You started spying on your wife to see whether she is drinking again and you found out that coincidentally she hired a spy to spy on you to see if you’re a spy with the government and she never knew (she realized she never checked that out). You aren’t a spy for the government, you’re just a dentist, but since you were spying on your wife her spy saw you doing spy stuff so he came back to your wife and said, “Yup, he’s a spy.” Your wife suddenly thought that her husband isn’t the man he said he was and she instantly started drinking again, which is exactly what you were spying to see if she was doing. You trying to check up on her is what made her start drinking again. Which is why no one should bother people who love to drink about their drinking. It’ll just make them drink more. Ignore the problem, and not only will you save spy money, but the problem might just go away or you’ll at least not know about it assuming you’re married to the kind of drunk who’s polite enough to keep the drinking a secret from those who care about him and therefore want to ignore what’s killing him.
Happy Spy Vs Spy Day!
Friday, November 02, 2007
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Looks Like Your Mom Is Going To Go And Follow Incubus On Tour Day!
Your Mom is a huge fan of the band Incubus. She’s not just into the music, she digs the fan culture that’s grown up around the band. There’s apparently a society of Incubus fans that travel around the country in their Ford Escorts and their Hondas partying in the parking lots before heading into the stadium for upwards of 70 minutes at a time of emotive hard rock from their favorite band ever.
Your Mom never got to go out on tour because she was raising you. Now that you’re seven, she figures you’re old enough to order pizza.
“If you hurt yourself or don’t know how to turn the oven off or something, call Mr. Keough next door. He’ll come and help out.”
“The crossing guard told me never to talk to Mr. Keough but she wouldn’t say why,” you tell your Mom as she applies gray paint to her cleavage and neck for some reason. This is apparently what female fans of Incubus do. They paint parts of their bodies battleship gray.
“You’re a big boy and Mommy needs you to be on your best behavior while she’s gone,” your Mom says.
“Please don’t go I’m scared,” you say.
“Incubus! Incubuuuus!” Your Mom screams it into the mirror with an upraised fist, like she’s practicing. She didn’t hear your plea. Now she’s in the medicine cabinet sliding all of her Paxil bottles into a big sandwich bag.
“Don’t play my CDs,” she tells you as she pinches your cheek. Then she climbs into her Fiero and zips away to go and find her favorite band.
Not long after she leaves, some burglars start trying to get into your house but are thwarted because you know how to devise the crude delivery of torture and pain from simple household products.
Happy Looks Like Your Mom Is Going To Go And Follow Incubus On Tour Day!
Your Mom never got to go out on tour because she was raising you. Now that you’re seven, she figures you’re old enough to order pizza.
“If you hurt yourself or don’t know how to turn the oven off or something, call Mr. Keough next door. He’ll come and help out.”
“The crossing guard told me never to talk to Mr. Keough but she wouldn’t say why,” you tell your Mom as she applies gray paint to her cleavage and neck for some reason. This is apparently what female fans of Incubus do. They paint parts of their bodies battleship gray.
“You’re a big boy and Mommy needs you to be on your best behavior while she’s gone,” your Mom says.
“Please don’t go I’m scared,” you say.
“Incubus! Incubuuuus!” Your Mom screams it into the mirror with an upraised fist, like she’s practicing. She didn’t hear your plea. Now she’s in the medicine cabinet sliding all of her Paxil bottles into a big sandwich bag.
“Don’t play my CDs,” she tells you as she pinches your cheek. Then she climbs into her Fiero and zips away to go and find her favorite band.
Not long after she leaves, some burglars start trying to get into your house but are thwarted because you know how to devise the crude delivery of torture and pain from simple household products.
Happy Looks Like Your Mom Is Going To Go And Follow Incubus On Tour Day!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
The Cinnamon Mafia Day!
Justin and Charnice started referring to themselves as the Cinnamon Mafia today and they won’t tell you why.
“Is it because…you guys have access to really good baked goods?”
Justin and Charnice laugh and tell you that what you don’t know could fill the Staples Center.
“Is it because…you’re engaged in various prostitution and gambling enterprises and…you like sweets?”
Justin and Charnice laugh and tell you that you might as well have just stepped off the bus from Idaho.
“Does it have to do with butt sex?”
They say no.
“Thanksgiving?”
Nope.
“India?”
Uh uh.
“It doesn’t mean anything, does it.”
Justin and Charnice then show you the scabs where they sliced their thumbs open to take a blood oath.
“Oh my god you guys really are in a mafia,” you’ll say.
“A Cinnamon Mafia,” they’ll correct you.
“Yeah but what the fuck is that?” you’ll ask.
Justin and Charnice tell you you’re a little boy and that you should go home to Mama. That pisses you off, so you drive back to the town where you grew up and ask the boys you used to mess with on the street if they want to start a mafia with you.
“I want to call it The Taffeta Mafia,” you’ll say. Surprisingly, they’ll all shrug and say why not. You’ll tell them that the first order of business is to go and kidnap the captains (and sole members) of the Cinnamon Mafia and torture them until they explain why they called themselves that.
“Second order of business,” you’ll say, “Is gabagool!”
All of your Taffeta Mafia soldiers will jump up and shout, “Gabagool!” Then they’ll go and put knives to your friends’ genitals for a while.
Happy The Cinnamon Mafia Day!
“Is it because…you guys have access to really good baked goods?”
Justin and Charnice laugh and tell you that what you don’t know could fill the Staples Center.
“Is it because…you’re engaged in various prostitution and gambling enterprises and…you like sweets?”
Justin and Charnice laugh and tell you that you might as well have just stepped off the bus from Idaho.
“Does it have to do with butt sex?”
They say no.
“Thanksgiving?”
Nope.
“India?”
Uh uh.
“It doesn’t mean anything, does it.”
Justin and Charnice then show you the scabs where they sliced their thumbs open to take a blood oath.
“Oh my god you guys really are in a mafia,” you’ll say.
“A Cinnamon Mafia,” they’ll correct you.
“Yeah but what the fuck is that?” you’ll ask.
Justin and Charnice tell you you’re a little boy and that you should go home to Mama. That pisses you off, so you drive back to the town where you grew up and ask the boys you used to mess with on the street if they want to start a mafia with you.
“I want to call it The Taffeta Mafia,” you’ll say. Surprisingly, they’ll all shrug and say why not. You’ll tell them that the first order of business is to go and kidnap the captains (and sole members) of the Cinnamon Mafia and torture them until they explain why they called themselves that.
“Second order of business,” you’ll say, “Is gabagool!”
All of your Taffeta Mafia soldiers will jump up and shout, “Gabagool!” Then they’ll go and put knives to your friends’ genitals for a while.
Happy The Cinnamon Mafia Day!
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Your Son Just Got His First Tattoo, And It’s Really Racist Day!
On a sentimental whim, you’ll go into his room tonight to tuck him into his covers long after he’s fallen asleep. He may be fifteen, but he’s not so big that you don’t tear up a little when you see him sprawled on his belly, just like he’s slept since he was a toddler.
When you pull the covers back a bit you’ll see that tattoo. It’s definitely real (you can see that part of it is still scabbed) and it’s definitely racist. Racist enough to get his ass kicked in certain neighborhoods. It’s not often that a father gets to blink his eyes just once and see all the limitations that are suddenly placed in his son’s way, but when you see how high up on his neck the tattoo has been drawn, it’s clear that he can remove “prized civil rights attorney” from his dream resume.
You’ll bail on tucking him in, allowing his covers to slide down his back. Let him catch cold. At least he won’t have to go into school and then come home with a letter from the principal demanding that you come in for another talk. You’ll go back into the living room and sit in your chair and wonder what the hell it was that you did wrong?
“Was it because I spent most of his childhood in prison after being charged with a racially motivated hate crime that involved ‘curbing?’” you’ll wonder to yourself. You’ll think about it a little longer before concluding that any mistakes your son makes are entirely the fault of his mom and what a jerkface she was before she joined the Church of Christ.
Happy Your Son Just Got His First Tattoo, And It’s Really Racist Day!
When you pull the covers back a bit you’ll see that tattoo. It’s definitely real (you can see that part of it is still scabbed) and it’s definitely racist. Racist enough to get his ass kicked in certain neighborhoods. It’s not often that a father gets to blink his eyes just once and see all the limitations that are suddenly placed in his son’s way, but when you see how high up on his neck the tattoo has been drawn, it’s clear that he can remove “prized civil rights attorney” from his dream resume.
You’ll bail on tucking him in, allowing his covers to slide down his back. Let him catch cold. At least he won’t have to go into school and then come home with a letter from the principal demanding that you come in for another talk. You’ll go back into the living room and sit in your chair and wonder what the hell it was that you did wrong?
“Was it because I spent most of his childhood in prison after being charged with a racially motivated hate crime that involved ‘curbing?’” you’ll wonder to yourself. You’ll think about it a little longer before concluding that any mistakes your son makes are entirely the fault of his mom and what a jerkface she was before she joined the Church of Christ.
Happy Your Son Just Got His First Tattoo, And It’s Really Racist Day!
Monday, October 29, 2007
Lose Your Virginity Day!
You’re pretty shy around women, which is why you’re still a virgin at 34. You’ve pretty much been counting on the fact that one day a woman’s car is going to break down outside your house and she’ll need a place to stay for the night and inevitably, because you’re both alone in your house, the two of you will do it. It hasn’t happened yet but you’re pretty confident that at some point in the next few years at least one woman’s car will have to break down outside. Just in case, you keep the lights on in your living room all night long so it looks like someone’s home, and you also spend a lot of time sitting by the window staring out at the street.
Tonight a car is going to sputter to a stop right outside and a beautiful woman will get out and walk toward your house. But at the last minute, she’ll end up knocking on your neighbor’s door to ask for help. He’ll invite her in and you’ll hear the two of them doing it through the wall. You will be sad.
They’ll live together for several years until he starts doing drugs and inviting dangerous people over to their house and she comes running next door to you for a place to crash for a while. Your neighbor will come by looking for her (he needs money) and you’ll tell him to go away, so he’ll come back with all of his drug addict friends. You’re going to have to fight and kill them all if you want to finally be alone in your apartment with the woman whose car broke down right outside (which can only mean sex, even if her car broke down three years ago, she’ll see it as the funny way that fate works and she’ll want to do it just to have the story to tell about how fate works in funny ways and you never know).
Time to get lucky. Now kill all those drug addicts!
Happy Lose Your Virginity Day!
Tonight a car is going to sputter to a stop right outside and a beautiful woman will get out and walk toward your house. But at the last minute, she’ll end up knocking on your neighbor’s door to ask for help. He’ll invite her in and you’ll hear the two of them doing it through the wall. You will be sad.
They’ll live together for several years until he starts doing drugs and inviting dangerous people over to their house and she comes running next door to you for a place to crash for a while. Your neighbor will come by looking for her (he needs money) and you’ll tell him to go away, so he’ll come back with all of his drug addict friends. You’re going to have to fight and kill them all if you want to finally be alone in your apartment with the woman whose car broke down right outside (which can only mean sex, even if her car broke down three years ago, she’ll see it as the funny way that fate works and she’ll want to do it just to have the story to tell about how fate works in funny ways and you never know).
Time to get lucky. Now kill all those drug addicts!
Happy Lose Your Virginity Day!
Friday, October 26, 2007
You’re Covered In Japanese Beetles Day!
That’s what you get for sitting still for too long. Lazy people are always at risk of drawing thousands of Japanese Beetles to gather on their skin and on top of and underneath their clothes because lazy people are too busy concentrating on the sweet little dreams in their heads, dreams of when they loved and when they might love again, dreams of one day finding a reason to make a special afternoon in a park for themselves, dreams of driving fast in a pretty car with one hand on a bare thigh that isn’t theirs (for goddamn once!). They dream and dream and dream and sometimes they even consider making a plan before they go back to dreaming and it takes up so much of their goddamn time that Japanese Beetles can spend an entire afternoon swarming around them before the lazy people finally turn on the news or check a website or get a phone call that tells them, “Holy shit you’re covered in Japanese Beetles! You have to move out!”
Happy You’re Covered In Japanese Beetles Day!
Happy You’re Covered In Japanese Beetles Day!
Thursday, October 25, 2007
She’s An Explosives Expert Day!
Today you’re going to tell your Dad that you’re getting married and he, being the over-protective son of a bitch that he can’t help being, will ask what your fiancé does for a living.
“She’s an explosives expert,” you’ll say.
Your fiancé will hear you from the other room and she’ll wander into the kitchen with a big grin on her face. “Well, I wouldn’t say expert, but I’m pretty frigging good.”
Your fiancé will grab you by your ass and pull you in for a kiss. Your father will watch.
“Who do you work for?” your father will ask because he’s apparently the fucking Gestapo all of a sudden.
“Whoever pays the most,” your fiancé will say.
Your father will drag you into the other room. “I didn’t raise my son to marry a mercenary,” he’ll say.
“You didn’t raise me, period,” you’ll say.
Your fiancé will stand too close to the stove and the stray gunpowder on her sweater will ignite. She’ll run screaming.
“This what you want?” your father will ask you. “You want a wife who’s constantly on fire?”
“Better than a wife that’s always ice cold,” you’ll say.
Your father will slap you and tell you not to talk about your mother like that. You’ll run out the front door, crying. You’ll forget that your fiancé is still on fire in the kitchen. You won’t remember until you’ve run all the way to the train station the way you used to when you threatened to run away from home as a teenager.
Things were simpler then, back when you could pretend to run away from home without having to worry about the fact that your fiancé just exploded. Why do we have to grow up?
Happy She’s An Explosives Expert Day!
“She’s an explosives expert,” you’ll say.
Your fiancé will hear you from the other room and she’ll wander into the kitchen with a big grin on her face. “Well, I wouldn’t say expert, but I’m pretty frigging good.”
Your fiancé will grab you by your ass and pull you in for a kiss. Your father will watch.
“Who do you work for?” your father will ask because he’s apparently the fucking Gestapo all of a sudden.
“Whoever pays the most,” your fiancé will say.
Your father will drag you into the other room. “I didn’t raise my son to marry a mercenary,” he’ll say.
“You didn’t raise me, period,” you’ll say.
Your fiancé will stand too close to the stove and the stray gunpowder on her sweater will ignite. She’ll run screaming.
“This what you want?” your father will ask you. “You want a wife who’s constantly on fire?”
“Better than a wife that’s always ice cold,” you’ll say.
Your father will slap you and tell you not to talk about your mother like that. You’ll run out the front door, crying. You’ll forget that your fiancé is still on fire in the kitchen. You won’t remember until you’ve run all the way to the train station the way you used to when you threatened to run away from home as a teenager.
Things were simpler then, back when you could pretend to run away from home without having to worry about the fact that your fiancé just exploded. Why do we have to grow up?
Happy She’s An Explosives Expert Day!
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Those Vampires And Zombies On Facebook Aren’t Real Day!
Just keep telling yourself that and maybe you’ll get to sleep tonight. Maybe you can forget all about the fact that you got bitten by some guy who you don’t remember how you know but he was in your email address book so now you’re friends and he had to go and turn out to be a goddamn fucking Facebook zombie and of course he ran straight over and bit you.
“FACEBOOK ZOMBIES AREN’T REAL!” you shout at the ceiling. “It’s just a web thing. That’s all.”
Just in case, you open your bedroom window and put your cat out on the fire escape so she can make a run for it if you get bloodthirsty. Your cat immediately runs up the steps to the roof like an idiot. Like you won’t immediately go up there and eat her should you become bloodthirsty. Fucking stupid cat.
“I’M NOT A ZOMBIE!” you shout into the darkness. Your roommate leans into your room to tell you to keep quiet. Just in case the zombies on Facebook are real and he got bitten, you’d better drive an axe into his neck and take his head off.
As the blood spurts into the air and the blade of your axe gets stuck in your roommate’s clavicle, you can’t help but wonder what the fuck was so bad about Friendster anyway.
Happy Those Vampires And Zombies On Facebook Aren’t Real Day!
“FACEBOOK ZOMBIES AREN’T REAL!” you shout at the ceiling. “It’s just a web thing. That’s all.”
Just in case, you open your bedroom window and put your cat out on the fire escape so she can make a run for it if you get bloodthirsty. Your cat immediately runs up the steps to the roof like an idiot. Like you won’t immediately go up there and eat her should you become bloodthirsty. Fucking stupid cat.
“I’M NOT A ZOMBIE!” you shout into the darkness. Your roommate leans into your room to tell you to keep quiet. Just in case the zombies on Facebook are real and he got bitten, you’d better drive an axe into his neck and take his head off.
As the blood spurts into the air and the blade of your axe gets stuck in your roommate’s clavicle, you can’t help but wonder what the fuck was so bad about Friendster anyway.
Happy Those Vampires And Zombies On Facebook Aren’t Real Day!
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
You’re A Mountain Climber Groupie Day!
You are obsessed with the prowess and dexterity of mountain climbers and you want nothing more than to get access into a famous mountain climber’s tent and let him have his way with you. This means that you have to be pretty good at mountain climbing yourself, seeing as you have to chase a guy up a giant mountain, one that usually only he can climb, and keep pace with him so that you’ll be close by when he finally beds down for the night. You’ve been climbing for years and you’ve really become quite skilled. Learning to climb mountains not only ensures that you’ll stay on your man’s trail, but that maybe after he has sex with you he’ll see that you and he have something to talk about and he’ll let you stay another night.
Today it’s all going to go wrong. You’ll have been chasing after Lazlo Enright up a mountain that no one’s ever climbed before. The way will be treacherous and you’ll find that you’ve gone off his route. In your desperation to find him again you’ll race up the mountain trying to locate his tracks, but there’ll be no sign of him. Before you know it you’ll find yourself at the top of the mountain. No flag, no camp, nothing. You’ll be the first human ever to reach that peak. A few hours later, Enright will come crawling up over the side and he’ll see you there waiting for him. You’ll try to offer yourself to him, but he’ll feel threatened by a woman who can break his mountain climbing records. Way to blow your shot at some ass, genius.
Happy You’re A Mountain Climber Groupie Day!
Today it’s all going to go wrong. You’ll have been chasing after Lazlo Enright up a mountain that no one’s ever climbed before. The way will be treacherous and you’ll find that you’ve gone off his route. In your desperation to find him again you’ll race up the mountain trying to locate his tracks, but there’ll be no sign of him. Before you know it you’ll find yourself at the top of the mountain. No flag, no camp, nothing. You’ll be the first human ever to reach that peak. A few hours later, Enright will come crawling up over the side and he’ll see you there waiting for him. You’ll try to offer yourself to him, but he’ll feel threatened by a woman who can break his mountain climbing records. Way to blow your shot at some ass, genius.
Happy You’re A Mountain Climber Groupie Day!
Monday, October 22, 2007
You Are The Last Showgirl Day!
You live in a time where fascism has swept the globe and, among many horrible side-effects, live theater and dance has been prohibited. This sent lovers of live theater and dance into underground clubs where they could, under penalty of death, continue to enjoy those old shows they used to love. It’s rare that a show reaches its curtain before the death squads come in and murder everyone on stage and in the audience, and the showgirl ranks have been dwindling down until tonight, when you are the very last showgirl.
“That means I’m also the greatest showgirl alive,” you tell your stage manager.
“That’s right kid,” he says. “Now get out there and—“
“Fuck that,” you say. “Think I managed to last all these years just to get shot? I can only hang onto my title if I never dance again. And dance again I never will.”
“But the people need you,” he says.
“The people also need their churches to have not been leveled,” you say. “Everyone should grab what he or she can. I am the greatest showgirl alive, and I always will be.”
You can hear the crowd clapping for you to come out and entertain them but you refuse. They keep clapping until it gets louder and louder and finally they burst into a cheer. Music begins, and they clap to a rhythm. You go out and see what’s going on.
There on the stage is a little girl, one of the audience member’s daughters, still wearing the frock she wore to the theater. She’s dancing like an angel, like the world depends on it, and watching her it is clear that you are neither the last, nor even, the greatest showgirl alive.
“Fuck!” you say. “I was only able to enjoy it for a couple minutes.”
The little girl is suddenly shot dead by soldiers.
“Yes!” you shout. “I’m the greatest showgirl alive again!”
You go home, satisfied that its too late for anyone in the city to put on a show, which means you’re the greatest showgirl alive until at least around 7 PM tomorrow. May there always be roses under your-- Whoops, someone just started dancing again.
Happy You Are The Last Showgirl Day!
“That means I’m also the greatest showgirl alive,” you tell your stage manager.
“That’s right kid,” he says. “Now get out there and—“
“Fuck that,” you say. “Think I managed to last all these years just to get shot? I can only hang onto my title if I never dance again. And dance again I never will.”
“But the people need you,” he says.
“The people also need their churches to have not been leveled,” you say. “Everyone should grab what he or she can. I am the greatest showgirl alive, and I always will be.”
You can hear the crowd clapping for you to come out and entertain them but you refuse. They keep clapping until it gets louder and louder and finally they burst into a cheer. Music begins, and they clap to a rhythm. You go out and see what’s going on.
There on the stage is a little girl, one of the audience member’s daughters, still wearing the frock she wore to the theater. She’s dancing like an angel, like the world depends on it, and watching her it is clear that you are neither the last, nor even, the greatest showgirl alive.
“Fuck!” you say. “I was only able to enjoy it for a couple minutes.”
The little girl is suddenly shot dead by soldiers.
“Yes!” you shout. “I’m the greatest showgirl alive again!”
You go home, satisfied that its too late for anyone in the city to put on a show, which means you’re the greatest showgirl alive until at least around 7 PM tomorrow. May there always be roses under your-- Whoops, someone just started dancing again.
Happy You Are The Last Showgirl Day!
Friday, October 19, 2007
Because That’s What Happens To Pieces Of Strawberry Shortcake Day!
Your comic strip about a piece of strawberry shortcake that says hilarious things to other desserts is going nationally syndicated today and will appear in over 300 newspapers. Unfortunately, you’ve been telling the story of that piece of cake for the last four years in the local papers that have carried your strip. And the story is at the point where the piece of strawberry shortcake has to die. It’s going to die in a fire set by a child.
The folks who signed you to your syndication deal will not be pleased. They’ll protest that they contracted you for 900 more strips and you’ve just killed the main character with the very first one. Tell them this is what happens to pieces of strawberry shortcake sometimes, and it’s where the story was headed. Now, they needn’t worry because the coming strips will address the community’s reaction to the loss of their beloved piece of strawberry shortcake, and there will of course be a criminal inquiry, and a surprise visitor in the form of a talking can of chick peas.
“I’m telling a story,” you’ll tell them. “You were nice enough to give me a bigger microphone and I appreciate that. But this is the point in the story that we’re at right now, and I can’t drag out what don’t want to be drug.”
Your syndication company will sue you for breach of contract and they’ll take over ownership of the characters and hire a staff to write it, and that’s how Strawberry Shortcake will go on to be one of the most popular comic strips for the next forty years while you die slowly of alcohol poisoning.
Happy Because That’s What Happens To Pieces Of Strawberry Shortcake Day!
The folks who signed you to your syndication deal will not be pleased. They’ll protest that they contracted you for 900 more strips and you’ve just killed the main character with the very first one. Tell them this is what happens to pieces of strawberry shortcake sometimes, and it’s where the story was headed. Now, they needn’t worry because the coming strips will address the community’s reaction to the loss of their beloved piece of strawberry shortcake, and there will of course be a criminal inquiry, and a surprise visitor in the form of a talking can of chick peas.
“I’m telling a story,” you’ll tell them. “You were nice enough to give me a bigger microphone and I appreciate that. But this is the point in the story that we’re at right now, and I can’t drag out what don’t want to be drug.”
Your syndication company will sue you for breach of contract and they’ll take over ownership of the characters and hire a staff to write it, and that’s how Strawberry Shortcake will go on to be one of the most popular comic strips for the next forty years while you die slowly of alcohol poisoning.
Happy Because That’s What Happens To Pieces Of Strawberry Shortcake Day!
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Get Out Of The Air Force Day!
Tired of the Air Force? Today’s the day to get kicked out. You can do this either by jumping off of a roof and breaking your back or dying, or you can plot to steal one of the Air Force’s planes to attack an American city but plot it so poorly that you’ll get caught and hanged. You could also break into the infirmary and swallow a lot of pain pills, enough to kill you. I know most of these suggestions involve dying but seriously the Air Force really doesn’t wanna let go.
Happy Get Out Of The Air Force Day!
Happy Get Out Of The Air Force Day!
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Glenn The Glow Worm Day!
Glenn the Glow Worm is a glow worm that is sick of all the lies.
“I’m tired of the bullshit,” Glenn tells you (you’re in a coma in Des Moines and Glenn has been communicating with you telepathically from his home in the soil of Gretna, Nebraska. “It’s time for folks to pay.”
“You’re just a glow worm,” you respond inexplicably. You won’t ever remember talking to Glenn when you wake up, but you’re glad he’s there for you now. “What the fuck are you gonna do? Build a bomb? Please. I have bed sores with more brain power than you.”
“You’ll see,” Glenn responds. “One day soon you’ll all see.”
“Oh fuck you,” you say to the worm with your mind. “I am so fucking sick of you and your angry, 'I’m going to fuck it all up' bullshit. When I get out of this coma I’m going to drive out there and piss in the hole you live in.”
“You can’t mean that,” Glenn says.
“Try me.”
You and Glenn don’t speak for a few hours. Then Glenn says, “I’m sorry I’m so negative all the time.”
You respond, “I’m sorry I’m so testy. It’s just that the orderly stole my wedding ring yesterday and I can’t do anything about it.”
Glenn starts talking about all he’ll do to the orderly if he ever gets in the same room with him and you laugh good naturedly with your mind.
“Oh Glenn, you’ll never change,” you shine at him. Glenn telepathically tells you he loves you and you tell him you don’t know how to respond to that. You don’t know how you feel.
Happy Glenn The Glow Worm Day!
“I’m tired of the bullshit,” Glenn tells you (you’re in a coma in Des Moines and Glenn has been communicating with you telepathically from his home in the soil of Gretna, Nebraska. “It’s time for folks to pay.”
“You’re just a glow worm,” you respond inexplicably. You won’t ever remember talking to Glenn when you wake up, but you’re glad he’s there for you now. “What the fuck are you gonna do? Build a bomb? Please. I have bed sores with more brain power than you.”
“You’ll see,” Glenn responds. “One day soon you’ll all see.”
“Oh fuck you,” you say to the worm with your mind. “I am so fucking sick of you and your angry, 'I’m going to fuck it all up' bullshit. When I get out of this coma I’m going to drive out there and piss in the hole you live in.”
“You can’t mean that,” Glenn says.
“Try me.”
You and Glenn don’t speak for a few hours. Then Glenn says, “I’m sorry I’m so negative all the time.”
You respond, “I’m sorry I’m so testy. It’s just that the orderly stole my wedding ring yesterday and I can’t do anything about it.”
Glenn starts talking about all he’ll do to the orderly if he ever gets in the same room with him and you laugh good naturedly with your mind.
“Oh Glenn, you’ll never change,” you shine at him. Glenn telepathically tells you he loves you and you tell him you don’t know how to respond to that. You don’t know how you feel.
Happy Glenn The Glow Worm Day!
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
The Phone Sex Lady Got Killed While You Were On The Phone With Her Day!
It’s just like the beginning of one of those Skinemax movies. You were on the phone with Tiana, the phone sex girl you’ve been calling several hours a week ever since you moved into the big city and started feeling lonely. She interrupted the call to say she’d heard a noise. You heard a crash of glass in the background and then lots of screaming. Then nothing.
If this were one of those Skinemax movies, you’d be pulled into the frightening and tantalizing world of professional sex workers, interviewing Tiana’s friends and maybe having sex with them or at least watching them dance at the strip club before interviewing them. It would open your eyes to the truth behind the fantasy, and eventually you’d come face to face with Tiana’s killer!
Since this isn’t a Skinemax movie, all you’re going to do is argue with the phone sex company about your bill because when Tiana was murdered she dropped the phone but it didn’t hang up. The phone sex company will argue that you get charged until you hang up so you should have hung up when you heard that Tiana was involved in a domestic dispute, and you’ll say fair enough.
Happy The Phone Sex Lady Got Killed While You Were On The Phone With Her Day!
If this were one of those Skinemax movies, you’d be pulled into the frightening and tantalizing world of professional sex workers, interviewing Tiana’s friends and maybe having sex with them or at least watching them dance at the strip club before interviewing them. It would open your eyes to the truth behind the fantasy, and eventually you’d come face to face with Tiana’s killer!
Since this isn’t a Skinemax movie, all you’re going to do is argue with the phone sex company about your bill because when Tiana was murdered she dropped the phone but it didn’t hang up. The phone sex company will argue that you get charged until you hang up so you should have hung up when you heard that Tiana was involved in a domestic dispute, and you’ll say fair enough.
Happy The Phone Sex Lady Got Killed While You Were On The Phone With Her Day!
Monday, October 15, 2007
Your Old Drinking Buddy Is A Priest Now Day!
You’re really pissed off at him. You came back to town thinking you wanted to get back to the way things were, and you were pretty excited for you and Jerry to get down to business again the way you used to. And then he shows up to meet you and he’s wearing a frigging collar.
“I can’t believe you’d do this to me!” you say to Jerry.
“I had to do something!” Jerry explains. “I was going down the drain man! And the parties weren’t the same with you gone. They stopped being fun and just started getting weird, man. It was like every night I left the house I was afraid I was gonna end up killing somebody.”
“You couldn’t have gone into AA for a little while?”
Jerry shook his head. “AA’s the biggest party in this town man,” he says. “I needed something that would really knock my head against the wall you know. I needed someplace with muscle. So I hit the catholic church.”
You don’t say anything. You just sip your mug of beer.
“I can still drink you know,” Jerry says. “I can drink all day if I want.”
“Not the same,” you say. A prostitute comes out of the back bathroom and tells you you’re up. You climb off the stool and follow her. Jerry grabs your collar.
“Hey!” he barks gravely. “You better know that when you come back out, I’ll be here waiting. Always.”
“Thank you father,” you say with a sneer. Then you follow the prostitute into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.
Happy Your Old Drinking Buddy Is A Priest Now Day!
“I can’t believe you’d do this to me!” you say to Jerry.
“I had to do something!” Jerry explains. “I was going down the drain man! And the parties weren’t the same with you gone. They stopped being fun and just started getting weird, man. It was like every night I left the house I was afraid I was gonna end up killing somebody.”
“You couldn’t have gone into AA for a little while?”
Jerry shook his head. “AA’s the biggest party in this town man,” he says. “I needed something that would really knock my head against the wall you know. I needed someplace with muscle. So I hit the catholic church.”
You don’t say anything. You just sip your mug of beer.
“I can still drink you know,” Jerry says. “I can drink all day if I want.”
“Not the same,” you say. A prostitute comes out of the back bathroom and tells you you’re up. You climb off the stool and follow her. Jerry grabs your collar.
“Hey!” he barks gravely. “You better know that when you come back out, I’ll be here waiting. Always.”
“Thank you father,” you say with a sneer. Then you follow the prostitute into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.
Happy Your Old Drinking Buddy Is A Priest Now Day!
Friday, October 12, 2007
Explain To Your Hot Roommate How Feng Shui Works Day!
“Everything has its place,” explain to him. “And you arrange things according to a certain connection that allows the energies to flow properly throughout the room.”
“Makes sense,” he’ll say.
“If things are rearranged to break the feng shui, very bad things can happen and the apartment can become a terrible place to live.”
“Don’t want that to happen,” he’ll say.
“So we’re gonna have to move the couch against the big wall. The desk is gonna have to slide over here by the window,” say to him. “And you’re gonna have to go up my butt.”
“This goes back centuries,” he’ll say. “Can’t be wrong.”
Your hot roommate will help you to move the couch and the desk and then you’ll both climb on the couch and he’ll go up your butt. The apartment will instantly feel much more livable.
Happy Explain To Your Hot Roommate How Feng Shui Works Day!
“Makes sense,” he’ll say.
“If things are rearranged to break the feng shui, very bad things can happen and the apartment can become a terrible place to live.”
“Don’t want that to happen,” he’ll say.
“So we’re gonna have to move the couch against the big wall. The desk is gonna have to slide over here by the window,” say to him. “And you’re gonna have to go up my butt.”
“This goes back centuries,” he’ll say. “Can’t be wrong.”
Your hot roommate will help you to move the couch and the desk and then you’ll both climb on the couch and he’ll go up your butt. The apartment will instantly feel much more livable.
Happy Explain To Your Hot Roommate How Feng Shui Works Day!
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Find Out Something Shocking About Your Wife Of Thirty Years Day!
Today you should snoop through your wife’s things until you find something shocking, such as a bucket of decaying severed children’s fingers, or some weed.
“Have you been smoking marijuana / murdering children?” you should ask her.
“I want a divorce,” she’ll say. “I kept my love of marijuana / child murder from you because I was afraid you would condemn me. I can see I was right.”
Beg her not to go. Tell her you’ll stand by her no matter how many children she kills / wasted she gets. She’ll tell you it’s too late.
“Our life is a lie.”
At that she’ll go outside and spark up / slit the paperboy’s throat and saw him apart in the yard. You’ll go into your den and turn the TV on loud, cursing yourself for being so nosy.
Happy Find Out Something Shocking About Your Wife Of Thirty Years Day!
“Have you been smoking marijuana / murdering children?” you should ask her.
“I want a divorce,” she’ll say. “I kept my love of marijuana / child murder from you because I was afraid you would condemn me. I can see I was right.”
Beg her not to go. Tell her you’ll stand by her no matter how many children she kills / wasted she gets. She’ll tell you it’s too late.
“Our life is a lie.”
At that she’ll go outside and spark up / slit the paperboy’s throat and saw him apart in the yard. You’ll go into your den and turn the TV on loud, cursing yourself for being so nosy.
Happy Find Out Something Shocking About Your Wife Of Thirty Years Day!
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Mountain Biker Orgy Day!
Today you and your fellow mountain bikers are going to pull over in a clearing for a water break. Your pronouncements of how “bitchin’” the trail is and how “stoked” you all are to bike ride some more and how “radical” riding bikes is will sound a little more hollow than usual. Finally, you’ll say what none of you have been brave enough to admit.
“Mountin biking sucks because it’s really hard to ride bikes up a mountain unless you’re on like a dirtbike or something, and even then it’s bumpy.”
Everyone will look at each other, wondering if it’s okay to admit it.
“Come on, the only reason we all keep doing this is because we love each other but we’re too scared to say so. Let’s ditch these bikes and screw.”
The other mountain bikers will shout “radical!” and they’ll jump off their bikes and strip from their padding to reveal their beautiful bodies which are all toned to near perfection after all the mountain biking they've been doing to bury the sexual tension. The pine needles will blow, but aside from that the mountain biker orgy will be one of your favorite orgies of 2007.
Happy Mountain Biker Orgy Day!
“Mountin biking sucks because it’s really hard to ride bikes up a mountain unless you’re on like a dirtbike or something, and even then it’s bumpy.”
Everyone will look at each other, wondering if it’s okay to admit it.
“Come on, the only reason we all keep doing this is because we love each other but we’re too scared to say so. Let’s ditch these bikes and screw.”
The other mountain bikers will shout “radical!” and they’ll jump off their bikes and strip from their padding to reveal their beautiful bodies which are all toned to near perfection after all the mountain biking they've been doing to bury the sexual tension. The pine needles will blow, but aside from that the mountain biker orgy will be one of your favorite orgies of 2007.
Happy Mountain Biker Orgy Day!
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
The Best Motorcycle Rider In Montreal Day!
You are the best motorcycle rider in Montreal, but that’s not saying much since French-speaking people have a sucky center of gravity.
“I need to compete where people don’t speak French,” you tell your wife.
“Toronto? You’ll die!” she says.
You throw your chair in a drunken rage (you’re always drunk) and it hits your dog in the head. He dies.
"Mon Dieu!” your wife shouts, cradling the retriever’s head.
“If I don’t compete in Toronto his death will have been for nothing,” you say.
Your wife looks up at you from the floor. “Kick their butts,” she says.
Tomorrow you’ll compete in the Toronto motorcycle competition, where you’ll finish seventeenth.
Happy The Best Motorcycle Rider In Montreal Day!
“I need to compete where people don’t speak French,” you tell your wife.
“Toronto? You’ll die!” she says.
You throw your chair in a drunken rage (you’re always drunk) and it hits your dog in the head. He dies.
"Mon Dieu!” your wife shouts, cradling the retriever’s head.
“If I don’t compete in Toronto his death will have been for nothing,” you say.
Your wife looks up at you from the floor. “Kick their butts,” she says.
Tomorrow you’ll compete in the Toronto motorcycle competition, where you’ll finish seventeenth.
Happy The Best Motorcycle Rider In Montreal Day!
Monday, October 08, 2007
You’ve Got A Bone To Pick With The Electric Company Day!
You wrote to the electric company a couple months back telling them that you’re a drug addict with a baby in the house so you can’t pay your bills anymore but they can’t turn off the electricity because the baby needs to see her dolls. The electric company sent your letter to child services and they came and took your baby away, then the electric company turned off your electricity. Today you’re going to go down to the electric company and tell them to turn the electricity back on or else you’ll have another baby.
“You wouldn’t,” the electric company will say.
“I would,” you’ll reply just before throwing up on your chest.
The people behind the window at the electric company will huddle and try to figure out how to handle this. Finally, one will come back to the window and say, “Who you gonna have the baby with, huh?”
You’ll take out a picture of you and your ex-boyfriend who is deceased but they don’t have any way of knowing that.
“How do we know that guy isn’t deceased?” they’ll ask.
“Guess you’re just gonna have to gamble,” you’ll say.
The electric company will huddle some more, then they’ll come back and offer you two free months of power.
“After that, baby or no, you’re on your own,” they’ll say.
“Pssssh, if I live two months a whole lot people are gonna lose a good bet!”
You and the electric company will laugh then you’ll fall on the ground and go into a coma. Ironically, you won’t come out of the coma until your two months of free electric are up, so you’ll have missed the whole thing. Just goes to show that drugs are no bargain.
Happy You’ve Got A Bone To Pick With The Electric Company Day!
“You wouldn’t,” the electric company will say.
“I would,” you’ll reply just before throwing up on your chest.
The people behind the window at the electric company will huddle and try to figure out how to handle this. Finally, one will come back to the window and say, “Who you gonna have the baby with, huh?”
You’ll take out a picture of you and your ex-boyfriend who is deceased but they don’t have any way of knowing that.
“How do we know that guy isn’t deceased?” they’ll ask.
“Guess you’re just gonna have to gamble,” you’ll say.
The electric company will huddle some more, then they’ll come back and offer you two free months of power.
“After that, baby or no, you’re on your own,” they’ll say.
“Pssssh, if I live two months a whole lot people are gonna lose a good bet!”
You and the electric company will laugh then you’ll fall on the ground and go into a coma. Ironically, you won’t come out of the coma until your two months of free electric are up, so you’ll have missed the whole thing. Just goes to show that drugs are no bargain.
Happy You’ve Got A Bone To Pick With The Electric Company Day!
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