Everyone’s Dying But You Day!

There’s a killer virus going around and everyone has it but you. Your friends, your family, your boss, even your mailman. They’re all being crippled with violent vomiting and convulsions and eye sockets that spurt blood suddenly. The death toll rises every day, and every day it’s just a little more amazing that you aren’t sick. It seems pretty clear that you’ll soon be the last man on earth. And all you can think about is your Pokemon card collection.

“Can I have your Pokemon cards when you die,” you ask pretty much everyone in your life when you visit their deathbeds. They usually either tell you that they aren’t even sure what Pokemon cards are, or they tell you that they’d rather use this time to say the things that have never been said.

“I’d feel really freed up to speak my heart if I knew what was going to happen to those Pokemon cards,” you say.

Your friends and loved ones who collect Pokemon cards will then usually tell you that they feel like you should be worried about more than Pokemon cards. For example, you might want to think about when the human race ends, which race will rise up to take its place.

That’s when you take a catheter in your fist and you threaten, “The Pokemon cards. Now.” They then sign the transfer of ownership for their collections and you do a little dance. Then you take a seat and talk about the old times.

Once everyone is dead, you’ll start breaking into homes hunting down the cards still missing from your collection. Unfortunately, one Pokemon owner who wanted to go to the afterworld as the sole owner of his collection will have boobytrapped his album of cards so that when you open it, three mounted shotguns with triggers tied to the album cover will fire and blow large holes through your head and chest and your right arm will be severed at the shoulder.

Happy Everyone’s Dying But You Day!

Get Your Algebra Teacher To Fall In Love With Your English Teacher Day!

Your algebra teacher and your English teacher are both bitter, angry individuals who love failing you. You’ve been trying to come up with a way to get both of them off your back, and the most economical way to do that, according to your calculations and your familiarity with classic English literature, is to get them to fall in love.

If they fall in love, you figure, it’s possible that they’ll be happier and they’ll discover there’s more to life than getting on your case because you decided to play Halo instead of read Chaucer or that handout about fractions.

You get them to fall in love by setting a trap wherein you loosen the lug nuts on your algebra teacher’s tires and her car goes off the road. It so happens that that’s the very same road that your English teacher drives home on every night. He’ll recognize your algebra teacher’s car as he passes, and he’ll call a tow truck for her and then let her know the next day that he’s the one who called.

“My hero,” your algebra teacher will say.

They’ll fall in love and spend a few days together before their shared bitterness feeds on itself and they both start to see each other as representative of all that they’ve settled for on the road to becoming public school teachers. They fight until someone says something regrettable and they’re both dead before you can say murder-suicide.

It didn’t quite work out the way you thought, but you’ll still end up with two periods with substitute teachers until the replacements are called in. Congrats, dumbass.

Happy Get Your Algebra Teacher To Fall In Love With Your English Teacher Day!

You’re In A Raft Day!

Today you’re going to wake up in a raft speeding along some rapids towards a giant waterfall and you won’t remember how you got there. You drink too much.

Happy You’re In A Raft Day!

Get Your Mother’s Wedding Ring Back By Proposing To The Pawn Shop Lady You Sold It To Day!

When your mother died, she gave you her wedding ring in her will, with the instruction that you give it to the woman you’ll eventually marry. A year later you discovered online gambling and it wasn’t long before you were forced to pawn the ring. You’re older now and lonely and you want to make some semblance of the life your mother hoped you’d make for yourself. So go to the pawn shop and tell Inez behind the counter that you’d like to give her the ring you pawned if she’ll give you her hand in matrimony.

“For so very long I’ve loved you from afar Inez,” say to her.

“Que?” Inez will reply, the tears forming in her eyes.

“For so very long I wondered if you would have me. If you would think me worthy.”

“Oh!” Inez will reply. She’ll clutch the locket around her neck which you know contains the photo of her first husband, ten years deceased.

Grab her hand from the locket and hold it in yours. “You’ve mourned long enough. It’s time for someone to make you happy again.”

Point into the glass case at your mother’s ring. “You’ve had a very long time to get acclimated to it. Will you wear it for me? Inez, will you be my wife?”

Inez will take the ring from the case and she’ll put it on her finger. Then she’ll throw her arms around your neck and kiss you. And then, at long last, she’ll lay the ring’s price tag on the counter, strike through the $900 with a pen, write $500 below it, and then you’ll count out five hundred dollar bills on the counter. When Inez writes up your receipt it will feel as ceremonial as if the two of you were signing your marriage certificate.

Happy Get Your Mother’s Wedding Ring Back By Proposing To The Pawn Shop Lady You Sold It To Day!

You Have An Axe In Your Face Day!

It’s hard fitting in in high school when you have an axe impaled in your face that can’t be removed without causing severe brain damage, so you basically just have to walk around looking like you’ve just been attacked by a crazed serial killer (the axe was impaled in your face when you decided to save a little money by enrolling in the cheaper juggling class).

The Senior Snowball dance is just around the corner and you want to ask a girl. Unfortunately, every time you get a girl’s attention and she turns to face you, she screams at the top of her lungs. It breaks your heart a little more every single time. But you have a good spirit so you keep trying to show the other kids that there’s a heck of a personality behind that axe in your face from which sometimes blood spurts out down your neck and chest. You’ve learned how to break dance and you also drive your Dad’s car to school and you offer people rides. But it doesn’t stop them from screaming whenever they look at you, even when they’ve been in your company for hours. That axe in your face never gets old.

Today you're going to ask Susan to the dance. You’ve loved Susan from afar for a while now. When you say her name she’ll turn, smile, then let out a howl of terror and run through a window and die. You’ll get so pissed that you’ll begin your killing spree of headbutts.

Happy You Have An Axe In Your Face Day!

Your Very First Ride On A Plane Day!

You’re nine years old and today’s your very first time riding on an airplane! More than that, you’re flying all by yourself to meet your Dad in Tucson (he finally was granted visitation rights). You’ll sure be excited when that plane starts to taxi down the runway. And then when you’re in the air, they’ll even give you free soda. All you want! About half way through the flight a man will sit down next to you and ask if you’d like to join the mile high club. Don’t ask him what that means, he’s just making a grown up joke. The real reason he’s sitting next to you is your father stole several billion dollars from his government and he’s going to call your father from the airphone and tell him that unless the money is wired back into his government’s account before your scheduled landing time, he’ll detonate the explosives he’s snuck on the plane and kill everyone in flight, including you. The man is very excited to die for his country and his God, so he shouldn’t be messed with. When you’re put on the phone to prove you’re okay, your dad will give you the secret signal he taught you a long time ago, the signal that says it’s time for you to fuck shit up because the fate of many people is in your hands.

“Time for Squidward to come out and play,” your Dad will say.

You’ll hang up the phone. Then you’ll show the world that nine years is more than old enough to shove a motherfuckers nose cartilage up into his brain cavity. Good luck defusing that bomb kiddo. Thanks for flying Jerry Bruckheimer Airlines.

Happy Your Very First Ride On A Plane Day!

Find The Guy Who Donated His Sperm To Your Mom Day!

You’re twenty-four and you’re leading a pretty good life. It’s about time you found the guy who donated the sperm that your mom was inseminated with. She got the sperm from a sperm bank and you read that you can initiate a legal action to learn the identity of the donor. Go for it!

After you find out his identity, go knock on his door and tell him you’re his son.

“Proud of me?” ask him.

“I hate you,” your father will tell you. “I never wanted a son. I wanted fifty bucks. In fact, I still need fifty bucks. If you want to make me proud, give me fifty bucks.”

You give your Dad fifty bucks and he makes a call to place a bet on tonight’s football game. While he’s on the phone, he slams the door on you. You get back into your car and drive home knowing that you just made your Daddy proud.

Happy Find The Guy Who Donated His Sperm To Your Mom Day!

Sleepwalk Day!

Tonight after you fall asleep, get up in your pajamas and walk around the streets with your arms out in front of you like a zombie. Then do all the shit that would piss people off if you did it during the day while you were awake. You can get away with anything while sleepwalking and no one will try and stop you because they’ve all heard that when you wake up a sleepwalker he becomes ravenous for human flesh. They’ll just follow you a few paces behind, making sure you don’t walk into an open manhole or a bonfire. So you can totally wander into a gym and walk straight into the women’s locker room, or go to a Crate and Barrel and just start banging pots and pans together while screaming racist slurs. Or, you could get onto a commercial airliner that isn’t boarding yet (they can’t stop you!) wander into the cockpit and pilot the plane to the Bahamas. Just make sure you keep walking around with your arms out in front of you because the minute those arms drop to your sides, all bets are off and you’re suddenly nothing more than a pervy racist hijacker in his pajamas with one hell of a story to tell.

Happy Sleepwalk Day!

Get Thumbnailed Day!

Anybody who’s anybody has a thumbnail image of his or her self somewhere on the internet, so that when someone clicks on that thumbnail, it expands to a full size photo or video clip. It’s about time you got one of yourself. All you have to do is take a photograph of your genitals or bosom. If you don’t want to do that, you have to become famous and then go to a beach wearing a swimsuit that makes you look either smokin’ or disgusting. If you want the thumbnail to link to a video clip, videotape your genitals or bosom while things are being done to them, either by you or other parties. OR, become famous and then say something racist either while wearing a swimsuit or in normal clothes. Your call. These are the only ways you can get thumbnailed. Try anything else, like a sniper attack, and you’re just going to end up as a photograph in a print newspaper above the caption “The Freeway Sniper just minutes before he was gunned down by police. Yes, that is a swimsuit he is wearing, and yes, total hogsville.”

Happy Get Thumbnailed Day!

The Monster Who Lives In The Couch Day!

Remember that old tale that parents told their kids to warn them from collecting too much loose change? The one about the guy who loved finding loose change so much that he spent days and days rooting under the cushions of the couch collecting coins, and he was down under the cushions so long that one day four fat people came by and they didn’t know he was there so they sat down on the couch to watch football. The fat people watched football for hours and hours and they ended up crushing the change-loving guy under the cushions forever. And now he’s doomed to live in the couch for all eternity and anytime someone drops a coin from their pockets into the cushions he eats it up and grows stronger, and when he’s eaten a million trillion dimes, he’ll be strong enough to climb out of the couch and go to a Coinstar, where he’ll feed himself into the machine and be turned into paper money. Well today, you’re that monster. And you’re one dime short. Any minute now, you’ll get to become dollars.

Happy The Monster Who Lives In The Couch Day!

Fire Drill Day!

One of the old ladies in your building let a Christmas candle set her drapes on fire. The firetrucks are pulling up and everyone is running down the fire escape. You watch a few people descend the fire escape past your window. You sit on your bed, considering whether it’s worth it to follow them or sit there and burn to death. Most of the time, you’re pretty sure that when people die in a fire they die from asphyxiation long before they catch fire, so it probably wouldn’t hurt. And you’d be dead, so that’d be handy.

Ultimately though, you figure the chance of dying from actual flames on your body is too great to risk it, so you climb out the window and you start down. You’ll find your own way to die later, soon as you find the time to think about it.

Two flights down you catch a glimpse into an apartment and you see a girl sitting on her bed smoking a cigarette and staring at the TV. There’s already smoke coming under her door but it’s like it’s just another weeknight for her. You knock on her glass and she looks your way.

“Fire,” you say, feeling stupid almost immediately.

She opens her window and blows smoke out at you.

“Big deal,” she says. “I’ll die by the smoke before the fire gets here. It won’t hurt.”

“You don’t know that,” you say. “What if the ceiling caves in and you get trapped under burning wood? Or like a backdraft thing happens.”

Now she looks pissed. “Why can’t you let me just sit here and die?” she asks.

“Because you’re my kind of girl,” you say.

She doesn’t look so pissed anymore. There’s a smile on her face and she tosses her cigarette out the window. “Help me up?” she asks.

You take her hand and help her climb out onto the fire escape. You descend to safety, hand in hand. Then you live on to be the most depressing couple that ever rented a movie together.

Happy Fire Drill Day!

Wear an Electronic Monitoring Collar Around Your Neck To Prove To Your Girlfriend That You're Not Running Around On Her Day!

Your girlfriend has been getting suspicious that you're cheating on her because you are. You need to do something to make her feel more secure. Why not agree to wear an electronic monitoring collar around your neck.

"But I don't want this," she'll say. "I just want to believe that I can trust you."

"And I'm demonstrating that you can," tell her. "You don't ever have to turn this on. But I'll know that you could any time you wanted to check up on me. And you'll know that I know, so without ever even having to turn it on, you'll be guaranteed that I won't cheat. Because I'll know that I could get caught. Blammo, our trust is guaranteed!"

"But I won't ever turn it on," she'll say.

"Yeah but how do I know that. See, I have to be faithful just in case."

"Okay," your girlfriend will say. "I guess it will work."

You and your girlfriend will kiss and part ways. Around eighteen minutes later, she'll turn on the monitor and discover that you're at your ex-girlfriend's house. You're really fast, and really stupid if you thought that she'd buy that "you don't ever need to turn it on" horse hockey. Anyway, pull your sweatpants back up because she's on her way over.

Happy Wear an Electronic Monitoring Collar Around Your Neck To Prove To Your Girlfriend That You're Not Running Around On Her Day!

Make Your Son Smoke A Whole Pack Of Cigarettes In One Sitting Day!

You just found a pack of cigarettes in your son’s bag and you know just how to get him to never smoke again. Sit him down and tell him that he has to smoke the entire pack in one sitting, while you watch him.

Your son agrees, and then the two of you spend the next several hours just sitting there across from each other in your living room. Eventually, you can’t help it but one of you starts making casual conversation because otherwise you’d both be bored to death. Maybe it’s because he’s so relaxed with all that nicotine flowing through his blood, but your son ends up really opening up to you. He tells you what he’s scared of, what he wants to do with his life, and the kind of man he hopes to be. For the first time you feel like your son is your peer, and you are so glad to be his dad.

When he finishes the pack, you half-heartedly tell him that you hope he learned his lesson. Then you spend the next several days not speaking to each other, like always. You begin to miss that talk you had and you wonder if you’ll ever get to experience your son in such an easy, unguarded state.

You need to get some nicotine into his blood fast, so what you do is you wait until he’s asleep and then you put a nicotine patch on his skin. Once an hour has passed and the nicotine is in his blood you kick his bed to wake him up. Then you ask what he was dreaming about and you two end up having the father-son talk of all father-son talks. You end up repeating this every night until your son is so addicted to nicotine he smokes six butts before school even starts.

Sound familiar? That’s probably because more kids get addicted to smoking because their dads want to have enlightening conversations with them than any other cause, including peer pressure. If you’re a kid and you don’t want to smoke, go sit down with your dad and have a chat. Otherwise, you’re practically guaranteeing that he’s going to poison your blood with nicotine while you sleep.

Happy Make Your Son Smoke A Whole Pack Of Cigarettes In One Sitting Day!

Chatty Airplane Neighbor Day!

The guy sitting next to you on the flight from Portland, Oregon to New York City is a bit talky. You need to send him some signals to let him know that you’d like your privacy. Try body language. “I can hear you now,” say to him. Then stick a knitting needle in your ear until blood pours from your punctured eardrum down your neck. “I can’t hear you now.” If he keeps talking, slam your head against the window until you fall unconscious. If when you wake up he asks you what you dreamed about and then proceeds to tell you his own dreams, rip up your Skymall catalog and start swallowing big hunks of the pages until you have no choice but to throw up all over yourself and him. If he hastens to get some towels from the flight attendant and then wipes your clothes clean so that he can tell you about the time he entered a pie eating contest, reach into his face and pull out his tongue.

When you disembark, your wife will be waiting for you at baggage. You’ll head home, tired and a little worse for wear, and you’ll head to your bedroom to rest. When you pull the covers down, that tongue will be lying on the sheets, wiggling and swerving like it’s trying to finish a sentence.

“You were saying?” you’ll say to the tongue. You and your wife will laugh hysterically. Just because you’re apparently on the receiving end of some sort of supernatural justice for being impatient with people doesn’t mean you can’t laugh about it. Don’t turn around because the man from the plane is behind you and he’s got blood dribbling down his chin onto his shirt.

Happy Chatty Airplane Neighbor Day!

Kids Are Huffing Inkjet Cartridges Day!

They’re thirty-eight bucks a hit! But all across the country people are finding their printers out of ink because their kids are ripping the cartridges out of them and heaving the fumes into their lungs to get a high that will make them feel like Jesus’ first orgasm.

Guess what. The printer companies won’t do a damn thing about it. Their profits are skyrocketing because the only thing that’s more important to Americans than getting high is printing out stuff. So they’re refusing to take the get-high chemicals out of the ink. They will, however, sell you a videotape about how to talk to your kids about huffing their cartridges.

It’s all gonna frustrate you so much that today you’re going to switch to a laser printer. Guess who’s happy about that. Right, THE LASER PRINTER INDUSTRY.

Everyone just wants to make a buck off the erosion of your little boy’s brain.

Happy Kids Are Huffing Inkjet Cartridges Day!

Your Son Wants To Cover Himself In Gold Body Paint Day!

“Like Tommy Lee Jones in the movie ‘JFK’, during the gay orgy scene” he says.

You ask him why he wants to look Tommy Lee Jones in the movie ‘JFK.’

“I’m in high school and I’ve been trying to come up with a look that helps me to stand out and announces my identity, and when I saw Tommy Lee Jones in gold body paint I thought, ‘That’s what I’ve been missing,’” he says.

You know you’re supposed to support your son so you take him to a costume shop and help him pick out some tubes of gold body paint.

“You’re sure you wanna do this,” you ask him when he comes down for breakfast the next day, covered in paint. “You look like a bowling statue.”

“I guess I do look kind of funny,” he says.

“You have to remember, Tommy Lee Jones is a movie star. He had to get into shape for that role,” you say.

“Did you just call me fat?” your son asks.

Nod your head. Your son is only 5’4” and he weighs 210 pounds already. He’s crying now.

“Hey. Hey,” say to him. “Why don’t we work together to slim you down to the point where you’ll look even better than Tommy Lee Jones did in that gold body paint.”

Your son will nod and you and he will go to subway and start eating those diet sandwiches until all his weight is lost. Subway will contact him and ask him if he’d like to be in a commercial. He’ll ask if he can wear gold body paint in it. Subway won’t contact him again.

Happy Your Son Wants To Cover Himself In Gold Body Paint Day!

Parents Groups Are Turning Against You Again Day!

Your latest invention is not being warmly received by parents. You pitched it as the answer to parents who want to keep their teenage kids from going places they’re not supposed to go when they’re out at night unsupervised. It’s a small, plastic charge that gets inserted via the teen’s nostril and it’s connected to a map of neighborhoods that are divided into green and red zones as designated by the parents. Should the child enter a red zone, the charge detonates.

“So it’s a bomb,” the leader (very pushy) of the latest parents group to get all not-without-my-daughter on you says. “You’re suggesting I put a bomb in my child’s face.”

“It’s a very small charge sir,” you explain with a tired sigh. “It will do no more harm than if your child popped a very bad pimple.”

“My child has good skin,” one of the other parents will say. “You really think I should put a bomb in her face?”

“You really want her crossing those tracks? And you know the ones I mean.”

Everyone quiets down. They know the tracks you mean.

“How do we get the bomb-- I mean, the charge, in our kids’ faces?” a parent asks.

Your assistant starts handing out the barbiturates while you demonstrate how to discreetly dose a glass of iced tea while setting the dinner table.

“Two of these capsules will knock your kid out for four hours. The insertion procedure only takes five minutes. That gives you a bonus three hours and fifty five minutes of not hearing your child ask you why he can’t have a car.”

The parents group laughs as one. Then they all line up to buy bombs to put in their children’s faces. You could sell stripes to a zebra.

Happy Parents Groups Are Turning Against You Again Day!

You’re The New Rob Schneider Movie Day!

Today, you are the new Rob Schneider movie called “Dr. Fux.” You are about a Doctor named Dr. Fux whose last name sounds like the word “fucks” but it’s spelled differently. When the characters who appear in you hear the name “Dr. Fux,” they think the name is spelled “Fucks” and that leads to lots of misunderstandings involving small animals who go out of control. At the end of you, everything is explained to the people who misheard Dr. Fux’s name and it’s all going to work out. Newspapers are going to write about you as if you were what’s wrong with society at large. You won’t make a lot of money, enough to not be a financial disaster, but people will remember you for being horrible. Only a certain group of people will like you, and they are all stupid. In short, today anyone who likes you is stupid.

Happy You’re The New Rob Schneider Movie Day!

Watch “The Day After” With Your Kids Day!

Play your old videotape of nuclear terror TV movie “The Day After” and sit with your arms around both your kids as the low production values scream across the TV screen. At the end of the movie, say to your kids, “That’s what was scary to me when I was a kid. Was it scary to you guys?”

Your kids will shake their heads no.

“Well what scares you then?”

“Mom leaving us,” they’ll say.

All three of you will look out the window and watch your wife pack the trunk of that guy Rick’s car. Occasionally, she’ll cry a little and Rick will pull her into an embrace and kiss her forehead.

“Can we go with her?” your kids will ask.

“She doesn’t want you,” say. “She doesn’t want any of us.”

Leave your kids to watch their own little horror movie through the living room window and go into the kitchen to drink gin at the breakfast table.

Happy Watch “The Day After” With Your Kids Day!

You Just Went And Set The Carpet Underneath Your Desk On Fire Day!

“What did you just do under there?” your cubicle mate will ask.

You’ll place the lighter fluid, matches, and sunflower seeds (you chew them when you’re nervous) on your desk and you'll turn your big wide eyes towards your cubicle mate.

“Ohhhh I done did it,” you'll say. “I really done did it.”

The smoke will be rising now and your cubicle mate will shout that there’s a fire and everyone had better head for the exits.

“Ohhhh I done did it,” you’ll say, still at your desk with your head in your hands. “I really done did it.”

As everyone is filing toward the exits, start shouting, “I warned ‘em! I warned ‘em if they kept on pressurin’ me! Din’t I warn you all?”

Once everyone is gone from the floor, set off the charges by the wall to blow the far offices out from the building. From that point on you have exactly fourteen minutes before the firefighters make it to your floor. Haul out the bones you bought from the black market and lay them out near your desk. Then strip down and run around the floor rubbing your anus on everyone’s phone and computer mouse. THEN steal the 8 million in bearer bonds from the safe and get the hell out of there. You know this would go much quicker if you didn’t have to do the anus thing, but whatever. Just make sure the bones are lain out right so it looks like you got burned up and no one will go hunting you down in Buenos Aires. Seriously though, if you can speed up the anus part…

Happy You Just Went And Set The Carpet Underneath Your Desk On Fire Day!