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!

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!

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!

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 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!

The Boyfriend Flute Day!

Jenna found a magic flute in the woods while walking home alone from marching band practice. She took it home and played it in her bedroom, and discovered it played a song unlike any she’d ever heard before. After playing for a few minutes, she looked out her window and saw all the boyfriends from her school standing on her lawn, their eyes rolled back in their heads, swaying to the music, waiting for more, waiting forever if they had to.

There was Kevin, Lisa’s boyfriend of six months who held Lisa’s hand on the way to school every day.

There was Max, Pamela’s boyfriend of two years. They were doing it. Everyone knew.

There was Terance, Reena’s boyfriend who had a car.

Jenna never had a boyfriend, so she was pretty stoked to have all of them at once all of a sudden. She played louder, called more boyfriends to her house, until they spilled off of her lawn and onto the street.

That first night, Jenna played her flute until well after midnight. The boyfriends had been standing for hours, growing tired but unable to leave. They started falling into standing clumps together, sleeping against each other’s weight, trying to continue to sway while nodding off. Jenna eventually lay down for bed, but she left her flute on the windowsill to let the breeze carry a steady, quiet note out onto the lawn for the boyfriends to cling to.

Jenna woke up the next morning to a crash of breaking glass, a rock through her window. She dove to the floor, worried the boyfriends had grown violent. When she peered out over her windowsill, she discovered it wasn’t the boyfriends who were turning hostile.

The girlfriends were outside.

They were tugging on their boyfriends’ arms, trying to drag them away, but the boyfriends wouldn’t budge. The girlfriends were crying, pleading with their boyfriends to take them to the movies or out behind some bleachers, but it’s like the boyfriends couldn’t even hear them. All they could hear was the sound of Jenna’s flute, still carrying a fragile tune on the early morning wind.

“Give us back our boyfriends you bitch!” one of the girlfriends shouted. It was Kara, who used to be friends with Jenna back in middle school. Kara was Oliver’s girlfriend, and Oliver was hugging one of the trees on Jenna’s lawn, licking its bark.

“Go get your own boyfriend!” screamed Nandanee, another girlfriend who had come to retrieve her boyfriend, Josh, who had stripped down to his underwear and was grabbing at the sky above his head, trying to reach out and grasp the notes from the flute.

“I didn’t tell them to come here!” Jenna shouted back. “They came on their own! If something as simple as a flute song can come between you and your boyfriends, maybe that calls into question the depth of your relationships with them!”

That set the girlfriends off. They were stirred into a rage, tying rags around sticks to light on fire, getting ready to storm Jenna’s house and burn it down.

Jenna grabbed her flute and blew hard and steady, the most beautiful tune she’d played yet. It stirred the boyfriends to vivid life. They threw out their arms, knocking their girlfriends to the ground. They pressed in against the house, creating a boyfriend moat.  The girlfriends climbed up onto the mass of boyfriends, trying to crawl across their shoulders and heads to set fire to Jenna’s house. They might have made it, too, if Jenna’s Dad hadn’t been home.

“Hey, you girls!” Jenna’s Dad yelled from the front porch in his bathrobe. “If your boyfriends like my daughter more than you, you just have to accept that. You’re going through puberty now, a confusing time. You’re all experiencing new emotions and they change every day. One minute you think you’re in love to the end and the next your boyfriend is camped out on a lawn listening to some other girl play a flute.”

The girlfriends were sprawled about the lawn listening to Jenna’s dad, letting the flames on their rags burn out.

“Hormones,” Jenna’s Dad said. “Go on home now. It’s just hormones.”

The girlfriends reluctantly got up from the grass and started home, leaving their boyfriends behind, crying as they made their way down the block. They were ex-girlfriends now.

Excited to have all the boyfriends to herself, Jenna went outside to be their girlfriend. She cozied up to them, one after the other, bending their arms around her shoulder and pulling their faces to hers for kisses. But the boyfriends all seemed uninterested in their new girlfriend. They didn’t want to cuddle or kiss. They couldn’t even whisper sweet things in her ear since they’d been rendered preverbal, only able to make grunts and groans. They only seemed to notice her when she was playing the flute. When she put the flute down, even though all the boyfriends in town were on her lawn, it was like she didn’t have a boyfriend at all.

“You deserve better,” Jenna’s dad shouted from the porch. He’d been watching Jenna, still in his robe, sipping his coffee from his ‘#1 Grill-Master’ mug.

“What if I never find better?” Jenna asked.

“You will,” Jenna’s dad said. “There are a million guys out there who’ll love my Jenna for who she is, not for how mentally debilitating a song she plays on the magic flute she found in the woods.”

Jenna knew her dad was right. She crawled out from underneath the boyfriends she’d piled on top of her and stood with her flute in hand.

“Thanks Daddy!” she said. Then Jenna did what she had to do. She put her flute to her lips and started to lead the boyfriends down the block.

The next day at school, Jenna walked into the cafeteria and you could have heard a pin drop. All the ex-girlfriends were glaring at her. Before they could start cursing at her or throwing food, Jenna said, “Follow me.”

She led them out of the school, through the park, all the way to the cliff’s edge. The girlfriends peered over the edge to find their boyfriends in a pile on the rocks far below, the place where Jenna led them with her magical flute song.

“Why did you do this?” Lisa asked Jenna.

“It was nice having all the boyfriends in town, but I was never their girlfriend,” Jenna said. “I decided it’s probably better for all of us to wait until we find a boyfriend who’s attracted to more than just a pretty song.”

“No but, why didn’t you just destroy the flute and give us back our boyfriends?” Lisa asked. “Instead of leading them all over a cliff to their death?”

Jenna thought about this.

“That was one option I guess,” she said.

Jenna and the girls moved away from the cliff’s edge to get away from the corpse smell rising up from below. They weren’t ex-girlfriends anymore. They were just girls again, all of them hoping to meet a nice boy one day down the line.

Happy The Boyfriend Flute Day!

Old Cop Young Cop Day!

They’re doing the Old Cop Young Cop routine to try and get you to talk.

Young Cop: Confess, Tough Guy! I know you did it, and I’m gonna put you away. I’ll be doing this city a favor.

Old Cop: Even if we do put him away, there are ten more like him waiting in line. I’ve seen it again and again. After every bad guy, there’s a worse guy.

Young Cop: Don’t listen to him, Tough Guy. If you go to jail it’ll make a difference. It’ll make this city a better place. Confess.

Old Cop: Confess if you want. Go free if you want. It won’t matter. This city gets worse every year. I remember when I thought I could do good, clean up the streets. But blood doesn’t wash off concrete so easily.

Young Cop: Dude, shut up! Look he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, Tough Guy. I got a wife and kid at home, and I want to make a better life for them by making sure you’re behind bars.

Old Cop: I could’ve had a wife and kid. I even got engaged once. But she knew I was married to the job. I thought if I didn’t marry her, I could at least do my part to make the city in which she lived a safer place.

Young Cop: See that! He chose the job because putting away scumbags like you is important. Confess!

Old Cop: She was murdered the following year. The killer was never found. If only I’d gone through with the wedding. I could have had one blissful year of love instead of impotently chasing scumbags.

Young Cop: You’re so not helping!

Old Cop: I’m too old to help. Too old to play good guys and bad guys and pretend it’s anything more than a game. No matter how hard I fought crime, they still killed her.

Young Cop: Maybe I can do better! Maybe I can make the city better for my wife and child. Maybe if I get Tough Guy to confess, I can make it so your lover’s death wasn’t for nothing.

Old Cop: It was for nothing.

Old Cop shoots himself.

Young Cop: Now do you see what you’re responsible for? Tough guys like you broke his spirit. His death is on your hands. Can you live with that?

You can’t. You know you can’t. You tell Young Cop the truth. You rigged your cable box to get Cinemax for free. You just wanted to see the hot new Amish country-set crime drama Banshee, may God have mercy on your soul.

Young Cop: Works every time!

Happy Old Cop Young Cop Day!

Get Fired Day!

Today’s the day to go into your boss’s office and get fired.

“The reason for this meeting today,” tell your boss, “is things at the company are in flux.”

“What?” your boss asks.

“It’s not that I’m not doing good work,” tell him. “It’s that there’s just less work to be done.”

“What’s going on?” he asks. He looks around the room, panicked, searching for someone to offer you a reprieve. Then he looks back at you, waiting for you to deliver the final blow.

“If it were up to you,” tell him. “I’d stay on indefinitely. Unfortunately, it’s not up to you.”

“Who’s it up to?” your boss asks. “Who’s pulling the strings?”

“The men upstairs,” tell him.

“Those bastards!” your boss says. “They don’t know how to keep up with the times. If they’d only have listened to your suggestions.”

“I can’t argue with you there,” you tell your boss. “They’re letting me go so they can hang on to their precious salaries and their archaic idea of how things should work.”

“Can’t I do something?” your boss asks. “I could go to bat for you.”

“We both know any effort on your part to save my job would fall on deaf ears,” explain to your boss.

“Seventeen years though,” your boss says. “You’ve been here seventeen years and this is how they treat you.”

“The world’s upside down, what can I say.” You try and reassure him. “Someone as talented as me though, I’m sure I’ll land on my feet.”

“At your age?” your boss asks. “Middle-aged guy going job hunting? We both know it’ll be a long time before you end up somewhere, and you’ll have to accept something way below what you deserve.”

“You need to think of this as a fresh start for me,” tell your boss.

“Yeah but I’m not the one going through it,” your boss says.

Stand up and extend your hand for him to shake. “I know it’s going to work out for me,” tell him.

Your boss reluctantly shakes your hand.

“It’s not fair,” he says.

“It never is,” you tell him. “Jeffrey here will escort me out.”

Jeffrey the security guard is at the door, holding a box of your things.

“Is this really necessary?” your boss asks.

“I’m afraid it is,” you tell him. “It’s not that they don’t trust me. It’s about liability.”

Your boss searches for something to say.

“If there’s anything I need, I’ll call you,” you assure him.

“I appreciate that,” your boss says.

Jeffrey escorts you down in the elevator, carrying your things to your car. You drive home while your boss sits in his office, wondering what in God’s name you’re going to tell your wife.

Happy Get Fired Day!

Your Poetry Kills Day!

The police are at the door.

“Open up, ma’am!” they shout. “It’s over!”

You grab your notebook and start reading:

“Here I sit
By my window
Just a bit
Of caramello”

You can hear the screams outside in the hall. They’re struggling to put on headphones. You keep reading.

“I remember our kiss
Your face in the rain
Now when I think of it
I only feel pain”

The blood is puddling on the hallway floor and seeping under your apartment door. You can still hear some rustling of limbs. Time to finish them off.

“Go west cloud!
Thunder red! Thunder loud!”

One last death rattle and they’re nothing but a pile of bodies in uniforms. You grab the bag, open the window, and climb down the fire escape to avoid ruining your shoes with cop blood. They can come for you, they can try to silence you, but your poetry must be free. It’s not your fault that it causes people to bleed from the ears and die when they hear it. If they want to press charges they can go and arrest your muse.

Happy Your Poetry Kills Day!

God In A Bong Day!

You bought a brand new bong, but you didn’t realize how special it was. When you rub it just the right way, God comes out.

“Holy crap,” you say, staring at the face of God. “How’d that happen.”

“It’s a glitch in the universe,” he says. “Bongs work in such a way that sometimes they suck me out of the heavens and onto your couch. Anyway, want to see some magic?”

“Of course!”

God claps his hands and sends the planet into a thousand years of darkness.

“Suck me back into the bong will ya’?” God says. “Take a big hit.”

You have trouble lighting the bong because fire doesn’t work anymore thanks to God’s trick.

“You mean I’m stuck down here? No way!”

God claps his hands and light and fire and warmth is returned to the world.

“Okay, light that shit and suck me out of this pit,” he says.

You take a big hit and suck God back into your bong and when you free the carb Got seeps out and soars back to heaven.

“Bye God!” you shout.

Your roommates come out of their rooms and ask you who they were talking to. You don’t say. You don’t tell them how close you all came to a world of empty darkness. You don’t want to bum anybody out.

Happy God In A Bong Day!

Call Your Mother Day!

Ask her how she is.

“Turn yourself in!” she shouts.

Tell her you don’t want to focus on you. You just want to hear about her.

“I’m fine,” she says. “Honey turn yourself in and this can all be over.”

Tell her she always does this. No matter how much you want to really know her, to really see her open up and show herself to you, she never will. She just immediately shifts focus onto you and your report cards and your job interviews and your having been implicated as the ringleader in the biggest bank heist in American history.

“What’s so awful about your life that you want to hide it away in the dark, Ma?” you say.

Your mom tells you that janitor who got burned by the shape charge explosion died yesterday.

“Oh great, now it’s lecture time!”

Happy Call Your Mother Day!

Saying Goodbye To Moms Day!

The government announced its plan for all the moms to be put on a giant boat and all the dads to be housed in this big glassed-in part of the forest.

“It’ll be fun,” the government announced.

Today’s the day the moms get on the boat and you’re really sad to have to say goodbye to your mom.

“Was I a good mother to you?” your mom asks you.

You nod even though she was terrible. Just really emotionally damaging and neglectful. But you’re still really sad to see her go. She was your mom for Pete’s sake. And now she’s getting on a boat with a bunch of other moms and they’re going to tell her how they raised their kids and she’s finally going to realize what a terrible mom she was to you.

“I wish the government wasn’t making you go away,” you say to her.

“Rules are rules,” your mom says.

You and your mom cry together, holding each other tight. You’re surprised by how sad you are. Maybe this is why the government did this. To remind everyone how important moms are.

“I love you, Mom,” you say for the first time ever.

“I love you too,” she says back, surprised to hear the words come out of her mouth.

Then you watch her get on the boat and go away until the law can be overturned in Congress. That night you go home and write the government a thank you letter.

“If it wasn’t for your law requiring that she be shipped out to see, I never would have heard my mom say I love you. So, thanks,” you write.

The government never writes you back. Busy, I guess.

Happy Saying Goodbye To Moms Day!

Making Conversation In Jail Day!

You’re in jail and you’re feeling like you and your fellow inmates never talk.

“I see you guys every day but I feel like we barely know a thing about each other,” you tell the five inmates with whom you’re crowded into a two-person cell.

“What you wanna know?” Scary Ralph, one of the inmates asks.

“Well, what are your interests?”

Scary Ralph says he’s interested in setting fire to Crazy Murray, who distributes books for the library.

“He was using the bench in the yard,” he says. “That’s our yard.”

You start to say that you’d rather know about his deeper interests, like what really makes him tick, but just then you hear the squeaky wheels of the library cart. Before you know it, Scary Ralph has sprayed Crazy Murray with something flammable and tossed a match. You know then there’s not going to be any conversation had today, not with Crazy Murray running around screaming in agony like he does. Can’t even hear yourself think.

Happy Making Conversation In Jail Day!

Two Wishes Day!

You found an old lantern in the woods and you rubbed it and a genie popped out and granted you two wishes.

“Just to test this out, I wish that Kansas was gone.”

The genie says cool, then you check your phone and find CNN reporting that Kansas is gone and everyone there is presumed dead. Everyone in the country’s sad now.

“Aw man, okay bring Kansas back.”

The genie says cool then disappears. You check your phone and find out they found Kansas and everyone’s fine. Way to waste two wishes, dumbass.

Happy Two Wishes Day!

Sam’s Gross Day!

You and your friends are megawealthy and you all were flying in a private jet when you crashed into a mountain. Your buddy Sam died in the crash and now you’re all eating him.

“Sam’s gross,” your buddy Martin says while chewing some of Sam’s thigh meat.

“Ew, I hate Sam,” your buddy Leo says, attempting to swallow a hunk of Sam’s ass.

“I personally will refrain from criticizing how Sam tastes, and instead sit in thanks to him for the meat he is providing us,” you say. “You’re saving our lives Sam. Thank you.”

That makes everyone feel bad, until you take a bite of Sam’s calf and you throw up all over the fire. With the fire out, you’re all gonna die out there.

Happy Sam’s Gross Day!

The Dog Ignorer Day!

“Dogs that misbehave just want attention,” is what you tell your clients. “I don’t give it to them.”

Today you’re working with Felix, a terrier mix that won’t stop yapping day and night, and loves to tear up the couch cushions.

“Give me seventy-five days,” you tell his owners. “That’s all I need.”

They pay you your twenty thousand dollar fee and you spend the next seventy-five days living in their home with Felix (they’re required to find lodging elsewhere) and ignoring him.

No matter how much he barks, no matter how many items in the house he destroys, you won’t even look in Felix’s direction. By the seventy-fifth day, when the owners come home, they’ll find Felix sitting despondently in the corner, wondering why he doesn’t matter to anybody, wondering if he even exists. When the owners pet Felix, he’ll have trouble registering the affection. He won’t be able to understand that there are other beings in the room with him and that they know he is there. That’s the power you have over dogs.

“You did it!” they’ll shout, before looking around the house and seeing what a shambles Felix made of it. “Guess it was worth it.”

“Your dog should be existentially terrorized enough to behave now,” you tell them while bagging up everything in the fridge (you never leave food behind).

“Thank you, Dog Ignorer!” they’ll shout as you climb into your car to go home to your cats.

Happy The Dog Ignorer Day!

On Your Balcony Day!

The guy you’re cheating on your husband with climbed out onto your balcony to hide while you and your husband make love. Your husband came home from his trip unexpectedly so you shoved your secret lover out there. Whether you’re pretending or not, he really can’t stand listening to you pant and squeal ecstatically while your husband takes you on your bedroom floor.

To get away from the sound, he’s climbing down from the balcony. He’s going to try and scale the building, balcony to balcony, until he descends the eleven floors to the bottom.

“To what do I owe this honor?” your downstairs neighbor asks him as he dangles down over her outdoor furniture.

“Long story,” he says to her. She’s in a bathrobe and nothing else.

“I’ve got a long morning ahead of me,” she says. “Tea?”

It starts with tea, then it moves inside for breakfast, then a drink on the couch, then to the bed. He doesn’t leave her apartment for three days. He doesn’t respond to your texts apologizing. You don’t hear from him for weeks.

When you and your husband board the elevator one day and he and your downstairs neighbor are on it, holding hands, you and he exchange one brief glance and nothing more. That’s when you’ll learn where he went off to after he went out on your balcony and disappeared.

Happy On Your Balcony Day!

Lotion Suggests Day!

“I know what that means,” your young son says when he spies you rubbing lotion into your hands and arms before bed. “You and Dad are no longer sexually interested in each other.”

You ask him what makes him think that.

“You’re rubbing lotion into your arms,” he says. “On TV and in the movies, when it’s a couple that’s still way into each other, the woman doesn’t rub lotion into her arms before bed. They just have sex a bunch and bounce each other around on their genitals until they pass out. It’s only when the couple is older and disinterested that the woman rubs lotion into her arms.”

Your husband comes out of the bathroom.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you say. You shoe your son away from the room, then you throw the lotion in the trash. You’re worried by what your son said. Have you two lost interest in each other? Does lotion indicate that the passion is gone and you’re just doing what you can to stave off death?

You vow then and there to never use lotion again. Your sex life doesn’t improve and your arms grow chapped. You should never listen to your kids.

Happy Lotion Suggests Day!

Murder Party Day!

The scary new teenage trend is for teens to get together and throw a Murder Party. Kids meet up and prove how cool they are by murdering each other. It’s considered cool to be all, “Pssh, who cares about human life? I only like my phone.” And on the flip side, “Pssh, I don’t care if I get murdered. It’s like, whatevs. Hashtag.”

You sat your daughter down and asked her if any peers have been pressuring her to kill or be killed. She said she’s more into the scene where high school kids record each other performing oral sex and post it online, so you can rest easy. Your little girl isn’t falling into the wrong crowd.

Happy Murder Party Day!

Office Show & Tell Day!

Your office has started a Show & Tell Day to help employees get to know each other. Each employee brings something from their home and tells everyone a little bit about it.

“These are my father’s ashes,” Diane in accounting says while holding an urn. “They are very important to me because I didn’t talk to him for the last few years of his life, and I regret it.”

“That’s my Acura out there,” Mark in sales says, pointing out the window at his car in the parking lot. “Sometimes when I go home from work I’ll park down the block from my house and just sit there in my Acura, wondering if I should go home and have dinner with my wife and kids, or just make a U-turn and hit the road.”

“This is part of a collage I’m making of all of us,” you tell everyone, holding a small (6 feet by 7 feet) section of your coworker collage. “As you can see, I’ve been taking photos of all of you at your desks when you weren’t looking, and at your homes on the weekends. I’ve been keeping a document of our time together. It’s pretty much covering all the walls of my garage.”

After you’re fired, go home and set fire to the collage while sitting in the middle of the garage floor. The flames will climb to the ceiling, but the smoke will take you before the roof caves in.

Happy Office Show & Tell Day!