Breakfast Club At Turnpike High Day!

Your mother and many other mothers in the area no longer trusted your school district to not teach you about homosexuality or science, so she pulled you out of it. She considered Home Schooling, but your mother worried that while you were at home a visiting mailman or UPS delivery carrier might ring the doorbell and tell you that gay love is okay or that there’s physics. So your mom joined together with some other mothers to start a school in the woods bordering the New Jersey Turnpike between exits 7A and 8.

Today you and some other kids are in the woods for Saturday detention because your teacher caught you reading a Time Magazine, which is on the pornography list in your library. There are five of you, all from different cliques. Kevin is a jock and an anti-abortionist. Maria’s the prom queen and she loathes evolution. Peter’s the nerd who hates that the travel of gays isn’t trackable by embedded GPS chips. Patty is the weirdo who hopes that one day her vagina is declared illegal. And Arthur’s the badass who wants to one day build a prayer-only hospital.

You’ll start off the day feeling standoffish with each other, but by the end of the day you’ll realize you all have something in common: all of you start the day by throwing up on your own genitals to curb the urge to masturbate.

But will you say hi to each other when you see each other in the New Jersey Turnpike woods on Monday? Or will you be afraid of what your friends will think? I think we all know the answer. Hey look, Arthur just punched his fist into the air as he walks up the off-ramp for exit 8.

Happy Breakfast Club At Turnpike High Day!

Steve And Esther Day!

Today you’re Esther and your ex-boyfriend has kidnapped your current boyfriend, threatening to kill him if you don’t break up with him.

“I’m sorry Steve,” tell your current boyfriend over the phone. Your ex is holding it up to his ear. “I like you too much to ever break up with you.”

Steve will beg you to break up with him. Tell him the feelings you have for him are too strong to disavow them just because some shitty ex-boyfriend is threatening his life.

“But my feelings aren’t that strong for you!” he’ll shout into the phone. “Please!”

Explain that it’s natural for one party of a relationship to be more deeply in love than the other.

“Oh my God I said the L-word!” say. “Wow. Guess I really feel it.”

Steve will beg you one last time to break up with him. Tell him it’s okay because your love will live on beyond this world. Then you’ll hear the gunshot.

Now mourn Steve. If you date anyone else, try not to let your ex know about it.

Happy Steve And Esther Day!

You’re One Of Those Ghosts Who Lives In Someone’s TV Day!

When you live in a person’s TV, occasionally popping out to haunt but mostly just hanging around inside the TV, you have to pick a channel to live on. You picked A&E when you arrived in the TV three years ago, and you’re kind of bummed because you have to watch A&E all the time, it’s all over the place, and unfortunately A&E just can’t quite settle on an entertaining, cohesive lineup. When you live on a channel you can never not be viewing that channel, even when you’re asleep, so you’re sick of waiting for A&E to commit to an identity and you want to switch channels. You put in for a transfer.

“We don’t take these requests lightly,” the administrator of channel assignments will shriek when you meet with him today for an interview. “We can’t have ghosts switching channel spaces all the time. You sure you want to leave A&E?”

Shriek, “Yes.”

The administrator will glare at his assignment sheet.

“ESPN?” he’ll shriek. “Sports?”

Shriek, “I’ve always wanted to get interested in sports.”

The administrator will maul your shoulder.

“Hope this one works out,” he’ll shriek.

Go home and move your stuff from A&E to ESPN. There’s some running happening at ESPN. Good luck haunting a new channel.

You’re One Of Those Ghosts Who Lives In Someone’s TV Day!

Your Mother’s Underwear Day!

You and your dad are fighting over your mother’s underpants. Your mother’s in the hospital and she said she needs some more pairs of underpants. You went home and asked your dad where she keeps them.

“There maybe?” like he either wasn’t sure which drawer is your mom’s underwear drawer, or he feels like it’s polite to pretend not to be sure about underwear drawers.

You opened it and found one pair of beige granny panties. It’s appropriate to call them granny panties because your mother is also a grandmother, and her panties are fucking huge.

Your Dad flipped out. “How can she only have one pair left!”

You said it’s okay. She must have brought a bunch to the hospital and they’re all in the wash. You’ll just go buy her some more if she needs.

“But how!” your dad shouted, holding the underwear in his ruined fist.

You reminded him of the Gap Body right near the hospital.

“We have to call the girls!” he shouted, meaning your sisters, because in his mind only a woman is allowed by law to purchase a women’s undergarment. You could have begun to explain to him that times have changed and these days everyone is buying and wearing different kinds of underwear just for the thrills, but he was hysterical and it wasn’t the time.

“Let’s just take this pair to her and we can worry about getting more later,” you said.

You reached for the panties. He pulled them away.

You reached again and got some of the fabric in your grasp. He tugged. You pulled.

You’re pulling. He’s pulling back. You’re having a tug-of-war with your father for possession of your mother’s underwear. It’s all come down to this.

Your father yanks backward, trying to regain full possession. You don’t let go, your grip far stronger than his. He politely but impatiently says your name, trying not to call attention to what you both know is happening. A battle. The battle. The one you always knew was brewing since you were a boy but you never knew would come. You’re going to win this.

It’s kind of sad how inevitable your win ultimately is. You give one final hard tug, freeing the underwear from your father’s tired fist, then you put a hand on his shoulder to steady him because he looks like he might lose his balance. Then the two of you quietly head out to the car.

You drive your father to see his wife. Neither of you say a word, both of you knowing the truth. The battle is over. Your mom’s underpants are in your jacket pocket. You’ve done it. You’ve finally won.

Happy Your Mother’s Underwear Day!

Spraypaint A Couch Day!

You check Craigslist every morning for “curb alerts” of couches people are abandoning if anyone wants to pick it up, then you race to the couch and spraypaint a confession onto its cushions. It’s kind of mean to anyone who might need or who could use the couch, but you don’t care. Everyone has that thing they’ve decided they need to do in order to keep bother to not open their wrists, this one’s yours.

Today you’re going to find a Crate and Barrel sectional on the corner of 6th and Pine. Sectionals give you the space to really unload. In red paint you’re going to spraypaint onto it, “Lied about where I was on 9/11 three times. Once said I was in the lobby of Tower 1 but got a bad feeling and decided to turn around. Another time said I was in France and all the waiters at a cafe started holding me and crying. Third time said I was in the airport arguing with a ticketing agent that she had to get me a seat on United 93, but the agent refused. Really, I was asleep in California.”

Happy Spraypaint A Couch Day!

Your Tanning Consultant Fell In Love With Your Stubbler Day!

You’re super-loaded and one problem with being super-loaded is when people on your staff show up in your study and remind you that they’re human and they have hearts and humans with hearts sometimes fall in love with each other.

“But I have rules about this,” tell them. “I can’t have two people in love working here. You’ll get distracted.”

Your tanning consultant will say that he would never let a thing like love come between him and giving you the right shade.

Your stubbler will add that there’s absolutely nothing she cares about more than maintaining your face stubble.

“Except for Alan,” tell her.

Alan’s your tanning consultant. Just saying his name will make her blush.

“I’m sorry,” say to them. “One of you has to quit.”

Your tanning consultant and your stubbler will tell you that neither of them can make the other quit, so they’re both going to quit.

They passed.

“I wanted to be sure your love is real. If one of you could live with the other quitting, it wouldn’t have been meant to be. You can both stay. I’ll only allow people who are truly in love to work on my staff.”

They’ll hug each other, and then they’ll hug you. Order them to have sex in front of you now or you’ll dock their pay. Staff members in love have the best sex.

Happy Your Tanning Consultant Fell In Love With Your Stubbler Day!

Help Sally Run Away From Her Husband Day!

She’ll knock on the back door while you’re eating dinner. Invite her in and she’ll explain the situation and ask you to drive her out of state.

“Just across state lines,” she’ll say. “You can’t take love across state lines.”

You’ll argue that it’s Sunday and you shouldn’t have to break up people’s marriages on Sunday, even if you’re the best.

“Her husband sucks,” your wife will say. “You just have to get her to the eastern border of the state. Then he can’t follow her. Them’s the rules.”

Say okay. Give your wife a kiss goodbye, then you and Sally hop into the truck and start driving fast to the border.

“Think he’s looking for me?” Sally will ask.

Just then a pair of headlights will swerve onto the road behind you.

“That’s affirmative,” you’ll say, stepping on the gas.

You know the way. You’ve gotten three friends out of marriages before, and this old truck knows how to keep an unwanted spouse in the dust. Now’s the time to get some taste of the meat of what you’re doing today.

“So…” you’ll say after making a hard right down a narrow alley.

“I was disappointed,” she’ll tell you. “He gave me a lot of talk about how he’d turn out but he turned out to be nothing special.”

“That’s enough for a wife to take off?” you’ll ask her.

She’ll look at you and she’ll nod. There will be an apology in her eyes.

The state lines are just up ahead but you’re not speeding for them anymore. The car behind you could gain on you easily, but he’s not even trying. You pull across the border and come to a stop.

“When’d she put you up to it?”

Sally will say, “It’s been in the works for months.”

The driver of the follower car will get out and come walking up to your window. It’s not Sally’s husband. It’s Pamela, your wife’s friend from way back in high school.

“Sorry,” Pamela will say. “Come on Sally. I’ll drive you home.”

You’ll shift into gear and head back to your house, knowing full well that it’s empty. Your wife wouldn’t have had to drive very fast to get herself across the western border. With you headed east like a bat out of hell, she might have even taken the time to write you a note. Maybe it’s waiting for you back there, which is why you should take your time, maybe a few days, before heading home again.

Happy Help Sally Run Away From Her Husband Day!

You’re The Saddest Rock Star Day!

Your thing is you cry through all your songs. You started crying during your very first song and it sold millions so you’ve had to cry on every song ever since, and throughout every interview, and in every paparazzi photo. Basically, if you’re ever happy your career will be shot.

“Hi,” a woman will say to you. Her smile will make you feel like there’s hope.

Run in the other direction to the nearest yes-kill animal shelter so you can watch unclaimed pets being put down. Your fans are counting on you.

Happy You’re The Saddest Rock Star Day!

Ghosts On Craigslist Day!

Lots of the posts on Craigslist are posted by ghosts who lure people with the promise of cheap bicycles or lurid sex into the place where they’re haunting solely to trap the people there so they can ask them to resolve stuff for them. Today you’re going to fall into this trap. You’ll answer an ad that claims to be from a woman who wants to hurt a man by sitting on his face and since your plans fell through you’ll figure what the hey. When you get to the apartment it will be empty. Then the fridge magnet poetry will start to move apparently of its own will and it will spell out the sentences, “Tell Derrick It Wasn’t Darcy. It Was Rita. Tell Derrick Now.” You can do as the fridge magnets suggest and track down this Derrick guy, but the better plan is just to get the hell out of there. Resolving stuff for ghosts can take forever and it’s often stuff that the ghost should really be cool with letting go unresolved. If you feel bad, don’t. It’s likely that two or three more guys will show up right after you and at least one of them will be a softie and go for it. Sorry you won’t get your face sat on tonight.

Happy Ghosts On Craigslist Day!

Flasher Day!

Today you’re going to flash your ex-wife. You won’t realize it’s her at first. You’ll just see a silhouette you like and you’ll run up and open yourself up to show her the fun.

“Karen?” you’ll say as her mouth hangs open, staring at that which she’s seen so many times before.

You’ll get lunch. She’ll tell you that she’s remarried, to an art history professor, and she’s very happy. They’re planning to adopt.

You’ll tell her how flashing’s been going, about the arrests, the beatings, the cold drafts.

You’ll laugh and you’ll share and when you finally say goodbye you’ll be shocked at how painful it was when she said goodbye the last time, and how joyful it was to meet her all over again. You’ll exchange numbers and say you’ll call and even though neither of you will (she’s got a big trip to Milan planned and you’ve got the Susan G Komen For The Cure Walk to flash), the gesture is enough. At your age, with the history you two have, a gesture can communicate volumes.

Happy Flasher Day!

Cave Tour Day!

You give tours of caves. Today you lost two kids.

Tell the parents, “They ran away.”

The parents will say they don’t believe you. Show them the note you forged. It should read:

“We ran away. Goodbye you guys. Love, The Kids.”

The parents will be convinced and they’ll send out a search party to find the kids. One group will head off to Hollywood to intercept them there in case they got on a bus hoping to become stars. Another group will head down to Florida since fucked up kids always seem to end up there somehow. A third group will set traps. Food in boxes rigged to close when they start eating the food, that kind of thing.

You’ll go back into the cave to track down the kids you lost and you’ll hit your head on a stalactite and die there. The two kids will come out the rear entrance of the cave around 90 minutes after the search party started. In the excitement of getting lost they’ll have fallen in love with each other and secretly eloped, even though they’re only 12. They’ll wonder why there are so many choppers hovering.

Happy Cave Tour Day!

Time To Track Down Your Biological Parents Day!

Your adoptive parents are worried but they’ll have to deal.

“I need to do this,” tell them.

The time has come. It’s been long enough. It’s time to track down your biological parents, introduce yourself to them, and kill them.

“You’re the reason I exist,” tell them. “For that you deserve to die.”

“But we thought you just wanted to know more about where you came from,” they’ll say.

Tell them, “I know enough. Someone has to pay for me being brought into being. All the people I hurt. Everyone I’ve made to regret ever having crossed paths with me. Someone needs to be held responsible for all that I’ve done.”

“Why not you?” they’ll ask.

Say, “That’s like fighting the war on drugs by taking out the street level dealers. I’m going after the supplier.”

When you’re done murdering them, go home to your adoptive parents and reassure them that you’re happy with the life they gave you. They’re going to feel a little vulnerable for a while, so just do what you can to reassure them.

Happy Time To Track Down Your Biological Parents Day!

Hot Air Balloon Full Of Money Day!

You were having a romantic picnic in the park when you you started following the hot air balloon as it hovered over the woods. You told Gina to wait for you to come back. She’s used to waiting. She’s been waiting for you to propose for over five years now. You’ve been waiting for some way to earn enough money to not just pay for a wedding but provide for the life you know she deserves.

It caught your attention when you heard it brush against the tree-tops. Something was wrong. It finally landed in the middle of Palmer Field, the wind dragging it across the grass for about 500 feet before it finally held still long enough for you to climb in and find seventy thousand dollars in cash and two dead bodies, the basket of the balloon riddled with bullet holes. Someone shot them from the ground.

Someone’s shooting at you right now. You’re going to have to either ditch the balloon and leave the money, or fly away far enough to get out of range of their gunfire so you can keep that $70K to marry your love once and for all. Grab the fuel tug and fire that baby back up. If you can get high enough you should be able to clear the tree tops before they nope you got shot.

Shame. You could have just eloped too. Gina didn’t want money. She just wanted you.

Happy Hot Air Balloon Full Of Money Day!

Dance Lessons Day!

Today at your first dance class you’re going to be asked why you’re taking lessons. The others will say they’re learning for their wedding, or to meet single men, or to be more confident at parties. When it comes to you, tell the truth.

“I want to dance on my father’s grave,” tell them.

Explain that your father is very ill, and that you’ve been sitting by his hospital bed whispering that you’re going to dance on his grave every week when he dies. And he’s just been laughing, saying that you’d never do such a thing because you’re a terrible dancer. So you said that you’d take lessons. And your father said lessons cost money and you’re too cheap. So you said you’d save up. And your father said you’re terrible at saving and that you only spend your money on ridiculous gadgets and overpriced meals. So you’ve been showing up every week with your bank statement and waving it over your father’s hospital bed so he could see how much you were saving. Then when you finally had enough you showed him your enrollment forms for dance class. Then you showed him your dance shoes and dance belt.

“Now I want to perform for him the dance I am going to do on his grave,” tell the class. “Before he dies, I want him to know what will shake the soil onto his coffin, what joyous number underneath which he will rot.”

The teacher will say, “You sound like you hate your father very much.”

Say, “He made me the man I am today, and I’ll never forgive him.”

The next student will say, “I’m taking this class because people keep shooting at my feet.”

Happy Dance Lessons Day!

How To Tell Your Brother He Ruined Everything Day!

Your brother is the one who told your mom that your dad was cheating, and so your mom kicked your dad out and he moved in with the woman he was cheating with. So basically your brother destroyed your family. The only way to let him know he ruined everything is by jumping off a bridge with the words “Your Fault Kevin” sharpied on your torso. Do it now! Your dad will probably see it on the news and realize you were the cool son that he should have bothered to father.

Happy How To Tell Your Brother He Ruined Everything Day!

You Used To Date A Picture Frame Photo Model Day!

She broke your heart, but you still have to see her every time you go to the drug store. She’s staring out from dozens of frames. She’s hugging her fake model son; she’s sitting in a field of yellow flowers; she’s standing on a beach staring at the ocean. You know where the beach one was taken. You were dating then. She called you from the shoot and told you she wished you were there with her. So it’s like the drug store is displaying a photo from your life. You missed her so much that the act of buying a picture frame became unbelievably painful, so you learned how to make your own frames and today you’re opening your own frame shop so congrats.

Happy You Used To Date A Picture Frame Photo Model Day!

Ghostess Day!

You’re the new hostess at Applebee’s and you’re really excited to be working again after the baby. Training is about over but the manager has one last thing to tell you.

“This hostess podium is haunted by a ghostess.”

“A ghostess?”

“Ghost of a hostess,” he’ll say. “It’s not that hard to figure out.”

Apparently many years ago, back when this place was a Fuddruckers, a hostess fell in love with one of her married customers. They would make love by the dumpsters and after lots of pressure he finally agreed to break it off with his wife so they could marry.

“He told her he would go and tell his wife, then pick her up at the end of her shift and propose. But he never showed. The wife shot him.”

The hostess wouldn’t believe he was dead. And she refused to quit or move to any other position but hostess. She was determined to remain at her podium until her man came to claim her like he said he would.

“She died while seating a six-top. And ever since her spirit has lingered around this podium, waiting for her man to return, waiting ever after as the Old Spinster Ghostess Of Applebees.”

You’ll chuckle nervously at the story because you don’t believe in that ghost stuff. Then your very first table for two will arrive and you’ll be embarrassed because just then the Ghostess will cause the menus to start bleeding.

Happy Ghostess Day!

Rescue Your Son From The Charity Stud Auction Day!

Your favorite movie is Taken and you wish you could be Liam Neeson’s character from that movie. Unfortunately you’re a middle-aged mom who is a corporate attorney. No CIA experience of any kind. But tonight your adult son is participating in a Charity Stud Auction to raise money for breast cancer research. Women will bid to “purchase” your son for a platonic evening together. It’s all in good fun, but it’s as close to your child being abducted by a human trafficking ring as you’re going to get. So tonight you’re going to burst into the auction with a toy handgun and order one of the women to bid on your son until she wins the auction. Then you’re going to stick the toy gun in her ribs and tell her to take you to where she picks your son up. Unfortunately, the event’s henchmen will also be excited about being able to live out a scene from the movie Taken, and they’ll clock you in the back of the head and string you up from a pipe in the boiler room. Since you don’t have a set of skills that you’ve acquired over a very long career, you won’t be able to escape from the boiler room and the henchmen will murder you while you’re dangling from a pipe. Once you die, the henchmen will be pissed because you were supposed to escape and the Taken scene will be totally ruined. Also, they’ll be jailed for murder. Since your son is the one who entered the auction even though he knew how much you love Taken he’ll spend the rest of his life drowning his guilt in drink.

Happy Rescue Your Son From The Charity Stud Auction Day!

Call Someone You Cut Out Of Your Life For Vague Reasons, But Don’t Say Anything Day!

That list is pretty long by now. You cut Jeff out of your life because you detected a hint of sarcasm in his voice when he made that toast at that one dinner (can’t remember what the dinner or the toast was about). You cut Sharon out of your life for moving on and finding love three years after you broke up with her. And you cut Eddie out of your life because he cheated on his wife and they got a divorce, which affected you in no real way except that you thought he deserved a punishment he never received.

It gets lonely excusing so many people from your acquaintance. Ease the loneliness by calling one of them during dinner and not saying anything. Just listen to the silence of their family as they ask repeatedly that you identify yourself. When they finally say, “George if thats you I really miss you,” hang up. But they never say that so just hang up whenever. You’re George FYI.

Happy Call Someone You Cut Out Of Your Life For Vague Reasons, But Don’t Say Anything Day!

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!