoyed. Learn about yourself, Daryl (your name’s Daryl also).

Happy We Aren’t What You Ordered But We Are Who You Want Day!

Go Out On The Work Crew’s Scaffold And Just Hang Out Day!

The work crew has been outside your window working on the building facade for weeks now, and you’ve barely said two words to them. Today’s the day you just crawl out your window and hang out with them for a while. Ask them where they’re from, if they have any kids, how many times they’ve fallen in love, whether they’ve ever gone mountain biking and whether they’d like to go with you this weekend if the weather holds up. Also ask them what they think of your husband. Do they think he’s a good man? Do they think you could do better, because you have your doubts in that area. The work crew will be honest with you. They work with their hands.

Happy Go Out On The Work Crew’s Scaffold And Just Hang Out Day!

Mr. And Mrs. Funzone Day!

You and your wife worked at Funzone during high school and while you attended community college. It’s where you met, both of you making extra cash by tending to kids’ birthday parties and class trips. You courted her by the balls. You kissed her behind the cover of the Climb Tube. You made love in your car parked out back by the dumpsters where the pizza chefs get high. You proposed to her on stage while the animatronic band played Louie Louie. Now you’re both on the run for stealing seventy six thousand dollars and for killing the manager of Funzone, Lenny Fuonzoni.

“It’s believed that Mr. Fuonzoni was connected to the Leonetti organized crime family out of Rhode Island,” the newscaster is saying on the TV you’re watching in a motel room near Waterville, New Hampshire. Your faces will appear on screen in a minute. You can only hope the motel manager isn’t watching. He didn’t seem to get a very good look at you.

“The police have nicknamed them Mr. and Mrs. Funzone, and they are believed to still be in the Northeast. If you have any information…”

You thought Funzone was an innocent place. You didn’t know that it was a front for the biggest drug and prostitution syndicate in the state. You didn’t know that those kids were playing in balls made of cocaine and sexual commerce. You didn’t know the pizza sauce might as well have been made of blood. You didn’t know that you were helping put an innocent face on evil. When you found out…

“We had to do it,” you tell your wife. “We had to make him pay.”

“Now what?” your wife will ask, staring at the bag of money.

Canada. You need to get to Canada before the Leonettis or the police get to you. If you have to choose, the police will be the much safer bet. You need to keep heading north.

Outside you’ll hear footsteps approaching. They’ll stop outside your door. You’ll wait for a knock. Instead, after a few seconds of silence, a voice that may or may not be Italian will say, “Fun’s over.”

Happy Mr. And Mrs. Funzone Day!

They Call You Jeffrey Darts And You’re Throwing Three More Darts To Save Your Little Brother’s Life And That’s It Day!

Your little brother got in trouble borrowing money from the mob to set up his abortion clinic and he ended up not being able to pay it back.

“People just aren’t having as many abortions these days, due to it being an election year,” he tells you. “They said they’ll break my abortion thumbs if I don’t give them ten grand.”

The darts tournament pays ten grand. It’s not a coincidence that the mob would ask your little brother for just that amount. They’ve been looking for the chance to bet on you again. No one in the darts game pays out like you do.

“I’ll throw the darts,” you say. “I’ll throw three darts and no more than three. You go kill some babies and don’t sweat this.”

Stuff your darts case into your back pocket and go see Lou. You know where to find him. He’ll be eating his greasy sandwich with his little brother Joey and his cousin Danny. They know they sent you a message, but they don’t know what your response will be.

One dart in Lou’s neck. A second one in Joey’s eye. A third you jam into Danny’s heart and leave it there. One, two, three darts. Bull’s eye.

That’s how you play the board, Jeffrey Darts.

Happy They Call You Jeffrey Darts And You’re Throwing Three More Darts To Save Your Little Brother’s Life And That’s It Day!

Louise Day!

Your name is Louise today and you’re using a baby as a body shield.

“Louise!” your coworker and your only friend will shout.

“I’m innocent,” you’ll scream.

“But a baby? Come on Louise. Are you innocent of that?”

You’ll look at the baby. “You don’t know what you’d do in my position.”

She knows what she’d do. You know too.

“Look, I panicked,” you’ll say. “The baby’s peeing”

The baby’s peeing over your fingers.

“Put the baby down Louise,” your friend and coworker will shout. “This looks so bad.”

“I’m innocent,” shout again. “I was, at least."

You’ll lower the baby a little in shame. A marksman with the shot will take it. You’ll fall and the baby will land on your sprawled out legs.

Tomorrow you’ll be you again, but as far as today is concerned, for Christ’s sake. A baby?

Happy Louise Day!

Your Dog Is Telling The Big New York Strangler To Strangle People Day!

Everyone in New York City is scared of the Big New York Strangler. He’s been writing to newspapers telling them it’s not his fault, that a dog has been telling him to do it. Since the police can’t find the strangler, the police have decided to start tracking down the dog to tell him to stop it with the telling the guy to strangle people stuff.

When you heard that a dog was involved, you immediately suspected your Yorkie.

“You think it’s me, right?” your Yorkie says when it spots you staring at it. Tell it no, you would never suspect it.

“It’s okay. I’m very convincing.”

Ask it if it would ever do something like that.

“I can’t say that your race couldn’t do with a little weeding out,” your Yorkie will say. “But no. I haven’t told anyone to murder anybody in years.”

Hug your Yorkie and say you never suspected it.

“But I have been telling one gentleman to avenge the humiliations his mother delivered upon him by making his neighbors feel the punishment. What he did with that suggestion, I can’t guess.”

Your Yorkie will look you in the eye.

“After all,” it will say. “I’m just a dog.”

You’ll swear you saw it smile when it said that.

“Tell the police and you’re next.”

Your Yorkie will get up off its wee-wee pad and hop on the ottoman, where it totally doesn’t belong. But what are you going to do? What options do you have?

Happy Your Dog Is Telling The Big New York Strangler To Strangle People Day!

Mom’s Diet Pills Day!

You took away Mom’s diet pills because you want Mom to get fat so there will be more of her to love. Unfortunately Mom is addicted to those pills so when she finds them gone she immediately shoots her boarder, Harold, because she assumes he stole them. She comes to you to help her bury the body, but she says you have to do all the work because her reflexes are a little shot without those pills. When she’s not looking you take the pills out of your pocket and drop them on the ground, then pretend to find them and say, “Hey look. I found your pills. I guess maybe they were dropped there by someone who cares about you or something?”

You’re scared that your mom will get angry at you, since it was obviously you who took the pills. But instead she just takes them out of your hand, winks and says, “Guess so.”

Then she gobbles a couple of pills and lays down in the corner of the lawn, curled up like a cat, and she cries quietly while the pills take hold. You start shoveling to get that body in the ground before dawn, grateful that she didn’t get angry. This is the first time you’ve ever really let your mom know you care about her. It feels nice knowing she knows.

Happy Mom’s Diet Pills Day!

You’re The Motel Ghost Day!

You’re the ghost that haunts the Motel 6 off of I-95 near exit 222. You’ve seen more horrors than have ever been dreamed about by the architects of hell. Even if you stay in just one room you can be stunned by the disgusting atrocities committed by that room’s guests over the course of a single week. Today you’re trying to keep your attention on the TV as a little girl washes the blood off the walls after having spent the evening murdering her parents all because her father got a job in Florida and took her away from her friends at school. You’re considering throwing a few things around the room to scare her, but you know you could never do anything to frighten her more than her very existence has already frightened you. Instead, just wail at her “Geeeet Ooooout!” in a way that convinces her that she’s in danger, and not that you’re terrified to be in her company for a single moment. If it gets too scary, open the doorway to hell and escape into the firey eternity of torture to get the fuck away from the horrific nightmare that is modern American humanity looking for a cheap place to sleep.

Happy You’re The Motel Ghost Day!

Select Fast Cash Day!

Select “Fast Cash” at the ATM and you’ll be given an address for a warehouse full of bootleg cigarettes. A truck will be waiting outside. Drive the cigarettes to another warehouse in New Jersey, and when you get there, the $200 you’d like to withdraw from your account will be waiting for you. Is it a setup? Too good to be true? Can you afford not to take the chance? You have dinner plans at a cash only restaurant in three hours. The clock is already ticking. Should have withdrawn your money sooner if you wanted to be a good boy.

Happy Select Fast Cash Day!

Everyone At The Big Business Meeting Is Related But Doesn’t Know It Day!

They all feel it when they walk in the room. They all feel warm, and a little testy, like they’re filing into the dining room for Thanksgiving. Then they sit down, introduce each other, tell each other which branch of your multinational company they all hail from, then the meeting will start.

The speeches flow a little easier and the Powerpoint presentations have a little more meaning it seems. Bad jokes are laughed at with more playful groans. No one will get very flirty at all, but when there’s reason to disagree, tempers flare like things have been building for years, even though you all just met.

You’re second cousin to Jennifer in Accounting from Miami, who is the half-sister by secret family to Roger from Anaheim sales, who is first cousin to Pam, VP out of Flagstaff, who’s the father (doesn’t know it) to Dewey, the exec assistant for Mr. Hollis, CFO, who is an uncle to George, marketing manager for the Toledo campus, and George is first cousin to Felicia, a creative from Chicago.

Not a one of you knows, but all of you feel it. Every single one of you feels that same blood flowing through your veins.

By the end of the meeting, very little will have been accomplished, but it will feel like something necessary happened, something important. You’ll feel like this meeting was a long time coming, and you’ll feel exhausted, like you’ve been torn open and emptied out in front of the people who know exactly what you’ve got inside of you. All over the course of looking at some pie charts about projected staff cuts to be made in first quarter 2013.

When you get back to your hotel, send an email to the participants telling them what a great meeting you had. Roger from Anaheim will reply in agreement. Jennifer in accounting will concur. Dewey the executive assistant for Mr. Hollis will send everyone all of the pictures he took of everybody, and Mr. Hollis will post the big group photo on his Facebook page.

Wait a few weeks before sending out feelers for a meeting reunion six months from now. Everyone will be on board, but if you do it too soon it will be weird.

Happy Everyone At The Big Business Meeting Is Related But Doesn’t Know It Day!

Hiking With Murderers Day!

You and your husband met a few guys while hiking and so you all decided to hike together. The guys are murderers who’ve killed several people in this park just today. The police are probably after them but you don’t know that. All you know is they are murderers who are really good at spotting snakes and identifying flowers.

“It’s so beautiful,” you’ll say while staring out over a peak.

“You guys are such a cool couple,” Mark the Murderer will say. “Most people don’t like hiking with us because we’re murderers.”

“We’re not most people,” your husband Lou will say.

“You sure aren’t,” Kevin the murderer will say. His voice will be extra excited because he’ll have just finished strangling a middle-aged hiker who wandered near you.

A police helicopter will appear over the range.

“Come with us to our house!” you’ll shout.

The five of you will escape to your house. You’ll hide the murderers there until the world is ready to accept that some people are different and differences should be celebrated. You’ll hide them there until murderers are no longer seen as second-class-citizens, or until they murder you.

Happy Hiking With Murderers Day!

Captain SpraySpray Day!

You’re a graffiti artist who has kept his identity a secret for years, except now you have a nemesis who wants to expose you. Today he kidnapped Maura, the girl you love but who doesn’t like you because she thinks you’re a house-painter and that you could never be a super-talented graffiti artist. He says unless you come forward and identify yourself as the super-talented graffiti artist, he’ll kill her.

You have no choice but to send Jeff, one of your assistants, to pretend to be you.

“Yup,” Jeff will say. “I’m Captain SpraySpray.”

“Of course you are,” your nemesis will say. “I have no reason to doubt you.”

“You’re as handsome as I always imagined,” Maura will say to Jeff.

Jeff will immediately go home and make love to Maura. They’ll marry hastily and live off of the million dollar contracts to spraypaint the office walls of dotcom companies that want to seem with-it. He’ll hire you on as his assistant and he’ll be very tyrannical.

Happy Captain SpraySpray Day!

Pool Party Day!

You weren’t invited to the big office pool party, so you climbed a tree to watch all your coworkers splash around in their bathing suits, enjoying their time without you. From your vantage point, you’ll see your coworkers swim, tan, drink fruity drinks, and sneak off to make out under the shade of the very tree in which you’re hiding, and the whole scene will make you feel incredibly alone. So alone that you’ll start to cry, and you’ll cry loud enough that your coworkers will hear you and they’ll run to the base of the tree and set it on fire. The flames will rise, forcing you to either jump down to safety where you’ll be humiliated for spying on a party to which you weren’t invited, or stay in the tree and burn to death on its branches, so you stay in the tree and burn to death on its branches.

Happy Pool Party Day!

You’re A Kid Doctor Day!

You lost a patient today.

“I’m only twelve and a heart stopped beating while it was in my hands.”

Your hospital chief surgeon will tell you that you’ll get used to it.

“Excuse me,” you’ll say. You’ll step into an operating room and grab a scalpel to slit your own throat. The chief surgeon will stop you just in time.

“Why are you doing this?” he’ll ask.

Remind him that you’re only twelve and a heart stopped beating while it was in your hands.

“You’ll get used to it,” your chief surgeon will say.

Try to slash your own throat again. Repeat until they stop making you operate on people just because you’re smart, and they put you in an institution because you’re already so very ruined forever.

Happy You’re A Kid Doctor Day!

The Popcorn Factory Deaths Day!

Today you’re supposed to show up at the popcorn factory to commemorate the deaths that took place there two years ago which were your fault. You were making love with a delivery man while you were supposed to be watching the heating facility and the fires spread. You felt bad but the whole thing was shown to be an accident so you weren’t prosecuted.

You’re going to show up late to the memorial today because you’ll be making love to someone you met at a sandwich window. When you finally show up at the memorial everyone will look at you and shake their heads.

“Sorry I was…” you’ll say. “I got some action again.”

“That’s our Martha,” the mother of one of the deceased will say.

Everyone will laugh and then one of the fathers of the deceased will point to your skirt, which is tucked into your stockings.

You’ll sit down and the sister of one of the deceased will whisper in your ear, “Your promiscuity makes me feel so alive.”

You’ll tap her hand and lean forward because you don’t like when strangers get touchy, then you’ll grab some popcorn from your bag and start guzzling it down because you’re starved.

Happy The Popcorn Factory Deaths Day!

Murdertown Day!

A greedy developer wants to buy out Murdertown and build a golf course. You guys need to raise some money.

“Car wash,” you’ll suggest, and everyone will start gathering buckets and sponges.

Cars will come from miles and miles, and before you know it, there will be a line stretching down main street of people waiting to get their cars washed. Unfortunately you and your townsfolk with murder all of them before they can even pay. The rest of the day will be spent disposing of the bodies, but with the money in the victims’ wallets and the money you get from selling the victims’ cars, you raise just enough to keep the greedy developer from buying you all out.

“You’ve won this round,” the greedy developer will say just before you all, predictably, murder him.

Happy Murdertown Day!

Can’t Dance Can’t Be My Boy Day!

You just snapped your leg at the knee. Shannon told you she could never go out with a boy who couldn’t dance, so you took classes. At first it was a hard road, then you broke through and started showing them something. Before long you were getting cast for touring companies, then summer stock, then out-of-towners, then Broadway, until finally you were the guarantee that a show would open and never close. But you still weren’t getting what you got into the game for.

“Gotta go back to Ann Arbor,” you told your producers. They checked their contract and there was a Shannon clause.

You went back and put on a show specifically for her, her name in the title (“Shannon’s Show: The Proof That We’re In It To Win It”) and you put on a hell of a performance until a few seconds ago when you landed wrong and snapped your whole livelihood in two.

“I did it all for you though,” you’ll tell Shannon when she comes backstage to see how you’re doing after the show.

“Yeah well,” she’ll say. “You know the deal. Can’t dance, can’t be my boy.”

You knew the deal. Shannon will leave your dressing room without looking over her shoulder. You’ll go home and get work as an administrator at a youth organization devoted to the arts.

Happy Can’t Dance Can’t Be My Boy Day!

Round Noon Day!

You come in around noon every single day. “I’d like you to sit at the booth over there,” he’ll tell you. “See I handle the counter orders and my wife waits on the booths.” Tell him you like the counter. “My wife waits on the booths,” he’ll say. “It’s better that you sit over there.” You look at his wife, who is scowling at you from the serving station. Tell him there shouldn’t be an issue. That you’re just here to eat food and you should be allowed to sit where you like. “Please sit in that booth over there,” he’ll say. “My wife will take your order.” Go to the booth. When his wife comes by, she won’t say a word. She’ll just wait for you to say “Pancakes” then she’ll bring the slip of paper to the kitchen never weakening her suspicious frown. You thought for sure you kept your feelings a secret. Could she really know the depth of your feelings for her husband just by the way you spoke to him in the twelve words of conversation it took for him to take your order every day? Or did she detect something in his behavior? She must have detected something in his behavior. Now’s your chance. Run to the counter while she’s in the kitchen. “Out back in two minutes,” tell him. “I’ll bring my car around. You bring nothing but your beautiful face, and those two beautiful hands to lay upon my skin.” He’ll say, “Make it 90 seconds or she’ll stop us.” Race out that front door, making sure to grab the cowbell on the hinge so the sound doesn’t draw her back to the floor, then skid around to the back lot and get ready to peel away to a life of fresh, wonderful pancakes, every single morning, sprinkled with a layer of delicious love. Happy Round Noon Day!

You Just Go Downstairs And Ask Him Day!

You say to him look I’ve noticed these 22 years that you’ve been down here living alone just I’ve been living alone in the apartment one flight up. I had my reasons for living that way as I’m sure you have, though I can’t remember what mine were, haven’t been able to remember for about the last ten. Anyway, tell him, I hear the records you play down here and I like almost all of them except for the Steely Dan and the Edie Brickell. Thing is I’m gonna die and you’re gonna die, tell him, and we only got a handful of years left. Figure I could do a lot worse than dying alongside a man with a tolerable music collection so what do you say, you ask.

He’ll ask what he says to what. Guess you didn’t quite full on ask just yet.

Say what do you say to you and me. The two of us. Dying together.

I can’t live without my Dan, he’ll say. Can’t die without em neither.

And the Edie?

He’ll take a breath. She can take a walk, he’ll say.

He’ll step aside in his doorway for you to come inside and live out your final years in his apartment. You’ll take a look around the place, looks like it hasn’t been cleaned since Bill Clinton. Say maybe we should die upstairs in my place. Tell him he can bring the Dan.

Happy You Just Go Downstairs And Ask Him Day!

Apartment Tour Day!

The broker told you to go to the apartment. He’d already given the key to somebody to take a look, but if you get there in time she’ll let you in.

“No.”

“Good God.”

Your ex-wife will be standing in the middle of the empty living room holding the key on its rubber band.

“You’re back?”

She’ll say, “I never left. I just…got into different stuff.”

You’ll make love on the living room floor. There’ll be a knock on the door.

“No,” your ex-wife will say.

The man with the long black ponytail will say, “Good God.”

Your ex-wife will ask him when he got back into town. You’ll recognize him from photos. He was her boyfriend right before you and she met.

“I never left,” he’ll say. “I mean I left. Physically. I went to Alaska. But my heart was always here.”

You, your ex-wife, and her ex-boyfriend will make love in one of the two bedrooms. The more spacious one. There’ll be a knock on the door.

“No,” you’ll say.

The girl you made love to on a soul-searching camping trip, the girl you never thought you’d see ever again will say, “Good God.”

Ask her if she’s always lived in this town.

“I feel like I have,” she’ll say. “Even though, and this is a more direct answer to your question, I’m from Philadelphia born and raised.”

You, your ex-wife, your ex-wife’s ex-boyfriend, and the girl you made love to on a soul-searching camping trip will make love in the second of the two bedrooms. The less spacious one, more of a walk-in closet really. It’s kind of ridiculous. There will be a knock on the door.

“No,” you, your ex-wife, your ex-wife’s ex-boyfriend, and the girl you made love to on a soul-searching camping trip will say.

The real estate broker will already be getting naked.

“Let’s do it in the eat-in kitchen. Totally redone,” he’ll say.

After making love, you, your ex-wife, your ex-wife’s ex-boyfriend, the girl you made love to on a soul-searching camping trip, and your real estate broker will agree to split the rent five ways and share chores and decorating duties for the most erotic and emotionally connected roommate situation to which you’ve ever been party. You’ll constantly argue over who gets the small bedroom, and how much rent its occupant should have to pay, until eventually the group sex isn’t enough and you all move out to find an apartment that isn’t some kind of joke. I mean come on. The window is smaller than the one in the bathroom.

Happy Apartment Tour Day!

You Should Tell Him How You Feel Day!

No matter what you think is the right or proper thing to do, no matter who you’re presently engaged to or whether you think there’s better waiting for you, no matter if you think he’s entirely wrong for you and it’s not fair that your heart should make you feel so much for someone that shouldn’t even register on your radar, you should tell him how you feel.

“I think you’re radical,” say. “Absolutely sick.”

“Bitchin’,” he’ll say. “Get the fuck in my Datsun?”

“Get me the fuck in your Datsun,” say, gathering the train of your wedding gown into your hands.

Your parents will be a bit upset, as will the six hundred guests, not to mention your jilted groom, but the most entertaining weddings are the ones that don’t end up happening. Godspeed to your Datsun.

Happy You Should Tell Him How You Feel Day!

The Ice Couple Day!

They finally unfroze you and you came to before she did.

“You’ve inspired so many with your love,” the scientist says. “Do you remember what your last words to each other were? Were they ‘I love you?’”

Say, “What’s going on? Where am I? What year is it?”

They’ll tell you the year, the location of the lab, the fact that you were unfrozen after many, many years, and that the fact that you were found frozen in a block of ice holding hands with a woman has made many people revive their faith in love. The image has been shared all across the web and on magazine covers across the land. You and your unfrozen lady are the couple of the year.

“Who are you talking about?” you’ll ask.

They’ll show you the photo. You’ll squint.

“Oh wait,” you’ll say. You’ll squint some more. “Oh right. Sarah. Or, Sally? Savannah?”

They’ll tell you she’s in the next room if you want to kiss her while she’s still asleep but with cameras aimed at you for a live feed watched by the entire country.

“You know,” tell them. “It was just a date.”

Love at first sight, they’ll say.

“You know,” tell them. “It wasn’t going well. I kind of decided right away that it wasn’t working out.”

But then the ice age hit and you realized you were in love and that’s why you died holding hands, they’ll say.

“We were holding hands running, but then I was actually kind of trying to let go. Kind of worried that she’d slow me down,” tell them. “I was even worried about how it’d look if we ended up getting frozen together. But she didn’t let go.”

They’ll request that you never repeat what you just said, and that you tell anyone who asks that you’re in love with the girl you were frozen with.

Say, “Nope. It really wasn’t working. She was really into musical theater, and politically I made some jokes about Occupy and she seemed pissed.”

They’ll ask if you can just pretend to be into her.

“Nope,” say. “We didn’t connect.”

When your ice mate wakes up they’ll hold a picture of you in front of her.

“Ew,” she’ll say.

Happy The Ice Couple Day!

Winning Home Run Day!

Today’s the day you hit the winning home run.

“Dad, Dad did you see me hit the winning home run?” you’ll shout to the stands.

“He’s gone,” the other parents will say. “He’s gone and there’s no point in finding him.”

Hold your bat threatening them.

“You tell me where he is. Whatever he told you, it’s not true.”

They’ll look into your nine-year-old eyes with fright but they’ll hold their ground.

“He told us enough. Enough to make us understand his need to head east,” they’ll say. “You can try to terrify us with your words the way you did with your father, but we are many. We are parents. And we protect our own.”

Don’t bother with those fools. You could stay and make them bow, but they already told you everything you need to know. He’s headed East. Virginia. The only place he has kin. Drop the bat and start hitching. Your father has a good couple hours lead on you and that’s it. Catch him, learn him, and bring him back home to raise you through your schooling the way you taught him to raise a child.

Happy Winning Home Run Day!

Dance Marathon Day!

It’s hour 20 in your dance marathon and it’s between you two and this other couple. You’re pretty sure you’re going to win because you smoked meth earlier, so that should keep you awake long enough to win the marathon. Whoops, you just fell down and died so you lost. This was for charity.

Happy Dance Marathon Day!

There Are Only Ten Ways To Fall In Love Day!

Today there are only ten ways to fall in love. They are as follows:

Number 10. You’re a doctor, he’s a nurse. After a long night in the ER, he drives you home while listening to the police scanner on his dashboard. When the dispatcher announces the address of a house fire you both look at each other and smile a smile that says, “Holy shit I finally found someone gets as turned on as I do by watching stuff burn,” and when he floors it you’ll know you just fell in

Number 9. It’s Christmastime and you’re both married when he bumps into you at the department store and knocks your presents out of your hand. So you go out for a drink and you converse like you’ve been friends for years, and you discover that you grew up in the same town and you both watched the same boy drown in a quarry in 1992 and neither one of you did a thing to save him and that’s when you fall in

Number 8. You’re engaged to a wealthy society boy, but you’re having an affair with your Pilates instructor, so you convince your Pilates instructor to murder your fiancé. He pulls it off and then strips down to play in your fiance’s blood and you’re like, “Damn Ted, I thought I was the only one who enjoyed being coated in that gritty slick.” You strip down and embrace in the puddle and that’s when you know you’re in

Number 7. You’re being attacked by dogs and the owner of the dogs comes running up and calls off his dogs by shouting, “No, she’s too beautiful.” When he asks you if you’d like to go to a hospital you tell him you don’t believe in medicine and he says, “Me neither. I only trust in the Lord. But I would’ve have driven you while praying that your soul be spared the fires of hell if you wanted to go. That’s how beautiful you are.” Then you go inside and you find out you both like to spend weekends wearing nothing but rubber, and that’s when you fall in

Number 6. You’re a widow and he’s a cable TV installer. When he asks you how your husband died you say drunk-driver and he says over on 7th and Market and you say yes and he says oh my god that was me I have no choice but to try and fill your life with all the happiness I took from you and that’s how you discovered you still have it in you to fall in

Number 5. You’re both cats. You meet when you’re both adopted by the same owner. You just go right ahead and fall in

Number 4. She’s a bartender. You’re a novelty urinal mint salesman. She never laughs at your urinal mints, so you take a writing class to help you come up with funnier urinal mints, but before you know it you’ve finished a novel and it’s a bestseller and so you quit selling funny urinal mints. The book is all about her, you wrote her life, the one you imagine for her, that sadness you wish you could chase away, all the things you’ve dreamed for those beautiful eyes to see. She comes to a book signing and you go out for coffee where you learn that neither of you can have an orgasm unless you’re listening to the “27 Dresses” soundtrack, and that’s when you fall in

Number 3. He’s just been told he’s got six months to live, and you’ve just been told you were adopted. You meet through an online dating site and at first he’s all, “I have 35 or 40 years to live I mean who doesn’t?” And you’re all “I was raised by my biological parents can you imagine if I wasn’t?” After three dates you both admit your secrets and that you were afraid of scaring each other off, and you also both admit to having extensive collections of slaughterhouse videocassettes shot by actual slaughterhouse floor employees and then and only then do you truly madly deeply fall in

Number 2. You fall down a well. He’s there, been there for years. He teaches you which bugs are edible. That’s when you know it’s

Number 1. Your name’s Pamela. Her name’s Marjory. You’re both walking down the side of a highway during an evacuation because there’s an asteroid on its way. When you find shelter and start making love Marjory’s like, “Call me Stephen. It won’t happen for me unless you call me Stephen.” And you’re like “Oh my God I was just about to tell you to call me Stephen.” You agree to fistfight over who gets to be called Stephen. Marjory knocks you down and you hit your head bad, and in your final moments of life you realize that you’ve just fallen head over heels in love.

Happy There Are Only Ten Ways To Fall In Love Day!

So You Live In That Mini-Van That’s Always Parked On The Street Day!

She’s a rich girl and you just heard her scream inside her rich girl’s house. You run in her house and you pull a guy away from her, a guy in a rubber mask with a crowbar. Just a robber who didn’t think he’d be bumping into anybody and so he grabbed onto her while he tried to figure out what to do. You send him running.

“So you live in that mini-van that’s always parked on the street?” she’ll ask, smoking her cigarette, trying to keep herself together. “You know living in a big house like this doesn’t make me safer. Might even put me in more danger.”

You leave the house without kissing and you go back to your mini-van and wait six hours. In six hours she sneaks away while her husband’s asleep.

“Put the key into the ignition and drive this mini-van headlong into our future,” she’ll say. “Go go go go go go go goooooooooooooooo.”

You put the key into the ignition and you drive.

Happy So You Live In That Mini-Van That’s Always Parked On The Street Day!

Amnesiac Wife Day!

She hit her head and now she can’t remember that she loves you so the doctor is telling you it’s up to you to make her fall in love with you again.

“No way,” tell him.

He’ll say he understands. He guesses that if he were in the same situation, he couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t take the opportunity to start fresh and marry someone new.

“It’s not that,” tell him. “I got her to fall in love with me when we were both in our twenties, when we were both fucking gorgeous, and when we both had nothing but hope for our future. Now look at me. Look in my eyes. Do you see any hope in my eyes?”

The doctor will say he only sees exhaustion and cowardice, the result of having spent years giving up your dreams. But she’s your age, he’ll say. She must have given up some dreams of her own.

“Dreams she doesn’t even remember,” tell him. “I remember the man I wanted to be, and I watched him slip away. She has no memory of the woman she thought she’d be. She has no baggage. No memory of the moments when she chose to compromise and take the safer path. She’s going to come out of that hospital with a completely clean slate. Not only hasn’t she given up on her dreams, she hasn’t even started dreaming her dreams yet.”

Jesus, the doctor will say. He’ll turn around to look at your wife like he was keeping his eye on a dangerous animal.

“She’s basically living the life you only get to live when you’re granted a wish by a genie. How am I supposed to convince someone with that kind of mindset to fall in love with me?” ask him. “When all I feel is jealous of the chance she has.”

The doctor will point out that considering everything you’ve said, it’d be almost cruel to lure her back into your life. Like tricking someone who escaped from prison to get back into her cell.

You and the doctor will take one last look at your wife.

“You married, doc?” ask him.

The doctor will say yes.

“If you love her,” tell him. “Don’t ever let her hit her head. Don’t let her forget all the reasons that made her settle for a guy like you.”

The doctor will look like he’d like to get to a phone and call his wife. He won’t stop you when you turn away from your wife and walk out of the ward.

Happy Amnesiac Wife Day!

The Alien Magician Died Day!

You were abducted by an alien craft several years ago and it’s been unbelievably boring except for the Friday night magic show put on by an extremely talented alien. It was astounding. Instead of the usual sawing a lady in half stuff you would see back on Earth, he would turn people inside-out or make hats come out of rabbits. His best trick was to make everything turn into dogs.

You volunteered at every show and you couldn’t wait for the week to end so that you could see the lights go down on his theater once again. Tonight you arrived in the theater and were told there would be no show.

“He’s gone,” the alien with the weird hands told you.

He took his own life. Apparently he was told he’d have to give up his magic so that he could devote himself to the alien army. He couldn’t do it.

“I’d like to be returned to Earth,” you’ll tell your captors tonight. “This ship is so boring. Now that the one entertaining alien has killed himself, I won’t be able to handle living here anymore. I want to—”

The aliens will cause you to explode into a cloud of gas by thinking about it.

Happy The Alien Magician Died Day!

Dead Hanna Dream Day!

Dead Hanna is going to haunt your dreams tonight. “Yeah there’s treasure. It’s buried under the Maple Tree of my house. Yours.” Ask her why she’s giving you the information about her treasure when she was so popular and you’re just a nerd. “That one time in Chemlab when you were super-smart, I really understood that only smart guys could do right by my treasure.” Wake up and realize that only in a dream would dead Hanna ever tell you where her gold is. Go to school and listen to the quarterback talk about how Dead Hanna gave him all her gold.

Happy Dead Hanna Dream Day!

Death Bed Salesman Day!

You sell death beds because someone has to. People need to die somewhere and why not let their loved ones buy them a bed to die in that’s more comfortable than the ones in which they’ve lived for years. Your wife thinks differently.

“The only death bed in this town is the one him and I sleep in every night!” she’ll shout tonight to your customers.

“She’s upset,” tell the couple who is about to buy a Last Rest Posturpedic.

Your wife won’t rest in her protest.

“He’s dead inside. I married death itself.”

Stand up and shout, “I married life at its ruin. I married woe.”

She’ll come running at you, holding a bag above your head heavy enough to knock you bloody. Duck and tackle her, tumble forward, breaking your neck and cracking her skull, instantly ending your marriage and your lives, together.

On the Serta Eternity Queen you’ll land, dead. Both of you gone, neither of you left behind. You’ll have landed together, your arms around each other, together to the end on your death bed. You finally got one for free.

Happy Death Bed Salesman Day!

The Boxer Marries Day!

You fought a dump fight, showed up as the piece of meat to be beaten by a contender with a shot. You got six grand to get hit stupid. Six grand to marry your lady. You’re at the altar waiting, staring out at what $5,370 can buy.

You wanted to be someone she could be proud of. You wanted to be someone you could be proud of. Things change. You see the line between earning pride and getting fed. There’s a waiting period to get to the kind of place where you can inspire pride. You’re waiting now. She’ll be here.

You didn’t want her to come to the fight. You asked her mother to keep her away. You didn’t want her to see what you knew was going to happen. You were going to be treated like a slight speed bump. You saw her. It made you fight harder, which was a shame. You might have looked a little better today if you’d just hit the canvas when the occasion called. She’s coming.

The cut in your eyelid is open. Stop the bleeding with your shirt cuff. She’s coming.

There’s no way she didn’t know who she was marrying when she said yes. The fight can’t have been that big a surprise. She said yes and she meant yes. Watching you get bludgeoned in front of 700 people can’t have changed things.

The priest has a wristwatch and you catch him checking it. She’s coming. It’s her wedding day. She’s marrying a boxer. She’s coming.

Happy The Boxer Marries Day!

The Guy Who Sells You Your Firewood Wants To Date Day!

He’s always seemed a little bit over-friendly, but he never had the nerve to say anything to you. So today instead of saying it out loud he decided to take a more covert approach. When you start loading your pieces of wood into the fireplace you’ll notice there’s some writing on one of them. It reads “Gay? Into me? Call me tonight.” Then his phone number. You’ll check the other pieces of wood and you’ll see he wrote the same on each. He must have spent all morning writing romantic overtures on pieces of wood waiting for you to come in.

Drive the wood back to his market and tell him that you aren’t gay and you’re not interested.

“But burning the wood with your number on it seemed harsh. Such a callous fire could never warm me. Please take this wood back and sell me some more.”

“But what am I supposed to do with this?” he’ll ask.

Tell him to save it for when the right man comes along. “Soon someone’s going to come in to buy some wood to keep warm, and you’ll know that what he really wants is to keep warm with you.”

He’ll smile and hand you another pile of wood. When you get it home you’ll see that written on each of the logs are the words “Thanks for being cool about this.” You’ll sit by the fire wondering exactly how much time your wood salesman spends writing notes on his wood in anticipation of messages he expects to give to customers, and whether it’s something to be concerned about.

Happy The Guy Who Sells You Your Firewood Wants To Date Day!

Your Diary Is Just Page After Page Of The Word “Titties” Day!

You’ve tried keeping a diary but nothing that’s happened in your life is as interesting as titties. You’ve dated each page so you can go through all the big days of your life and realize that they just didn’t compare to titties. Your high school graduation: “Titties.” The day you met your biological dad and he asked you if you wanted to join his high-end burglary crew: “Titties.” The day you thought you saved a friend from killing himself and then when you went to sleep outside his bedroom door and he ingested a bottle of pills you didn’t know he had and killed himself anyway: “Titties.” The day you first touched some titties: you weren’t keeping the diary way back then.

Happy Your Diary Is Just Page After Page Of The Word “Titties” Day!

Be The Father Of The Navy Seal Who Shot Bin Laden Day!

Today you’re the father of the Navy Seal who shot Bin Laden, and you resent your son because you never did anything memorable with your life.

“Think you’re better than me?” say to him over dinner tonight. “Everything you have is cause of me. You got that?”

“Yeah Dad,” he’ll say, playing with his peas.

“Walk around like you’re hot shit,” tell him. You’re drunk, btw. “Stand up and fight me like a man if you think you’re so tough.”

You’ll hoist yourself out of your chair and your son will remain seated. Slap him in the face.

“Come on Chickenshit,” say. Slap him again.

Your son will jump out of his chair, knocking his cutlery on the floor, and he’ll be sobbing.

“This isn’t about Bin Laden,” he’ll shout, tears running down his cheeks. “This is about Mom! This is about you blaming me for her death. I couldn’t have saved her Dad! You’ve gotta stop punishing me because you miss her.”

His mother killed herself twelve years ago. He would have been home to stop her but he was being trained in silent larynx removal.

“All the other guys on Seal Team Six have dads who are proud of them,” your son will say. “Why can’t you be proud of me? I shot Bin Laden for God’s sake, Dad. Don’t you think Mom would want you to be proud of me?”

You won’t know what to say, so just shuffle away from the table, muttering “Clean this mess up” as you go. Then retreat to your bedroom to drink some more and look at pictures of the woman who brought that boy into the world to make it a safer place.

Happy Be The Father Of The Navy Seal Who Shot Bin Laden Day!

Fistfight Over Leanne Day!

When you spot some random dude walking your old Corgi Leanne you run out of the bar to find out what the fuck.

“I’m just helping out Sharon,” he’ll say. His name’s Mark. “She won’t be home in time.”

“Yeah well you may get to fuck my ex-girlfriend, but you do not get to walk my dog.”

Punch him in the face, then grab the leash and take off with Leanne. Leanne can’t run very fast because she’s a Corgi, so Mark will catch up with you and punch you in the back, sending you rolling on the sidewalk. You’ll get tangled in Leanne’s leash.

Mark will try to tug the leash away from you but it will be wrapped up in your legs. Use his struggle as an opportunity to send a few jabs into his stomach. He’ll double over, and the two of you will be sprawled on the sidewalk with Leanne growling and barking for you to stop.

“So what, you have a key to Sharon’s apartment now?” ask him.

Mark will nod.

Scratch Leanne behind the ears.

“You taking good care of her?”

“I really like Sharon,” Mark will say. “She’s in good hands with me. I won’t hurt her. Promise.”

“I meant Leanne,” tell him. “Sharon’s an asshole and she’ll hurt you way before you get the chance to hurt her. Are you taking care of my dog?”

Mark will say, “I love your dog.”

You and Mark will both pet Leanne at the same time, you on her neck and Mark just above her rear flanks.

“You better,” tell him.

Get up and start to walk away. Mark will shout, “Hey!”

Turn around.

“I take her to the dog run every Saturday at 2,” he’ll say. “Just me. Sharon has a shift then.”

That’s how you and Mark become super-good best friends who remain super-good best friends even after Sharon breaks up with him three weeks from now.

Happy Fistfight Over Leanne Day!

You Discovered Porn Day!

The news vans are parked on your lawn, waiting for your statement.

“Where did you find the porn?” you’ll be asked by Tooty Tong from Channel 6. “Did you find it on a schoolteacher’s computer? Being projected on the wall of day care center’s basement? Did a priest pass it to you while you were in a confessional?”

Tell her, “I found it on my computer.”

They’ll be unsure where you’re going with this.

“You guys,” say to them. “I think this thing is going to be big.”

Dak Drockman will push his mic through the crowd of shoulders.

“What kind of porn did you find?” he’ll ask. “Children? Politicians? A celebrity and some animals?”

“It was a man,” tell them. “And a woman. Both attractive, the woman exceptionally so, but in a kind of cheap way. They were completely naked, and they were definitely making love. I could see everything.”

The microphones will slowly lower from your face. The reporters will exchange glances. They’ll start to walk away, most likely to rush back to the studio to be the first to report on the man who discovered porn.

Go back inside and turn on your computer to see if the porn is still there. It will be, and you’ll notice a link underneath. Click it, then run outside to stop the reporters before they leave.

“You guys!” shout to them. “I found another one.”

They’ll stop in their tracks, turning to you in disbelief.

Tell them, “It’s spreading. This thing…this is gonna snowball.”

Happy You Discovered Porn Day!

So Beautiful You’re Fired Day!

Today the sunset is going to get you fired.

“Everyone come in here,” your boss will shout to the floor. You’ll all crowd into the conference room that faces west, looking out over the water.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” your boss will say, referring to the sunset over the river.

You’ll all silently take it in, until your boss says, “Pam’s fired. Pack your shit Pam.”

You’re Pam. Ask him why.

“You have kids right? You have the most to lose? The beauty of the sunset demanded that someone pay. It had to be you Pam.”

Pack your stuff at your desk. Your coworkers will come by to say goodbye, trying to be sympathetic but ultimately telling you, “It really was a beautiful sunset. Someone had to eat it.”

Agree with them, then go home and tell your kids that you were laid off because the company got hit by the recession. They have no right to know how beautiful the sunset was that you saw today. They can work hard to climb up a skyscraper and see it for themselves, if they want to know so bad. They have no right to know a beauty so powerful it can send a family of three into poverty.

Happy So Beautiful You’re Fired Day!

Ben From That Bar Stool Over There Day!

He’ll say “I’m Ben. Ben from that bar stool over there.”

He’ll point to a stool with his LL Bean jacket draped over it.

“What is it, Ben?” ask him.

Ben will say, “I just noticed that you’ve been here for at least four hours, and you’ve turned away every man who approached you with romantic intent. I just want to say that you’re not going to turn me away.”

Chuckle derisively. “And why’s that Ben?” ask him.

Ben won’t say a word. You’ll look into his eyes and you’ll do a double-take.

“Holy shit,” you’ll say.

“Yup,” Ben From That Bar Stool Over There will say. “Looks like this is it.”

Neither of you will speak for a moment. You’ll both be too busy experiencing the special moment when two people realize that their whole lives have been leading up to this point in time, when they meet in a bar, exchange a glance, and discover that they were meant to spend the rest of their lives together.

“Good God,” say. “So it’s you and me?”

Ben From That Bar Stool Over There will shrug. “No idea why or how, but feel this.”

Ben will kiss you. His kiss will feel familiar and impossible all at once.

“I’m gonna grab my stuff from that bar stool over there.”

Ben will get his jacket and, now you’ll see, a bicycle helmet that he had strapped to the leg of the stool.

“Oh good God,” you’ll say as you watch Ben From That Bar Stool Over There return to your side, stunned that you’re about to welcome him completely and with utter abandon into your heart.

Happy Ben From That Bar Stool Over There Day!

Be The Pyromaniac Everyone’s Looking To All Of A Sudden Day!

No one in this neighborhood has ever appreciated your love and mastery of fire. Of all the thirteen-year-olds in your school district, you’ve set fire to more stuff than anybody, and you’ve done it efficiently, with maximum spectacle and minimal collateral damage. But they’ve only repaid you with juvenile court appearances, school expulsions, and parental disdain.

Until today.

“Benny,” the coucilwoman will say. “There’s a pedophile who just moved to town and the police say he’s got rights. Go torch his house.”

You’ll have trouble hiding your excitement at the thought of burning down a whole house, but you’ll manage to keep a straight face and say, “What’s my end?”

The councilwoman will promise full reinstatement in a school of your choosing within the three districts where she has influence.

Don’t bend just yet.

“What?” she’ll ask. “What’ll it take?”

Tell her, “I wanna burn down Nathan Hale’s house.”

There’s an old landmark in your town where supposedly Nathan Hale slept once, and now it’s the closest thing to a tourist attraction your town has.

“Turn a blind eye and your pedo gets the torch.”

The councilwoman will take a breath, trying to weigh whether she can sell this to the rest of the seats. Then she’ll nod real fast, like she’s trying to convince herself before she has a chance to think it through.

“Deal,” she’ll say.

Shake on it, then ask her for seventeen dollars to fill up your kerosene can. Tonight you’ll burn down the pedophile’s house. By the way, he isn’t really a pedophile. He had sex with a fifteen-year-old when he was seventeen and in your state that puts him on the sex offender roster.

Happy Be The Pyromaniac Everyone’s Looking To All Of A Sudden Day!

Be An Airline Pilot Who Can’t Stop Thinking He Should Have Married Laraine Day!

Today you’re an airline pilot who can’t stop thinking you should have married Laraine, the woman you dated for two years just after college. Before every flight, you check the passenger manifest to see if there’s anyone named Laraine on board. Even if the last name isn’t the same, you assume maybe she remarried, so you walk through the cabin to see if it’s her. It never is. Then when you deliver your address to the cabin, you close with “If anyone on this plane is friends or colleagues with Laraine Mancini, please tell her Jeff feels like he made a big mistake when he decided to take that job in Atlanta instead of staying with her in Chicago. Tell her if she’s still single, he’d like a second chance.”

No one’s ever claimed to have heard of Laraine Mancini, until today. A man is going to be brought into your cockpit and tell you that he is Laraine.

“Or I used to be,” he’ll say.

“You got a sex change?” you’ll ask. “It was really good!”

“Yeah,” he’ll say. “But really, you shouldn’t feel like you have anything to regret. It would never have worked out with us. I wasn’t who I was meant to be. It took me many years to find that out.”

“I’m shocked,” you’ll say. “But I’m glad you found yourself. Do you still ski?”

He’ll say, “Not as much as I’d like. I’d better get back to my seat. Please, move on. Make the best life you can make for yourself.”

He’ll kiss you gently on your cheek. Tell him thank you for coming up and speaking to you. You’ll know he isn’t Laraine since Laraine’s father died in a skiing accident and she’s found skiing to be horrific ever since. You know he’s just some dude on your plane who went out of his way to help you move on, and maybe knowing your passengers care enough to do something like that for you is enough for you to finally forget about Laraine. Laraine may be gone forever, but your passengers are always right there for you, ready to go wherever you’re taking them.

Happy Be An Airline Pilot Who Can’t Stop Thinking He Should Have Married Laraine Day!

National Heartbreak Day!

You run a website called National Heartbreak. It’s basically an electronic classifieds section that announces to its subscribers when a love has died. People go on National Heartbreak to announce their breakups, their divorces, their long-standing secret crushes that were confessed and found to be unrequited. You take their listings and post them on National Heartbreak, letting the entire nationwide subscriber base mourn the lost love alongside the heartbroken. It’s an obituary page for the heart, and it’s made you a very rich man.

Unfortunately, the site’s success has required more and more of your undivided attention, which is why today you’re going to be taken aback when you see your own name in a listing. Your wife has had enough and she paid her $37 to let the nation know that the boundless love she once felt for you has officially run its course. After you’re done scrolling through the condolences in her comments section, maybe clock out early to go home and talk through logistics of who gets the dog.

Happy National Heartbreak Day!

Your Husband Was A Kidnapper For The Last Twenty-Five Years Day!

You were just really scared to go down the basement, so you were more than happy that he would volunteer to go down there whenever something needed fetching. It’s not that you were trying not to find out that there was a steady parade of kidnap victims bound and gagged down there. You just really never had any reason to go down and find them.

“Everyone thinks I’m stupid,” you’ll tell him through the glass on visiting day. “They all think I’m just this gullible idiot who can’t even discover a string of kidnappings when their victims are right under my feet.”

“Maybe you didn’t want to know.”

Your husband will point out all the luxuries that his kidnappings have provided you over the years. His ransoms have paid for your vacations together, your new cars every few years, your spa treatments and your wardrobe.

“Maybe you knew if you went down the basement, it would all go away,” he’ll say.

Tell him you absolutely had no idea that his income was derived solely from ransom. If it hadn’t been printed in the paper, you would never have known that since 1986 he has kept 32 known victims of abduction down there.

“I never had the slightest inkling!” you’ll insist.

“Okay,” he’ll say, exasperated. “I’m trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here. If you didn’t have a clue, then yeah, you look like kind of an idiot. I mean a few of those folks were real screamers. The gag can’t perform miracles.”

You’ll recall a few moments when you heard strange noises from down there.

“I thought it was the wishing machine going off balance.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” your husband we’ll say. He’ll slam his phone down and ask the guard to return him to his cell.

Before you get up, the woman in the booth next to yours will say, “Miss, before you leave, don’t forget to check the inside of your pocketbook. You never know how many ransomed human beings might have been stashed in there when you weren’t looking.”

At that everyone in the visiting area will burst out in laughter, and you’ll run from the prison in tears.

Happy Your Husband Was A Kidnapper For The Last Twenty-Five Years Day!

Be A Temperamental Florist Who Gets That She Goes Overboard Sometimes Day!

When someone asks if you have a good assortment for funerals, say, “Jesus what do you think? I’m a florist for God’s sake. If people stopped dying I’d be out of business.” Then stop snipping stems, take a breath, and say, “Sorry. You’re bereaved, and I should watch my tongue. I just go overboard sometimes.” Then gesture to all the flowers as if they were a bunch of hyperactive children you have to deal with.

Happy Be A Temperamental Florist Who Gets That She Goes Overboard Sometimes Day!

How The Mechanic Lost His Left Hand Day!

A sign is posted in the waiting room of the garage that reads as follows:

How the Mechanic Lost His Left Hand

The mechanic lost his left hand to try and frighten a woman he loved into not walking out on him. She had threatened to walk out on him before, but normally when he’d burst into tears and promise to drink less and work more she’d go along with it. This time she’d had enough, so in a panic, the mechanic turned on the blender and threatened to maim himself if she left. She dared him to go through with it, so he did. It took all of his fingers and most of the meat of his palm off. She ended up staying and drove him to the hospital, but then she left anyway six months later. The mechanic did not lose his hand while fixing a car. He’s a good mechanic and your car is in good hands.

When the mechanic comes out to tell you about his car, try not to look at his hook. He’ll notice you looking away and he’ll say, “I put that sign up a long time ago. She and I are on good terms now. She remarried and so have I.”

Let him see you cry, it’s okay. Let him see you cry, because as the bottom of the sign says, you’ll get 10% off if you cry for the love he lost and learned from.

Happy How The Mechanic Lost His Left Hand Day!

Be A More Depressed, Less Hairy You Day!

Today you got word of a new prescription drug that makes you more depressed but less hairy. You decided getting rid of all your dark brown arm-fuzz was worth the yawning chasm of misery you’d be throwing yourself into, so you ran out to your doc and demanded the pill immediately.

After three months on the pills, all your body hair will almost magically disappear, turning you into a smooth, sleek, pretty creature who can barely summon the energy to get out of bed in the morning. You’ll get a thrill out of moving your hand over your own skin, sliding it like an ice cube across a counter-top, and when you finally do get out of bed you’ll spend every minute bloated with dread at the thought of somehow finding a way to climb under the covers to get back into bed again. Your boyfriend says he loves it too, though you can’t understand how he could possibly find anything to love about you. You can’t understand how anyone could ever love anything. How?

After about a year you’ll stop taking the pills, not because you’ll be sick of being depressed, but because hairy will be in again.

Happy Be A More Depressed, Less Hairy You Day!

Part It Down The Middle Day!

Part your hair down the middle today for the very first time in your life and you’ll walk outside to find a Mercedes in your driveway instead of a Hyundai. Drive it to work where you’ll find you’re the President of the company instead of a middle-management toadie. Check your bank account and instead of a negative balance there will be a very positive one, like seven figures positive. Check your response to alcohol and discover it to be moderate and controllable. Check your demeanor at parties and find it to be gregarious. Ingest dairy and discover that you appear to be tolerant. You’ve disrupted the order of things. You’ve changed the part of your hair at age 46 and really turned things around for yourself while triggering a ripple effect that will engulf the planet in pestilence and rogue waves within as little as three months time. Why couldn’t you have just been happy with the way things were?

Happy Part It Down The Middle Day!

She Found Out You’re One Of Those Guys Who Throws A Ball Around The Office At Work Day!

You came home and half the closet was empty, nothing but bare hangers swinging on the rod. Her drawers had been ransacked. Her suitcases were gone. She clearly either took off in a hurry or someone made it look like she did. Part of you wants to call the police to report an abduction, but you’re worried that she simply found out that you’ve been cheating on her. Read the note she left on the fridge:

Cameron,

I’m sorry but I can’t do this anymore. It’s not because I don’t love you, I do. Or at least I did. It’s not because I’m scared of getting too committed. It’s not even because I found out that you cheat on me sometimes. I’ve known that for close to a year now and it’s something I think I can live with. What happened was today I was bored and I found myself perusing your work website, and I checked out the “Staff” link to see if there were any photos of you. I found one. Such a nightmarish one. One of you in your desk chair with your shirt sleeves rolled up, tossing a Nerf football to one of your co-workers. The caption read “Blowing off some of that 4 PM steam.”

I hope you’ll understand that I had to go. This isn’t the kind of image that one can sweep under the rug. Had I walked in on you cheating on me with one of my relatives, or murdering a small animal, or shaking hands with Karl Rove and then stuffing some bills into your pocket that he clearly slipped you during the handshake, I might be able to chalk it off as “just one of those things.” But not this. Had you told me when we meant that you were one of those guys who throws a ball around the office at work, I could have saved us both a lot of time by ending it immediately. At least I found out before we got married.

I hope you have a nice life and you won’t come looking for me. You should really stop throwing a football around the office by the way. It makes you look like you love, and I mean like really cherish, rape.

Best,

Lucille.

Happy She Found Out You’re One Of Those Guys Who Throws A Ball Around The Office At Work Day!

Kill The Boy Day!

Don’t just break up with the boy, end his life. Stick a knife in his voicebox and be sure he’ll never use it to call you in the middle of the night and trick you into sneaking away with him for another long weekend of forgetting all about the life you’re trying to make for yourself. You’re a professional lady, career-minded and a smart-dresser, and you don’t need a lowlife popping by and convincing you that 72 hours in his arms is more important than the rest of your 72 or so years on this earth.  Cut off his hands and throw them in the river so he can never use them to brush your hair away from your forehead again. Slice out his eyes and crush them under your business heels; they’ve hypnotized their last unwitting victim into getting naked at the slightest hint of a wink. Let him keep his penis because you’re not some kind of monster, but set his hair on fire, sand down his lips with a power sander and carve into his chest and stomach to rip out the muscles filling his pecs and abs with so much rock-hard steel. Once he’s in pieces and the pieces are nothing but slippery, ruddy mud, spend an evening remembering the good times. You’re not likely to find someone who so makes it happen for you again, not likely to find another Derrick again.

Happy Kill The Boy Day!

Dad’s Affair Day!

Leave your dad alone today. He’s sad because the woman he used to cheat on your mom with died. She was diagnosed two years ago. She called him last Spring and asked him if she could see him once more before she dies, but your dad refused. Even your mom said it’d be cool if he went and saw her. After all, they had a nine-year affair. Your dad was a big part of this woman’s life and she should get the chance to say goodbye, was your mom’s reasoning. But the revelation of the affair caused such a rift in their marriage that your dad just didn’t want to have any contact with her. Didn’t want to risk opening old wounds. Now she’s dead and not only is your dad in mourning, but your mom thinks less of him than ever, letting that woman die without saying goodbye like that. She’s not proud of the man she married today.

Happy Dad’s Affair Day!

Stop Her Day!

She’s about to choose something besides spending the rest of her life with you because she wants to be practical so race to the airport or death cult orientation or whatever and tell her she’s making a mistake. She’ll decide you’re right and she should be with you because you made her laugh once. Within two weeks of the two of you being a couple start acting really cold toward her. When she asks if you regret winning her back tell her no but continue to be cold and curt. You’ll never say it out loud but deep down you’ll know that you only fought to get her back because you didn’t want anyone else to have her. Now that she’s yours, you don’t remember why you wanted her so badly. In 18 months she’ll leave you for someone else. Play the victim.

Happy Stop Her Day!

Psychosexual Thriller Day!

Meet someone who may or may not be a killer but you don’t care because sex. When more bodies start popping up, get worried but also confused because is the sex getting better? Start to wonder if you’re the next body that’s going to be killed, or maybe you’ve been the one killing the bodies all along, though it really doesn’t matter either way because wow this sex is just really something. When you decide that maybe it’s time for you two to take a break, find yourself staring at your own reflection stretched along the broad side of a kitchen knife. Aroused but fighting it, manage to wriggle away but just barely, then at just the right moment get the upper hand. You’ll find yourself on top, in a position you two know very well except never before with a knife in the mix and does that make it hotter (yes)? You’ll be about to toss the knife away and leave it to the police when one last threatening gesture makes you bring the knife down in self-defense. Blood everywhere and no more sex but you discovered scary things about yourself so hooray for learning!

Happy Psychosexual Thriller Day!

Ski Weekend Day!

You’re really excited to have been invited to go on a ski weekend with your friends Jeff, Sally, Maurice and Paula because you’re pretty sure that ski weekends involve everyone gathered around in a cabin exposing their deep emotional core to each other just like in the Alan Alda movie The Four Seasons.

“Awwwww God sometimes I wonder if I ever felt a single thing,” you’ll scream as soon as you get inside the cabin, just before placing your suitcase on the ground.

“Jesus,” Jeff will say.

“Dude, are you all right?” Maurice will ask, hovering over you as you lay on your back with your legs up in the air like a baby.

“I need to be swaddled! I need to be swaddled in your friendship!”

Maurice and Paula will try to drag you up from the ground. Don’t let them.

“Swaddle me! People have given their love to me and I’ve rejected it. I just want to accept for once. Swaddle me in your emotional warmth!”

They’ll all go to the closet to take off their coats and discuss what to do.

Stand up and scream at the top of your lungs, “I HAVE NEEEEEEDS!!!”

Sally will come to you and she’ll hug you gently. Then she’ll ask if maybe this can wait until later in the evening.

“Alda didn’t pull this kind of crap until late Act 2 of Four Seasons. Think we can at least get some dinner in us first?”

Apologize and explain that you’ve never been on a ski weekend before, and tell them that you’re just so excited and oh God you’re going to let it fly again.

“NEEEEEEEEEEEDS!!!!!!”

Happy Ski Weekend Day!

Crossing Guard Who Can Tell When You’re Going To Die Day!

The reason the crossing guard cries every time you cross the street is because you’re going to die before you turn 26 and she knows it. She gets visions of when and how people are going to die when they step into her cross-walk. Something about surrendering your safety into her hands gives her a window into your future to the moment when not even she can protect you. She knows you’re going to die when you fall in the shower of a hotel room in Chicago where you’ll be staying for business. You’ll be found by a maid.

Today when you see her, tell her, “It’s not your fault. Fate is fate.”

She’ll wheel around on you and hiss, “But what if it wasn’t your fate until I saw it? What if my seeing it is what caused it? What if I’m taking years off the people I’m supposed to be protecting?”

You won’t know how to comfort her, which is too bad because she’ll just then jump in front of a bus whose driver won’t know to stop because she won’t have held up the sign telling him to stop. She didn’t want to go on living with the possibility that she was shortening the lives she was supposed to be guarding. If you’re thinking that this isn’t your fault, just know that she never would have felt so distraught if people like you, who are fated to die an early death, didn’t go crossing in her crosswalk forcing her to wrestle with the implications of her seeing your moment of passing. Way to make the crossing guard kill herself, clumsy.

Happy Crossing Guard Who Can Tell When You’re Going To Die Day!

Looks Like They Found Your Papier-Mâché Sculptures Of The Family Next Door Day!

When you pull onto your block you’ll see two police cars waiting outside your house. Your front door will be open and Kevin, your next-door neighbor, will be standing on your lawn, pointing at your house, irate.

Looks like they found your papier-mâché sculptures of the family next door.

Drive slow and savor these final few seconds of peace before you have to get out of your car and begin trying to explain yourself. You’ll have to detail to them who you were when you lived in Russia, how you were celebrated for your shocking papier-mâché representations of the life you and your fellow countrymen were living, how it became a common occurrence to spot yourself on the cover of a magazine for an interview you would have forgotten having given.

But after moving to America, you found yourself completely uninspired. Nothing about the suburban landscapes in which you passed your days seemed worthy of your artistic interpretation. Until Kevin and Mary and Lewis, Pamela and little Georgette Tohlmacher. moved in next door. Suddenly you couldn’t sculpt quickly enough. That family demanded your eye, your passion, and your skill. That family has inspired you to stay awake for 72 hours at a time, panicked that you might die or the world might end before you manage to channel your vision of the Tohlmacher family’s essence onto the chicken wire.

You know it will be difficult to explain to a man just trying to give his wife and children a good life why the house next door to his is filled to a room with dozens of sculptures of his flesh and blood. Especially difficult to explain will be the nudes. Though you used as your source only your imagination (except for the weekends in the summer when Kevin mowed his lawn shirtless), you are certain they won’t be very appreciative of the artist’s need to let his muse guide him where it will.

You’re at the house now. Time to get out of your car and make an appearance at your latest exhibition.

Happy Looks Like They Found Your Papier-Mâché Sculptures Of The Family Next Door Day!

Mary Jane Day!

You and your friends like to smoke Mary Jane. At first it was just to be cool, then you started to get addicted. One thing led to another, and now you’re running a human trafficking ring solely to get your next fix.

“I used to dream of growing up to become a great man. Instead I became a guy who forces innocent women into prostitution.”

Take another hit of Mary Jane, then try to bargain the Russian down to $12,000 per girl.

“Thirteen,” the Russian will say. “You wouldn’t be so short on money if you didn’t smoke so much Mary Jane.”

“If I didn’t smoke so much Mary Jane I wouldn’t be involved in this game at all. I would have been the president of the United States.”

You’ll start to cry, but the Russian won’t blink an eye. He’ll just take your money and load the girls onto your truck while you sob. He’s used to people crying while he does business with them, because he does a lot of business with people who smoke a lot of Mary Jane.

“It inspires sudden attacks of crippling regret in the people who smoke it,” the Russian will say to you as he pats you on the shoulder. “You should quit.”

You’ll be stunned that he could be so stupid. “No one can quit Mary Jane. One puff and you’re addicted for life. The only way I could ever quit is—”

The Russian will give you a look that says, “Yes, that’s what I mean. You should kill yourself. That’s what I mean by quit.”

“It is the only way to get out from under the weight of addiction to Mary Jane.”

Tonight, after the girls you bought are all safely chained up in a basement, you’ll finally, and for eternity, kick the habit.

Happy Mary Jane Day!

Travel Across The Country With Someone You Would Never In A Million Years Travel Across The Country With Day!

Whether it’s because the airport got snowed in or you got robbed and don’t have any ID or credit cards or just because you have trauma induced amnesia after being in one of those New York City elevators when it ate somebody, today you’re going to travel across the country with someone you would never in a million years travel across the country with. Here are your options:

The man who pushed the button on your father’s lethal injection: you’ll recognize him when he steals your cab, but you won’t be able to remember from where at first. Then it’ll come to you. You were eight and your father was strapped into the lethal injection machine and this is the guy who pushed the button. You remember his blank look directly into your eyes when your father (he murdered his boss) finally went still. Now he’s offering to share that cab he stole, and you do need to get going in a hurry…

The 50-year-old woman who has been bullying your daughter on Facebook: She’s clearly unhinged. She randomly picked your daughter as the target of an endless series of hateful Facebook wall posts, encouraging your daughter to commit suicide because according to her, your daughter would be doing everyone a favor by dying. You’ve involved the police and you’ve even appeared on television to discuss whether your high-profile civil lawsuit against her is viable. But right now she managed to flag down a fruit truck and there’s room for one more in the flatbed…

A man who looks exactly like you and, impossibly, is you: He’s you. But you’re staring at him and he’s physically occupying space right next to you outside of your body. But he’s you. There’s no need to even ask questions. There are duplicates for all of us and you’ve met yours. Now to decide whether wrapping your arms around his waist and riding all the way to California on the back of his motorcycle will cause the tapestry of commonly accepted reality to unravel…

Happy Travel Across The Country With Someone You Would Never In A Million Years Travel Across The Country With Day!

Plants And Rags Day!

Everything’s in boxes on a truck but you want to leave some evidence behind. She bought the ficus tree, the one you let die after she left. It looks like a stripped bicycle chained to a sidewalk signpost for five seasons, all spokes, rust brown and weaker than wind, filling the corner of the apartment with ruin.

Leave it for the new tenants to find so they can register a complaint with the landlord. “You said the apartment would be clean and ready for our move-in date but there is a corpse in the corner, a body left to rot.” Let them know that this is hallowed ground, a battlefield where a brave boy and girl fought for a love they once believed in, fought way beyond the point when the war was over.

Let them complain. Let them call the landlord to come and clean up the body. Someone needs to know that something died within these walls. Your love was too big, its destruction too important to be swept under the rug. There should be an inquiry. The people need to know.

Happy Plants And Rags Day!

Kevin And Lucy Day!

Today everyone named Kevin was meant to be with someone named Lucy, but the Kevins all chose to marry someone named Sabrina instead, just because the Sabrinas had fun underpants.

Everyone named Lucy sometimes think about everyone named Kevin, and they want to kill all the Sabrinas.

Everyone named Lucy will take a glance down at their own underpants, and they’ll see it fraying at the waist-line, and the elastic around the thighs will be a little looser than when they bought them.

Everyone named Lucy will say, “That’s it!” Then everyone named Lucy will rush out to an underpants store and buy new pairs of very sexy underpants that are nothing but fun.

When they get home, everyone named Lucy will gather all their old underpants into a brown paper bag and get ready to incinerate them. Staring into the bag, everyone named Lucy will realize that buying new underpants isn’t the solution.

“New underpants fray,” everyone named Lucy will whisper into their bags of old underpants. “Mine always do. Sabrina’s surely did too.”

Everyone named Lucy will realize that everyone named Kevin probably watched the underpants worn by everyone named Sabrina turn to so much ratty ruined rags within months of getting married.

“Now he’s stuck with her,” everyone named Lucy will say.

The Lucys will feel sorry for the Kevins. The Lucys will feel sorry for the Sabrinas too. The Lucys will try to feel sorry for themselves, but they’ll be too overwhelmed with sadness for the Kevins and the Sabrinas.

“He just wanted to marry someone with fun underwear, and she just wanted someone to find a reason to marry her,” all the Lucys in the world will say. If you’re outside and it’s windy, you’ll probably hear some of them.

Happy Kevin And Lucy Day!

That Was Your Last Relationship Day!

You’re only 36 but the 14-month romantic relationship you ended yesterday is going to be the last one you’ll ever be party to. While you are feeling optimistic about playing the field and finding “the one,” you shouldn’t. You’ll date many people and you’ll often be the one who decides it’s not right. Either owing to your confidence in yourself or your constantly finding others lacking in the ability to give you the kind of approval you craved but never received from your parents, you’ll spend he rest of your healthy years dating cautiously, having increasingly less frequent random sexual encounters, or enduring months at a time completely alone. You won’t realize the relationship you ended yesterday will be your last until you’re in your mid-50’s.

Happy That Was Your Last Relationship Day!

Storage Wars Day!

You went on that show Storage Wars and you bid on the stuff in one of the lockers and won. You brought home all the porcelain knick knacks, bed linens, jewelry, and old Life magazines that could fit into an 8X10 foot space.

“Which is why I’m going to kill your wife and daughters if I don’t get it back in 6 hours,” the man who was behind on his rent on that storage locker is telling you as he waves a knife in front of your face.

You sold all of his stuff already. He says it’s okay, he doesn’t want the Life magazines or the bed linens. But among the knick knacks, there was apparently a set of racist salt and pepper shakers that he considers very valuable. Also, among the jewelry, there was an amulet.

“It’s the middle of the night,” you’re telling him. Your wife grunts from behind the duct tape over her mouth.

“Guess you’ll have to break in,” the man whose stuff you won on TV will say.

Later, after your high-octane treasure hunt is completed and you discover that the salt-shakers were composed of a crystallized synthetic drug and the amulet contained a key to a safe-deposit box full of diamonds, you’ll reread your contract for your appearance on Storage Wars and, sure enough, there will be a term that explicitly releases them from liability should the former owner of the stuff you win comes to your home and makes an attempt on your life. Also, they’re completely protected if the stuff you win is haunted or if it causes the spread of a dormant yet deadly virus for which there is no known vaccine.

“Well that show just lost a viewer,” you’ll say after removing the duct tape from your wife’s and daughters’ mouths and holding them to your chest to try and quiet their cries.

Happy Storage Wars Day!

Wash Your Slut Body Day!

All that casual sex to make you feel better about yourself starts to leave a residue, so you need to wash your slut body at least once a week. Today’s the day to recline in a hot tub and apply bath lotion to every patch of your skin that’s come in contact with another human being’s mouth, genitals or cash. Girls, make sure to get under the knees and the back of the neck. Boys, make sure to get the armpits and inside the nostrils. Soak and luxuriate your slut body for hours and hours. You’ve worked hard to get it this disgusting. Enjoy the cleanup because you’ve earned it, hussy.

Happy Wash Your Slut Body Day!

Ask Her New Husband Day!

Short on cash? Got an ex-wife with a new husband? Meet with him and ask him for some money.

Don’t just launch into it though. When you sit down, start off by asking if your ex-wife is well and if he’s taking care of her. He’ll say of course he is because he’s not you in that he cares about others.

Tell him you have a business prospect that could really turn into something big and since you care so much about your ex-wife you decided to ask her new husband if he wants to get in on this while he has the chance. He’ll say, “You drank your way out of another job and you need rent money.”

Say, “Isn’t it enough that you have my woman. Now you want to make me beg?”

He still won’t have taken out his checkbook yet, so here’s where you cry.

He needs to see it. He needs to see you cry with snot and everything. Then he’ll sigh and pull the checkbook from his pocket. Though it’s a lot of steps to go through, he really does want to give you that money. Being the second husband is a tough gig. No matter how awful you were, you were still there first. She once said in front of everyone that she would love you forever and it bothers him. He needs near constant reassurance that he’s better than you, and there’s no better way to get that than to give you a handout while you’re sobbing.

Make this money last. You’ll get maybe two more chances at payoffs from him, and the last one will be a big one. But after that he’ll cut you off. Unfortunately, that’s part of it. Refusing you money “for your own good” will be even more satisfying than giving you money like he’s ladling out soup for you at a shelter. So maybe try and sketch out a budget for yours– Whoops you already spent it all on cocaine.

Happy Ask Her New Husband Day!