The best way to manage your eating is to express appreciation for your food before you eat it. When you have your lunch in front of you, don’t just plow into it. Let your lunch know how much it means to you by singing a song you just wrote about it. Like let’s say you have a bowl of three bean chili. Sing it a ballad.
Oh well I know we been estranged
The road between us was steep and hilly
But now you’re here with me
And my life is great with you, my three bean chili
Or let’s say you’re about to eat a meatball hero. Sing that sandwich a song of positivity and joy.
It’s a neeeeew day
And everything feels just fine
Cuz I got a meatball hero in my hands
And I can feel the future is miiiiiiine
Really hit the high note on “mine.”
If you’re eating a salad, go with one of those twinkly high-pitched gnome-like indie singer songs that always play over yogurt commercials.
When I look into your eyes
I see a grassy sunlit meadow
And it’s green and bright and free of strife
I’ll meet you there
Whenever you’re ready to say hello again, salad
Because you’re just the sweetest treat of my sweet life
Once you finish singing, wait for your food to applaud. When it doesn’t applaud, ask your food who the fuck does it think it is. You worked hard writing that fucking song and it just sits there. Tell your food to go fuck itself then throw it at the wall. Don’t clean it up either. Just walk past the splash of food on your wall and give it the finger, day after day, then hold your phone to your ear and sing into it so your food thinks you’ve met other food to sing to. Your food will get jealous as it dries into a permanent stain that you’ll one day paint over. You should expect to lose two pounds a week.
Happy The Sing To Your Food Diet Day!
Friday, January 15, 2016
Thursday, January 14, 2016
Be The Kind Of Person Who Brings In Donuts To Work Day!
Today you’ll try and be the kind of person who brings in donuts to work. You’ll try and be a generous person with enthusiasm for the day ahead who delights in making things a little sweeter for your coworkers.
You’ll stand in front of your bathroom mirror barking at your reflection, “You can fucking do this Sharon! Stop fucking crying and go buy some goddamn donuts for motherfuck’s sake!"
When the negative thoughts invade your mind telling you it can’t be done, punch the mirror and feel the shards cut into your skin. Focus on that pain.
"Get the fuck out of here I need to focus,” you scream at the guy in your bed. He scrambles into his clothes and slams the door behind him. You check your wallet and this one didn’t steal all your money and credit cards for once.
“See! New day, new you! Now go buy your coworkers some fucking donuts and don’t fucking spit on them Sharon!"
On the bus to the donut place you get into three fist fights and you win all of them. Outside the donut place you have a panic arrack but you spy a pigeon eating a dead rat and it calms you.
Once inside the donut place you scream at the girl, "I don’t fucking care which kind. Just fill the fucking box!” When an armed robber comes in and tries to hold up the place you aren’t having it.
“Fuck you if you think you can fuck this up for me! That box is almost full!” You wrestle the gun from the robber. It goes off, grazing you in the side and killing the robber.
The next day a photo of you in the hospital is on the front page of the newspaper under the headline DONUT HERO. The article tells the story of a sweet girl who just likes to do nice things for her coworkers, but when a stranger put others in harms way, she couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. “Sharon was always the kind of person who put everyone else first,” a coworker whose lunch Tupperware you once farted into will be quoted as saying.
Happy Be The Kind Of Person Who Brings In Donuts To Work Day!
You’ll stand in front of your bathroom mirror barking at your reflection, “You can fucking do this Sharon! Stop fucking crying and go buy some goddamn donuts for motherfuck’s sake!"
When the negative thoughts invade your mind telling you it can’t be done, punch the mirror and feel the shards cut into your skin. Focus on that pain.
"Get the fuck out of here I need to focus,” you scream at the guy in your bed. He scrambles into his clothes and slams the door behind him. You check your wallet and this one didn’t steal all your money and credit cards for once.
“See! New day, new you! Now go buy your coworkers some fucking donuts and don’t fucking spit on them Sharon!"
On the bus to the donut place you get into three fist fights and you win all of them. Outside the donut place you have a panic arrack but you spy a pigeon eating a dead rat and it calms you.
Once inside the donut place you scream at the girl, "I don’t fucking care which kind. Just fill the fucking box!” When an armed robber comes in and tries to hold up the place you aren’t having it.
“Fuck you if you think you can fuck this up for me! That box is almost full!” You wrestle the gun from the robber. It goes off, grazing you in the side and killing the robber.
The next day a photo of you in the hospital is on the front page of the newspaper under the headline DONUT HERO. The article tells the story of a sweet girl who just likes to do nice things for her coworkers, but when a stranger put others in harms way, she couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. “Sharon was always the kind of person who put everyone else first,” a coworker whose lunch Tupperware you once farted into will be quoted as saying.
Happy Be The Kind Of Person Who Brings In Donuts To Work Day!
Wednesday, January 13, 2016
Haunted Life Raft Day!
You and the other survivors of the capsized cruise ship have been floating for three days. Everything would be fine if it wasn’t for the ghost that’s haunting your life raft.
“I don’t think she even died on our cruise,” one of you says. “Do they reuse life rafts from other sunken ships?”
“Maybe she died on the boat itself,” someone responds. “Like of a heart attack. Or she got on the boat and her husband was supposed to meet her in their cabin but he never showed and sent a note saying he left her so she killed herself and then decided to haunt a life raft.”
“Maybe she died building the life raft,” someone else suggests. “Like in the factory?”
You all agree that that’s the most logical explanation. She must have been a life raft factory worker who died building the life raft so she haunted it.
Just then her apparition appears. You tell her you think that she died building a life raft and you want her to know her death wasn’t for nothing. That life raft she built is saving all of your lives.
“I never worked in a life raft factory you dumbasses,” she screams. “Time to take another one of you.”
She goes to the back of the boat and reaches her ghostly arm into a woman’s mouth, then pulls her insides out of her mouth until she’s turned the woman inside out completely.
You all help shove the spasming bloody inside out woman into the water. You have ten more hours to again guess why the ghost is haunting that life raft before she pulls the internal organs from another one of you.
Happy Haunted Life Raft Day!
“I don’t think she even died on our cruise,” one of you says. “Do they reuse life rafts from other sunken ships?”
“Maybe she died on the boat itself,” someone responds. “Like of a heart attack. Or she got on the boat and her husband was supposed to meet her in their cabin but he never showed and sent a note saying he left her so she killed herself and then decided to haunt a life raft.”
“Maybe she died building the life raft,” someone else suggests. “Like in the factory?”
You all agree that that’s the most logical explanation. She must have been a life raft factory worker who died building the life raft so she haunted it.
Just then her apparition appears. You tell her you think that she died building a life raft and you want her to know her death wasn’t for nothing. That life raft she built is saving all of your lives.
“I never worked in a life raft factory you dumbasses,” she screams. “Time to take another one of you.”
She goes to the back of the boat and reaches her ghostly arm into a woman’s mouth, then pulls her insides out of her mouth until she’s turned the woman inside out completely.
You all help shove the spasming bloody inside out woman into the water. You have ten more hours to again guess why the ghost is haunting that life raft before she pulls the internal organs from another one of you.
Happy Haunted Life Raft Day!
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
Why You’ll Never Close The Party Store Day!
Tell him that your mother couldn’t afford to throw you a birthday party with the money she made working as a grocery store cashier.
“So she got a job at the party store, which would give her an employee discount so she could buy me some balloons.”
She kept looking for a better job, but one never came along. And since you kept having birthdays, she ended up trapped in that party store job.
“But soon she got an even better employee discount. And I got even more balloons on my birthday.”
It became your mom’s goal to get you so many birthday balloons that you’d be in danger of floating away. So she started sabotaging her coworkers, framing them for stealing from the register etc., and as they got fired one by one, she got promoted.
“But the real employee discount would come if she owned a piece of the store,” tell him. “If she owned a piece of the store, she’d be able to get balloons at cost.”
So your mom seduced the store owner and carried on an affair for a few months, making sure that his wife would find out and divorce him. The party store owner was so infatuated with how giving a lover your mom was that he married her as soon as the divorce went through.
“As his new wife, she was part owner of the store. I got so many balloons. But that wasn’t enough for my mom. Her new husband was too controlling over the store’s inventory and he wouldn’t buy the right balloons sometimes.
It was a slow-acting poison that she put into his food in small doses over the course of several months. When he died, the doctors only said it was a degenerative illness of the blood that they couldn’t quite pin down. Your mom owned the store outright, and when she eventually died, she passed it on to you.
"I have this party store because my mom wanted me to have a good birthday. And she devoted her life to giving me that good birthday by systematically climbing through the ranks of the store’s staff, seducing the owner, and eventually murdering him. And you want me to close it down?”
Your husband will say he was only thinking you might want to work less and be with your daughter more.
“I’ll be with my daughter when it matters. I’ll be with her on her birthday. She’ll know me because I’ll be the one behind the giant ass fucking wad of sick motherfucking balloons.”
Your husband will shrug. Increase the dose of poison in his food tonight.
Happy Why You’ll Never Close The Party Store Day!
“So she got a job at the party store, which would give her an employee discount so she could buy me some balloons.”
She kept looking for a better job, but one never came along. And since you kept having birthdays, she ended up trapped in that party store job.
“But soon she got an even better employee discount. And I got even more balloons on my birthday.”
It became your mom’s goal to get you so many birthday balloons that you’d be in danger of floating away. So she started sabotaging her coworkers, framing them for stealing from the register etc., and as they got fired one by one, she got promoted.
“But the real employee discount would come if she owned a piece of the store,” tell him. “If she owned a piece of the store, she’d be able to get balloons at cost.”
So your mom seduced the store owner and carried on an affair for a few months, making sure that his wife would find out and divorce him. The party store owner was so infatuated with how giving a lover your mom was that he married her as soon as the divorce went through.
“As his new wife, she was part owner of the store. I got so many balloons. But that wasn’t enough for my mom. Her new husband was too controlling over the store’s inventory and he wouldn’t buy the right balloons sometimes.
It was a slow-acting poison that she put into his food in small doses over the course of several months. When he died, the doctors only said it was a degenerative illness of the blood that they couldn’t quite pin down. Your mom owned the store outright, and when she eventually died, she passed it on to you.
"I have this party store because my mom wanted me to have a good birthday. And she devoted her life to giving me that good birthday by systematically climbing through the ranks of the store’s staff, seducing the owner, and eventually murdering him. And you want me to close it down?”
Your husband will say he was only thinking you might want to work less and be with your daughter more.
“I’ll be with my daughter when it matters. I’ll be with her on her birthday. She’ll know me because I’ll be the one behind the giant ass fucking wad of sick motherfucking balloons.”
Your husband will shrug. Increase the dose of poison in his food tonight.
Happy Why You’ll Never Close The Party Store Day!
Monday, January 11, 2016
Six Ways To Make Your Friend Be Attracted To You Sexually Day!
There are only six ways to get a good platonic friend to become attracted to you sexually. Let’s count them down backwards, though it should be noted that number six is no less effective than number 1. Sexual attraction is sexual attraction, period. Anyway, here they are.
6. Show your friend how physically attractive you are. Ask your friend, “Which body parts do you like?” If your friend says “Boobs” or “Feet” or “Nostrils,” tell your friend, “I have some of those!” Then prove it. Your friend will probably go, “Want! Oh Christ. I want your dying bag of blood and guts. Want to stuff it inside me and stuff me inside it. Shit!” Then start sex.
5. Show your friend what an attractive mind you have. Ask your friend what they want from an erotic partner intellectually. Your friend will probably be like, “I want to talk to my erotic partner about books.” So you should say, “I’ve read books. Four books.” Say that even if you haven’t because who has? Your friend will demand to know which books. Tell your friend, “I’ll only tell you which books after 10,000 sessions of intercourse.” By the time the 10,000 sessions of intercourse is over and you tell your friend you lied about the books, it won’t matter because you had intercourse 10,000 times which is enough.
4. Smell like stuff that turns your friend on. If your friend thinks a sexy night is a cozy time spent by the fire, cover yourself in the ashes of the nearest arson aftermath. If your friend is turned on by lavender because that’s what your friend’s mom used to wear before she died and it became a sex trigger in a weird way, pour a vat of lavender over your head then shove your friend’s face against your body until your friend is visibly aroused.
3. Taste attractive. Oysters are an aphrodisiac so rub yourself with oysters. The next time your friend licks you, the taste of oysters will make your friend think, “Wow. I was just platonically licking my friend like I always do, but this time for some reason I’m turned on.” Next comes nudity then comes the wedding then kids then death.
2. Give your friend all your money. Tell your friend, “I want you to have everything you want in life. Here’s everything I have.” Your friend will feel obligated to pleasure you sexually, which is the most awesome thing for your friend to feel obligated to do.
1. Change your wardrobe and your physical appearance so that you look exactly like your friend. We’re living in a narcissistic age and sometimes friends won’t be attracted to you because they’re too into themselves. So get plastic surgery to look exactly like your friend. That way, loving you will be the same as self-love. Sex with you will be no different than masturbation. You should also change your personal beliefs so that you and your friend agree on absolutely everything and there is never any discord whatsoever between the two of you. Enjoy being so loved by your friend you’ll both lose your grasp of the boundaries of personal consciousness and go mad!
Happy Six Ways To Make Your Friend Be Attracted To You Sexually Day!
6. Show your friend how physically attractive you are. Ask your friend, “Which body parts do you like?” If your friend says “Boobs” or “Feet” or “Nostrils,” tell your friend, “I have some of those!” Then prove it. Your friend will probably go, “Want! Oh Christ. I want your dying bag of blood and guts. Want to stuff it inside me and stuff me inside it. Shit!” Then start sex.
5. Show your friend what an attractive mind you have. Ask your friend what they want from an erotic partner intellectually. Your friend will probably be like, “I want to talk to my erotic partner about books.” So you should say, “I’ve read books. Four books.” Say that even if you haven’t because who has? Your friend will demand to know which books. Tell your friend, “I’ll only tell you which books after 10,000 sessions of intercourse.” By the time the 10,000 sessions of intercourse is over and you tell your friend you lied about the books, it won’t matter because you had intercourse 10,000 times which is enough.
4. Smell like stuff that turns your friend on. If your friend thinks a sexy night is a cozy time spent by the fire, cover yourself in the ashes of the nearest arson aftermath. If your friend is turned on by lavender because that’s what your friend’s mom used to wear before she died and it became a sex trigger in a weird way, pour a vat of lavender over your head then shove your friend’s face against your body until your friend is visibly aroused.
3. Taste attractive. Oysters are an aphrodisiac so rub yourself with oysters. The next time your friend licks you, the taste of oysters will make your friend think, “Wow. I was just platonically licking my friend like I always do, but this time for some reason I’m turned on.” Next comes nudity then comes the wedding then kids then death.
2. Give your friend all your money. Tell your friend, “I want you to have everything you want in life. Here’s everything I have.” Your friend will feel obligated to pleasure you sexually, which is the most awesome thing for your friend to feel obligated to do.
1. Change your wardrobe and your physical appearance so that you look exactly like your friend. We’re living in a narcissistic age and sometimes friends won’t be attracted to you because they’re too into themselves. So get plastic surgery to look exactly like your friend. That way, loving you will be the same as self-love. Sex with you will be no different than masturbation. You should also change your personal beliefs so that you and your friend agree on absolutely everything and there is never any discord whatsoever between the two of you. Enjoy being so loved by your friend you’ll both lose your grasp of the boundaries of personal consciousness and go mad!
Happy Six Ways To Make Your Friend Be Attracted To You Sexually Day!
Sunday, January 10, 2016
A Hang Glider Just Crashed Into Your House Day!
His hang glider is implanted into the siding along the second floor.
“Fuck!” you shout. “I can’t have this now!”
“Mmph!” he mumbles. His head’s stuck in your house.
“Goddammit!” you shout. “The teen I seduced just killed my husband and he’s supposed to get rid of the body but with you faceplanted into the side of my house and your stupid giant kite hanging over the lawn for everyone to see, the news crews are gonna be here any minute.”
Mmph!“ he mumbles.
"Sorry dickface, but the murder just got pinned on you.”
And so your husband will forever be remembered as having been killed by some guy who thought he could commit a murder and then escape by hang gliding off the roof but then the wind just crashed him back into the house. You’ll make a killing from the life insurance, yo.
Happy A Hang Glider Just Crashed Into Your House Day!
“Fuck!” you shout. “I can’t have this now!”
“Mmph!” he mumbles. His head’s stuck in your house.
“Goddammit!” you shout. “The teen I seduced just killed my husband and he’s supposed to get rid of the body but with you faceplanted into the side of my house and your stupid giant kite hanging over the lawn for everyone to see, the news crews are gonna be here any minute.”
Mmph!“ he mumbles.
"Sorry dickface, but the murder just got pinned on you.”
And so your husband will forever be remembered as having been killed by some guy who thought he could commit a murder and then escape by hang gliding off the roof but then the wind just crashed him back into the house. You’ll make a killing from the life insurance, yo.
Happy A Hang Glider Just Crashed Into Your House Day!
Saturday, January 09, 2016
Waaaaaay Before Sunrise Day!
Her Courtyard By Marriott hotel room has a balcony in the middle of an office plaza that looks out on a dark corporate sprawl of office buildings. She sits out there drunk at 1 am when she sees a guy in a suit walk out of one of the buildings.
“Working hard or hardly working?” she shouts down to him.
“I don’t fucking need this!” he shouts back to her. “I just found out my company is doing business with the mafia!”
She apologizes. “I was just having some fun,” she says. “Drunk. You know.”
“Well maybe think about who you yell stuff at next time!” the guy shouts. “I thought I was working for a legitimate firm. But it turns out, they’re doing business with the mafia!”
“Want a drink?” she asks.
He climbs up the balconies to hers and they enjoy Scotch together.
“What do you think I’m gonna do?” he says after she asks him what he’s going to do about the mafia thing. “I’m going to report it to the local police station as soon as the sun rises.”
“What if we’re still making love?” she asks him.
They make love but they finish waaaaaay before the sun rises.
“I don’t want to see you get hurt,” she says when they’re laying in the afterglow like, seriously, hours before the sun comes up. “But if you rat on the mafia, that’s probably what will happen.”
“Could you do it?” he asks. “Could you go on working for a firm that does business with the mafia?”
“Yeah. Who cares? Besides, the mafia’s cool.”
He catches her drift and decides to not care who his firm does business with and so he becomes rich instead of dying, plus he had sex earlier (waaaaaay before sunrise),
Happy Waaaaaay Before Sunrise Day!
“Working hard or hardly working?” she shouts down to him.
“I don’t fucking need this!” he shouts back to her. “I just found out my company is doing business with the mafia!”
She apologizes. “I was just having some fun,” she says. “Drunk. You know.”
“Well maybe think about who you yell stuff at next time!” the guy shouts. “I thought I was working for a legitimate firm. But it turns out, they’re doing business with the mafia!”
“Want a drink?” she asks.
He climbs up the balconies to hers and they enjoy Scotch together.
“What do you think I’m gonna do?” he says after she asks him what he’s going to do about the mafia thing. “I’m going to report it to the local police station as soon as the sun rises.”
“What if we’re still making love?” she asks him.
They make love but they finish waaaaaay before the sun rises.
“I don’t want to see you get hurt,” she says when they’re laying in the afterglow like, seriously, hours before the sun comes up. “But if you rat on the mafia, that’s probably what will happen.”
“Could you do it?” he asks. “Could you go on working for a firm that does business with the mafia?”
“Yeah. Who cares? Besides, the mafia’s cool.”
He catches her drift and decides to not care who his firm does business with and so he becomes rich instead of dying, plus he had sex earlier (waaaaaay before sunrise),
Happy Waaaaaay Before Sunrise Day!
Friday, January 08, 2016
Fun Couple Day!
He slams the vacuum cleaner against the carpet to try to shake loose whatever’s stuck up there.
“Maybe you vacuumed up some of my dreams?” his wife says over the rim of her highball glass.
He jokingly searches the inside workings of the vacuum looking for her dreams.
“Don’t see any of those in here,” he says with a chuckle.
“Check the garbage disposal. Maybe you shoved my dreams down there! I haven’t seen them in so long, maybe you ground them up in the sink blades like they were just some leftover kale leaves from last night’s forgettable dinner!”
He jokingly checks the garbage disposal to see if there are any dreams in it.
“Nope. No dreams down there!” he shouts jovially.
“Maybe you threw them out with the trash. My dreams are so old and neglected that I could see you mistaking them for garbage. Did you happen to take my dreams and stuff them into a garbage can with the stripped toilet paper rolls, the soiled q-tips, and the junk mail pleas for charitable donations that we tear up and throw away without even fucking reading?!”
He jokingly goes down to the sidewalk to untie the garbage bags and root through the trash searching for her dreams.
“Can’t find any dreams in these Hefty cinch sacks!” he shouts up at their window.
She opens the window and shouts back at him, “Have you checked the grille and tires of our car? Take a flashlight and inspect the grille and tires for the blood of my dreams! You might have accidentally run down my dreams some night when you weren’t paying any goddamn attention to them. So you obliterated them against the grille of the car, then dragged them under the tires. Then to be sure they were dead you might have shifted into reverse and backed over my dreams until the life bled out of them into the street. Then you might have peeled away without even bothering to get out of the car to try and help.”
He jokingly goes upstairs to grab a flashlight, and then jokingly heads out to the car to inspect the grille and tires. There’s blood everywhere.
Back in the apartment, “My God, you drove home? I begged you never to drive when you’re like this.”
“He came out of nowhere. I thought I could live with the guilt but I can’t.”
When she finishes her drink, he takes her to the police station so she can turn herself in for the hit and run.
“Honey,” she barks at him. “Check the other jail cells for my dreams! See if they’ve been locked up in here for life without the possibility of parole.”
He asks the police if he can jokingly check the jail cells for his wife’s dreams, but the police remind him that a man is dead. This is no time for jokes.
Happy Fun Couple Day!
“Maybe you vacuumed up some of my dreams?” his wife says over the rim of her highball glass.
He jokingly searches the inside workings of the vacuum looking for her dreams.
“Don’t see any of those in here,” he says with a chuckle.
“Check the garbage disposal. Maybe you shoved my dreams down there! I haven’t seen them in so long, maybe you ground them up in the sink blades like they were just some leftover kale leaves from last night’s forgettable dinner!”
He jokingly checks the garbage disposal to see if there are any dreams in it.
“Nope. No dreams down there!” he shouts jovially.
“Maybe you threw them out with the trash. My dreams are so old and neglected that I could see you mistaking them for garbage. Did you happen to take my dreams and stuff them into a garbage can with the stripped toilet paper rolls, the soiled q-tips, and the junk mail pleas for charitable donations that we tear up and throw away without even fucking reading?!”
He jokingly goes down to the sidewalk to untie the garbage bags and root through the trash searching for her dreams.
“Can’t find any dreams in these Hefty cinch sacks!” he shouts up at their window.
She opens the window and shouts back at him, “Have you checked the grille and tires of our car? Take a flashlight and inspect the grille and tires for the blood of my dreams! You might have accidentally run down my dreams some night when you weren’t paying any goddamn attention to them. So you obliterated them against the grille of the car, then dragged them under the tires. Then to be sure they were dead you might have shifted into reverse and backed over my dreams until the life bled out of them into the street. Then you might have peeled away without even bothering to get out of the car to try and help.”
He jokingly goes upstairs to grab a flashlight, and then jokingly heads out to the car to inspect the grille and tires. There’s blood everywhere.
Back in the apartment, “My God, you drove home? I begged you never to drive when you’re like this.”
“He came out of nowhere. I thought I could live with the guilt but I can’t.”
When she finishes her drink, he takes her to the police station so she can turn herself in for the hit and run.
“Honey,” she barks at him. “Check the other jail cells for my dreams! See if they’ve been locked up in here for life without the possibility of parole.”
He asks the police if he can jokingly check the jail cells for his wife’s dreams, but the police remind him that a man is dead. This is no time for jokes.
Happy Fun Couple Day!
Thursday, January 07, 2016
You’re a Private Detective Day!
She walks into your office with long legs and a face.
“My husband’s having an affair,” she says.
“I’ll take the case,” you say.
The two of you have sex. On the desk?
A week later you confront her because her husband’s dead and you’ve been framed for the murder.
“Yeah,” she says. “Yup.”
The two of you have sex. Against the file cabinet?
Using your detective skills you find out this murder affects all branches of government in every country, even Philadelphia.
“Walk away,” President Obama says to you.
“Fine,” you say.
The two of you have sex. In the Oval Office?
Happy You’re a Private Detective Day!
“My husband’s having an affair,” she says.
“I’ll take the case,” you say.
The two of you have sex. On the desk?
A week later you confront her because her husband’s dead and you’ve been framed for the murder.
“Yeah,” she says. “Yup.”
The two of you have sex. Against the file cabinet?
Using your detective skills you find out this murder affects all branches of government in every country, even Philadelphia.
“Walk away,” President Obama says to you.
“Fine,” you say.
The two of you have sex. In the Oval Office?
Happy You’re a Private Detective Day!
Wednesday, January 06, 2016
The Last Hair Stylist In America Day!
Nuclear war. Millions killed. Only a few will survive, including you. You’ll be the last hair stylist in America.
“We need someone who knows agriculture,” the settlement Governor will say when you approach the gate. “And we need physicians of course. And carpenters to help us rebuild, electricians to see if the grids in the area can be up and running again.”
“Your hair looks awful,” tell him. “I can fix that.”
He’ll start to close the gate on you. Stick your foot in the gate to block it.
“Hey,” tell him. “You want to be governor of this little settlement? Or you want to go on to be governor of all the settlements? Because we’re all going to need someone to look up to, but we’re not going to look up to anyone with hair like that.”
He thinks about it. “You can tell I’m ambitious, can you?”
Shake your head. “I can tell you’re a man with bad hair. Let me ply my trade.”
The gate reopens and you begin grooming the future president of the newly risen settlements of the fallen world.
Happy The Last Hair Stylist In America Day!
“We need someone who knows agriculture,” the settlement Governor will say when you approach the gate. “And we need physicians of course. And carpenters to help us rebuild, electricians to see if the grids in the area can be up and running again.”
“Your hair looks awful,” tell him. “I can fix that.”
He’ll start to close the gate on you. Stick your foot in the gate to block it.
“Hey,” tell him. “You want to be governor of this little settlement? Or you want to go on to be governor of all the settlements? Because we’re all going to need someone to look up to, but we’re not going to look up to anyone with hair like that.”
He thinks about it. “You can tell I’m ambitious, can you?”
Shake your head. “I can tell you’re a man with bad hair. Let me ply my trade.”
The gate reopens and you begin grooming the future president of the newly risen settlements of the fallen world.
Happy The Last Hair Stylist In America Day!
Tuesday, January 05, 2016
Be The Girlfriend Of His Dreams Day!
He’ll say, “I really like tea.”
Next time he comes over, have a pot of tea brewing for him. Bam, super girlfriend!
He’ll say, “It sure is cold in here.”
Put your body on his and hold him close to keep him warm. Girlfriend supreme!
He’ll say, “I wish I had a stepladder to reach the shelf above the cabinets in the kitchen."
Over the weekend, hit the Target and buy him a stepladder, then leave it in his kitchen with a little bow on it. Huzzah! You’re the best girlfriend a short dude ever had.
He’ll say, "Jeff at work is really bugging me.”
Break into Jeff’s apartment and hide in his closet until he gets into bed. Pull on your burlap mask, burst out of his closet and pin Jeff to the bed. From the bag on your shoulder, remove the python you bought from Petsmart and let it slither over his face. Tell Jeff if he isn’t nicer to his coworkers, he’s going to find out what it’s like to have his head slowly digested by a reptile. Jeff will agree to be nicer and you’ll have unlocked the Excellent Girlfriend Achievement. Return the python for cash.
He’ll say, “I’m stuck in here.”
Go to a higher floor and pry open the elevator doors, then shimmy down the elevator cable to the roof of the car he’s stuck in. Pop open the escape panel on the roof of the car and tell him to take your hand. Then pull him up out of the car and instruct him to shimmy up the cable to the floor where the doors are open. Encourage him with supportive comments the whole way, letting him know you think he’s really strong to be climbing to safety like this, and he looks handsome when he panics. Awesome girlfriend = You!
He’ll say, “Will you marry me?”
Tell him you appreciate the offer but you’re really trying to get the hang of this girlfriend thing, and if you have to suddenly become his wife, you’ll be starting over at zero and everything you’ve been working toward will just be thrown into the trash. You do that enough, jumping from project to project any time things get challenging, and you don’t want to do it with this. Tell him you should be able to really nail your girlfriend shtick in about four to six more years, then you can start looking into whether or not you want to try and pursue wife stuff, or maybe law school and then, perhaps, politics? He’ll support you because you’re such a good girlfriend, how could he not!
He’ll say, “Then I think we should see other people.”
Introduce him to some friends of yours who you just know would be perfect for him. You’ve got that one friend who always seemed to get a little too physical when she talked to him, resting her hand on his wrist while making a point (Hi Pam!), and you bet they’d hit it off. Arrange a dinner party and sit him next to Pam and watch the sparks fly thanks to some help from little old you, the perfect girlfriend!
He’ll say, “Pam and I are in love and you have to accept this. You said you’d be moved out by today.”
Show him that not only have you moved out, but you’re only hanging around to help Pam move in! You want this to go smoothly for him and you’re not going to let some uncaring movers ruin her things on the first day of their shared life together, because you’re the best girlfriend he could ask for and you better goddamn believe he knows it!
He’ll say, “What are you doing here? Pam and I have been married for years and we have a son who just turned three.”
No duh, that’s why you’re parked outside his house dressed head to toe in a clown costume. Every three-year-old deserves a clown on his birthday, and who better to be that clown than daddy’s unbelievably awesome girlfriend (who just so happens to have taken a semester of Clowning when she was at Brandeis, thank you very much!). Congratulations, you just became the girlfriend of his dreams!
He’ll say, “Pam’s just too busy to pay attention to me anymore. Anyway, it’s been a such a long time since I’ve heard from you and I was wondering what you’re up to. Remember that time you rescued me from a stalled elevator? You were such a good girlfriend.”
Such a good girlfriend? Girlfriend of his dreams! Goddammit, get it right! And once you achieved all you could achieve in the girlfriending realm, you went to law school, killed it, and now you’re a congressional representative for his district. Tell him you’re ready to listen to any concerns he has about how the country is doing and what can be done to make a better America because you are ready to be THE CONGRESSIONAL REPRESENTATIVE OF HIS DREAMS!!!!
Happy Be The Girlfriend Of His Dreams Day!
Next time he comes over, have a pot of tea brewing for him. Bam, super girlfriend!
He’ll say, “It sure is cold in here.”
Put your body on his and hold him close to keep him warm. Girlfriend supreme!
He’ll say, “I wish I had a stepladder to reach the shelf above the cabinets in the kitchen."
Over the weekend, hit the Target and buy him a stepladder, then leave it in his kitchen with a little bow on it. Huzzah! You’re the best girlfriend a short dude ever had.
He’ll say, "Jeff at work is really bugging me.”
Break into Jeff’s apartment and hide in his closet until he gets into bed. Pull on your burlap mask, burst out of his closet and pin Jeff to the bed. From the bag on your shoulder, remove the python you bought from Petsmart and let it slither over his face. Tell Jeff if he isn’t nicer to his coworkers, he’s going to find out what it’s like to have his head slowly digested by a reptile. Jeff will agree to be nicer and you’ll have unlocked the Excellent Girlfriend Achievement. Return the python for cash.
He’ll say, “I’m stuck in here.”
Go to a higher floor and pry open the elevator doors, then shimmy down the elevator cable to the roof of the car he’s stuck in. Pop open the escape panel on the roof of the car and tell him to take your hand. Then pull him up out of the car and instruct him to shimmy up the cable to the floor where the doors are open. Encourage him with supportive comments the whole way, letting him know you think he’s really strong to be climbing to safety like this, and he looks handsome when he panics. Awesome girlfriend = You!
He’ll say, “Will you marry me?”
Tell him you appreciate the offer but you’re really trying to get the hang of this girlfriend thing, and if you have to suddenly become his wife, you’ll be starting over at zero and everything you’ve been working toward will just be thrown into the trash. You do that enough, jumping from project to project any time things get challenging, and you don’t want to do it with this. Tell him you should be able to really nail your girlfriend shtick in about four to six more years, then you can start looking into whether or not you want to try and pursue wife stuff, or maybe law school and then, perhaps, politics? He’ll support you because you’re such a good girlfriend, how could he not!
He’ll say, “Then I think we should see other people.”
Introduce him to some friends of yours who you just know would be perfect for him. You’ve got that one friend who always seemed to get a little too physical when she talked to him, resting her hand on his wrist while making a point (Hi Pam!), and you bet they’d hit it off. Arrange a dinner party and sit him next to Pam and watch the sparks fly thanks to some help from little old you, the perfect girlfriend!
He’ll say, “Pam and I are in love and you have to accept this. You said you’d be moved out by today.”
Show him that not only have you moved out, but you’re only hanging around to help Pam move in! You want this to go smoothly for him and you’re not going to let some uncaring movers ruin her things on the first day of their shared life together, because you’re the best girlfriend he could ask for and you better goddamn believe he knows it!
He’ll say, “What are you doing here? Pam and I have been married for years and we have a son who just turned three.”
No duh, that’s why you’re parked outside his house dressed head to toe in a clown costume. Every three-year-old deserves a clown on his birthday, and who better to be that clown than daddy’s unbelievably awesome girlfriend (who just so happens to have taken a semester of Clowning when she was at Brandeis, thank you very much!). Congratulations, you just became the girlfriend of his dreams!
He’ll say, “Pam’s just too busy to pay attention to me anymore. Anyway, it’s been a such a long time since I’ve heard from you and I was wondering what you’re up to. Remember that time you rescued me from a stalled elevator? You were such a good girlfriend.”
Such a good girlfriend? Girlfriend of his dreams! Goddammit, get it right! And once you achieved all you could achieve in the girlfriending realm, you went to law school, killed it, and now you’re a congressional representative for his district. Tell him you’re ready to listen to any concerns he has about how the country is doing and what can be done to make a better America because you are ready to be THE CONGRESSIONAL REPRESENTATIVE OF HIS DREAMS!!!!
Happy Be The Girlfriend Of His Dreams Day!
Monday, January 04, 2016
You Share A Cubicle With Your Girlfriend’s Dad Day!
“Mr. Palmer?” you exclaim as he wheels a chair in and places his briefcase on the stretch of desk you’re not occupying.
“When you’re out of work at my age, after a while you take what you can get,” he says. “So I’m back to temping. Don’t tell my daughter.”
It’s pretty weird to work with your girlfriend’s dad every day, especially keeping it a secret from your girlfriend. But he turns out to be the best cubicle mate you’ve ever had. And the two of you are working together to fulfill your daily tasks and you’re meeting your monthly goals with ease and style.
“The dream team,” your supervisors call out to you as they pass your cubicle.
The only problem is the part about not telling your girlfriend that you temp with her dad.
“We work great together, sure,” her dad says to you over lunch one day. “But my daughter can’t know that her dad’s a temp. And I can’t have you lying to my little girl.”
When you end it with her, she wants a reason. You say you two don’t have enough in common, but you say it like it’s a question and you want her to confirm the answer. She says she thinks there’s something more going on.
“Is it because since your mom started working as a pizza delivery girl at our pizza parlor and I’m her boss now?”
You shake your head no. You try “it’s not you, it’s me,” but she doesn’t buy it. You try everything you can to avoid telling her that her dad is a temp, and he’s the best coworker and cubicle mate you ever had.
“Fine,” she says. “But I’m going to make your mom’s life hell. She’s only going to deliver pizzas to bachelor parties and senior citizens living on tight budgets.”
You shrug. “Like I care. Fire her if you want. My mom’s a big girl.”
You know she won’t. She’s told you over and over that your mom’s the best pizza delivery person she ever had. A natural.
If only you could tell her the same about her dad and his admin assistant skills. But it’s better this way. If pushing her out of your life means her dad can do his work unencumbered by the shame of disappointing his daughter or coercing her boyfriend to lie to her, it’s what has to be done. For the cubicle.
Happy You Share A Cubicle With Your Girlfriend’s Dad Day!
“When you’re out of work at my age, after a while you take what you can get,” he says. “So I’m back to temping. Don’t tell my daughter.”
It’s pretty weird to work with your girlfriend’s dad every day, especially keeping it a secret from your girlfriend. But he turns out to be the best cubicle mate you’ve ever had. And the two of you are working together to fulfill your daily tasks and you’re meeting your monthly goals with ease and style.
“The dream team,” your supervisors call out to you as they pass your cubicle.
The only problem is the part about not telling your girlfriend that you temp with her dad.
“We work great together, sure,” her dad says to you over lunch one day. “But my daughter can’t know that her dad’s a temp. And I can’t have you lying to my little girl.”
When you end it with her, she wants a reason. You say you two don’t have enough in common, but you say it like it’s a question and you want her to confirm the answer. She says she thinks there’s something more going on.
“Is it because since your mom started working as a pizza delivery girl at our pizza parlor and I’m her boss now?”
You shake your head no. You try “it’s not you, it’s me,” but she doesn’t buy it. You try everything you can to avoid telling her that her dad is a temp, and he’s the best coworker and cubicle mate you ever had.
“Fine,” she says. “But I’m going to make your mom’s life hell. She’s only going to deliver pizzas to bachelor parties and senior citizens living on tight budgets.”
You shrug. “Like I care. Fire her if you want. My mom’s a big girl.”
You know she won’t. She’s told you over and over that your mom’s the best pizza delivery person she ever had. A natural.
If only you could tell her the same about her dad and his admin assistant skills. But it’s better this way. If pushing her out of your life means her dad can do his work unencumbered by the shame of disappointing his daughter or coercing her boyfriend to lie to her, it’s what has to be done. For the cubicle.
Happy You Share A Cubicle With Your Girlfriend’s Dad Day!
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
They Used To Call You Doctor Party Day!
“What would they call you now, Doctor Behind Bars?” the prison guard asks.
“No,” you tell him. “They took away my license to practice when my wife overdosed at one of the OxyContin parties I threw monthly using my own prescription pad. So now it’s just Mister Party.”
“Mister Party? Seriously?”
“I’m not going to change my last name just because Karen couldn’t handle her shit.”
The prison guard processes your paperwork and you’re released on parole after a 12-year sentence. You take a few steps into freedom and get the urge to turn around and run back inside. Everyone’s door was wide open when you were Doctor Party. But without a prescription pad, Mister Party has nowhere to go.
Happy They Used To Call You Doctor Party Day!
“No,” you tell him. “They took away my license to practice when my wife overdosed at one of the OxyContin parties I threw monthly using my own prescription pad. So now it’s just Mister Party.”
“Mister Party? Seriously?”
“I’m not going to change my last name just because Karen couldn’t handle her shit.”
The prison guard processes your paperwork and you’re released on parole after a 12-year sentence. You take a few steps into freedom and get the urge to turn around and run back inside. Everyone’s door was wide open when you were Doctor Party. But without a prescription pad, Mister Party has nowhere to go.
Happy They Used To Call You Doctor Party Day!
Thursday, November 05, 2015
This Is How You’ll Fall In Love Day!
A bank representative will come to your house and tell you it’s not your house anymore, it’s the bank’s. Your husband will die of a heart attack on the spot. The bank representative will help you try and resuscitate him, but it won’t be any use.
At the funeral, the bank representative will stand by a tree and watch. You’ll go to him, with the same flush of giddiness you felt when you first saw him standing on your porch.
“You felt it too,” you’ll say.
“When we were performing CPR,” he’ll say. “I knew your husband was gone. But I kept performing mouth to mouth. Knowing that his lips had probably recently touched yours, I couldn’t resist putting my mouth to his again and again and again.”
“I thought you were hogging him,” you’ll say with a giggle. “But you were wrong. His lips hadn’t touched mine for quite some time.”
He takes you home because you need a roof over your head and you live the rest of your years together. On your death bed you’ll say to him, “Thank God my dead husband never paid his bills and ruined his heart with fatty foods.”
“Thank God my bank had a no mercy attitude to delinquent borrowers,” he’ll answer.
He kisses you, with the same hungry kiss he gave to your husband when he searched his mouth for a lingering taste of yours. He kisses you to keep you from opening your mouth and saying goodbye.
Happy This Is How You’ll Fall In Love Day!
At the funeral, the bank representative will stand by a tree and watch. You’ll go to him, with the same flush of giddiness you felt when you first saw him standing on your porch.
“You felt it too,” you’ll say.
“When we were performing CPR,” he’ll say. “I knew your husband was gone. But I kept performing mouth to mouth. Knowing that his lips had probably recently touched yours, I couldn’t resist putting my mouth to his again and again and again.”
“I thought you were hogging him,” you’ll say with a giggle. “But you were wrong. His lips hadn’t touched mine for quite some time.”
He takes you home because you need a roof over your head and you live the rest of your years together. On your death bed you’ll say to him, “Thank God my dead husband never paid his bills and ruined his heart with fatty foods.”
“Thank God my bank had a no mercy attitude to delinquent borrowers,” he’ll answer.
He kisses you, with the same hungry kiss he gave to your husband when he searched his mouth for a lingering taste of yours. He kisses you to keep you from opening your mouth and saying goodbye.
Happy This Is How You’ll Fall In Love Day!
Tuesday, November 03, 2015
You Sold The Drugs That A Beloved Actor OD’d On Day!
It’s all over the papers.
“Beloved Actor OD’s On Jennifer’s Drugs.”
You try to go about your day but everyone knows. When you drop your daughter off at day care, the other moms are glaring at you.
“Thanks for making movies suck more, Jennifer,” the Day Care Administrator says as she leads your daughter inside.
At the supermarket, the deli guy goes over the quarter pound of ham that you requested.
“Oh I’m sorry,” he says sarcastically. “But then again, you’re no stranger to giving people more than they can handle.”
When you get home your husband is waiting with his bags packed,
“I can’t stay here,” he says. “I loved that one movie he was in with the horse. Now there’ll never be a sequel, because of your drugs.”
You ask him what he’ll live off of.
“I’ll get a job. I don’t wanna live off your drug money.”
You ask what about his daughter.
“Keep her,” he says. “She was raised on drug money.”
Just to get him started, you give him $500,000 in drug money and send him on his way.
“I respect your decision,” you say.
The next day your secretary has lots of messages for you.
“Lots of people want to buy our drugs!” she says. “They think if it killed that one actor it must be good drugs.”
You hire more people, which stimulates the economy and gets you praise in the news as a job creator.
“That worked out,” you say out loud to no one and nothing.
Happy You Sold The Drugs That A Beloved Actor OD’d On Day!
“Beloved Actor OD’s On Jennifer’s Drugs.”
You try to go about your day but everyone knows. When you drop your daughter off at day care, the other moms are glaring at you.
“Thanks for making movies suck more, Jennifer,” the Day Care Administrator says as she leads your daughter inside.
At the supermarket, the deli guy goes over the quarter pound of ham that you requested.
“Oh I’m sorry,” he says sarcastically. “But then again, you’re no stranger to giving people more than they can handle.”
When you get home your husband is waiting with his bags packed,
“I can’t stay here,” he says. “I loved that one movie he was in with the horse. Now there’ll never be a sequel, because of your drugs.”
You ask him what he’ll live off of.
“I’ll get a job. I don’t wanna live off your drug money.”
You ask what about his daughter.
“Keep her,” he says. “She was raised on drug money.”
Just to get him started, you give him $500,000 in drug money and send him on his way.
“I respect your decision,” you say.
The next day your secretary has lots of messages for you.
“Lots of people want to buy our drugs!” she says. “They think if it killed that one actor it must be good drugs.”
You hire more people, which stimulates the economy and gets you praise in the news as a job creator.
“That worked out,” you say out loud to no one and nothing.
Happy You Sold The Drugs That A Beloved Actor OD’d On Day!
Monday, October 26, 2015
Kitchen Switchers Day!
You created the new show called Kitchen Switchers where people switch kitchens. So every morning after waking up in their own house they have to drive across town to the house with the kitchen they switched with if they want any coffee or breakfast. It’s a big hit since everyone likes watching people look through kitchen cabinets to find where stuff is.
Today you’re going to get a call that one of your former Kitchen Switchers has returned to the kitchen she switched with.
“Karen?” you’ll say as you enter the kitchen slowly. “What are you doing here? Show’s over.”
“I am where I belong,” Karen will say. “This is my kitchen.”
The mom of the house will whisper in your ear, “We just woke up and there she was. Eating an English Muffin. The last English Muffin I might add.”
“Karen,” say to her, your arms up to show no weapons. “Why don’t we take you back to your kitchen?”
“I said, THIS IS MY KITCHEN!” she screams.
“Okay,” you say. “This is your kitchen. All yours.”
“I always felt there was something off about my life. I love my husband. Love my kids. Love my job. But something made me feel like I wasn’t really me.”
She looks around the room, tears running down her cheeks.
“Then your show came along. And I saw this kitchen and I knew, this is it. This is the kitchen I was supposed to cook in. These fixtures. This model fridge. The way those high cabinets above the sink are organized. It was all so right.”
She seemed to stare at the adjustable faucet nozzle like it was a childhood memory.
“Then you took it away from me,” she says. “Show’s over. Back to your own kitchen.”
You hold still, afraid.
“THEN YOU TOOK IT AWAY FROM ME!!!” she screams as she drives a butter knife into your left temple.
Happy Kitchen Switchers Day!
Today you’re going to get a call that one of your former Kitchen Switchers has returned to the kitchen she switched with.
“Karen?” you’ll say as you enter the kitchen slowly. “What are you doing here? Show’s over.”
“I am where I belong,” Karen will say. “This is my kitchen.”
The mom of the house will whisper in your ear, “We just woke up and there she was. Eating an English Muffin. The last English Muffin I might add.”
“Karen,” say to her, your arms up to show no weapons. “Why don’t we take you back to your kitchen?”
“I said, THIS IS MY KITCHEN!” she screams.
“Okay,” you say. “This is your kitchen. All yours.”
“I always felt there was something off about my life. I love my husband. Love my kids. Love my job. But something made me feel like I wasn’t really me.”
She looks around the room, tears running down her cheeks.
“Then your show came along. And I saw this kitchen and I knew, this is it. This is the kitchen I was supposed to cook in. These fixtures. This model fridge. The way those high cabinets above the sink are organized. It was all so right.”
She seemed to stare at the adjustable faucet nozzle like it was a childhood memory.
“Then you took it away from me,” she says. “Show’s over. Back to your own kitchen.”
You hold still, afraid.
“THEN YOU TOOK IT AWAY FROM ME!!!” she screams as she drives a butter knife into your left temple.
Happy Kitchen Switchers Day!
Thursday, October 22, 2015
Bar Talk Day!
A bar is the perfect place to meet new people and have some interesting conversation! So, today, sidle up to the bar next to a stranger with a kind face and say, “Hey friend. Got a story to tell?”
His story will be about the night his son was born, when three masked men arrived at his cabin on horseback and absconded with the newborn, claiming he was the golden one, He who will bring order to the ancient warring tribes of M'al Anan'to. The man gave chase in the rain but a strange force drew him to the ground where he slept. When he woke in the morning, his baby was gone, only the hoofprints remained as evidence of the abduction. His wife never spoke again.
“Hilarious!” you’ll say. “You’re not gonna believe this but I was raised by three masked dudes on horseback! You must be my dad!”
He’ll agree that’s quite a hilarious coincidence. Then the two of you will catch up on how your lives have been. He’ll tell you your mom still doesn’t talk. You’ll tell him that those warring tribes weren’t really warring that much and they just needed an outside party to talk sense. You’ll want to keep talking but your long lost dad will have to leave to catch a movie, so you’ll spend the rest of the afternoon watching a sports talk show on mute on the bar’s flatscreen.
Happy Bar Talk Day!
His story will be about the night his son was born, when three masked men arrived at his cabin on horseback and absconded with the newborn, claiming he was the golden one, He who will bring order to the ancient warring tribes of M'al Anan'to. The man gave chase in the rain but a strange force drew him to the ground where he slept. When he woke in the morning, his baby was gone, only the hoofprints remained as evidence of the abduction. His wife never spoke again.
“Hilarious!” you’ll say. “You’re not gonna believe this but I was raised by three masked dudes on horseback! You must be my dad!”
He’ll agree that’s quite a hilarious coincidence. Then the two of you will catch up on how your lives have been. He’ll tell you your mom still doesn’t talk. You’ll tell him that those warring tribes weren’t really warring that much and they just needed an outside party to talk sense. You’ll want to keep talking but your long lost dad will have to leave to catch a movie, so you’ll spend the rest of the afternoon watching a sports talk show on mute on the bar’s flatscreen.
Happy Bar Talk Day!
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
Watch The Kids You Didn’t Want Day!
Every year you like to check in on the kids of the guy you lived with for six years but you didn’t marry because he wanted kids and you didn’t want them with him.
“I thought my genes were a mess, and his genes are definitely no picnic,” you say to his six-year-old girl, Pam, when she runs over to talk to you at the playground. “But you seem fine.”
You study her face. You see him in it, and hints of someone else. Those hints could have pointed to you.
“Are you studying my face to imagine if your features were on it?” Pam asks.
You nod. “You’d look horrible with my eyebrows,” you tell her. “But I think you would have benefited from my cheekbones. Your mom doesn’t have very defined cheekbones, does she?”
Little Pam shakes her head no. “Pisses me off,” she says.
“You have his big skull,” you say, reaching out to adjust her hair. “They shouldn’t part your hair like that with a skull like his. I hated his haircuts.”
Pam smiles as you take a picture with your iPhone and show it to her. Her older brother Matt runs over and interrupts.
“Don’t talk to her, Pam,” he says. Then, to you, “Stop imagining us with your traits instead of our mom’s. You made your choice, lady.”
“Yes, I made my choice. And I’m happy with it,” you tell him.
“Yeah right. That why you stalk us at the playground once every autumn?” he asks. “Admit it! You wish we sprouted from your eggs, and you’re living your life in regret for giving our dad the kiss-off.”
“As if!” you shout at Matt. You march away from them, pissed. Matt can be such an asshole.
“I’d be so bummed if I was your mom, Matt!” you yell from the parking lot.
Pam looks sad.
“Not you Pam!” you shout. “You’re cool.”
Pam waves and says, “See you next year!” Then she and Matt run and make their nanny put down her phone and give them snacks.
Fuckin’ Matt. He always gets into your head. You’re doing fine. You only check in with them to be glad you don’t have to raise an assmunch like Matt. If only he knew that. Maybe you should write him a letter letting him know.
Pam’s cool though.
Happy Watch The Kids You Didn’t Want Day!
“I thought my genes were a mess, and his genes are definitely no picnic,” you say to his six-year-old girl, Pam, when she runs over to talk to you at the playground. “But you seem fine.”
You study her face. You see him in it, and hints of someone else. Those hints could have pointed to you.
“Are you studying my face to imagine if your features were on it?” Pam asks.
You nod. “You’d look horrible with my eyebrows,” you tell her. “But I think you would have benefited from my cheekbones. Your mom doesn’t have very defined cheekbones, does she?”
Little Pam shakes her head no. “Pisses me off,” she says.
“You have his big skull,” you say, reaching out to adjust her hair. “They shouldn’t part your hair like that with a skull like his. I hated his haircuts.”
Pam smiles as you take a picture with your iPhone and show it to her. Her older brother Matt runs over and interrupts.
“Don’t talk to her, Pam,” he says. Then, to you, “Stop imagining us with your traits instead of our mom’s. You made your choice, lady.”
“Yes, I made my choice. And I’m happy with it,” you tell him.
“Yeah right. That why you stalk us at the playground once every autumn?” he asks. “Admit it! You wish we sprouted from your eggs, and you’re living your life in regret for giving our dad the kiss-off.”
“As if!” you shout at Matt. You march away from them, pissed. Matt can be such an asshole.
“I’d be so bummed if I was your mom, Matt!” you yell from the parking lot.
Pam looks sad.
“Not you Pam!” you shout. “You’re cool.”
Pam waves and says, “See you next year!” Then she and Matt run and make their nanny put down her phone and give them snacks.
Fuckin’ Matt. He always gets into your head. You’re doing fine. You only check in with them to be glad you don’t have to raise an assmunch like Matt. If only he knew that. Maybe you should write him a letter letting him know.
Pam’s cool though.
Happy Watch The Kids You Didn’t Want Day!
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
She’s Going To Say No Day!
You hired a high school brass band to lead from the restaurant to a waiting ferry that’s been decorated with petunias, her favorite flower. The ferry will take you deep into the water where the lead singer from her favorite boy band ($7000) will come up from below deck and serenade her with the song that was chosen as the theme for her senior prom, which she did not attend. The ferry will take the two of you to an island where a canopy bed has been assembled and covered in rose petals for her to lay down upon and receive a massage from a Spanish massage therapist who whispers into her ear how beautiful she is every 45 seconds. Next comes the dancing and singing improv troupe that will come out from the trees and pretend to be island natives inventing language so that one of them can write a love letter to your bride-not-to-be. Next come the fireworks spelling her name in the sky, then a white horse will trot out from the palm trees, then the horse will carry her to a beautiful garden full of frolicking bunny rabbits. She’ll lay down and the bunny rabbits, well-trained, will scurry about her and nuzzle her face while you read to her a poem you wrote. Next comes the check in her name for $75,000, followed by a huge cake that her dad will jump out of (stationed in Afghanistan, you petitioned to get him leave for the weekend to be here for this). Finally you’ll get down on one knee and give her the ring with the diamond you mined yourself, a plane will sky write your question across the sky while pre-teen ballerinas flutter about her and drape her in garlands of flowers. You’ll look up into her beautiful eyes and ask if she’ll be willing to spend the next 50 years by your side and she’s going to say no.
Happy She’s Going To Say No Day!
Happy She’s Going To Say No Day!
Monday, October 19, 2015
You’re The Landlord Day!
Today you get to be the landlord. Knock on everyone’s door and shout “You have to pay me the rent!” Tell the tenant with a loud stereo, “Hey what’d I tell you about that stereo, pally?” Tell the tenant cooking the smelly stew, “Hey what’d I tell you about that smelly stew? This hallway stinks like a soup kitchen.” Tell the tenant crying because his live-in girlfriend moved out, “Hey what’d I tell you about forgetting all about her and putting yourself out there to find someone new, someone worthy of all you have to offer and who isn’t always restless, always wondering if there’s a prettier, wealthier, more interesting-to-have-sex-with guy out there waiting to welcome her sweet bod into his bed while she’s wasting her time on a dink like you? Quit blowing your nose into your shirttails and go out to the club. Babes await!”
The crying tenant will tell you he appreciates the kind words but he still needs some time.
“Just take good care of her,” he’ll tell you.
Head back down to your apartment where his ex is panting for you to make love to her again because you’re the landlord. Who can resist? It’s not even fair.
Happy You’re The Landlord Day!
The crying tenant will tell you he appreciates the kind words but he still needs some time.
“Just take good care of her,” he’ll tell you.
Head back down to your apartment where his ex is panting for you to make love to her again because you’re the landlord. Who can resist? It’s not even fair.
Happy You’re The Landlord Day!
Friday, July 17, 2015
You And The Summer Camp Slasher Are In Love Day!
You thought you were protecting her. She’s the last pretty girl who’s still alive of all the Counsellors In Training. Normally that would mean a long drawn out chase before she either narrowly escapes or she ends up killing the murderer. But you just noticed it’s been over a half hour of running through the woods, and there’s no killer chasing her.
“I can’t exactly chase myself,” she says.
“It was you all along,” you tell her. “You killed Brandon and Diane and Maureen and Nandanee and Karen and Mitch and–”
“Is this a roll call? Look this is who I am. I kill hot teens in the woods. I’m not the perfect girl but I’m happy with who I am and I’m not going to have some guy try and change me into what he thinks a girl should be…even if I’m in love with him.”
You blush. You can’t help it. Love. The word that’s been ricocheting around your head ever since you first saw her teaching campers how to tell deer scat from wolf scat. You can’t believe that very same word just crossed her lips.
“I…Guess I love you too.”
You both smile. Then you burst out laughing.
“This is crazy though! I mean, you’re a slasher!”
“And you’re super-hot,” she giggles. “But instead of driving a scythe through your face, all I wanna do is kiss it.”
She takes a step forward.
“Can I?” she asks. “Kiss you?”
You place your hand on her bare shoulder, her skin warm under your palm. You guide her closer to you and she places a kiss on your neck, then your cheek, then your mouth. Then you both lay down on the path in an embrace.
You pull away.
“But if we have sex…”
“Will I have to kill myself?” she says. “We’ll see. I’ll either commit suicide or be a hypocrite, two fates that are worth the risk if it means making love to you right now.”
She kisses you again in a way that lets you know this is no time to discuss hypotheticals. The way she takes you, it’s gentle, but you can sense the violence inside of her.
She stops when you hear a moaning from the woods. Brandon must still be alive.
“Don’t,” you plead. “Stay here with me.”
She smiles, she complies.
After, you fall asleep feeling blissfully ravaged. You wake up when you hear footsteps. She’s just returned from someplace. She curls up behind you on the path, and you notice that you don’t hear Brandon moaning anymore.
Happy You And The Summer Camp Slasher Are In Love Day!
“I can’t exactly chase myself,” she says.
“It was you all along,” you tell her. “You killed Brandon and Diane and Maureen and Nandanee and Karen and Mitch and–”
“Is this a roll call? Look this is who I am. I kill hot teens in the woods. I’m not the perfect girl but I’m happy with who I am and I’m not going to have some guy try and change me into what he thinks a girl should be…even if I’m in love with him.”
You blush. You can’t help it. Love. The word that’s been ricocheting around your head ever since you first saw her teaching campers how to tell deer scat from wolf scat. You can’t believe that very same word just crossed her lips.
“I…Guess I love you too.”
You both smile. Then you burst out laughing.
“This is crazy though! I mean, you’re a slasher!”
“And you’re super-hot,” she giggles. “But instead of driving a scythe through your face, all I wanna do is kiss it.”
She takes a step forward.
“Can I?” she asks. “Kiss you?”
You place your hand on her bare shoulder, her skin warm under your palm. You guide her closer to you and she places a kiss on your neck, then your cheek, then your mouth. Then you both lay down on the path in an embrace.
You pull away.
“But if we have sex…”
“Will I have to kill myself?” she says. “We’ll see. I’ll either commit suicide or be a hypocrite, two fates that are worth the risk if it means making love to you right now.”
She kisses you again in a way that lets you know this is no time to discuss hypotheticals. The way she takes you, it’s gentle, but you can sense the violence inside of her.
She stops when you hear a moaning from the woods. Brandon must still be alive.
“Don’t,” you plead. “Stay here with me.”
She smiles, she complies.
After, you fall asleep feeling blissfully ravaged. You wake up when you hear footsteps. She’s just returned from someplace. She curls up behind you on the path, and you notice that you don’t hear Brandon moaning anymore.
Happy You And The Summer Camp Slasher Are In Love Day!
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
Mom’s Back Day!
“Been 13 years mom,” you tell her.
She looks at you and your brothers.
“And you’re all still as ugly as your father,” she says.
Mom’s gone again.
Happy Mom’s Back Day!
She looks at you and your brothers.
“And you’re all still as ugly as your father,” she says.
Mom’s gone again.
Happy Mom’s Back Day!
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
Tell Your Boyfriend What Happened During The Thunderstorm Day!
“I got married,” tell him.
He’ll ask to who.
“Steve something,” say.
You ducked into a bar you’d never been to before to escape the rain. It was already dimly lit and the lights were blinking with the lightning. Steve something was the only other person in the bar.
“It was too romantic to let the opportunity pass,” explain. “The bartender officiated.”
Your uber is outside. Your boyfriend helps you downstairs. You take off your straw hat (you’re honeymooning in Turks and Caicos) and look up at him.
“Is he good to you?” your boyfriend asks.
“Who?”
“Steve something,” he says.
“No idea,” you tell him. “He watched my gimlet while I went to the bathroom.”
“Goddammit!” your boyfriend shouts. “One time I let a vagrant sneak a sip of your drink and you’re gonna hold that over me forever?”
Open the car door.
“Goodbye Dan,” tell him.
“It’s Dave,” your boyfriend will say.
“Dave,” say. “That suits you.”
“It’s been a nice eleven years,” the Dave guy says as your Uber pulls away, taking you to the airport where you’ll fly to the honeymoon suite of Mr. and Mrs. Something.
Happy Tell Your Boyfriend What Happened During The Thunderstorm Day!
He’ll ask to who.
“Steve something,” say.
You ducked into a bar you’d never been to before to escape the rain. It was already dimly lit and the lights were blinking with the lightning. Steve something was the only other person in the bar.
“It was too romantic to let the opportunity pass,” explain. “The bartender officiated.”
Your uber is outside. Your boyfriend helps you downstairs. You take off your straw hat (you’re honeymooning in Turks and Caicos) and look up at him.
“Is he good to you?” your boyfriend asks.
“Who?”
“Steve something,” he says.
“No idea,” you tell him. “He watched my gimlet while I went to the bathroom.”
“Goddammit!” your boyfriend shouts. “One time I let a vagrant sneak a sip of your drink and you’re gonna hold that over me forever?”
Open the car door.
“Goodbye Dan,” tell him.
“It’s Dave,” your boyfriend will say.
“Dave,” say. “That suits you.”
“It’s been a nice eleven years,” the Dave guy says as your Uber pulls away, taking you to the airport where you’ll fly to the honeymoon suite of Mr. and Mrs. Something.
Happy Tell Your Boyfriend What Happened During The Thunderstorm Day!
Monday, July 13, 2015
Give Up On Dad Day!
Dad’s not coming.
“He is,” you tell your bride as she waits for you to recite the vows you wrote.
He’s not. And the caterer never got the check Dad said he’d give them. Mom’s new husband Rick will have to pay for that.
“I hate Rick,” you tell your brother and Best Man. “I’d rather everyone go hungry than have mom’s Rick pay a dime for my wedding. Just wait, Dad’ll get here.”
The owner of the wedding venue walks up the aisle and pulls you into a non-consensual embrace from which you can’t escape. Her mouth near enough to your ear to send a whisper straight to your spine, she says,
“Kid. We get married when we realize the limits of the family we were born into, and we decide to try and do better by making a family of our own. You reached the limit of how much a man can shuffle his feet. That girl there in the white, you make her wait a second longer and you’ll give her something to wonder about for the rest of your lives together. Give up on your Pa or I’m calling this wedding a no-go right now. I won’t allow a marriage to start like this. Not under my gazebo.”
She releases you and you take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife while your father dances with a prostitute in a motel off the highway, the money for the caterer now cocaine.
Happy Give Up On Dad Day!
“He is,” you tell your bride as she waits for you to recite the vows you wrote.
He’s not. And the caterer never got the check Dad said he’d give them. Mom’s new husband Rick will have to pay for that.
“I hate Rick,” you tell your brother and Best Man. “I’d rather everyone go hungry than have mom’s Rick pay a dime for my wedding. Just wait, Dad’ll get here.”
The owner of the wedding venue walks up the aisle and pulls you into a non-consensual embrace from which you can’t escape. Her mouth near enough to your ear to send a whisper straight to your spine, she says,
“Kid. We get married when we realize the limits of the family we were born into, and we decide to try and do better by making a family of our own. You reached the limit of how much a man can shuffle his feet. That girl there in the white, you make her wait a second longer and you’ll give her something to wonder about for the rest of your lives together. Give up on your Pa or I’m calling this wedding a no-go right now. I won’t allow a marriage to start like this. Not under my gazebo.”
She releases you and you take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife while your father dances with a prostitute in a motel off the highway, the money for the caterer now cocaine.
Happy Give Up On Dad Day!
Friday, May 29, 2015
Diane’s Never Won Anything Before Day!
“Well guess what Diane!” the morning radio DJ says. “May is Money Month here on the Itchy In The Down There show, and you just won $500!”
“Oh my God,” Diane says over the sound effects (farts, Jimmy Walker saying “Dy-No-Mite,” the sound of steel bending in Tower 2). “I’ve never won anything before!”
“How’s it feel?” DJ Itchy asks.
Diane is silent.
“Diane?”
“Never,” she whispers, almost inaudible under the sound bite from a Mel Gibson voicemail to his wife. “Not once.”
“Diane?”
“I’m 52,” she says. “What rewards? What accomplishments? 52 years, and all I can say I’ve achieved in life is a radio DJ once threw me five hundred bucks. And that’s pure random chance. Not the result of anything I’ve done. Just because you happened to dial a bunch of numbers. My God, I’ve let it all slip away.”
“Hey, it’s not random chance. You had to enter your work phone number on our website to win, right?”
“No,” Diane says. “No, I didn’t do that. I’m just temping at this desk.”
“Oh,” DJ Itchy says. “Oh God.”
“Oh God!” Diane sobs. “I didn’t win, did I?”
“Diane!” DJ Itchy says. “Diane don’t hang up!”
Diane disconnects the call midway through a sob.
Unsure what to do, because what can he do, DJ Itchy slowly presses a control board button and plays the sound clip from ‘Terms of Endearment’ where Shirley MacLaine is crying and repeating “I’m so stupid! I’m so stupid!” just after Debra Winger dies.
Happy Diane’s Never Won Anything Before Day!
“Oh my God,” Diane says over the sound effects (farts, Jimmy Walker saying “Dy-No-Mite,” the sound of steel bending in Tower 2). “I’ve never won anything before!”
“How’s it feel?” DJ Itchy asks.
Diane is silent.
“Diane?”
“Never,” she whispers, almost inaudible under the sound bite from a Mel Gibson voicemail to his wife. “Not once.”
“Diane?”
“I’m 52,” she says. “What rewards? What accomplishments? 52 years, and all I can say I’ve achieved in life is a radio DJ once threw me five hundred bucks. And that’s pure random chance. Not the result of anything I’ve done. Just because you happened to dial a bunch of numbers. My God, I’ve let it all slip away.”
“Hey, it’s not random chance. You had to enter your work phone number on our website to win, right?”
“No,” Diane says. “No, I didn’t do that. I’m just temping at this desk.”
“Oh,” DJ Itchy says. “Oh God.”
“Oh God!” Diane sobs. “I didn’t win, did I?”
“Diane!” DJ Itchy says. “Diane don’t hang up!”
Diane disconnects the call midway through a sob.
Unsure what to do, because what can he do, DJ Itchy slowly presses a control board button and plays the sound clip from ‘Terms of Endearment’ where Shirley MacLaine is crying and repeating “I’m so stupid! I’m so stupid!” just after Debra Winger dies.
Happy Diane’s Never Won Anything Before Day!
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
In The Supermarket Day!
You put your hand on the freezer door to get the fish sticks he used to buy.
You never ate them before he came into your life. You used to assume such foods were gross.
But he kept demanding them, he loved them so. He made you think if he had to choose between you and the fish sticks you would be the one he’d happily let go.
“You’d be the one I’d happily let go,” he’d joke.
Then the two of you would take turns taking bites obliterating the length of a fish stick.
Your hand is on the freezer door to grab those fish sticks, a box of the fish sticks he used to buy.
Just because he’s gone back to his ex-boyfriend doesn’t mean that freezer door is locked to you forever.
He opened it for you.
This is what lovers do.
They open doors.
Even when the only thing on the other side is some frozen fish sticks.
The doors stay open. Everything on the other side is yours to keep.
He gave those fish sticks to you, he brought them into your life. He took away his heart, the fish sticks are yours to keep.
Happy In The Supermarket Day!
You never ate them before he came into your life. You used to assume such foods were gross.
But he kept demanding them, he loved them so. He made you think if he had to choose between you and the fish sticks you would be the one he’d happily let go.
“You’d be the one I’d happily let go,” he’d joke.
Then the two of you would take turns taking bites obliterating the length of a fish stick.
Your hand is on the freezer door to grab those fish sticks, a box of the fish sticks he used to buy.
Just because he’s gone back to his ex-boyfriend doesn’t mean that freezer door is locked to you forever.
He opened it for you.
This is what lovers do.
They open doors.
Even when the only thing on the other side is some frozen fish sticks.
The doors stay open. Everything on the other side is yours to keep.
He gave those fish sticks to you, he brought them into your life. He took away his heart, the fish sticks are yours to keep.
Happy In The Supermarket Day!
Monday, March 23, 2015
Bus Drive Day!
Hop on. Get behind the line. Sit where the handicapped and elderly do. You’ll get up if one of em shows.
“Buried the shit,” tell Miles.
Miles lifts his hands off the wheel and applauds. Probably a violation.
“Fucker in the ground!” he shouts. “Good for you, Gladys.”
Tell Miles about the last minutes.
“Asked me to forgive!”
“Ha!”
“Asked me to forget!”
“Ha! Ha!”
“Asked me to visit his sister in Tucson and tell her he regretted the bad blood. I have to do that, apparently. It’s a stipulation of the will.”
Miles will say, “Tucson’s nice.”
Sit back in your seat in silence for a while. He’s gone. He was a bastard and his money’s yours. But he was your bastard, and he was who you had at arm’s length for eleven years. He was a bastard, but you only get so close to so many people while they’re here, and he’s gone now.
“How much, Gladys?”
You try to sound excited. You try to sound like a girl who just won the lotto. But you sound like someone who doesn’t know where to turn when you say, “Eleven million.”
Miles laughs for you. He laughs all the way to your stop.
“Won’t be seeing you on this bus again!” Miles shouts.
You smile as you take the first step down. You sob as you take the second. You leap back up and pull Miles into a hug.
“You might see me again,” you tell him.
He pats your back twice.
You get off the bus and make your way across an office plaza to see a lawyer where you’ll listen to the “gold digger” accusations of some of his nephews and their wives.
Happy Bus Drive Day!
“Buried the shit,” tell Miles.
Miles lifts his hands off the wheel and applauds. Probably a violation.
“Fucker in the ground!” he shouts. “Good for you, Gladys.”
Tell Miles about the last minutes.
“Asked me to forgive!”
“Ha!”
“Asked me to forget!”
“Ha! Ha!”
“Asked me to visit his sister in Tucson and tell her he regretted the bad blood. I have to do that, apparently. It’s a stipulation of the will.”
Miles will say, “Tucson’s nice.”
Sit back in your seat in silence for a while. He’s gone. He was a bastard and his money’s yours. But he was your bastard, and he was who you had at arm’s length for eleven years. He was a bastard, but you only get so close to so many people while they’re here, and he’s gone now.
“How much, Gladys?”
You try to sound excited. You try to sound like a girl who just won the lotto. But you sound like someone who doesn’t know where to turn when you say, “Eleven million.”
Miles laughs for you. He laughs all the way to your stop.
“Won’t be seeing you on this bus again!” Miles shouts.
You smile as you take the first step down. You sob as you take the second. You leap back up and pull Miles into a hug.
“You might see me again,” you tell him.
He pats your back twice.
You get off the bus and make your way across an office plaza to see a lawyer where you’ll listen to the “gold digger” accusations of some of his nephews and their wives.
Happy Bus Drive Day!
Friday, March 13, 2015
Break A Promise To Your Stepson Day!
“Hey Jim,” he’ll say.
“I told you, Morris” tell him. “Call me Dad.”
Morris will remind you that you’re not his dad. And you shouldn’t want to be his dad because his dad is a fucking piece of shit drunk asshole who deserves to die.
“You said you’d kill him,” Morris will remind you. “I told you you could marry my mom if you killed my dad.”
“Yeah well, maybe I’m rethinking that deal,” tell Morris.
Morris will grip his wiffle ball bat like it’s a weapon.
“I gave you my blessing,” he’ll say. “You promised.”
Shrug. “Your dad’s bigger than me,” tell him.
Morris will wander off to regroup and figure out how to make his father pay, and once that’s done, make you understand that a broken promise to a stepchild yields grave, grave repercussions.
Happy Break A Promise To Your Stepson Day!
“I told you, Morris” tell him. “Call me Dad.”
Morris will remind you that you’re not his dad. And you shouldn’t want to be his dad because his dad is a fucking piece of shit drunk asshole who deserves to die.
“You said you’d kill him,” Morris will remind you. “I told you you could marry my mom if you killed my dad.”
“Yeah well, maybe I’m rethinking that deal,” tell Morris.
Morris will grip his wiffle ball bat like it’s a weapon.
“I gave you my blessing,” he’ll say. “You promised.”
Shrug. “Your dad’s bigger than me,” tell him.
Morris will wander off to regroup and figure out how to make his father pay, and once that’s done, make you understand that a broken promise to a stepchild yields grave, grave repercussions.
Happy Break A Promise To Your Stepson Day!
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Perform Surgery On Yourself On The Subway Day!
You have a gross mole that you’re sick of. Your insurance only covers you for bus accidents (except when they fall on blackout days), and while you’d like to perform a bathtub surgery, it’s 2015, who has a bathtub?
The one place that’s already gross enough that no one will mind is the subway. Not only can you use those wide, curved benches to gather your blood, but if you do it at rush hour there are bound to be lots of people who will call for help if things go south for you. Your fellow passengers love learning (look at all those books!) and they’ll be excited to watch a real live surgery without having to go to med school or steal cable.
So get drunk this morning, grab a steak knife and hop on the subway! You’re gonna die down there.
Happy Perform Surgery On Yourself On The Subway Day!
The one place that’s already gross enough that no one will mind is the subway. Not only can you use those wide, curved benches to gather your blood, but if you do it at rush hour there are bound to be lots of people who will call for help if things go south for you. Your fellow passengers love learning (look at all those books!) and they’ll be excited to watch a real live surgery without having to go to med school or steal cable.
So get drunk this morning, grab a steak knife and hop on the subway! You’re gonna die down there.
Happy Perform Surgery On Yourself On The Subway Day!
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
Have Sex With Your Communications Professor Day!
You’ve been craving him all semester, but you’re worried it will hurt things for you in the long run.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” tell him during office hours. “But this is the kind of thing that comes back to haunt people. My career. My reputation.”
He’ll close the blinds.
“Don’t worry,” he’ll say.
He’ll unbutton his shirt.
“Nothing we do will have any effect on your life whatsoever,” he’ll say.
He’ll move some papers off the desktop and take your hand, guiding you to climb on top of his desk blotter.
“You’ll never look back on anything that transpires between the two of us as something to regret, or to remember with any sort of importance,” he’ll say.
You’re unbuttoning your blouse now, reassured.
“Because darling, I teach communications. As far as the world is concerned, I don’t matter in the slightest.”
You take him. You take him with great urgency. You take him like he could disappear into irrelevance at any second.
Happy Have Sex With Your Communications Professor Day!
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” tell him during office hours. “But this is the kind of thing that comes back to haunt people. My career. My reputation.”
He’ll close the blinds.
“Don’t worry,” he’ll say.
He’ll unbutton his shirt.
“Nothing we do will have any effect on your life whatsoever,” he’ll say.
He’ll move some papers off the desktop and take your hand, guiding you to climb on top of his desk blotter.
“You’ll never look back on anything that transpires between the two of us as something to regret, or to remember with any sort of importance,” he’ll say.
You’re unbuttoning your blouse now, reassured.
“Because darling, I teach communications. As far as the world is concerned, I don’t matter in the slightest.”
You take him. You take him with great urgency. You take him like he could disappear into irrelevance at any second.
Happy Have Sex With Your Communications Professor Day!
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
Winter Cabin Day!
Rent a winter cabin with the intention of drinking bourbon and shooting rifles and spending afternoons standing at the edge of a frozen creek wondering why the dead loom larger in your life than the living. Your intentions for the weekend will go out the window when an escaped convict breaks into your cabin to eat all your canned chili.
“Make a sound and I’ll kill ya,” he’ll say, chili at the corners of his mouth.
“Drink?” you’ll offer.
The two of you will spend a fun weekend drinking and laughing and talking about how dumb prison guards can be. When the convict finally decides it’s time for him to move on to Memphis and kill the son of a bitch shacked up with his ex-wife, you’ll be sad.
“YOU’RE MY BEST FRIEND!” you’ll scream when he steps out on the porch.
The two of you will hug as US Marshal sharp-shooters who’ve had the cabin surrounded for the last six hours open fire.
Happy Winter Cabin Day!
“Make a sound and I’ll kill ya,” he’ll say, chili at the corners of his mouth.
“Drink?” you’ll offer.
The two of you will spend a fun weekend drinking and laughing and talking about how dumb prison guards can be. When the convict finally decides it’s time for him to move on to Memphis and kill the son of a bitch shacked up with his ex-wife, you’ll be sad.
“YOU’RE MY BEST FRIEND!” you’ll scream when he steps out on the porch.
The two of you will hug as US Marshal sharp-shooters who’ve had the cabin surrounded for the last six hours open fire.
Happy Winter Cabin Day!
Monday, January 12, 2015
Emma, Get Up From That Table And Run Day!
He’s the whole package, Emma. Weird smile, dimples that could store loose change, shoulders that look like your dead brother’s, and hella good hair.
Get up from that table and run.
He’s listening to you talk like every word out of your mouth is a revelation. He’s laughing at your jokes like the punchline is a self-evident truth that cracks everything wide open. You’re opening up to him about things you forgot you still cared about.
Get the fuck up from that table and run. Run like you just saw God on a horse.
You’re reaching across the table and already touching the back of your fingers to his. He’s not letting his eyes look anywhere but into yours. You’re leaning forward with every part of your body, like the only things keeping you from slipping out of your dress and into his embrace are that dining table and decency laws.
It’s almost too late. Get up, Emma. Get up and put your legs underneath you and get swallowed by the night before this feeling swallows you whole.
You’re kissing. It’s too late. Talk to you again in three and a half years.
Happy Emma, Get Up From That Table And Run Day!
Get up from that table and run.
He’s listening to you talk like every word out of your mouth is a revelation. He’s laughing at your jokes like the punchline is a self-evident truth that cracks everything wide open. You’re opening up to him about things you forgot you still cared about.
Get the fuck up from that table and run. Run like you just saw God on a horse.
You’re reaching across the table and already touching the back of your fingers to his. He’s not letting his eyes look anywhere but into yours. You’re leaning forward with every part of your body, like the only things keeping you from slipping out of your dress and into his embrace are that dining table and decency laws.
It’s almost too late. Get up, Emma. Get up and put your legs underneath you and get swallowed by the night before this feeling swallows you whole.
You’re kissing. It’s too late. Talk to you again in three and a half years.
Happy Emma, Get Up From That Table And Run Day!
Friday, January 09, 2015
Someone’s Been Having Sex With Wax Patrick Stewart Day!
Freddy, the museum director, is pacing the front of the staff room, clearly trying to contain his anger.
“These wax figures trust us,” Freddy says. “They trust us to care for them, just as the public figures who lent their likeness to these wax figures trust us to not use their likeness for anything but to give the public an afternoon of diverting, slightly eerie entertainment.”
Freddy has his hands behind his back, shaking his head woefully.
“Do you know what nearly every celebrity asks before giving their consent to add their wax replica to our museum? They ask, ‘How do I know you’re not just going to have sex with it?’”
Some of the staffers drop their heads in shame. It doesn’t feel good to know you’ve confirmed a celebrity’s worst fears. That a celebrity put his or her trust in you and you dropped the ball.
Someone raises his hand and asks how Freddy knows that Wax Patrick Stewart was fornicated with.
“I don’t want to get into it,” he says. “Suffice to say, there were stains. Stains we can use to get DNA. Now I don’t want to have to ask everyone to provide me with a DNA sample. We’re a family here and we’re supposed to trust each other. So instead, I’m just going to turn my back for 30 seconds. If you did it, simply walk up here, lay your museum-issued vest and cummerbund on the table here, and walk out the door. No further questions, no prosecution.“
Freddy turns his back. For thirty seconds, everyone on staff looks to each other, trying to see if the culprit will come forward. No one stands up. When Freddy turns back around, his disappointment is palpable.
You raise your hand with a question.
“Why would anyone have sex with the figures anyway?” you ask. “When you take off their clothes there aren’t even any holes.”
Before Freddy can ask how you know there aren’t any holes, you realize your mistake and take off running. You drop your vest and cummerbund in a dumpster, then you hide in a park for a few days to figure out what the hell you’re supposed to do with your life now that your dream of being a wax museum guard has been shattered by one night of erotic bliss.
Happy Someone’s Been Having Sex With Wax Patrick Stewart Day!
“These wax figures trust us,” Freddy says. “They trust us to care for them, just as the public figures who lent their likeness to these wax figures trust us to not use their likeness for anything but to give the public an afternoon of diverting, slightly eerie entertainment.”
Freddy has his hands behind his back, shaking his head woefully.
“Do you know what nearly every celebrity asks before giving their consent to add their wax replica to our museum? They ask, ‘How do I know you’re not just going to have sex with it?’”
Some of the staffers drop their heads in shame. It doesn’t feel good to know you’ve confirmed a celebrity’s worst fears. That a celebrity put his or her trust in you and you dropped the ball.
Someone raises his hand and asks how Freddy knows that Wax Patrick Stewart was fornicated with.
“I don’t want to get into it,” he says. “Suffice to say, there were stains. Stains we can use to get DNA. Now I don’t want to have to ask everyone to provide me with a DNA sample. We’re a family here and we’re supposed to trust each other. So instead, I’m just going to turn my back for 30 seconds. If you did it, simply walk up here, lay your museum-issued vest and cummerbund on the table here, and walk out the door. No further questions, no prosecution.“
Freddy turns his back. For thirty seconds, everyone on staff looks to each other, trying to see if the culprit will come forward. No one stands up. When Freddy turns back around, his disappointment is palpable.
You raise your hand with a question.
“Why would anyone have sex with the figures anyway?” you ask. “When you take off their clothes there aren’t even any holes.”
Before Freddy can ask how you know there aren’t any holes, you realize your mistake and take off running. You drop your vest and cummerbund in a dumpster, then you hide in a park for a few days to figure out what the hell you’re supposed to do with your life now that your dream of being a wax museum guard has been shattered by one night of erotic bliss.
Happy Someone’s Been Having Sex With Wax Patrick Stewart Day!
Thursday, January 08, 2015
Your Wife’s Been Murdering Teens Without You Day!
Ask her how long this has been going on.
“Since the summer,” she says. “You were at your mother’s. I hiked up the canyon and found a cabin full of teens. Spent three days picking them off one by one, different weapons, different lures, different screams. And it was all for me. And it was exhilarating.”
Tell her you and she always killed together. That’s the way it’s been and you don’t see why she needs to murder without you.
“You killed that hitchhiker when you were coming back from your high school reunion,” she says.
Tell her that’s different. You were out of state and you didn’t go chasing him down. Tell her if a meat piece falls into her lap like that she’s welcome to slice it up like it deserves to be sliced, but to go chasing the meat on her own, that’s a betrayal.
“Killing with you is wonderful,” she says. “But so is killing on my own. I feel like I’ve lost my individuality, like I’ve stopped killing for myself and I only kill for us.”
Ask her if that’s so bad.
“I just don’t see why I can’t have both,” she says. “My kills. And our kills. I think we should keep our murdering open.”
Tell her you don’t want to kill without her.
“You don’t have to,” she says. “But you have to let me have something to myself. I want to remember what it’s like to kill just for me again.”
Don’t tell her the truth. Don’t tell her you’re worried that if she goes it alone often enough, she’ll never want to murder a teen with you again. Just tell her you’ll try to be understanding of her journey back to herself, and hope for the best. If you’re going to lose her, you already have.
Happy Your Wife’s Been Murdering Teens Without You Day!
“Since the summer,” she says. “You were at your mother’s. I hiked up the canyon and found a cabin full of teens. Spent three days picking them off one by one, different weapons, different lures, different screams. And it was all for me. And it was exhilarating.”
Tell her you and she always killed together. That’s the way it’s been and you don’t see why she needs to murder without you.
“You killed that hitchhiker when you were coming back from your high school reunion,” she says.
Tell her that’s different. You were out of state and you didn’t go chasing him down. Tell her if a meat piece falls into her lap like that she’s welcome to slice it up like it deserves to be sliced, but to go chasing the meat on her own, that’s a betrayal.
“Killing with you is wonderful,” she says. “But so is killing on my own. I feel like I’ve lost my individuality, like I’ve stopped killing for myself and I only kill for us.”
Ask her if that’s so bad.
“I just don’t see why I can’t have both,” she says. “My kills. And our kills. I think we should keep our murdering open.”
Tell her you don’t want to kill without her.
“You don’t have to,” she says. “But you have to let me have something to myself. I want to remember what it’s like to kill just for me again.”
Don’t tell her the truth. Don’t tell her you’re worried that if she goes it alone often enough, she’ll never want to murder a teen with you again. Just tell her you’ll try to be understanding of her journey back to herself, and hope for the best. If you’re going to lose her, you already have.
Happy Your Wife’s Been Murdering Teens Without You Day!
Wednesday, January 07, 2015
Your Magic Potions Don’t Do Shit Anymore Day!
Everyone’s been drinking energy drinks for too long. The stuff in those drinks is way weirder than newt eyes and possum tails.
“That was supposed to turn you into a half-bull, half-fish,” you say, your head in your hands after another failure.
“Don’t feel bad,” the kids you kidnapped tell you as they polish off the pitcher of your newest, “strongest” potion. “Homeopathic remedies worked on us for a little while but at this point we need the real stuff. We need science.”
“What now,” you say. “Being a witch is all I know. These potions were my bread and butter.”
And that’s how you’ll embark on a career as the most exciting new mixologist in Brooklyn’s exploding artisan cocktail scene.
Happy Your Magic Potions Don’t Do Shit Anymore Day!
“That was supposed to turn you into a half-bull, half-fish,” you say, your head in your hands after another failure.
“Don’t feel bad,” the kids you kidnapped tell you as they polish off the pitcher of your newest, “strongest” potion. “Homeopathic remedies worked on us for a little while but at this point we need the real stuff. We need science.”
“What now,” you say. “Being a witch is all I know. These potions were my bread and butter.”
And that’s how you’ll embark on a career as the most exciting new mixologist in Brooklyn’s exploding artisan cocktail scene.
Happy Your Magic Potions Don’t Do Shit Anymore Day!
Tuesday, January 06, 2015
Preferred Customer Rewards Day!
“Him,” the counterperson says, pointing to you. “I want him.”
You point to yourself to make sure you’re the one to whom he’s referring.
“Go away,” the counterperson says to the guy standing before him with his credit card out. “You’re not in the program. Get!”
The guy standing before him with his credit card out asks what the big idea is and where does this counterperson get off. Two men in masks take him by his armpits and drag him through a doorway.
“You!” the counterperson shouts, pointing to you. “Get your butt up here. You’re the reason I showed up to work today!”
You go to the counter and tell him you’d like to return the space heater you’re holding in your arms. You present your preferred customer card which gives you no-hassle returns.
“You don’t like it?” he asks. “Do you see the guy who sold it to you?”
You look around and locate the employee you bought the space heater from helping another customer near electronics.
“Hang on.”
Your counterperson approaches the other employee and sucker punches him across the nose. The employee who sold you the space heater goes down and the counterperson starts kicking him in the kidneys. Other employees gather around him and stomp on his chest and face.
“If he ever gives you any trouble again,” the counterperson pants upon returning to you, “You say the word. I’ll handle it.”
The counterperson hands you a trophy. It reads, “Best Customer.”
“You did it,” the counterperson says.
Tell him thanks. Once your return is processed, the counterperson will begin a slow clap. Make your way to the door as other sales personnel join in the slow clap until it reaches a crescendo and the entire sales staff is clapping for you, even the manager outside by the ambulance where the beaten-down employee is being loaded in. The manager claps for you and gives you a “Nice one!” Then she leans down and drags her palm over the beaten-down employee’s face to gently close his eyelids.
Happy Preferred Customer Rewards Day!
You point to yourself to make sure you’re the one to whom he’s referring.
“Go away,” the counterperson says to the guy standing before him with his credit card out. “You’re not in the program. Get!”
The guy standing before him with his credit card out asks what the big idea is and where does this counterperson get off. Two men in masks take him by his armpits and drag him through a doorway.
“You!” the counterperson shouts, pointing to you. “Get your butt up here. You’re the reason I showed up to work today!”
You go to the counter and tell him you’d like to return the space heater you’re holding in your arms. You present your preferred customer card which gives you no-hassle returns.
“You don’t like it?” he asks. “Do you see the guy who sold it to you?”
You look around and locate the employee you bought the space heater from helping another customer near electronics.
“Hang on.”
Your counterperson approaches the other employee and sucker punches him across the nose. The employee who sold you the space heater goes down and the counterperson starts kicking him in the kidneys. Other employees gather around him and stomp on his chest and face.
“If he ever gives you any trouble again,” the counterperson pants upon returning to you, “You say the word. I’ll handle it.”
The counterperson hands you a trophy. It reads, “Best Customer.”
“You did it,” the counterperson says.
Tell him thanks. Once your return is processed, the counterperson will begin a slow clap. Make your way to the door as other sales personnel join in the slow clap until it reaches a crescendo and the entire sales staff is clapping for you, even the manager outside by the ambulance where the beaten-down employee is being loaded in. The manager claps for you and gives you a “Nice one!” Then she leans down and drags her palm over the beaten-down employee’s face to gently close his eyelids.
Happy Preferred Customer Rewards Day!
Monday, January 05, 2015
Degift Day!
The gift is sitting on your dining room table again. It’s still wrapped, just as you wrapped it. You check the windows, the door. There’s no sign of anyone having entered in the night.
“Happy Late Christmas,” you say to her when you see her at the bar after work. “I could’ve sworn I already gave this to you, but I guess it slipped my mind.”
You watch her unwrap it to reveal the Christopher Nolan boxset you bought for her, the one she unwrapped two nights before Christmas at the potluck, then again two nights after Christmas, then again the night after that, and again the night after that. You swear it. You fucking swear you saw this happen over and over again.
“Oh wow!” she says, exactly as you remember it. “Nolan! You know I love Nolan!”
The room is spinning. This moment is an echo. You search her eyes for some hint that she knows it, that she’s responsible for it. You grip the edge of the table to keep from grabbing her by the collar of her blouse and demanding that she tell you what she’s up to, why she’s doing this to you.
“If you don’t like it you can just regift it if you want,” you offer, your voice sounding louder than you intended.
“Oh I never regift,” she says.
You mutter an excuse me before leaping from the booth to run to the bathroom to vomit.
Tonight you won’t sleep. You’ll sit at the dining room table, the lights on, your eyes never moving from the spot on the table where it’s appeared over and over again. You need to stop the reset. You need the gift to remain in her possession. She has to have a key to your apartment, and perhaps a camera to figure out when you’re in the shower or on the toilet, occupied long enough for her to sneak in and give the gift back to you. You’ve taken up smoking again, you’re drinking coffee, anything to keep you awake and present at that dining room table. She’s going to keep her gift tonight.
The waiting is the hardest. You know that no matter how vigilant you are, that wrapped gift is going to be on your table by morning. No explanation, no merciful clue as to what’s happening to you. The only thing between now and then is the waiting.
Happy Degift Day!
“Happy Late Christmas,” you say to her when you see her at the bar after work. “I could’ve sworn I already gave this to you, but I guess it slipped my mind.”
You watch her unwrap it to reveal the Christopher Nolan boxset you bought for her, the one she unwrapped two nights before Christmas at the potluck, then again two nights after Christmas, then again the night after that, and again the night after that. You swear it. You fucking swear you saw this happen over and over again.
“Oh wow!” she says, exactly as you remember it. “Nolan! You know I love Nolan!”
The room is spinning. This moment is an echo. You search her eyes for some hint that she knows it, that she’s responsible for it. You grip the edge of the table to keep from grabbing her by the collar of her blouse and demanding that she tell you what she’s up to, why she’s doing this to you.
“If you don’t like it you can just regift it if you want,” you offer, your voice sounding louder than you intended.
“Oh I never regift,” she says.
You mutter an excuse me before leaping from the booth to run to the bathroom to vomit.
Tonight you won’t sleep. You’ll sit at the dining room table, the lights on, your eyes never moving from the spot on the table where it’s appeared over and over again. You need to stop the reset. You need the gift to remain in her possession. She has to have a key to your apartment, and perhaps a camera to figure out when you’re in the shower or on the toilet, occupied long enough for her to sneak in and give the gift back to you. You’ve taken up smoking again, you’re drinking coffee, anything to keep you awake and present at that dining room table. She’s going to keep her gift tonight.
The waiting is the hardest. You know that no matter how vigilant you are, that wrapped gift is going to be on your table by morning. No explanation, no merciful clue as to what’s happening to you. The only thing between now and then is the waiting.
Happy Degift Day!
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Doris Is Back Day!
Doris is back.
“You give up on Stan?”
Doris says Stan never got his mail order pants business off the ground. He ended up being nothing but a Colorado party boy. She thought he was her ticket to the big time, but she discovered how much she missed her small time life with you.
“So I’m just s’posed to take you back in? After running off on me with another man like that, no word for over a year? I’m just supposed to open the door and make you a cup of coffee?”
Doris says yeah.
“Come on in then,” you say.
Happy Doris Is Back Day!
“You give up on Stan?”
Doris says Stan never got his mail order pants business off the ground. He ended up being nothing but a Colorado party boy. She thought he was her ticket to the big time, but she discovered how much she missed her small time life with you.
“So I’m just s’posed to take you back in? After running off on me with another man like that, no word for over a year? I’m just supposed to open the door and make you a cup of coffee?”
Doris says yeah.
“Come on in then,” you say.
Happy Doris Is Back Day!
Monday, September 08, 2014
For Love Day!
“She’s worried about me,” you tell your coach. “I have to quit the team.”
Your coach tells you that in all the years he’s coached high school football, he’s never seen a quarterback like you.
“But I’ve also never seen another girl like Marie,” he adds.
Marie was your coach’s high school girlfriend. She also wanted him to quit the team, but he loved the game too much.
“I thought if she really loved me she’d let me do what I’m good at,” the coach says. “So I gave her up for the game. Now I realize that life is finite, and if you get your arms around love, you hug it to your chest and run it to the endzone.”
“The endzone is death right?” you ask. “Like, hang onto love until the end.”
“Bingo,” your coach says. “This game sucks and is stupid. Your love for that girl is rare and to be treasured. If you don’t quit this team, I’ll reveal some grading scandals involving players coasting by without learning how to read just so the entire team will be dissolved at this school to make sure you don’t have a team to play on.”
Since you’re one of the players who doesn’t know how to read, the embarrassment of that being all over the papers is just another reason to quit the team and be with your girlfriend.
“Thanks, Coach,” you say.
“SHUT UP AND LOVE!!!” your football coach screams in your face.
Happy For Love Day!
Your coach tells you that in all the years he’s coached high school football, he’s never seen a quarterback like you.
“But I’ve also never seen another girl like Marie,” he adds.
Marie was your coach’s high school girlfriend. She also wanted him to quit the team, but he loved the game too much.
“I thought if she really loved me she’d let me do what I’m good at,” the coach says. “So I gave her up for the game. Now I realize that life is finite, and if you get your arms around love, you hug it to your chest and run it to the endzone.”
“The endzone is death right?” you ask. “Like, hang onto love until the end.”
“Bingo,” your coach says. “This game sucks and is stupid. Your love for that girl is rare and to be treasured. If you don’t quit this team, I’ll reveal some grading scandals involving players coasting by without learning how to read just so the entire team will be dissolved at this school to make sure you don’t have a team to play on.”
Since you’re one of the players who doesn’t know how to read, the embarrassment of that being all over the papers is just another reason to quit the team and be with your girlfriend.
“Thanks, Coach,” you say.
“SHUT UP AND LOVE!!!” your football coach screams in your face.
Happy For Love Day!
Tuesday, August 05, 2014
Explain To Your Mail Carrier What Love Is Day!
Today you’re going to bump into your mail carrier just as she finishes loading up the boxes in the lobby of your building.
“Hey there,” she says. “Long as I have you for a sec, what’s love?”
“Hang on,” you say.
You open your mailbox and pull out this week’s letters marked return to sender. Six new ones.
“This is love,” you say, letting her hold the unopened letters, each one containing several dozen instances of the words “please” and “forgive.”
“All this time,” the mail carrier says, “I’ve been lugging love around in my sack and I didn’t even know it.”
“Wanna get drunk?” you ask.
You and your mail carrier get drunk and take turns opening people’s mail and reading the letters out loud in high-pitched girly voices. Looks like you have a new friend.
Happy Explain To Your Mail Carrier What Love Is Day!
“Hey there,” she says. “Long as I have you for a sec, what’s love?”
“Hang on,” you say.
You open your mailbox and pull out this week’s letters marked return to sender. Six new ones.
“This is love,” you say, letting her hold the unopened letters, each one containing several dozen instances of the words “please” and “forgive.”
“All this time,” the mail carrier says, “I’ve been lugging love around in my sack and I didn’t even know it.”
“Wanna get drunk?” you ask.
You and your mail carrier get drunk and take turns opening people’s mail and reading the letters out loud in high-pitched girly voices. Looks like you have a new friend.
Happy Explain To Your Mail Carrier What Love Is Day!
Monday, August 04, 2014
Rich And Mean Day!
“Why aren’t your clothes fantastic?” the rich people ask. They’ve invited you to stop waiting on them and sit down for a while. Your manager told you to do whatever they say.
“I can’t afford to look fantastic,” you explain. “I can only afford to look cute.”
They ask what you expect to do with your life if the best you can hope for is cute.
“I just want to be happy,” you say.
They stare at you, unsure how you expect that to happen if you have to settle for cute.
“We aren’t making ourselves clear,” says the man in the suit that billows around him with the breeze. “Everything is ours. Everything we want. Comparatively, you have nothing. This sickens us.”
You wait for more, for them to ask a question.
“It’s disgusting,” his sister, whose skin looks like an ocean at sunset, adds.
“It upsets me to be in your presence,” the billowy suited man says.
You ask them why they’re telling you all this. You’re handed a brochure.
“It’s an underground city that’s being built for you and others in your situation,” you’re told. “Every basic need will be provided for you, and nothing more. We’re using our own funds to pay for its construction so that you can finally leave the surface of the earth.”
You look through the brochure. The bedrooms are slightly bigger than the one you sleep in right now.
“No sunlight?” you ask.
They shrug. “Sunlight is free, currently. But rent isn’t. Would you rather have free sunlight or free rent?”
The youngest, thinnest, and most beautiful of them leans forward, her dress collar hanging open for you to see the entire stretch of her flawless body. She takes your hand and says, “We just want you all to go into a hole and stay there. And we dug a very nice hole for you.”
There’s a date on the brochure. Six months from today.
“That’s the deadline,” the man in the billowy suit says. “Up until then, it’s voluntary.”
You fold the brochure into your apron and you get up from the table to go back to work.
“You’re welcome,” the beautiful girl says as she pours wine into a napkin and scrubs at the hand that touched yours.
Happy Rich And Mean Day!
“I can’t afford to look fantastic,” you explain. “I can only afford to look cute.”
They ask what you expect to do with your life if the best you can hope for is cute.
“I just want to be happy,” you say.
They stare at you, unsure how you expect that to happen if you have to settle for cute.
“We aren’t making ourselves clear,” says the man in the suit that billows around him with the breeze. “Everything is ours. Everything we want. Comparatively, you have nothing. This sickens us.”
You wait for more, for them to ask a question.
“It’s disgusting,” his sister, whose skin looks like an ocean at sunset, adds.
“It upsets me to be in your presence,” the billowy suited man says.
You ask them why they’re telling you all this. You’re handed a brochure.
“It’s an underground city that’s being built for you and others in your situation,” you’re told. “Every basic need will be provided for you, and nothing more. We’re using our own funds to pay for its construction so that you can finally leave the surface of the earth.”
You look through the brochure. The bedrooms are slightly bigger than the one you sleep in right now.
“No sunlight?” you ask.
They shrug. “Sunlight is free, currently. But rent isn’t. Would you rather have free sunlight or free rent?”
The youngest, thinnest, and most beautiful of them leans forward, her dress collar hanging open for you to see the entire stretch of her flawless body. She takes your hand and says, “We just want you all to go into a hole and stay there. And we dug a very nice hole for you.”
There’s a date on the brochure. Six months from today.
“That’s the deadline,” the man in the billowy suit says. “Up until then, it’s voluntary.”
You fold the brochure into your apron and you get up from the table to go back to work.
“You’re welcome,” the beautiful girl says as she pours wine into a napkin and scrubs at the hand that touched yours.
Happy Rich And Mean Day!
Saturday, August 02, 2014
Fancy Artist Loft Party Day!
The artist is angry and he’s spitting champagne on his guests and they love it. His wife is enchanting people with conversation. The ceilings are 20 feet above the tops of the guests’ heads, looking down on their bald spots and dandruff-dusted parts with disgust. The paintings on the walls are the size of trucks and they don’t mean a thing. The artist assistants are starving but drunk, one is crying, the other just jumped out the window, the third is calling her dad. The gallery owner has a one-way plane ticket to Berlin in his jacket pocket and no one knows this party and the city it’s in is already dead, Berlin is where it’s at. The ceilings rise higher, 45 feet now, getting further away from the freshly-dyed roots. You’re excited about the open bar and you stuff some cheese in your pocket for the train ride later because you’re new here, shocked to have even been invited. The artist is down to his torn underwear and he just grabbed the ass of a 66-year-old billionaire heiress and lover of dogs. 55 feet now, the loft upstairs obliterated. One of the artist assistants has a knife, but the other is talking her out of it. A 75-foot ceiling. The artist sees you. He sees something in you. Himself? He’s cross-legged on the ground in his underwear, waving you over. 110 feet. The knife clatters to the ground and the artist’s wife is making love to the gallery owner on the artist’s bed. The assistant who gave up on the idea of the knife absently watches them fuck when she isn’t checking her phone. “I admire your work,” you tell the artist. 200 feet. “You’re the one,” the artist says. It’s time for him to tumble out of fashion. Time to take someone under his wing, resent their youth, corrupt them so they have it just as bad as he does when they get the 300-foot ceiling. 345 feet now. “You’re the one,” he says. You glow and you stammer and the ceiling crosses the 500-foot mark, crashing into the bottom of a local news station’s traffic helicopter. The assistant climbs into bed with them. The artist throws on a pair of sweatpants, grabs your hand and drags you onto the elevator, presses down. You both get out seconds before the ceiling shatters bringing the party to an end.
Happy Fancy Artist Loft Party Day!
Happy Fancy Artist Loft Party Day!
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Bunkbeds Day!
It’s your first visit to your daughter’s new house with her new husband and no dad could be happier than you. They take you from room to room. The living room, the kitchen, the spare room that they say with a giggle will one day be a nursery. Then they show you their bedroom.
“Thought the other room was going to be the nursery,” you say.
They both nod. That’s right.
“So what’s with the bunk beds?” you ask.
They look thrown. “You mean our sleep tower?” your son-in-law says.
You look at the bunk beds again.
“Sleep tower?” you repeat. “What the hell are you kids into?”
Your daughter laughs. “I get the top. Jarrett likes the bottom.”
“My knees,” your son-in-law explains.
You walk out of the bedroom, shaken to your core, and you sit down to a long, polite, silent dinner.
After, your daughter follows you out to your car.
“Jesus, honey,” you say. “What the hell is that all about?”
She nods sadly. “I know how it looks, Daddy,” she says. “It’s just what he prefers.”
You shake your head. “What about what you prefer?”
Tears form in her eyes. “You don’t think there’s anything wrong with his knees either, do you? He says when they’re better I can have the bottom, but he’s lying isn’t he? I want the bottom, Daddy! I was supposed to marry someone who’d treat me like a princess and let me have whichever bunk I wanted! But he’s just another liar out to get whatever he wants!”
She cries into your chest. You pat the back of her head, coming to grips with the knowledge that your daughter is a grown woman who digs bunk beds. You conclude that you were a not-very-good father, and you vow to visit your daughter’s home as infrequently as possible.
Happy Bunkbeds Day!
“Thought the other room was going to be the nursery,” you say.
They both nod. That’s right.
“So what’s with the bunk beds?” you ask.
They look thrown. “You mean our sleep tower?” your son-in-law says.
You look at the bunk beds again.
“Sleep tower?” you repeat. “What the hell are you kids into?”
Your daughter laughs. “I get the top. Jarrett likes the bottom.”
“My knees,” your son-in-law explains.
You walk out of the bedroom, shaken to your core, and you sit down to a long, polite, silent dinner.
After, your daughter follows you out to your car.
“Jesus, honey,” you say. “What the hell is that all about?”
She nods sadly. “I know how it looks, Daddy,” she says. “It’s just what he prefers.”
You shake your head. “What about what you prefer?”
Tears form in her eyes. “You don’t think there’s anything wrong with his knees either, do you? He says when they’re better I can have the bottom, but he’s lying isn’t he? I want the bottom, Daddy! I was supposed to marry someone who’d treat me like a princess and let me have whichever bunk I wanted! But he’s just another liar out to get whatever he wants!”
She cries into your chest. You pat the back of her head, coming to grips with the knowledge that your daughter is a grown woman who digs bunk beds. You conclude that you were a not-very-good father, and you vow to visit your daughter’s home as infrequently as possible.
Happy Bunkbeds Day!
Monday, July 28, 2014
Sand In The Suitcase Day!
Your mom’s on her bedroom floor rubbing her body in sand. Sand that shook into her suitcase from the swimsuit she wore on the beach in Tulum, two winters ago when she was there for a work retreat and she went for a walk with Alfonse, the spa director of the eco-resort. Alfonse promised her he’d show her the exact perfect spot on the beach to see the moon over the cliff, and he came through. The spot was on her back, underneath Alfonse, her pleasure causing her to howl loud enough she feared she’d scare the moon away. That sand in her suitcase hugged hers and Alfonse’s bodies and she’s rubbing it all over her skin, feeling his touch once more. If the sand from that beach can be in the bedroom she shares with her husband, years later, Alfonse can be there as well. Space and time allow for so much more than we know. You mom is there again. She’s there on that beach having the most wonderful sex of her life again.
“She’s doing the sand thing again,” you tell your dad.
“Ah Christ, every damn trip,” your dad says before marching upstairs to yell at his wife.
“Dammit Doreen! You can’t bring him back! Let a fling be a fling so we can not miss our plane for once!”
Happy Sand In The Suitcase Day!
“She’s doing the sand thing again,” you tell your dad.
“Ah Christ, every damn trip,” your dad says before marching upstairs to yell at his wife.
“Dammit Doreen! You can’t bring him back! Let a fling be a fling so we can not miss our plane for once!”
Happy Sand In The Suitcase Day!
Friday, July 25, 2014
Open House Day!
Today at the open house, you think you’ve found the perfect place. Beautiful yard, great kitchen, and lots of storage space. You’re pretty sure you’re going to take it until you notice the photos on the tables are all photos of you, surrounded by a husband and two kids you’ve never met before.
“Is this some kind of prank?” you ask.
The realtor looks more closely at the photos.
“Oh, this happens sometimes,” she says.
“What does?” you ask.
The realtor explains that some houses skip ahead.
“The house knows what your life is going to be, who you’re going to marry, what kind of family you’re going to raise here,” she says. “It knows so well that it thinks you’ve already lived here.”
“Lived?” you ask.
“Well, it’s up for sale. So you’re selling it. One day.”
You ask the realtor if you’re going to get a good price. She says she doubts it. You seem to want to sell in a hurry. Things aren’t going so well with your husband.
“I’m not even dating anybody,” you say. “How is it the house thinks I’ve been living here with a husband and kids, and I’m already moving on to a new chapter in my life?”
The realtor says she can’t answer that, but you should get a move on before the house realizes you’re there before you’ve ever been there. Just then the house starts screaming.
Happy Open House Day!
“Is this some kind of prank?” you ask.
The realtor looks more closely at the photos.
“Oh, this happens sometimes,” she says.
“What does?” you ask.
The realtor explains that some houses skip ahead.
“The house knows what your life is going to be, who you’re going to marry, what kind of family you’re going to raise here,” she says. “It knows so well that it thinks you’ve already lived here.”
“Lived?” you ask.
“Well, it’s up for sale. So you’re selling it. One day.”
You ask the realtor if you’re going to get a good price. She says she doubts it. You seem to want to sell in a hurry. Things aren’t going so well with your husband.
“I’m not even dating anybody,” you say. “How is it the house thinks I’ve been living here with a husband and kids, and I’m already moving on to a new chapter in my life?”
The realtor says she can’t answer that, but you should get a move on before the house realizes you’re there before you’ve ever been there. Just then the house starts screaming.
Happy Open House Day!
Thursday, July 24, 2014
End Your First Date About To Be Crushed To Death In A Trash Compactor Day!
Say to him over the loud grinding of the gears, “Even if we die right now, I really had a good time with you tonight.”
He’ll say, “Yeah. Though the wild turn of events over the course of the evening lead to us being stuck here, about to be turned into nothing but splotches of liquefied organs, this was the best date I ever had.”
You kiss for the first time. It’s such a powerful kiss, you both suddenly know that this isn’t how it can end. Something so right can’t reach such a premature and gross conclusion. This could be the love of both your lives. That kiss proved it. And that kiss gives you the strength to try and get out of this to see where this love takes you.
“We have to try!” you shout.
“I agree,” he says. “We can’t just—“
Some of the garbage gives way underneath him and he’s dragged under the compactor wall. You mourn the love of your life for a few endless seconds before the walls close in and take away the pain of your loss.
Happy End Your First Date About To Be Crushed To Death In A Trash Compactor Day!
He’ll say, “Yeah. Though the wild turn of events over the course of the evening lead to us being stuck here, about to be turned into nothing but splotches of liquefied organs, this was the best date I ever had.”
You kiss for the first time. It’s such a powerful kiss, you both suddenly know that this isn’t how it can end. Something so right can’t reach such a premature and gross conclusion. This could be the love of both your lives. That kiss proved it. And that kiss gives you the strength to try and get out of this to see where this love takes you.
“We have to try!” you shout.
“I agree,” he says. “We can’t just—“
Some of the garbage gives way underneath him and he’s dragged under the compactor wall. You mourn the love of your life for a few endless seconds before the walls close in and take away the pain of your loss.
Happy End Your First Date About To Be Crushed To Death In A Trash Compactor Day!
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Your Old Friend Alice’s Funeral Day!
You’re 70 and your friend Alice was 70 when she died and you used to be best pals. You showed up wondering what happened to you two, then you find out when her family tells you they don’t want you to speak at the funeral because they felt like she put more value in her friendship with you than in her relationship with her husband and kids.
“That why she moved away and stopped taking my calls?” you ask her daughters.
They nod. “We told our mom that unless she cut ties with you we would stop loving her. We told her she had to sacrifice a cherished friendship in order to keep us as daughters.”
“You’re shitty daughters,” you tell them.
They shrug. “Deal with it. You’re not speaking at that funeral.”
You keep quiet at the service but at the burial a plane flies by with a banner tailing behind it that reads, “Alice is dead, and she loved her best friend more than her own horrible kids. I loved you back just as much, Alice. Sorry your kids sucked. Sorry and Goodbye. Catch Jason Mraz at Foxwoods Thur-Mon.”
You got a discount by tacking on an ad that the pilot already got paid to run. Doesn’t matter, the kids are looking up at the sky and crying as you walk away from Alice’s grave, knowing full well you had a friend for life.
Happy Your Old Friend Alice’s Funeral Day!
“That why she moved away and stopped taking my calls?” you ask her daughters.
They nod. “We told our mom that unless she cut ties with you we would stop loving her. We told her she had to sacrifice a cherished friendship in order to keep us as daughters.”
“You’re shitty daughters,” you tell them.
They shrug. “Deal with it. You’re not speaking at that funeral.”
You keep quiet at the service but at the burial a plane flies by with a banner tailing behind it that reads, “Alice is dead, and she loved her best friend more than her own horrible kids. I loved you back just as much, Alice. Sorry your kids sucked. Sorry and Goodbye. Catch Jason Mraz at Foxwoods Thur-Mon.”
You got a discount by tacking on an ad that the pilot already got paid to run. Doesn’t matter, the kids are looking up at the sky and crying as you walk away from Alice’s grave, knowing full well you had a friend for life.
Happy Your Old Friend Alice’s Funeral Day!
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Pam Can’t Drink Day!
You ended it with Pam because she can’t drink.
“It’s because I have to take all this medication for anxiety,” she said. “Alcohol contraindicates.”
That’s all well and good but you told Pam from the get-go that she better be able to keep up with you or you’d be hightailing it to someone who could. Someone like Martha.
“Let’s get started,” Martha likes to say at around 4:30 PM when she pulls the top from the bottle of gin. “Don’t dawdle.”
Martha drinks way better than Pam, and the two of you have a lot of fun getting plastered each night and then spending the next morning helping each other piece together why you have so many bruises on your bodies. But you can’t get over the feeling that maybe you should have found some way to make it work with Pam. No matter how well you and Martha drink together, she’s no Pam.
“Why are you Googling herbal remedies for anxiety?” Martha asks one drunken night after going through your search history. “It’s that Pam, isn’t it? You’re looking for a way to get her to take different meds so she can drink with you.”
You try to lie but Martha’s too blitzed to listen. She throws your laptop at your head, knocking you unconscious. Martha runs to your aid but she slips and cracks her head open on the floor.
When you wake up, the police are hovering over you, having been called by the neighbors. With Martha dead and signs of a domestic dispute all over the apartment, no one buys that Martha did all the disputing. You’re jailed for manslaughter, sentenced to six years of longing for the one that got away because you never thought to convince her to try herbal anxiety remedies that wouldn’t have been contraindicated by alcohol.
Happy Pam Can’t Drink Day!
“It’s because I have to take all this medication for anxiety,” she said. “Alcohol contraindicates.”
That’s all well and good but you told Pam from the get-go that she better be able to keep up with you or you’d be hightailing it to someone who could. Someone like Martha.
“Let’s get started,” Martha likes to say at around 4:30 PM when she pulls the top from the bottle of gin. “Don’t dawdle.”
Martha drinks way better than Pam, and the two of you have a lot of fun getting plastered each night and then spending the next morning helping each other piece together why you have so many bruises on your bodies. But you can’t get over the feeling that maybe you should have found some way to make it work with Pam. No matter how well you and Martha drink together, she’s no Pam.
“Why are you Googling herbal remedies for anxiety?” Martha asks one drunken night after going through your search history. “It’s that Pam, isn’t it? You’re looking for a way to get her to take different meds so she can drink with you.”
You try to lie but Martha’s too blitzed to listen. She throws your laptop at your head, knocking you unconscious. Martha runs to your aid but she slips and cracks her head open on the floor.
When you wake up, the police are hovering over you, having been called by the neighbors. With Martha dead and signs of a domestic dispute all over the apartment, no one buys that Martha did all the disputing. You’re jailed for manslaughter, sentenced to six years of longing for the one that got away because you never thought to convince her to try herbal anxiety remedies that wouldn’t have been contraindicated by alcohol.
Happy Pam Can’t Drink Day!
Monday, July 21, 2014
You Know Anyone Your Mom Might Hit It Off With Day!
Your mom writes love songs but her career’s been in a slump ever since she fell out of love with your dad. House payments need to be made and you’re going to have to go to college somehow.
“Any of those teachers at your school single?” your dad asks you. “Anyone you think your mom might hit it off with?”
You tell your dad you don’t feel comfortable being put in this position. That you think your mom should cheat on him of her own volition, that it should happen naturally.
“Yeah, yeah,” your dad says. “But love sometimes needs a nudge. She wrote dozens of songs about me, but I ain’t doing it for her anymore, and they’re about to cut off our electric.”
On Parent-Teacher night you make sure to introduce your mom to your social studies teacher, Mr. Lawson.
“You two both enjoy things,” you say to them, trying to get some kind of connection to happen.
“Hello,” Mr. Lawson says.
“I hope I never hear you say goodbye,” your mom says. Then she rifles through her bag for a notebook.
Meanwhile, your dad is at home sitting on the back step of the house, staring at a tree he and your mom planted when they first moved in. That tree never stopped growing. Maybe if he tends to his marriage the way he did that tree, your mom will find it in her heart to love him again. He makes a silent promise to try as soon as she gets home, not knowing it’s already too late. She’s found a new song.
Happy You Know Anyone Your Mom Might Hit It Off With Day!
“Any of those teachers at your school single?” your dad asks you. “Anyone you think your mom might hit it off with?”
You tell your dad you don’t feel comfortable being put in this position. That you think your mom should cheat on him of her own volition, that it should happen naturally.
“Yeah, yeah,” your dad says. “But love sometimes needs a nudge. She wrote dozens of songs about me, but I ain’t doing it for her anymore, and they’re about to cut off our electric.”
On Parent-Teacher night you make sure to introduce your mom to your social studies teacher, Mr. Lawson.
“You two both enjoy things,” you say to them, trying to get some kind of connection to happen.
“Hello,” Mr. Lawson says.
“I hope I never hear you say goodbye,” your mom says. Then she rifles through her bag for a notebook.
Meanwhile, your dad is at home sitting on the back step of the house, staring at a tree he and your mom planted when they first moved in. That tree never stopped growing. Maybe if he tends to his marriage the way he did that tree, your mom will find it in her heart to love him again. He makes a silent promise to try as soon as she gets home, not knowing it’s already too late. She’s found a new song.
Happy You Know Anyone Your Mom Might Hit It Off With Day!
Sunday, July 20, 2014
True Romance Day!
DEPARTURE
You ask to be excused from the table and your dad grunts so you head upstairs where your duffle bag is packed and you flash your flashlight three times out the window. He responds with three flashes from a flashlight of his own.
JOURNEY
You board the bus and you kiss for three hundred miles until someone complains to the driver who comes back to ask the two of you to stop kissing. You hold off for fifteen miles before the other passengers complain that your kisses were the only thing keeping them going on this bus ride.
“It’s nice to be around people who are hopeful!” a man with an open face wound shouts.
“The sound of their lips keeps me from hearing the echoes if what my sister said to me when we last saw each other in ’83,” a lady trying to pick the lock on a handcuff concurs.
“Lift the ban!” the other passengers shout. “Lift the ban!”
“Fine.” The bus driver buckles. “Ban lifted.” So you kiss for the next 1100 miles and everyone on the bus is grateful.
EXCITEMENT
Ten miles from your destination you pull out your guns and rob everyone on the bus. Someone tries to be a hero so you shoot him in the heart.
MALAISE
Hiding up in the mountains wears on you after twenty-six months. You try to remember the day you met, just another gray November day of senior year turned suddenly to the brightest springtime morn when you saw his face.
“He’s a transfer,” your best friend whispered into your ear when she spotted you drooling.
But a cold mountain wind blows and the memory scatters with the gust. He comes back to the cabin with not enough meat. You can feel the baby kick.
JOY
The three of you head down the other side of the mountain, to a valley town in a whole other state and no one looks at you twice when you enroll to get your GED. You’ll make a life for your baby, a better one than you made for yourself.
STRIFE
You’re driving home from school when you spot the flashing lights of three squad cars forming a roadblock at the end of your street. You stop in time to see him run down in the middle of the road, pinned to the concrete with the knees of police. They lift him up and you think he can see you. The rest of your life you’ll hope he could see the two of you, that he could see you mouth the word “goodbye.”
MEMORY
You tuck her in and you pretend you’re reading a storybook as you tell her the tale of the boy and the girl who ran off to find out what their love might do to the world. And when she asks if it did anything bad you say yes. And when she asks if it did anything good you kiss her on the forehead and you say yes.
Happy True Romance Day!
You ask to be excused from the table and your dad grunts so you head upstairs where your duffle bag is packed and you flash your flashlight three times out the window. He responds with three flashes from a flashlight of his own.
JOURNEY
You board the bus and you kiss for three hundred miles until someone complains to the driver who comes back to ask the two of you to stop kissing. You hold off for fifteen miles before the other passengers complain that your kisses were the only thing keeping them going on this bus ride.
“It’s nice to be around people who are hopeful!” a man with an open face wound shouts.
“The sound of their lips keeps me from hearing the echoes if what my sister said to me when we last saw each other in ’83,” a lady trying to pick the lock on a handcuff concurs.
“Lift the ban!” the other passengers shout. “Lift the ban!”
“Fine.” The bus driver buckles. “Ban lifted.” So you kiss for the next 1100 miles and everyone on the bus is grateful.
EXCITEMENT
Ten miles from your destination you pull out your guns and rob everyone on the bus. Someone tries to be a hero so you shoot him in the heart.
MALAISE
Hiding up in the mountains wears on you after twenty-six months. You try to remember the day you met, just another gray November day of senior year turned suddenly to the brightest springtime morn when you saw his face.
“He’s a transfer,” your best friend whispered into your ear when she spotted you drooling.
But a cold mountain wind blows and the memory scatters with the gust. He comes back to the cabin with not enough meat. You can feel the baby kick.
JOY
The three of you head down the other side of the mountain, to a valley town in a whole other state and no one looks at you twice when you enroll to get your GED. You’ll make a life for your baby, a better one than you made for yourself.
STRIFE
You’re driving home from school when you spot the flashing lights of three squad cars forming a roadblock at the end of your street. You stop in time to see him run down in the middle of the road, pinned to the concrete with the knees of police. They lift him up and you think he can see you. The rest of your life you’ll hope he could see the two of you, that he could see you mouth the word “goodbye.”
MEMORY
You tuck her in and you pretend you’re reading a storybook as you tell her the tale of the boy and the girl who ran off to find out what their love might do to the world. And when she asks if it did anything bad you say yes. And when she asks if it did anything good you kiss her on the forehead and you say yes.
Happy True Romance Day!
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
They Call You Couch Maureen Day!
Your dad ran a moving company and he was killed by a couch. It was being raised up to the third floor to try and get it through the window of an apartment because it couldn’t fit through the door. The cord snapped and the couch dropped right on your dad’s head, snapping his neck.
“He left the business to me,” you’re telling a customer. “And I’ve built it into a small local empire. I did it with hatred in my heart.”
The logo on your trucks reads “Your Furniture Killed My Daddy, And I Will Never Let Your Furniture Get The Upper Hand Again.” As Couch Maureen, you promise that you will be in control at every point in the move. No one will ever see you or your team members hesitating or guessing at an angle or a width for getting a couch or an armoire through a doorway. You’re always ten steps ahead of your furniture. You’ve already carried their couch up the steps and around the corners and through the vestibule and into the living room before your customers have even finished packing.
“It’s about not letting the furniture get the jump on me,” you’re telling your customer. “Like my dad did.”
You turn to the portrait of your father.
“You were sloppy daddy,” you say.
The customers are getting uncomfortable.
“SLOPPY!” you scream. “YOU WERE SLOPPY DADDY!”
You’re crying now. Spit is coming out of your mouth as you scream.
“HOW COULD YOU, DADDY! HOW COULD YOU LET A COUCH TAKE YOU AWAY FROM ME?! HOW? DID YOU WANT IT TO TAKE YOU AWAY? DID YOU NOT WANT TO BE WITH ME AND MOMMY ANY MORE?”
The customers are moved to tears with you. You barely even know they’re there anymore.
“WHYYYYYYY DADDY? WHYYYYYY?”
Getting a grip on yourself you turn back to the customers and slam your fist on their moving contract.
“As God is my witness,” you growl. “I will tame your furniture. I will be its master during the entire course of your move. Your furniture wants to be damaged to prove that it cannot be subjugated to human will. I will make very clear to your furniture that on this matter, it is very mistaken.”
Your customers sign their contract, and then the three of you hug and cry together.
“Fuck your furniture,” you say, waving goodbye as they leave. “Fuck it straight to hell.”
They wave back as they step through the door, confident that their move is in good hands.
Happy They Call You Couch Maureen Day!
“He left the business to me,” you’re telling a customer. “And I’ve built it into a small local empire. I did it with hatred in my heart.”
The logo on your trucks reads “Your Furniture Killed My Daddy, And I Will Never Let Your Furniture Get The Upper Hand Again.” As Couch Maureen, you promise that you will be in control at every point in the move. No one will ever see you or your team members hesitating or guessing at an angle or a width for getting a couch or an armoire through a doorway. You’re always ten steps ahead of your furniture. You’ve already carried their couch up the steps and around the corners and through the vestibule and into the living room before your customers have even finished packing.
“It’s about not letting the furniture get the jump on me,” you’re telling your customer. “Like my dad did.”
You turn to the portrait of your father.
“You were sloppy daddy,” you say.
The customers are getting uncomfortable.
“SLOPPY!” you scream. “YOU WERE SLOPPY DADDY!”
You’re crying now. Spit is coming out of your mouth as you scream.
“HOW COULD YOU, DADDY! HOW COULD YOU LET A COUCH TAKE YOU AWAY FROM ME?! HOW? DID YOU WANT IT TO TAKE YOU AWAY? DID YOU NOT WANT TO BE WITH ME AND MOMMY ANY MORE?”
The customers are moved to tears with you. You barely even know they’re there anymore.
“WHYYYYYYY DADDY? WHYYYYYY?”
Getting a grip on yourself you turn back to the customers and slam your fist on their moving contract.
“As God is my witness,” you growl. “I will tame your furniture. I will be its master during the entire course of your move. Your furniture wants to be damaged to prove that it cannot be subjugated to human will. I will make very clear to your furniture that on this matter, it is very mistaken.”
Your customers sign their contract, and then the three of you hug and cry together.
“Fuck your furniture,” you say, waving goodbye as they leave. “Fuck it straight to hell.”
They wave back as they step through the door, confident that their move is in good hands.
Happy They Call You Couch Maureen Day!
Friday, May 09, 2014
Tanning Bed Day!
You’re unlocking the door to your apartment, thinking, “Maybe she’ll be different. Maybe she’ll see there’s still some potential in me.”
You kiss her once more before you push the door open.
“I’m really glad we met tonight,” you say, hoping to win her over before the big letdown.
“Me too,” she says.
You lead her inside your one-room studio, trying to get her into the kitchen before she looks around. Trying to get one more drink in her before she starts asking questions.
“How about a cocktail?” you say, walking backwards, trying to hold her eyes.
She looks in the corner.
“Is that a tanning bed?” she asks.
Here we go.
“It is,” you say, surrendering to the way things always play out. “But it’s more than that. It’s the last remnant of a dream.”
You tell her that you used to run a tanning salon and it was very profitable but your ex-wife was stealing from the company and one day she emptied the bank account and ran off with one of your best customers.
“I don’t blame her,” you say. “He had one hell of a shade.”
You had to liquidate the company, and sell all your furniture, making a point of keeping just one last tanning bed as a memory of what you had, and what you lost.
“I sleep on it,” you say. “And we’ll have to have sex on it if you still want to do that. Unless you wanted to have sex on the floor. Or like, against a wall or something.”
She hesitates, staring at the tanning bed.
“But I guess you probably don’t want to do that anymore,” you say. “They usually don’t.”
She walks across the room and takes your hand.
“Let’s go,” she says.
“Where?” you ask.
“Come with me,” she says.
You get in her car and she drives you across town to her apartment.
“I didn’t want you to see this,” she says, unlocking her door.
Inside the small studio apartment is nothing but a massage table with a blanket and a pillow, some tear-stained tissues crumpled up on the floor around it.
“We called it Couple’s Massage,” she said. “My husband and I worked together, massaging couples on side-by-side tables. He eventually entered a polyamorous relationship with a husband and wife we massaged regularly. I tried to keep up the business but all our clients were couples. It was too much for one person. I got carpal tunnel and sold everything. Except my table.”
You make love on that table. Then you go back to your apartment and make love on your tanning bed. In a few months you open Deep Tan Deep Tissue, the only tanning salon slash massage parlor in town. People will come knowing that they’ll get a tan and a massage as deep and transformative as the love you found the night when you were both at your lowest.
Happy Tanning Bed Day!
You kiss her once more before you push the door open.
“I’m really glad we met tonight,” you say, hoping to win her over before the big letdown.
“Me too,” she says.
You lead her inside your one-room studio, trying to get her into the kitchen before she looks around. Trying to get one more drink in her before she starts asking questions.
“How about a cocktail?” you say, walking backwards, trying to hold her eyes.
She looks in the corner.
“Is that a tanning bed?” she asks.
Here we go.
“It is,” you say, surrendering to the way things always play out. “But it’s more than that. It’s the last remnant of a dream.”
You tell her that you used to run a tanning salon and it was very profitable but your ex-wife was stealing from the company and one day she emptied the bank account and ran off with one of your best customers.
“I don’t blame her,” you say. “He had one hell of a shade.”
You had to liquidate the company, and sell all your furniture, making a point of keeping just one last tanning bed as a memory of what you had, and what you lost.
“I sleep on it,” you say. “And we’ll have to have sex on it if you still want to do that. Unless you wanted to have sex on the floor. Or like, against a wall or something.”
She hesitates, staring at the tanning bed.
“But I guess you probably don’t want to do that anymore,” you say. “They usually don’t.”
She walks across the room and takes your hand.
“Let’s go,” she says.
“Where?” you ask.
“Come with me,” she says.
You get in her car and she drives you across town to her apartment.
“I didn’t want you to see this,” she says, unlocking her door.
Inside the small studio apartment is nothing but a massage table with a blanket and a pillow, some tear-stained tissues crumpled up on the floor around it.
“We called it Couple’s Massage,” she said. “My husband and I worked together, massaging couples on side-by-side tables. He eventually entered a polyamorous relationship with a husband and wife we massaged regularly. I tried to keep up the business but all our clients were couples. It was too much for one person. I got carpal tunnel and sold everything. Except my table.”
You make love on that table. Then you go back to your apartment and make love on your tanning bed. In a few months you open Deep Tan Deep Tissue, the only tanning salon slash massage parlor in town. People will come knowing that they’ll get a tan and a massage as deep and transformative as the love you found the night when you were both at your lowest.
Happy Tanning Bed Day!
Wednesday, May 07, 2014
The Last Prom Day!
Your school is the first doomsday school in the nation and your curriculum is built on the belief that the world is going to be destroyed within four months’ time, so you being president of the prom committee puts a lot of pressure on you since this will be the last prom ever.
“All in favor of ‘Time Of My Life’,” you say, asking for a show of hands. You’re trying to settle on a prom theme and theme song, and it’s been tough to get a quorum.
Only about six hands are raised.
“Okay, far from a majority,” you say. “All in favor of ‘We Are Young.’ Show of hands.”
Hardly anyone raises their hand.
The doors to the study quarters open and a girl with a guitar stands in the entrance. It’s Betty. The new girl. You saw her in the office on her first day last week and you’ve been wondering if she might end up in one of your classes. She’s walking down the aisle now in between the rows of chairs, and you can’t take your eyes off of her.
“I have a song,” she says.
You look out to the rest of the committee members. They shrug.
“Be my guest,” you say.
She pulls a chair from one of the rows and sits down with the guitar on her knee. She strums something slow and sleepy, but her voice is wide awake.
We won’t be growing old
No time to waste on that
Got only a few minutes to spare
So don’t say anything that ain’t worth saying
Don’t do anything that ain’t worth doing
Don’t kiss anyone ain’t worth kissing
And everyone here’s worth a kiss
.
So let’s show them all
We used to be the future
But there’s no future
There’s no future anymore
.
So let’s show them all
What we could have been
Show every single one of them
What we would have been
.
[She screams this line]
What we should have been
.
[quiet again]
We won’t be growing old
But we will grow as old as old can be
Let’s grow old together
Let’s grow old and die together
Let’s grow old and die.
.
No one’s sure she stopped playing for a few seconds. The room’s still. It’s pin-drop silent. Then the applause starts rolling through the rows. The new girl smiles and you’re in love in an instant. After a quick, unanimous vote, ‘Let’s Grow Old And Die’ is officially chosen as the theme for the very last prom in the world.
Happy The Last Prom Day!
“All in favor of ‘Time Of My Life’,” you say, asking for a show of hands. You’re trying to settle on a prom theme and theme song, and it’s been tough to get a quorum.
Only about six hands are raised.
“Okay, far from a majority,” you say. “All in favor of ‘We Are Young.’ Show of hands.”
Hardly anyone raises their hand.
The doors to the study quarters open and a girl with a guitar stands in the entrance. It’s Betty. The new girl. You saw her in the office on her first day last week and you’ve been wondering if she might end up in one of your classes. She’s walking down the aisle now in between the rows of chairs, and you can’t take your eyes off of her.
“I have a song,” she says.
You look out to the rest of the committee members. They shrug.
“Be my guest,” you say.
She pulls a chair from one of the rows and sits down with the guitar on her knee. She strums something slow and sleepy, but her voice is wide awake.
We won’t be growing old
No time to waste on that
Got only a few minutes to spare
So don’t say anything that ain’t worth saying
Don’t do anything that ain’t worth doing
Don’t kiss anyone ain’t worth kissing
And everyone here’s worth a kiss
.
So let’s show them all
We used to be the future
But there’s no future
There’s no future anymore
.
So let’s show them all
What we could have been
Show every single one of them
What we would have been
.
[She screams this line]
What we should have been
.
[quiet again]
We won’t be growing old
But we will grow as old as old can be
Let’s grow old together
Let’s grow old and die together
Let’s grow old and die.
.
No one’s sure she stopped playing for a few seconds. The room’s still. It’s pin-drop silent. Then the applause starts rolling through the rows. The new girl smiles and you’re in love in an instant. After a quick, unanimous vote, ‘Let’s Grow Old And Die’ is officially chosen as the theme for the very last prom in the world.
Happy The Last Prom Day!
Tuesday, May 06, 2014
On Vacation With Your Girlfriend’s Parents Day!
You and your girlfriend’s mom and dad are out in the rowboat in the middle of the night looking at the moon when your girlfriend walks out to the edge of the lake and starts calling for you.
“The cabin’s scary when I’m all alone!” she shouts.
You and your girlfriend’s parents laugh at what a fraidy-cat your girlfriend is.
“We’ll be in in a minute!” you shout.
“Just try and get back to sleep,” her mom shouts.
Your girlfriend hears a noise coming from the woods. She asks if you guys heard it.
“She always craved attention,” her dad tells you.
Your girlfriend shouts that the noise is getting louder.
“You guys, just come back to shore!” she pleads.
You don’t want to go. You’ve had the most delightful night with your girlfriend’s parents, rowing about the lake and enjoying the silence together. You love your girlfriend, but you know you’ll rarely get to enjoy time alone with her parents like this, and you don’t want it to end.
When you finally return to shore you find your girlfriend kissing another boy. You pull him away from her and fistfight. You win.
At the end of the fistfight the boy says that he was bored because his parents went on a moonlight hike with his girlfriend, leaving him all alone.
“It’s vacation code, bro,” he tells you. “If you go off with your babe’s parents, she gets a free pass. Don’t you know about vacation code?”
You didn’t know about vacation code.
“My parents were poor, all right?” you shout. “You happy? You happy you made me say it?”
Everyone feels bad for you and the rest of the vacation is ruined because your girlfriend’s parents just worry that you’re going to steal stuff now that they know you’re poor.
Happy On Vacation With Your Girlfriend’s Parents Day!
“The cabin’s scary when I’m all alone!” she shouts.
You and your girlfriend’s parents laugh at what a fraidy-cat your girlfriend is.
“We’ll be in in a minute!” you shout.
“Just try and get back to sleep,” her mom shouts.
Your girlfriend hears a noise coming from the woods. She asks if you guys heard it.
“She always craved attention,” her dad tells you.
Your girlfriend shouts that the noise is getting louder.
“You guys, just come back to shore!” she pleads.
You don’t want to go. You’ve had the most delightful night with your girlfriend’s parents, rowing about the lake and enjoying the silence together. You love your girlfriend, but you know you’ll rarely get to enjoy time alone with her parents like this, and you don’t want it to end.
When you finally return to shore you find your girlfriend kissing another boy. You pull him away from her and fistfight. You win.
At the end of the fistfight the boy says that he was bored because his parents went on a moonlight hike with his girlfriend, leaving him all alone.
“It’s vacation code, bro,” he tells you. “If you go off with your babe’s parents, she gets a free pass. Don’t you know about vacation code?”
You didn’t know about vacation code.
“My parents were poor, all right?” you shout. “You happy? You happy you made me say it?”
Everyone feels bad for you and the rest of the vacation is ruined because your girlfriend’s parents just worry that you’re going to steal stuff now that they know you’re poor.
Happy On Vacation With Your Girlfriend’s Parents Day!
Tuesday, April 08, 2014
Doghouse Day!
“Guess I’m still in the doghouse with your mom.”
“You’re not in the doghouse!” your girlfriend’s daughter says.
“Oh I sure am,” you tell her. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s a grown-up thing.”
“You’re not in the doghouse! My mom left you two years ago. She left both of us.”
“She’s just taking some time to blow off steam,” you explain. “It’s a grown- up thing. Hope when she gets back I’ll get out of the doghouse.”
“You’re not in the doghouse,” she says. “And I am a grown-up. I turned 18 three months ago and I got a lawyer that says I can evict you from my mom’s house.”
She hands you papers.
“But you’re all I have left of your mom,” tell her. “And I’m all you have left of her.”
“Move on,” she says. “I have.”
You fold up the papers and pack your things.
Happy Doghouse Day!
“You’re not in the doghouse!” your girlfriend’s daughter says.
“Oh I sure am,” you tell her. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s a grown-up thing.”
“You’re not in the doghouse! My mom left you two years ago. She left both of us.”
“She’s just taking some time to blow off steam,” you explain. “It’s a grown- up thing. Hope when she gets back I’ll get out of the doghouse.”
“You’re not in the doghouse,” she says. “And I am a grown-up. I turned 18 three months ago and I got a lawyer that says I can evict you from my mom’s house.”
She hands you papers.
“But you’re all I have left of your mom,” tell her. “And I’m all you have left of her.”
“Move on,” she says. “I have.”
You fold up the papers and pack your things.
Happy Doghouse Day!
Monday, April 07, 2014
The Fuck Happy World Of Brad Day!
You’re the main character in a porno movie called The Fuck Happy World Of Brad. That’s why you feel so fuck happy and you keep having sex during what should be routine situations. Like when you bump into your neighbor by the mailboxes and the two of you have sex in the lobby and the doorman joins in. Or when you’re bartending and that woman comes in looking for a job and you tell her you’ll put in a good word so the two of you have sex.
“I just want to go back to my day,” you think while having sex. “I want to just be.”
You don’t know you’re a character in a porno so to you this is madness. If you were told you were a character in a porno you might experience a brief moment of relief (porn ends) but then someone else would push play and you’d get back to it. There is no escape. There is no end. The Fuck Happy World Of Brad is both finite and eternal, and it is all you’ll never know.
Happy The Fuck Happy World Of Brad Day!
“I just want to go back to my day,” you think while having sex. “I want to just be.”
You don’t know you’re a character in a porno so to you this is madness. If you were told you were a character in a porno you might experience a brief moment of relief (porn ends) but then someone else would push play and you’d get back to it. There is no escape. There is no end. The Fuck Happy World Of Brad is both finite and eternal, and it is all you’ll never know.
Happy The Fuck Happy World Of Brad Day!
Sunday, April 06, 2014
Domino Doreen Day!
Doreen is making your pizza. It says so on the tracker. It says your pizza is being made, and for the seven minutes it takes before it says your pizza is out for delivery, you can stare at your computer screen and envision your best friend Doreen making you dinner. She’s applying the toppings and fluffing the crust and putting it in the oven with care.
“You put in the order yet?” Sam asks. Sam’s your boyfriend. He used to go out with Doreen.
You don’t answer Sam. You just watch the pizza tracker. You ordered the pizza with a fake name so Doreen wouldn’t know it’s you she’s cooking for. She doesn’t know where you and Sam moved to (he had to move out of his apartment with Doreen) so she won’t recognize the address either. She has no idea she’s making a dinner for her former best friend. She has no idea how much her former best friend is savoring watching the little bar on the tracker. Doreen has no idea how much you miss her.
Your pizza is out for delivery.
You go downstairs with Sam and wait for it to arrive, trying to focus on you and him, trying to convince yourself he was worth it. But it’s no use. All you can do is listen for the car outside, search the air for the scent of pepperoni, anticipate the moment when a little bit of your best friend is delivered back into your life.
Happy Domino Doreen Day!
“You put in the order yet?” Sam asks. Sam’s your boyfriend. He used to go out with Doreen.
You don’t answer Sam. You just watch the pizza tracker. You ordered the pizza with a fake name so Doreen wouldn’t know it’s you she’s cooking for. She doesn’t know where you and Sam moved to (he had to move out of his apartment with Doreen) so she won’t recognize the address either. She has no idea she’s making a dinner for her former best friend. She has no idea how much her former best friend is savoring watching the little bar on the tracker. Doreen has no idea how much you miss her.
Your pizza is out for delivery.
You go downstairs with Sam and wait for it to arrive, trying to focus on you and him, trying to convince yourself he was worth it. But it’s no use. All you can do is listen for the car outside, search the air for the scent of pepperoni, anticipate the moment when a little bit of your best friend is delivered back into your life.
Happy Domino Doreen Day!
Saturday, April 05, 2014
You Don’t Really Care About The Environment Day!
You don’t really care about the environment but you tell people you do because you want people to think you’re cool.
“No way would I ever litter,” you tell people at coke parties and while trying to get into clubs. “CFCs piss me off. Damn straight.”
At work when the cool guy at work who wears his tie as a bandana during happy hour tells you that you should turn off your monitor when you leave for the day to conserve electricity, you say, “You’re damn skippy I should!” Though you really couldn’t give a crap.
Problem is, you’ve fallen in love with a girl. And you’re afraid that if you let on that you don’t really care about the environment as much as you’ve pretended to during the courtship, the relationship will end.
“What do I do?” you ask your butch best friend, Slats.
“Be honest!” Slats will say. Slats is your best friend but she secretly loves you and she hopes being honest will end it with this dumb, rich, environmentalist girl you’ve been seeing. “If she can’t handle the real you, she doesn’t deserve to be with you. Now practice kissing on me so you won’t blow it when you kiss her later tonight.”
You practice kissing on Slats, then you go out on your date with your girlfriend. Midway through dinner you tell her you don’t really care about the environment.
“That’s really upsetting,” she says. “I don’t think we can go on.”
“But Slats told me to be honest!”
Your girlfriend says, “I think Slats is the one you should really be with.”
You leave the restaurant and run out into the street and you find Slats walking down the middle of the street with tears in her eyes.
“When we were practicing kissing together earlier,” you tell her. “It shouldn’t have been practice. It should have been just kissing.”
You and Slats kiss.
“You’re the only one who’s cool with me not giving a shit about Global Warming and all that other crap,” tell her.
“I am,” she’ll say. Then she’ll kiss you some more. Then the two of you will go home, have sex, and not recycle stuff.
Happy You Don’t Really Care About The Environment Day!
“No way would I ever litter,” you tell people at coke parties and while trying to get into clubs. “CFCs piss me off. Damn straight.”
At work when the cool guy at work who wears his tie as a bandana during happy hour tells you that you should turn off your monitor when you leave for the day to conserve electricity, you say, “You’re damn skippy I should!” Though you really couldn’t give a crap.
Problem is, you’ve fallen in love with a girl. And you’re afraid that if you let on that you don’t really care about the environment as much as you’ve pretended to during the courtship, the relationship will end.
“What do I do?” you ask your butch best friend, Slats.
“Be honest!” Slats will say. Slats is your best friend but she secretly loves you and she hopes being honest will end it with this dumb, rich, environmentalist girl you’ve been seeing. “If she can’t handle the real you, she doesn’t deserve to be with you. Now practice kissing on me so you won’t blow it when you kiss her later tonight.”
You practice kissing on Slats, then you go out on your date with your girlfriend. Midway through dinner you tell her you don’t really care about the environment.
“That’s really upsetting,” she says. “I don’t think we can go on.”
“But Slats told me to be honest!”
Your girlfriend says, “I think Slats is the one you should really be with.”
You leave the restaurant and run out into the street and you find Slats walking down the middle of the street with tears in her eyes.
“When we were practicing kissing together earlier,” you tell her. “It shouldn’t have been practice. It should have been just kissing.”
You and Slats kiss.
“You’re the only one who’s cool with me not giving a shit about Global Warming and all that other crap,” tell her.
“I am,” she’ll say. Then she’ll kiss you some more. Then the two of you will go home, have sex, and not recycle stuff.
Happy You Don’t Really Care About The Environment Day!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)