Tie A Mask Around Your Eyes Day!

You feel pretty awful starting work as a paperboy at the age of 33. But there's no reason why you can't make something completely new of it. And tying a mask around your eyes is a perfect way to do that. This way, when kids on their ay to school see you pushing your shopping cart full of papers and they ask, "You're the paperboy?!"

You can respond, "I am The Masked Paperboy! Every morning I shall bring the news to my fellow townsfolk, anonymously feeding people's hearts and minds with objective facts."

"Do you write what's in the paper?" the kids will ask.

Lie. "Yes!"

The kids will walk away giggling. One will say, "I didn't know Donny's brother was retarded."

You're Donny's brother.

Happy Tie A Mask Around Your Eyes Day!

Your Wintry Eyes Day!

I feel a chill every time you look at me, she says.

You ask if it has to do with the way in which you look at her. The way you let your eyes crawl up and down her body, starting at the hem of her dress, and climbing up over her hips and around her ass and quick around over her belly slithering to both breasts and then tiptoeing real slow along her neck, and waiting there, on her neck.

She says, "No I dig that."

It's your eyes. They cast a spell of cold on any world they blink at. "When I look in your eyes I remember that I'm gonna die, and so will my Dad and my Mom."

"Must make you feel like there's no time to waste," you're wise to say.

"It makes me want to bring about a birth. Nothing can get me on my back faster than a death knell."

Make your move, Jack Frost.

Happy Your Wintry Eyes Day!

You’ve Been Trying Not To Use Your Witchcraft Day!

You know the danger of it. You know that every spell you cast into the world forces the natural continuum to contract and right itself, sometimes quite dramatically. "Casting the spell that brushes a hair into place can make nature reply with an earthquake," is what you were taught. You were taught to fear your power.

But you can’t help it. You have to turn Mallory Hoberman’s lips into a pair of fanged, screeching worms. The next time she tries to give your boyfriend head underneath a set of bleachers she won’t find him quite so complicit. Turn her lips into a pair of fanged, screeching worms. Clearly yours won’t be the first spell cast this year, based on all the hurricanes. Now go buy some eye of newt and wash your pestle.

Happy You’ve Been Trying Not To Use Your Witchcraft Day!

Do It All For Your Girlfriend's Smile Day!

Tell her if it makes her smile, it's done.

"Steal that for me," she'll say. You'll pocket the peppermint patty and halfway down the block you'll place it on her tongue. Her smile will bob back and forth like a rowboat on rough seas as she chews her candy.

"Dance there," she'll say. You'll get up from your table and do the running man in the center of the patio. All of the brunchers will laugh. But you won't notice. Your eyes will be trained on your girlfriend's mouth, pink stretched wide over white.

"Kill my Dad," she'll say. You'll leap from the couch and slam his head into the living room floor over and over again until you hear a crack. She'll get up and kick his stilled ribs. You'll smear the blood from your eyelids but she won't be smiling.

"Where's my smile?" you'll ask. "Come on."

She'll cry. You'll understand. But all the same, you did have a deal.

She'll cry into the palms of her hands and you'll rub her back instead of accusing her of welching.

Happy Do It All For Your Girlfriend's Smile Day!

Send A Secret Admirer Letter To The Brunette Waitress At Duck Confederacy Day!

Dear Brown-Haired Waitress,

Please do not throw this away. I am rich.

"If you are rich," you might think. "Why are you so unconfident that you have to send a secret admirer letter?'

A ha. Well-played. But, I must confess, I do not normally lack confidence. In fact, if you knew who I was, you would have noticed that when I dine at Duck Confederacy, my companion is usually a woman of stunning physical beauty. Though they are rarely as stunning in conversation.

Which is why I tend to beam when you approach my table. I relish when the time comes to hear you tell me your specials for the day. I think I have ordered every dish you've ever recommended (you're beginning to guess who I might be, I'm sure) and they are always delicious. You have a marvelously discerning palate. A woman who truly appreciates food might be the sexiest of all women.

So yes, my money does afford me the acquaintance of "beautiful" women. But it is when I meet a woman who is not only physically beautiful, but is also a uniquely intriguing person, that I grow nervous. I can tell my money would mean nothing to you. And therefore I would be reliant upon the strength of my personality to carry you past the initial disgust of my "lobster arm."

Now, perhaps you have positively identified me in your memory. Yes, I am the well-dressed gentleman with the arm that appears to end in a soft, useless "claw." It's a disfigurement I've worn since birth, and I can say that it's only forced me to try harder and harder to be the greatest man I know.

While I would never insult you to presume that you would care about my wealth, I do ask that you take my financial success as evidence that I am much more than my disgusting little claw. I am a man of conviction and drive. I have been told my charm is the key to much of my success. And some have said that my disfigurement has even added to my beauty, after they've gotten to know me of course. I am not your everyday man.

I have an 8:30 reservation tomorrow evening. I have requested that I be seated in your station. I will ask for your recommendation and I will order it. If you assent to meeting me for a drink after your shift, add a garnish of razor-sliced beets to my plate, and I will return to pick you up a half-hour after closing. If you do not add the garnish to my plate, I will not order dessert. I will pay my bill, tipping generously, and I will never dine at Duck Confederacy again.

Until dinner, then.

Yours,

Happy Send A Secret Admirer Letter To The Brunette Waitress At Duck Confederacy Day!

Just As You Finish Chewing Your Foot Off At The Ankle, The Elevator Starts To Work Again Day!

It’s almost like the thump of your limp disembodied appendage to the floor of the car hit a switch and sent the elevator back into action.

"That’s always the way," you say to yourself as you wrap your tourniquet tight around your calf.

Don’t worry. Your heroic tale will be an inspiration to people who have been trapped in a stopped elevator for upwards of 40 minutes everywhere. Not all of us would have had the gumption to take that first bite into the ankle. We’d think, "Maybe the fire department will turn up before chewing off my own foot becomes necessary." We'd ask ourselves, "Will chewing off my own foot help this situation in any way shape or form? After all, it’s not like my foot is stuck or anything."

Ultimately, it comes down to what kind of person you are. Are you the sort of person who will wait patiently for help to arrive, perhaps taking out a crossword puzzle to pass the time if one is handy? Or are you the type of person who will chew off his own foot at the ankle?

Today, you’ve answered that question loud and clear. Now hop along, Cassidy!

Happy Just As You Finish Chewing Your Foot Off At The Ankle, The Elevator Starts To Work Again Day!

Meet Your Hero Day!

He might not look to be endowed with anything beyond a doomed sense of his own self. As he squirrels himself awake at the early hour of 10:30, he whispers aloud, "What the hell is wrong with me?"

His first words spoken to the morning sun.

Yes, it may not look like he will soon be the one we all look to for hope, the one we pray to as we huddle in the corners of our homes, covering our children’s ears as the fists pounding against our front doors rattle the windows in their frames. He might just look like another loser with a drinking problem and a pregnant girlfriend who isn’t a hundred percent on the whole abortion thing just yet, even though she’s already 8 weeks along. When you look at him, you might not be able to see beyond the unemployment compensation fraud. When you look at him, you might just be glad you don’t have to know what his bedroom smells like.

Yet it shall come to pass. A sequence of events, which will not be elaborated upon here or ever, will take this not very young man to the height of human possibility for bravery and compassion, and in the early years of a soon-to-be reborn America, his name will be spoken with reverence. And his ways will be taught to every child who can be held still long enough to listen.

He might be absently scratching his ass underneath his boxer shorts right now, and it might appear that he’ll never stop. Just you wait.

Happy Meet Your Hero Day!

Studio Apartment With One Small Window Day!

It's big enough. Seems to have been well maintained. You really like the bathtub. The only thing is the window.

"Why are those five bricks there?" you ask the landlord.

"I'll tell you this once then I'll go downstairs," the landlord says. "You want the apartment after I tell you, you come down and knock on my door. You don't want it, you walk out the building and good luck to you. But what I'm about to tell you is non-negotiable."

He didn't buy real estate so that he could make a lot of money, he says. He did it so that he could play with the people who want to live in his building.

"For instance, the man in 2R, name of Kuperman," he says. "He lives in my farts. I fart into his shower air vent. Once every day."

He goes on to talk about how he installed central air into 3B. "Mrs. Louis' world is controlled by me. Every morning, I decide how hot or cold her apartment will be, based on my mood. She hates me."

"And you," he says. "You live here, I'll be burying you alive. One brick at a time. Those five bricks there took me about nine months to put up. I can't tell you how often I'll add to the bricks. But I fully intend to cover that window with bricks and bury you alive in your apartment. Those are the terms. Goodbye."

You stare out the window for a little while. The bricks really aren't that large. A few tests of the water pressure later and you're downstairs signing a lease.

Happy Studio Apartment With One Small Window Day!

Your Son Is In Love Day!

You, being a wealthy society type, want your son to marry the daughter of the partner in a competing firm in order to ally the firm with yours and therefore bind the two Wall Street behemoths into an unstoppable financial titan.

Your son is in love with a girl he met at the dog run. You've just ordered him to cut off all ties with her and prepare to marry well. The following is the last you will hear from your son until the day his mother dies (you'll be a suspect) 26 years from now:

You might think I'm doing this just to spite you. To tell you the truth, I don't know whether you're right or wrong. I hate you so much it's possible that I would alter the course of my life just to hurt you a little tiny bit. But know this, I will never take anything you have to give. And I will do all I can to live my life the way you would not. I will not become you. I'll die before I resemble you in the slightest. You won't see me again.

Then he'll leave. Everyone at the New York Stock Exchange is gonna laugh at you when they find out you drove your only son away.

Happy Your Son Is In Love Day!

Statement From A Man Who Just Woke Up From A 25 Year Coma Day!

When I woke up from my 25 year coma, the first thing I did was I went out searching for my wife and daughter. I was told that they ran off because their lives halted to a standstill when I went under, and in order to go on living they had to pretend that I was dead. They've since heard that I'm alive and I'm conscious. My wife refuses to see me, and my daughter refuses to believe that I'm anything but dead.

"I don't care if you say you're alive," she wrote to me. "When I left your bedside I left you for dead. Therefore, you're dead."

Additionally, when I went into my coma, M*A*S*H was on TV. It's not anymore.

Happy Statement From A Man Who Just Woke Up From A 25 Year Coma Day!

He Can Reduce You To Tears With Just A Shiver Of His Curly Hair Day!

You don't know that you can make it through an entire dinner without stabbing yourself in the back of your hand with a fork he's just so gosh darn delicious.

"So you're unemployed?"

"Mmm," he says, his mouth overflowing with baked ziti. "Hopin' to stay that way too. 'Cept I don't have any money."

You place your hand over his, which nearly makes you break into song, and you say, "I'll get this then."

He smiles, like you just made a joke. He assumed you'd be paying for dinner from the get-go.

"You got a nice body," he says. Hooray! your heart shouts into your veins. He does like me, he does like me!

"Thank you," you say with a shy smile.

"You don't look like my ex-girlfriend at all," he says. "For the first six months after the breakup I only messed around with girls who looked like her. Now I'm trying to go the opposite route."

"Has it been working out so far?" you ask with some play in your eyes.

He shrugs. "I don't care."

"I don't normally behave this way," you say. "But when you finish eating your entrée, would you mind terribly if we went straight back to my place?"

"To fuck?" he asks. There's a chunk of sausage on his chin.

"Yes," you say. "I swear this isn't the way I am all the time. There's just something about you that makes me want to skip over all the usual games."

His mouth wide open, he chews his ziti, then says, "I wanna stop at a bar first. I wanna get some beers in me first."

You smile and nod. "That's fine. I can wait." Then you lean in with a naughty whisper. "But not for too long."

"Look, get off my back!" he shouts. Some tomato sauce hits you in the eye.

"I'm sorry," you say. "Take your time."

For the rest of the evening, you try to only speak when spoken to.

Happy He Can Reduce You To Tears With Just A Shiver Of His Curly Hair Day!

Buy Your Husband A Crown Day!

Give it to him on one of his last few birthdays before he dies, when he's old enough that the little he'll have accomplished can be estimated to be the height of what he can hope to accomplish before he dies.

You probably won't have a lot of money for something full of gold and rubies, thanks to Mr. Play-It-Safe having missed out on a total of nine big investment paydays. But you'll be able to get maybe a nice dirty white gold piece, or an ivory and fake emerald little number that he can be held still with some bobby pins.

When he asks what it's supposed to mean, say, "You are my king. This is your kingdom and I am you subject. I shall do your bidding."

This dimly lit, two-bedroom ranch-style home is your kingdom. And this decidedly elderly woman, who's been pretty kind these past few decades, is prepared to obey you.

He'll raise his eyebrows and chuckle, getting the joke, and enjoying it too. "An espresso, knave," he'll say. "And there'd best be a head atop it or I'll have to make do with yours."

Bow with faux-modesty and then retreat to the kitchen to make him an espresso with the machine his daughter gave him as a gift earlier that evening at dinner. He'll sit in front of the TV with his crown on his head and he'll wait.

Happy Buy Your Husband A Crown Day!

My Love Is Squared Day!

"Let’s say that yesterday I loved you to a certain degree. Well, in the last 24 hours, I’ve squared it. Today, I love you times my love for you."

"Your love is squared?" say. You’re lying naked in bed, on your backs, side by side, your fingertips grazing in his pubis. You had sex 70 minutes ago and there’s some semen under you.

"Yeah, my love is squared."

You feel guilty. You love him, but if your love for him is growing at all, it’s not growing very rapidly. You could safely say that you love him maybe 7% more than you did yesterday.

"You’re loving me too fast," say.

"I can’t stop."

Don’t say anything else. Think on it a while. If you say the wrong thing, you two might break up.

Happy My Love Is Squared Day!

Phone Call From A Sobbing Married Man Day!

Please, he's saying, please he needs you and he loves you.

"I'm definitely leaving her," he's saying. "I don't even want to lay my eyes on her again."

Please I need you and let me come over, he's saying.

"I can't," you're saying. "You won't leave. I know you won't leave."

I have no choice is what he's saying. If you'd heard the way she talked to me tonight is the thing he's trying to drive home. You'd know it's already dead. If you'd been there, when they fought, you'd know there's nothing left.

"Please," he's saying.

"I want to be with you," is what you're going on about. "But not until you leave her. For good."

He's saying this is for good baby.

"No, you have to leave her first." You just put your foot down.

Now he's really crying. "My God I've left. I'm out on the street. I'm calling you from the street."

You wanna ask him, did you really leave.

"Did you really leave?" you ask him.

You don't wanna ask him if he left because it was the end of a fight or if he left because people who decide they're going to divorce leave.

He's saying yes he left. You both knew from the beginning that he was gonna come over. Everyone did. No reason to go on with it all. The end.

Happy Phone Call From A Sobbing Married Man Day!

Cash In Day!

"Fuck my artistic integrity," you'll tell your wife. "I'm gonna make me some dollars."

She won't say it out loud, but she'll regret having married you.

"What?" you'll say. "Why should everyone else get rich while I starve on the ground floor trying to wrest my vision from the recesses of my soul?"

She'll shrug. She'll go about cutting coupons.

"You telling me you like this life?"

Take her scissors away from her.

"I'm doing it so I can provide for you baby," you'll say.

"I never wanted my husband to be my provider," she'll say. "I want him to be my hero."

She'll go about cutting coupons, and you'll go back to your workshop (you carve vaginas out of soap. It's your "statement").

Happy Cash In Day!

Bed Bath And Beyond Day!

Your magic bath-rug is like a magic carpet in that, um, it's got powers. But a magic carpet basically just lets you fly around on it. Your magic bath-rug inspires love between any two people who step on it at the same time, no matter who they might be. Which is why you found your five-year old son and four-year old daughter climbing up onto the windowsill last night. They stood on the carpet together, getting ready to climb into the tub for their shared bath, when they suddenly knew they were in love, and that theirs was a love that dare not speak its name (being as they're brother and sister). So they decided to end it all, just as you or I would. But you interrupted them and ordered them to stop playing around and take their bath. They thank you for it. They relished every moment of that bath, knowing that before long they would have to make another attempt on their lives. But over the course of that bath, as they took turns squeezing the sponge to send torrents of water cascading down each other's backs, the world was theirs. But they know the illusion cannot last. They're going to try again. Keep an eye on them.

Happy Bed Bath And Beyond Day!

She Used To Ride A Motorcycle Day!

She keeps her curly hair long and pinned down over the right side of her head with a barrette. There's a bald spot on that side of her head. That's where her skull got cracked.

She gets headaches. That date she cancelled on you, your second, she had a headache then. Her headaches can make her throw up.

"39 feet," as she tells it. "They measured it. From the guardrail to where I landed, I flew 39 feet and landed smack on my head."

She says that she's lucky that he skull cracked. It was either that or her spine, and there's a better chance you're gonna be able to pull yourself out of a chair if you're skull's cracked. The only thing is, when you get out of the chair you might not remember why you did it, and you'll just end up sitting back down again.

"That don't sound like all that bad a fate," you tell her. Your index finger is sliding around on her bald spot, noting the crests and canyons of skull introducing themselves from just below that smooth patch of flesh.

"Not if you got a comfortable place to sit I suppose." Her hands are clasped up by her cheek. She's thinking about something else.

Happy She Used To Ride A Motorcycle Day!

An Excerpt From A Eulogy For Mitten Day!

...And she was a good cat. Happy to share my home and provide me with her company. Something I needed desperately after Frank ran off. I'm childless, as most of you know, and I don't wish my fate on any woman alive...

Happy An Excerpt From A Eulogy For Mitten Day!

The Winners Day!

The winners, of course, are having sex with each other (all nine of them) inside a glass chamber full of money. Occasionally, they'll ring a bell, at which time an unattractive person will be brought to stand before the wall of the glass chamber and the winners will stop having sex long enough to watch the unattractive person be shot in the back of the head. The unattractive people who sign on to be murdered before the eyes of the fornicating winners are the sort of unattractive people who don't feel very "needed" by their adult children, and they are more than happy to give up their lives in exchange for sharing a moment of private company, albeit from behind a glass dividing wall, with the winners.

"Does it bother you," asks Jamie, winner of The Prize, "that we can no longer be excited by something as carnal as group sex without the addition of a human volunteering to be slaughtered for our entertainment?"

Mark, winner of The Award, shrugs his shoulders. "I don't let it get to me. It's a scary thought, true. I mean, what about when we no longer get a charge from these murders? What will we resort to next?"

Linda, winner of The Medal, scoffs at the lot of them. "We'll do whatever we like," she says. "And no one will object to it. The very fact that we desire it makes it right. The outside world feels this is so, why shouldn't we?"

Martin, winner of The Trophy, stops caressing his genitals so that he might look again at the unattractive woman lying dead at the foot of their chamber, her very human blood seeping out from her wound to from a very expansive puddle on the floor. Martin feels a little sick now, but he'll continue to have sex with his fellow winners once they resume.

Happy The Winners Day!

A Houndstooth Check Blood Pattern Day!

In all your years on the job, you ain't never seen anything like this.

"The assailant used a stencil," you tell the flatfoot with a notebook.

"He a fruit, Detective?"

You take in a lot of air, let out a long, low hiss of disgust. "Most definitely," you say. "I'd stake my badge on it."

"Takes one to know one!" you expect someone to shout into the silence that follows. A part of you would welcome it. The part that's still in love with the seventeen-year old Puerto Rican boy you sent to maximum security 28 years ago. The part that's doing all it can to substitute love of your work for the love you only gave once to Julio. In the backseat of your police issue, by the side of route 40, you lied and said you'd let him go if he does this one thing, just this one thing. He knew the game, he'd played it before, so many times that when it was all over and you smacked his head up against the cage behind the front seat he didn't even seem surprised. He knew he was going to jail the whole time, but he played the game anyhow.

"He loved me," you think, every night just before passing out in your chair. "Julio knows what I am."

He's the only one.

Happy A Houndstooth Check Blood Pattern Day!

Burglars Day!

Today, burglars all over the nation are postponing that one last score so that they can head into the park for a nice, friendly, here-comes-autumn picnic. Burglars don't find time to get together as often as they'd like. It's hard to take them off the job. Even today, they're not gonna take off the ski-masks. At least not at first.

At first it'll just be the same as always. Everyone crowds around the burglar who brought a velvet cloth full of diamonds. They'll ooh and aah while he says, "Isn't that a great diamond? I'm a hell of a burglar." But eventually, the sun will send them all to the blanket, peering up at the blue sky, wiping their minds clean of safe-cracking shortcuts and generic chloroform price hikes. Soon, one of them will whip out a Frisbee, and they'll be running this way and that like a bunch of little kids on the first day of spring (albeit in ski masks).

The picnic on Burglars Day never goes sour. Everyone leaves happier than they came, and full of just a little bit more cold fried chicken. Last year, one of the female burglars hit it off with one of the male burglars and they went for a walk. This year, they're coming back wearing wedding rings they stole for each other.

See you at the park, unless you're in jail.

Happy Burglars Day!

Happy 15th Anniversary You Two Day!

You know the drill. Get naked and sit Indian Style in the middle of the floor. Lean forward as far as you can. Lean forward so far that it feels like your spines are about to snap. Try to touch noses. Hold it.

On the count of three, shout the first thing that comes into your mind.

She shouted failure. He shouted Evelyn (her name's Doris).

Happy Happy 15th Anniversary You Two Day!

Lou Rawls Day!

Lou Rawls told his wife, "She's not gonna bother us anymore."

His wife didn't say anything.

Lou Rawls told her again, "She's not gonna bother us anymore, I said."

His wife nodded at the table. Lou said, "You got nothing to say then?"

His wife just kept looking at the toaster. Lou Rawls went into the living room, rustled his newspaper on his lap, and began his new life, a life undisturbed by an infidelity. But just before it began, he shouted to his wife, "I killed her!"

His wife ran into the living room, saying, "Thanks a lot for protecting me, Douche!"

"What," said Lou Rawls. "You don't wanna know about it? Don't wanna know that it takes a murder to keep this marriage from falling apart?"

"Now I'm an accomplice," she shouted at Lou Rawls. "This is just like you. Far be it from you to suffer in silence to protect me. With you it's all about Look at all the sacrifices I've made for you. As if I should feel guilty just for having accepted your wedding proposal. You never made any sacrifices, just excuses. Every choice you ever made was an excuse to get outta doin' what you really wanted to do."

"Fuck you!" said Lou Rawls. And they fought on and on like that, like they do every night.

Happy Lou Rawls Day!

The Rock Band Died Day!

Last night, your favorite rock band died. They were coming out of church when they spotted a kitten meowing in the second floor window of a burning house. Every member of your favorite rock band – lead singer, lead guitar, bass player, drummer, backup guitar, keyboard player, and the guy who plays the cow bells and the maracas – swung into action. The lead singer and the bass player joined hands to hoist the lead guitarist up onto the trellis, from where he climbed onto the roof adjacent to the awning below the window where the cat was calling out. The drummer and the backup guitarist climbed the moleberry tree that hung over another awning adjacent to that window. Meanwhile, the lead singer, bass player, keyboardist, and the guy who plays the cow bells and maracas headed into the house to try to get up to that room to block the cat from running back into the fire to get away from his rooftop rescuers. Once everyone was either on top of or inside the house, the roof collapsed, killing all but the keyboard player, who died later that night of a heroin overdose while in bed with a handful of fourteen year old groupies, who also died that night, but of natural causes. The cat's fine.

Happy The Rock Band Died Day!

It's Like The Frog And The Scorpion Day!

"The one where the frog asks the scorpion for a lift across the river?"

"Scorpion asks the frog," say.

"Which one am I?" she'll ask.

"Duh," say. "You're the scorpion."

"So," she says, "My suggesting moving in with you is comparable in your mind to you helping me across a river, and my murdering you before we get across, bringing about my own death by drowning."

"Right," say. "Wait, I thought they get across, then she bites him."

"She? Have you always thought that the scorpion was necessarily a female and the frog a male?"

"And they're dating, yeah. But I thought they get across, she kills him, and goes on with her life."

She shakes her head, which sort of turns into a shake of her entire body. "No, I think she bites him midway through, which illustrates the whole 'it's my nature' thing about it."

"That doesn't work as well," say.

"No?"

"No, not as a parable for dating."

She'll say, "Holy shit."

"What?" say. "I just don't think we're ready." Then go to your guitar lesson.

Happy It's Like The Frog And The Scropion Day!

Today, You'll Say The Following Into The Barrel Of A Gun Day!

So I guess this is it?

You're a big, giant, festering, weak pussy. I fucking dare you to pull that trigger you faggot.

I should've known it would end this way.

It's right there on the bottom shelf of the curio. See for yourself (when she turns her head you'll grab for the gun but the tables won't turn).

I never thought I could find you more attractive until I saw your pretty little eyebrows pop out from around the hammer of that handgun. I'm going to unbutton your blouse now. Don't shoot.

Awwwwwww God! Awwwwwww God I don't wanna die!

Thanks, I love oyster crackers.

His name…is your name. Kandinski. He's your brother Patricia.

Oooooh isn't she just such a scawy wittle gangster girl. Evewybody wun fwom the scawy wittle gangster girl.

(Glancing under the recliner from your spot on the floor) So that's where the DVD remote ended up.

Kill me and you'll never get your hands on the antidote.

Nice gun. Who'd you blow for it? Ooooh! Dis!

Happy Today, You'll Say The Following Into The Barrel Of A Gun Day!

Pull The Fire Alarm Day!

There's not much time. Yank that handle down. You'll find out whether it's true that your hand gets sprayed with ink so that authorities can determine who it was that pulled the alarm.

Look at your hand and say, "Well waddaya know."

Your coworkers will be milling absently towards the fire exit. Go to Kara's desk and whisper through the thick of her hair and into her ear, "This isn't a drill. Don't cause a panic, just come with me."

Lead her (by the hand) to a non-designated fire stair, one where it's just the two of you.

"Will this get us to the sidewalk," she'll ask.

Stop on the stairs and say, "Who cares?"

She'll say, "The fire."

Say, "What? Oh, there's no fire. I pulled the alarm. I needed to get you alone so I could present my case for why you should leave your husband and kids and marry me."

She'll lean back against the wall of the stairwell, her arms crossed, and she'll say, "I'm listening."

Breathe deep and lay it on her. "I just think we've got something here. A connection. Am I wrong?"

Kara will take a second to consider your proposal. Say, "Goddammit the suspense is killing me! Yes or no!"

She'll say, "I need some time. I really dig my husband and kids. And I never noticed that connection thing you mentioned. But I have to admit, it was romantic of you to pull a fire alarm just to get me alone."

Get closer to her, and in a soft voice say, "I had no choice but to get you alone. I was too afraid of being laughed at by Dave (the loudmouth temp)." Say this whilst grazing your thumb along the circumference of where you estimate her right areola to be underneath her sweater.

She'll begin to pant. Then she'll push you away, telling you she needs to make a list of the pros and cons.

Happy Pull The Fire Alarm Day!

The Keys To The Kingdom Day!

It's been six years since your wife let you have sex with her and you're racking your brain for how to get yourself some of that. The problem is, you're so close to your wife that you can't see the forest for the trees. The easiest way into your wife's pants is through your wallet.

Your wife loves money. Actually, loves might be the wrong word. Your wife thinks holding money is as close as you can get to touching the bloody foot of Jesus Christ while he is dying on the cross. Since she was old enough to make her own decisions, every decision she's made has been in effort to acquire more money. It's why she married you. You were loaded and she knew it. When she danced with you that night you met, she could feel in your back that you were the kind of guy who was rich and would stay that way.

When she decided to make you propose to her, she thought, "I think he has enough money."

Using your money is clearly how you can get her to do what you want.

"But how?" you pant. "We share all of my money. Anything I have to give she's already got."

Take it away from her. Empty all of your bank accounts and open new ones. Hide the cars and houses and all of her clothes and food. Lock it all away until she demands it back.

"Not unless," say to her, "you have sex with me."

She'll tell you that as your wife that money is hers just as much as yours. Any court would agree.

"True, but courts take a long time to come to an agreement. You can wait months and months in a courtroom to be awarded the money by a judge. Or you can have it all back today, before dinnertime, just by letting me have sex with you."

She'd be a fool not to go for it. Have fun loverboy!

Happy The Keys To The Kingdom Day!

Your Kid's Piggy Bank Is Empty Day!

This is warning sign number two that he's addicted to the pot. Warning sign number one was when he was rude to his mother the other night. And warning sign number three is on its way. That's when he'll run through the living room naked, tearing at his own flesh, screaming "GET EM OFF ME! GET EM OFF ME!"

Just so's you can kept an eye out, here are all of the warning signs that your kid's addicted to the pot:

4) You find him in his little sister's room, forcing the barrel of a semi-automatic weapon in between her teeth (she's 9).

5) Large black people on the front step.

6) Unraked leaves.

7) He can levitate.

8) He is dead and there's nothing you can do about it now because you didn't heed the warning signs.

9) He is fathering children left and right.

10) He talks endlessly about how awesome the pot is and how it's the best thing ever.

11) When you ask him if he wants to go play mini golf with you on the weekends he just doesn't seem all that interested.

12) He has withdrawn roughly $78,000 from your bank account.

13) Snot pours out of his nose like water from a spigot.

If your kid exhibits any or all, or hell, even none, of these signs, he's probably addicted to the pot and you should beat him with a ring of keys until he's better.

Happy Your Kid's Piggy Bank Is Empty Day!

Deflated Beach Ball Day!

Not enough sunny days.

"It just never got hot enough." She repeats this over and over again, each time her voice sagging further with disbelief.

"Sometimes, summer doesn't come through," you say. You don't know if you'll ever be able to lift her spirits, and you're beginning to think you don't want to try.

"So much cold ahead. So much gray. How will we make it through?"

"Maybe," you say. "Maybe the winter will be mild as well."

She looks at you like you just spent your savings on lotto tickets.

"We need to plan," she says. "We need to be practical. We got our hopes up for the summer and now I feel tricked naked and raped. We need to shop and prepare for the coming months of misery. And, perhaps, the months of disappointment after that."

She takes your head in her hands. "We should assume that we won't be happy anymore. If we start from there, it won't hurt so much."

You rip her hands from your cheeks and you lose your shit.

"Goddammit," you shout. "I won't do it. I won't live under your cloud of black. Rain or shine, there's beauty to be had. If it rains on the beach, I don't want to run into the house and play Monopoly with a cashew substituting for the missing race car. I want to build a castle from the wet sand, because wet sand is better for building castles."

She begins to shiver. "What are you saying?"

"I won't keep you warm anymore. We're breaking up."

You divide up your stuff that night. She sobs steadily, occasionally shrieking "Please," but it doesn't affect you. All you can see is the possibility for an Autumn not spent huddling underneath an afghan !!!WITH YOUR WET BLANKET OF A GIRLFRIEND!!! (that was awesome. truly. the wet blanket under the afghan thing. pure maximum adrenaline rock and roll.).

Happy Deflated Beach Ball Day!

Because Lesbianism Begins With A Stern Trim Day!

Until now, you've only known your 19 year old sister to pursue unattainable men. She's held on to long-distance boyfriends with a decided calm. Her crushes have all fallen on men far outside of her age group or male friends with girlfriends. Occasionally, you wonder at the last time she might have had sex, which makes you feel like you've invaded her privacy just within the confines of your silent conjuecture.

But you've never ever thought she might be gay. Until this afternoon, when she came home with a close-cropped "bowl" of a haircut. The same cut you had when you were 12 and playing soccer. No matter how she musses and fusses with it, there can never be anything remotely "feminine" about what's settled upon her head right now. And she's never looked better.

"Holy shit, she's gay," you thought. You thought it the minute she got out of the car. She said hey to you and walked up the stairs without waiting for a remark on her new 'do. You stayed in your seat, feeling like a master detective who's just cracked a case.

"No wonder," you thought. "She's always seemed so tense in the shoulders. A very aggressive driver."

Happy Because Lesbianism Begins With A Stern Trim Day!

Juggle Chainsaws Day!

Today, rev up three gas powered chainsaws and toss them all up in the air just above your head.

Happy Juggle Chainsaws Day!

Chef Dilly Day!

Dilly got high, went to the store, and came back with pasta and sausage. He's cooking it up for the whole house to eat.

"Good day and welcome to Chateau Dilly, yo," he says to everyone who comes in to see who's using the kitchen.

Dilly's in the middle of a big long monologue that he's laying on everyone who comes in and sits down for a bit. When someone leaves and someone else in the house comes in, Dilly just continues on with his monologue as if whoever's in there has been there the whole time.

"The car never really ran right after that but me and Larkin are still real cool. I've done a lot for him since then," he says when you walk into the kitchen.

"Is there meat in that sauce?" you ask.

Dilly laughs. "Yes Mr. Vegetarian, there will be meat in this sauce. Vegetarians must order from the Tibetan House if they wish to eat tonight." He stirs his pasta a little then continues with his story. "Jenny got out of the hospital about six days later, but it was like two months before she spoke to me. We shared a bed the whole time, but we didn't fuck. When I finally got work she…"

You leave the kitchen and wander out onto the front porch. You're not a vegetarian. Your girlfriend is. But she gets angry any time she finds what she thinks is meat on her plate. And if you ordered a meat dish, she'd get angry at you. So you stopped eating meat around her. And soon you stopped eating meat altogether. Now that you've decided you're going to break up with her when the time is right, you really want to eat Dilly's pasta. But you're not going to. It'll cause a fight.

Happy Chef Dilly Day!

The Marines Day!

If we pitted our branches of the armed forces against each other, you'd root for the Marines. The Marines are just a bunch of hard-luck cases. Like growed up orphans who know how to kill. No one would root for the air force because they have all the spaceships. If it's a bunch of guys running around on the ground versus a spaceship, only a dick would keep his fingers crossed that the spaceship might be able to come out on top. The Navy's more about keeping their boots shiny and staying out of trouble so as not to be banned from the Saturday Night "Everyone On The Boat Fucks Everyone Else On The Boat" Topside Orgy. And the army is all about road repair nowadays.

But the Marines. They're the guys who just don't wanna have to go home and raise their kids. Every last one of them has gotten into a mixed-race fistfight and they've all cried into the arms of a heterosexual member of the same sex. You want the Marines to win even though they make you feel small. You can't resist getting behind the guy who could snap at any minute.

Happy The Marines Day!

The First Conversation With Your Husband After You've Cheated (You Might Be In Love) Day!

Hi honey.

Hi.

He kisses your forehead.

How was your day?

Good. Yours?

Great. We saw the Des Moines presentation.

Oh?

It looks like quite a nice area.

Mm hmm?

I think you're really gonna like it.

Mm hmm.

I really appreciate this you know. You know that right? I'm only doing this because I think it's worth it.

I know sweetie.

For the kids, and for you.

I know.

He kisses your forehead. His firm is relocating you and your family 1200 miles away from the guy you think you might be in love with.

Happy The First Conversation With Your Husband After You've Cheated (You Might Be In Love) Day!

Facebites Day!

Your wife hates you. She hates you so much that she sometimes stares at you while you sleep, miserable with just how much ugly she has to cede half her bed to. The more she stares, the more her blood boils, until she spreads her jaw open wide, wracks her head down at your face and rips her teeth into the skin on either side of your nose, trying to rip the center of your face off in her maw.

You wake up screaming into her neck. She recoils and cowers into the corner of the bedroom. You pant by the pillows, blood pouring forth from the gashes in your face. She says, "I hate you so much I'm gonna kill you one night. While you sleep."

Happy Facebites Day!

Your Mom Loves Him, Your Dad Wants To Kill Him On Sight Day!

He's in your hotel room, the fiancé who jilted you, the one you were supposed to marry. He's in your hotel room and tonight's the night before your wedding.

"No worries about your tidy little groom dropping in and interrupting us. That'd be bad luck, after all."

"Get out."

He wants more than just to screw. "I want you. Tomorrow I'll lose you forever unless I wake up by your side. I'm not leaving."

Your Mom and Dad are gonna drop by to kiss you goodnight. When your Dad sees Jonathan he'll try to strangle him, but your Mom will put a stop to it. Your Mom thinks you're making a big mistake by marrying this Rick kid tomorrow. She knows that Jonathan is the one you loved. Even though Jonathan broke your heart so bad you got into a car accident that put a faint scar on your face, your Mom thinks he's the one.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not happy about it," she once said when you confronted her. "There's nothing to be happy about when you find the one you love. But try too hard to deny that love and you're gonna die."

"Mom, he left me!" you sobbed.

Your Mom looked confused. "Yeah, but he'll be back. You know that right?"

Don't admit this please, but you always did know it. You couldn't imagine him staying away. Right now, you're just hoping you're more like your Dad now. You're hoping that the part of you that could love a cocksucker like Jonathan is dead. It's not.

Happy Your Mom Loves Him, Your Dad Wants To Kill Him On Sight Day!

Stop His Lotto Playing, He'll Leave You Behind Day!

The plans are laid for a beautiful future together. You're continuing your apprenticeship as assistant director of the Community Y. He's in his second semester at Community College in pursuit of a business degree.

"We're gonna make it right," you say.

"Then we're gonna make a family," he says.

And yet, every single day he buys himself a lotto ticket. Why even go to school if he's putting his hat in the ring to ride a gravy train outta town? Why all the planning? The promises?

"Why do you waste your money on those stupid lotto tickets?" you say.

"It's fun. I like to dream of what kind of life we'd lead if I won a hundred million dollars."

If he won a hundred million dollars, he'd go down to the office to claim the money. He'd call you up to tell you everything's right as rain and they're honoring his ticket. But he'd have to stay down there to meet with some financial advisors recommended to him by the commission.

The next time he'd call would be to tell you to watch the TV, because they're gonna announce him as the winner. After, when you tell him over the phone how handsome he looked up on that stage, he'd say he's not coming home because he's been told he'll be swamped with pleas for handouts, but he'll call soon to say where he is.

A few days later, he'll call once more, saying he's being moved for the third time. People keep tracking him down and showing up at his doorstep with their empty hats shining up at him. "Everyone wants a piece of me, here. They're trying to suck my blood. I can't trust nobody no more."

You'll say, "I love you."

He'll say, "Ah ha!" and hang up the phone.

You'll never hear from him again. I don't know what your mother will say to make you feel better about it all. I don't know if she's aware of what a team of financial advisors can do to a young couple in love.

Happy Stop His Lotto Playing, He'll Leave You Behind Day!

Unreasonably Impatient, Angry, And Profane For A Sunday Morning Day!

When you wake up say, "Fuck I'm awake and fuck!" Go to your favorite muffin store. It's called "Muffin On Out!" Ask for "The Fucking Banana and Cranberry for God's sake. Jesus! Does everything have to be so goddamn hard? Does everything...have to be...so goddamn...motherfucking...hard???" Pay.

Return home, place your muffin on a small plate and place the plate on your pillow, next to your sleeping bride. Gently rouse your wife awake. As her eyes flutter open on the muffin by her head, say, "Oh my God! Eat the Muffin! Fuck! Oh my God! Eat the Muffin!" Stomp away to the living room to sulk, swear, and wish that everything was moving just a little faster than it is.

Happy Unreasonably Impatient, Angry, And Profane For A Sunday Morning Day!

Cinnamon Day!

She smelled like clean sweat and that peach perfume she wore. Her hair stunk of streams. In the morning her breath tasted like hot rain squiggling through the whiskers above your lip into your mouth (kiss her awake and kiss her till she begs for coffee). One day you hope you forget what she looked like and only remember her odor.

Happy Cinnamon Day!

A Spoonful Of Heroin Day!

You are a terrible children's book author. You write stories about hard luck children who turn to prostitution and break-ins for money, and all of the characters in your stories are promiscuous teens who have AIDS but don't know it. No one will ever publish you. You will be investigated by the police briefly when you visit a teen chat room for research, but no one will ever prosecute. You'll give up writing in 2009.

Happy A Spoonful Of Heroin Day!

Verbs Day!

I kill for sport. I kill the elderly and the women, mostly, because I'm not very good at killing yet. I try to kill women who are unmarried and have no children. An unmarried woman's death attracts less attention than the murder of a married mother of three. And Providence is not so big a town. The elderly are easy to kill too, and it takes a while before anyone is willing to accept they might have been murdered.

Over the past six years of killing, only two of my victims were the subject of a large-scale murder investigation. One was a woman who had a brother in the Senate (Maryland, not Rhode Island). The brother pulled some strings and kept the police up here asking questions for close to eight months. The other was a young girl I thought was just a runaway. I found her hitching for a ride. Turns out she was a runaway, but wasn't even two hours out of the house. She never even made it out of the state before I got to her. The police found the body right away, but they spent most of their efforts trying to pin the crime on this older guy she'd purportedly been dating. They never came to me.

Kill, Kill, I'm, Killing, Kill, Are, Have, Attracts, Is, Are, To kill, Takes, Willing, Accept, Killing, Were, Was, Had, Pulled, Kept, Asking, Was, Thought, Was, Found, Hitching, Was, Made, Got, Found, Spent, Trying, Pin, Dating, Came

Happy Verbs Day!

What Nouns Are Day!

Birds, Coke cans, and Brad Pitt. They're nouns. Birds are nouns because they're so pretty they can fucking fly. That's noun up the wad. Coke cans are nouns because they're things, as evidenced by the fact that you can see and feel them. Brad Pitt is a noun because everyone knows who he is.

That's it for nouns. Birds, Coke cans, and Brad Pitt. Maybe Jesus too, except he's dead, and it's unclear whether dead nouns are still nouns.

Tomorrow: Verbs.

Happy What Nouns Are Day!

Have Fun You Two Day!

It's the way it's done. Sharon leaves in the morning, calls you at work when her plane touches down to let you know she's okay. You hang up with Sharon and call Joanne and tell her to meet you at your place at 7 and the two of you hump until sunrise. Repeat the next day only after you've gotten a call from Sharon telling you she misses you and she's still in Phoenix (or wherever). You never call first. You never want to give her the chance to suspect that you're keeping tabs on her. And you've been very diligent. Never once have you brought Joanne over without first getting a call from Sharon. Sickeningly enough, you're proud of this fact.

Tonight everything seemed to be going swimmingly. Sharon called from a hotel phone so that the foreign area code showed up on your office caller ID. Joanne didn't flinch when you gave her the go ahead to head over to your place (she can often make you prove that you care for her before she agrees to a tryst). Joanne was waiting at the coffee shop beneath your building when you approached. You threw a five on her table and yanked her giggling out of her booth and up the stairs.

Once inside you flung each other around the living room kissing and tugging off your boots. You found a note from Sharon reminding you about what's in the fridge. You only gave it a quick glance before Joanne grabbed your hands and pulled them to her naked waist. The note dropped back onto the counter and you and Joanne spent about ninety minutes in the bed Sharon purchased for the two of you.

When you'd finished fucking you ordered up Chinese food and a six pack of beer and watched HBO naked on the couch. After a little while you took turns giving each other head on the couch, then you hit the kitchen for some water before running out to walk the dog. When you got back, Joanne was hungry again and had started hunting around in the kitchen.

"There's some stuff you can't eat in there," you shouted while taking off your coat and returning to your spot on the couch. "Sharon will know I had someone over if you eat something I'd never eat."

Joanne came back to the couch and fed you from a plate of orange slices. She sucked one down herself, then put another slice up to your lips.

"You're quick with a citrus knife," you said before sucking the slice to your teeth.

"They were already cut up," she said.

You had the orange rind in your mouth like in the Godfather and your brow furrowed, which made Joanne laugh. You let the rind drop into your hand.

"They were?" you asked.

Joanne looked apprehensive. You both turned and stared at the kitchen. Her eyes on the fridge, Joanne said "There's some champagne in there too."

"And two glasses?" you asked. Joanne didn't answer. She turned her eyes to the plate if orange slices and wondered if they're poisoned.

You got up and went to the counter where you dropped the note that Sharon left for you.

Sweetie,

Drinks and snacks are in the fridge. I won't be back until Friday.

Have fun you two.

-Sharon

You went to the Fridge to avoid looking at Joanne. She was too nude on the couch. Too polluting, she was all over everything. You went to the fridge and opened the door to stare at the champagne and the flutes and the blank space on the shelf where the plate of orange slices sat. The first time you ever found champagne and orange slices in the fridge, Sharon snuck up from behind you and cloaked your eyes in her hands and pulled you to her naked body. The last time you found champagne and orange slices in the fridge was a year and a half ago.

It took a lot of silence, but eventually Joanne was good enough to get dressed and leave. You now have two days and two hours to wonder if Sharon cared whether you'd find the note and champagne and the orange slices before or after you fucked Joanne. If you had found it before, the "Have fun you two" might have referred to you and the dog. If you had found it before, it would have felt like there was still a chance that she might not know, that the orange slices and the champagne are a promise for when she comes back. It feels like finding it before might have erased all of the times you'd already cheated. If you had found it before…if only you had found it before.

Happy Have Fun You Two Day!

A Western Girlfriend Day!

If you move too fast, she'll shoot you between the eyes. If you cheat, at cards or at love, she'll shoot a hole clean through the offending appendage, so clean you'll be able to stare down the bullet hole at the cracks of the floorboards below before a single drop of blood pours forth, then she'll wash the wound clean with a splash of her shot of whiskey and say, "Let's keep playing" (note: if you cheat at love, the offending appendage might be your penis, the shooting of which appendage will understandably not be taken quite so lightly). If you sit on her hat, she'll shoot you so many times you'll end up in seven parts of the room at once.

She cries though. She cries so hard she's afraid she'll never stop. She's really just a girl beneath the gunfight saunter and the chaw. Surrounded by so much death she has no choice but to cry to keep from going out of her mind. If you ever breathe a word about her crying, she'll hold your head to the dirt and put a bullet through your temple so that the bullet buries some of your brain into the ground before the undertaker gets to take a crack.

It's clearly sexual, what keeps you two together. You're just a prospector who believes in God. You've never hurt a fly and when you stub your toe you say, "Drat." Neither of you are Olympiads in the sack. You both just want the same thing.

"For it to never end," she says.

"Inside forever," you say. You hold her hands down on the pillow up behind her head. She lets you keep her there.

Happy A Western Girlfriend Day!

Counting The Seconds Day!

Only 18,646 seconds left until the scheduled money drop. If it goes well, your kidnappers will make one phone call to the authorities, alerting them to your location (you've been blindfolded and bound for the last two days, but you think you're near the docks. You can smell the ketchup factory), and you'll be rescued.

If it doesn't go well, you'll either be killed or, if your kidnappers are killed before they let anyone know about your whereabouts, you'll be left to die. Why oh why did you have to be born the mayor's daughter?

Happy Counting The Seconds Day!

Die Humming Day!

You're a drug dealer who loves the music of Ben Folds because you're one of those "New" drug dealers who could be just a guy at the bar or a buddy at my wedding (you're white and young). Saturdays belong to you and for today's Saturday, you'll be taking some time to hang around in the park. You called some friends (again, you're a drug dealer, but you still call up friends and tell them that you're in the park and you have a Frisbee in case they feel like getting out) and some friends might come out to track you down later, but if not you'll be just fine on your own in the park all day.

At 2:20 you'll be sitting on a small hill on the outskirts of a field humming a Ben Folds song when a 17 year old soldier in a rapidly growing drug organization shoots you once in the chest and once in the left eye socket.

Happy Die Humming Day!

The Gown's On The Ground Day!

One out of five of your female patients over 40 end up saying it. You turn your back to ointment up a swab and you hear the sound of a gentle little flift. You turn around to find your patient standing in a pile of the paper gown she was wearing just a second ago. She says, "The gown's on the ground. Your move doctor."

Less than half of them are still wearing their panties when the gown drops. Most of them take off their panties and secret them into a handbag while waiting for you to return to the examination room.

Happy The Gown's On The Ground Day!

Surprise Party Day!

Your boyfriend of two months organized a surprise party for you. That's why the living room is covered in streamers. And that's why it doesn't look like he has anything planned for your birthday beyond the two of you sitting in a living room covered in streamers. There is a lot to eat in the refrigerator. A great variety of snacks and dips in large serving bowls that your boyfriend hastily hid away when he realized no one was going to come. You should sit him down and explain.

"Like the streamers?" he asks. "Hey, let's buy a movie off of digital cable. Whatever you want."

"Listen," you say. "I know what you tried to do and I really appreciate it. But there are a few things you should know about me."

"Mm hmm?"

You breathe deep and hope for the best. That's all you can do right? You never know, he might still wanna stick around.

"So here's how it is," you say. "I used to be friends with this girl Gina. Best friends actually. Since ninth grade we were inseparable."

"I heard her name come up some of the times we’ve been out but I don't think I've met her," he says.

"No," you say. "You wouldn't have. See, Gina was married to this guy Karl. And me and Karl, we kind of had an affair while Gina was pregnant with their first baby. The affair went on for a few months, but Gina got wise and started following Karl. She finally caught us together when she followed him here, to my apartment, where we were celebrating my birthday."

"Oh," he says. He's starting to stare at very little.

"So, yeah. When Gina saw us through that window there, she climbed up onto the fire escape, all eight months pregnant of her, and then she screamed Karl's name and jumped from the fire escape so that she impaled her belly on the wrought-iron fence, killing herself and their baby."

Big long silence from the boyfriend. Then:

"So that's why no one came to the party."

"Because it's the anniversary of my friend's suicide slash infanticide," you say. "Yup."

"Which you caused?" he asks. He's looking you in the eye. That's a good sign.

"Karl had a hand in it too, but yeah. Most people lay the blame on me," you say. Don't take his hand even though he seems to be laying it out there on the couch for you to take. "No one's heard from Karl since the big day, by the way."

He reaches across the couch towards you. You stiffen, afraid he's going to slap you. But he takes you by the shoulder and says, "My God your birthday's ruined forever by a sad memory you poor little thing." And holy shit if he doesn't fucking pull you into a deep soft hug.

"Oh. Oh, baby," you say.

"Well we're just going to smother that sad memory with a big pile of happy ones. Starting with some mini-golf. Get your pants."

You take a second to watch him standing there by the couch waiting for you to get your pants so he can take you to mini-golf for your birthday. Whatever happy memories there are to come, it will be hard to top this one.

Happy Surprise Party Day!

The Mouth Of A Cave Day!

You broke up when she went into the cave to live the life of a person inside of a mountain. You shouted at her back, "But your publicity firm!" She didn't turn around.

On the drive up to Enchanted Caverns, she was quiet. Staring straight ahead at the road up the mountain. The decision to go to the cave was the result of a dearth of ideas. Too gray for the lake, and you'd been fighting too much to stay inside the cabin. You grabbed the first brochure off the mantelpiece that would get you in the car. She shrugged when you suggested the cave.

As you parked the car, you noticed her arms were bright red where she'd been scratching. It was drizzling, but she left her windbreaker in the passenger seat. You grabbed it and brought it to her. She let it drop underneath her feet and kept on walking.

At the admission window, she didn't stop. The kid selling the tickets began to shout at her until you shoved your money under the glass for the both of you.

You grabbed at her elbow and said, "What's your problem?" She didn't answer. Just kept walking, step by step, up the path to the cave.

There was a tour group gathered at the mouth of the cave. She stepped right into the middle of it, parting the families, and shoved her way out of the thick to continue on her way into the cave. You followed her through all the people, noting their worried expressions in response to the look on her face.

Just at the mouth, you took hold of her by the elbow and she halted. But you could feel her continuing to pull forward, gently. It was like your grip was merely a tangle of weeds that she had to drag herself out of. She had no interest in what was holding her back; she simply wanted to get away from it. You didn't look at her face. It was blanked over, you knew, and you didn't want to see that.

You let go and she walked down into the dark.

Happy The Mouth Of A Cave Day!

Has He Really Taught You Everything He Has To Teach? Day!

You've packed a single suitcase. There's a young man waiting on the sidewalk. He'll be taking care of you now. But first you must say goodbye to your elderly mentor.

"You taught me so much," you'll say. "I can never in a million years repay you for sharing with me your brilliance."

"How is my shopping going to get done?" he'll ask.

Say, "I opened an account for you with Freshdirect. Anyway, I know our relationship was unorthodox. And I don't regret a moment of it. You were the father I never had. And the lover I always dreamed of."

"Does the UPS guy need to be called ahead of time if I need a pickup? Or does he just stop by every day?"

Take him by the hand and walk him into the bedroom. Point to where you posted the phone number for UPS pickup scheduling on the bulletin board. "I know this is hard. It's the hardest decision I've ever had to make. But what good is all you've taught me if I don't go out into the world and apply it to a life."

"My prescriptions?"

"You can pick them up every Friday."

"The cleaning lady?"

"She comes by on Tuesdays. Write her a check on the first Tuesday of the month."

"What about my fish?"

You suck in a breath. Those fish. Without you around to feed them and clean their tank, they'll surely die. But you can't let that responsibility hold you back. You can't be his student for the rest of your life. You have to live.

Kiss him on the cheek and run out the door, leaving behind his last question unanswered.

Happy Has He Really Taught You Everything He Has To Teach? Day!

She Is Waiting Up For You Day!

Are you going to tell her that you didn't want to come home?

Are you going to tell her you were up late judging a Strong Man Competition at the beach? That bright lights and turntables were hooked up to power generators while gigantic men tried to hoist heavy weights above their heads. That you were just standing in the muck of the crowd eating an Icee when the host and the sponsor's representative started looking for judges and the host pointed to you and said, "How bout that guy?"

And the sponsor's representative (Baja Fresh) said, "The guy with the Icee. Get on up here."

Are you going to tell her that there were two other judges? One a graphic designer. He leaned into your ear and whispered, "I'm new in town and I hope you'll be my first new friend." One a poet. She leaned into your ear and whispered, "Would you believe my boyfriend and I broke up just thirty hours ago? I haven't even slept yet, and here I am judging a Strong Man Competition." Would she believe it?

Are you going to tell her that you were the tie breaker that put a pale giant named Sven into the winner's circle? Are you going to tell her that you danced with two hundred people who had just been soaked with a hose? That you watched two dozen people jump naked into the ocean (too cold for you)? That you ate a dozen clams and drank a dozen beers? That you had so much fun so very much fun you just couldn't let the very best Monday night you've ever had come to an end?

Or are you just going to tell her that you didn't want to come home?

Happy She Is Waiting Up For You Day!

Drive Into Mexico Day!

You're 80 years old and you've never left America. You've lived 38 miles from the border for most of your life. Take a quick drive, widower. Cross the line and come home in time for 60 Minutes. It's way down at number four on your list of things to do before you die, but it'll be the first one you'll cross off. Don't let it be the only one. Number 7 (visit a waterpark) sounds way fun.

Happy Drive Into Mexico Day!

Speak Now Day!

You stand up and say, "I think she's making a big mistake."

The Priest says, "What are you telling me for? Talk to her."

"Marie," you say. "You don't love him."

"I love you," she says. "But you drink."

You nod.

Nothing happens until you realize the ball's in your court. "Oh, yeah, well I'll quit drinking."

Maria says, "Really?"

You try to say yes, but instead you say, "No."

The Priest says, "Shall we continue?"

Say, "No. Don't. Look, I'm still a big drink right now, but you never know what could happen over the next six months to a year. I might turn it all around. And you'll look back over your shoulder and see me all employed and shaven and shit. But you'll be married to a guy you don't love and you'll be kicking yourself."

"What are you saying?" she'll ask.

Say, "You don't have to come back to me right now. Just don't marry him right now."

"Done," she'll say. She'll give the guy she was about to marry (a millionaire, but soulless) a peck on the cheek and then take off like a bat out of hell.

Happy Speak Now Day!

The Carpenter Day!

He'd sleep with you. Just so you know.

You have a lot in common. You're both married. You're both in your forties. You'd both have sex with each other given the chance.

Except, you hired him. He's seen the way you hang out in the den while he's hard at work. He knows you downright ache for it. But were he to make the first move, your responsibility to your husband might rise up and force you to rebuff his efforts and fire him to appease your guilt for wanting so badly to feel his hands lift you up in the air by the small of your back.

You're going to have to make the first move. And there's only one way for you to go about it so he understands exactly what you want.

When he's down on his knees hacking into the baseboards to make room for the electricals, ask him, "Would you like me to fix you something to eat?"

He'll say, "Sure that'd be great."

Cross the room and stand just inches from his spot on the ground. Slowly lift your skirt until he is at eye level with your bare pussy. Say to him, "Chow down."

Happy The Carpenter Day!

Sit Around And Think About Kim Day!

You feel like a heel for never having visited her in jail. But you've spoken to others who have and you just couldn't bring yourself to see her like that.

"Like a monster," they said. "She's someone else now. She couldn't even speak in words anymore. Just in groans and punches to her own chest and belly."

Once upon a time you and Kim were gonna change the world. "Our love is our activism," she'd whisper just before a kiss. "Our activism is our love."

But the war against Choice escalated and Kim was called to the front lines to put a bullet through the windshield of an abortion doctor. You were behind the wheel of the getaway car. The bullet seared through the flesh of the doctor's shoulder and, as it happened, he lost the use of his left arm and bowed out of the practice.

But you and Kim got caught. The doctor brought suit against Mission For The Child because Kim proudly told authorities that she had been acting as a soldier for the Mission when she pulled the trigger. The Doctor was awarded millions and the Mission went under. And the criminal trial focused on Kim as the shooter. You were handed probation, but Kim was given twenty years in maximum security.

It's been twelve years now since the shooting. You are older and more tired. Your wife died delivering your second daughter Denise. You're not a militant anymore, you're just a father and a widower.

You wish Kim might have been killed in jail, or at least she might have served her full sentence. She might never come find you, but if she does you will have no choice but to give her food and a bed until she's willing to free you of your responsibility and move on. And now you're going to go into the bedroom and reread the last letter she sent you five years prior after you told her you were about to marry.

Happy Sit Around And Think About Kim Day!

The Minivan Company Isn't Going To Like Your Idea For Their Next Ad Campaign Day!

The guy buys his minivan and on the way home he is absolutely in love with the comfort and all of the handy compartments. So in love that he doesn't make it home to his wife and kids, but instead hits the road to the heart of America, filling up the handy compartments with cocaine that he will sell to continue to bring in a steady income. There's a montage at the end of the commercial, featuring clips of the guy's wife and kids being forced to move into a small apartment, interspersed with clips of the guy out on the road partying with biker dudes and naked moms in the back of the minivan. The slogan at the end of the commercial: "No attachments!"

You're going to be fired, but you're right. It is really funny.

Happy The Minivan Company Isn't Going To Like Your Idea For Their Next Ad Campaign Day!

Jeckyl, The Cutest Cat In The World Day!

Jeckyl, the cutest cat in the world, is being offered up for adoption on Craig's list because Jeckyl scratched a baby on the back of the hand.

Jeckyl's owners are devastated that they have to give Jeckyl away, but they just can't take the chance that Jeckyl might do something worse to their baby. Jeckyl, according to them, is the cutest cat in the world. Any cat lover should be more than thrilled to have Jeckyl in their home (cat lovers with babies that have hands excluded, of course).

Some of the other pet caregivers on Craig's List find Jeckyl's owners to be a tad cruel in the way they are willing to just toss Jeckyl to the winds the minute there's a little problem. One particular pet caregiver has already threatened the lives of Jeckyl's caregivers and their baby.

Jeckyl is nine years old and has no diseases. Jeckyl is the cutest cat in the world. If you have room in your home and in your heart.

Happy Jeckyl, The Cutest Cat In The World Day!

Mud Wrestle Day!

People who don't follow the sport think that mud wrestling is just a vehicle for slippery women to rip each other's bikini tops off. This is accurate.

Today, tell Marjory Kleinfeld that the next time she loads the printer full of three-hole punch and forgets to replace it with a standard ream after her job has printed, you're going to settle shit up inside the ring. Marjory will break your threatening stare and load up the printer full of three-hole punch, then she'll print one page, hand it to you, and walk away smiling, having left the printer full to the brim with three-hole punch. The page she handed you will read, "Bring it, cocksuck."

Summertime is about lightness and funfun. Marjory knows that and so do you. That's why you're both popping with anticipation to scrabble around in that pit of muck until the clothing has been ripped from your bosoms. After which point, one of you will climb atop the other's shoulders to welcome anyone who thinks they can take the two of you on in a topless mud-chicken fight. Immediately following the fights, shower up and hit the bar until you're all drunk enough to cheat on your spouses. The Office Before The Home, Know What's Right.

Happy Mud Wrestle Day!

It's The Girls Are Pretty Flowering The Gravestones Long Weekend!

As many of you may know, Prettygirl is not known to bring the best of luck to those who care for her. In fact, those who grow close to Prettygirl can expect to die a very funny death within a year's time (ie: stopping in the path of a speeding bus to check if one's zipper is down. HA!). This string of sadness is the result of a curse cast upon Prettygirl by a spurned lover (PRETTYGIRL CHEATED CHEATED CHEATED!). It can be reversed. The blood of that former lover must be fed to a black cat. A Craig's Listing has been posted, but the only responses that have come in are people screeching about satanic cults and berating Prettygirl for wanting a cat of a particular color when there are so many beautiful animals in the world that need a home.

But all that's not important right now. This weekend is about those who are no longer with us. Prettygirl's mail carrier Janice for instance. Her Portugal friend, Marcus. These people died simply because they came to care for Prettygirl, and this weekend she will be paying her respects. Their graves are spread far and wide, but make no mistake, a flower will be lain upon each.

It's gonna take a little bit of time though. So most of this weekend's are going up now. YOU CANNOT READ TOMORROW'S TODAY OR THERE WILL BE NO TOMORROW, GOT IT (DICKS)?!!

Sunday, August 1, 2004

Buying The Special Toy Day!

Your kid wants the Mattel Piss Cannon, a toy that has turned into a National Phenomenon. It goes on sale this morning at Wal-Mart and will be sold out by 8 AM. Camp out in the parking lot, but do not sleep or you might get your throat slit. When the doors open in the morning, find the biggest toughest Mom in the crowd and rip her goddamn throat out her neck to show all the other Moms you're not to be fucked with. If you don't acquire a Mattel Piss Cannon this morning, you do not love your son.

Happy Buying The Special Toy Day!

Saturday, July 31, 2004

Get A Boyfriend Day!

You've been single for what seems like an ugly person's lifetime. You don't mind it much, you value your time and you have a lot of work to do. But your friends and family assume you are going to kill yourself the first moment you get alone. Ease their worry and take up with the first employed man you meet. This is not about love, it's about not looking like a loser. If he hits, get out of there.

Happy Get A Boyfriend Day!

Friday, July 30, 2004

Giant Awesome Explosion Day!

It’s only awesome because no one is going to be hurt. If anyone gets hurt, there’s nothing awesome about it, are we understood?

Very well. Today the Mayor’s office is going to blow up a 50 foot pyramid of spraypaint cans. The initial blast will have a very tinny sound, and then everyone and everything will be covered in a rainbow of toxic paint, illustrating the undeniable fact that the world is beautiful and dying.

Happy Giant Awesome Explosion Day!

Thursday, July 29, 2004

Insane Gas Meter Reader Day!

The gas meter reader is not dangerous. But she is delusional and has many bouts of paranoia. Don’t talk on the phone while she reads your meter. If she overhears you say anything, she’ll think it’s about her and before she leaves she’ll confront you.

Were you speaking to Dina? It sounded like my friend Dina was on the other end of that line.

Happy Insane Gas Meter Reader Day!

Someone Put Some Fireflies In Your Room Day!

Someone, and I'm not saying who, but someone opened up her jar of lightning bugs in your room and shook them all out onto your floor. There should be maybe two or three hundred up there waiting to brighten up your day one little fleck of gold at a time.

The person who did this is slow and because she thinks that lightning bugs in the yard in the evening are beautiful, she fails to see why anyone might find lightning bugs perched along every surface of one's bedroom absolutely abominable, to the point of being terrifying. She thought she was giving you a present is the thing, so don't be too upset with her. It's okay though if you want to force her to sweep them all up after they die. Retarded or not, life keeps going. She's going to have to learn what the slowly fading glow of a shitload of squished fireflies looks like sooner or later. It'll keep her out of your room anyway.

Happy Someone Put Some Fireflies In Your Room Day!

For Charity Day!

Today, volunteer at a soup kitchen. Many of the homeless are mentally insane and one at the soup kitchen will confuse you with a woman to whom he has been married for decades. Try to calmly explain that you are not his wife.

"Are too," he'll say.

Don't reply "Are not" or you'll never get out of there. Instead give one of the kitchen administrators the high sign and then fall to the ground in an effort to fake your own death. The administrator will run over and press his fingers to your throat and then he'll announce, "She's dead," and after the confused homeless man sobs his tears all over your face and neck, the security guards will drag you back into the kitchen.

You might smoke a cigarette or take a leak before you come back out and resume serving soup. The now-bereaved homeless man will see you and he'll shout "Ethel!" or whatever he thinks your name is.

Say to him, "You just saw me die so I must be a ghost I guess. I can't hear what you say to me, and if you try to touch me I'll vanish."

The confused homeless man will not take his eyes off of you, and he'll probably follow you home for the next few years, but he won't bug you while you're trying to do some good at least.

Happy For Charity Day!

Your Roommate's Breast Reduction Day!

Ever since Sandy moved in she's spoken of nothing but her impending breast reduction. How much her back muscles stand to benefit, how vehemently her mother expressed her opposition, and how she can't wait to finally put on a tank top in August. You've had so little going on in your own life that you got pretty caught up in it, which is why you'll be picking her up from the clinic this afternoon.

She'll be coming out of the anesthesia and, therefore, vomiting. A nurse will wheel her to your car, but you're going to have to help her into the house. She'll need to be steadied in your arms, and her bosom will be wrapped tight in bandages (change daily) so you're in no danger of ripping the stitches. But it would be best if you could keep your hands near her hips and her waist. Best not to lift her shoulders any more than necessary.

She hasn't prepared you for how much she'll need you to care for her because she really has no idea. The vomiting should stop by early morning tomorrow, then you'll have to feed her some. It's good that you have so little going on for yourself right now. But before you get caught up in something like this again how's about you send out some resumes, yes?

Happy Your Roommate's Breast Reduction Day!

Run To Your Death To Win The Race Day!

It's a complicated race and there are no spectators, no sponsors, no organizers, no starting line, and, as will be made obvious, no finish line. To enter, begin running. Your participation in the race is only made official when you drop dead. And the last person to drop dead wins. But anyone can enter the race anywhere, at any time. One only need to begin running. Therefore, when you finally drop to the ground to die there, you will not know if there are others still running somewhere. And even if you are the last to drop dead, if ten years down the line someone somewhere wishes to enter the race, you lose. IT'S REALLY QUITE SILLY.

If you should pass someone else who is also in the race, you may nod to each other, but no chit chat as this is not a singles bar.

Happy Run To Your Death To Win The Race Day!

This One's For You Ted Day!

Ted wrote in with a request. The following is just for him.

A girl we'll call Shannon was nineteen and in between semesters at college, visiting her boyfriend, Jeff, who had gone to school close to home. It was a great comfort to be back with him, spending nights in his arms again, going to the Centennial Gardens on the edge of town almost every free afternoon they could share, and Shannon waiting at the concession tables of the Cineplex where Jeff still worked on his breaks from school. It was just like in high school, but now their days and nights together were colored with a tint of doom, just around the frame, since they both knew this summer would be their last together. Shannon felt like it was expected of her to move on to better than Jeff. And Jeff just sort of understood that if you stay in the same place, you'll be left behind eventually. He wasn't too sad about it. Just a little anxious for things to be done with.

The dread for the coming end suffused their sex with just a little more abandon. Shannon wanted to do a few things that she would remember, such as being penetrated amongst the hedges of the Centennial Gardens just before closing. And Jeff wanted to penentrate Shannon whenever he was permitted to do so. They had their fun and said goodbye forever six days before Shannon left to return to college.

Before the leaves began to change, Shannon discovered she was pregnant. She aborted within days. Shannon is now a star of feature films and is very happy with her life. She knows she made the correct decision, but she wishes she hadn't had to make it.

Hope this helps Ted. Happy Birthday.

And Happy This One's For You Ted Day!

We Found His Beret Day!

It was in the brush by the stream. There was some blood on it. Lotta dirt, it looked like it was definitely on his head for much of the struggle. The good news is we're not far from finding your boyfriend. The bad news is, it doesn't look like we're going to find him alive.

I'm a cop, sure, but I have no idea whether your boyfriend wore a beret often or not. And I have no idea whether that was even a problem for you. It doesn't have to have been. But I just want to make sure we're clear that if we don't find him alive, your boyfriend will have died in a beret. That can be hard to swallow for some, and I don't want it to sneak up on you. He was wearing a beret up until the very end. A beret.

Happy We Found His Beret Day!

And With A Puff Of Smoke Day!

Last night you prayed to Baby Jesus that he do what he can to put a little more magic into your life. That's why you shouldn't be surprised when, this morning, after you stir your milk into your coffee and the color changes from black to light brown, you and your coffee will be enveloped by a short puff of beautiful white smoke. Which will disappear as quickly as it came.

When you are in public, the puff of smoke will be followed by a round of applause and two or three guys going, "Ooh." You'll see soon enough. Like when you drop quarters into the newspaper box and open the door to retrieve a paper. Baby Jesus is still a dick.

Happy And With A Puff Of Smoke Day!

Trapped Under Boxes Day!

Today, you're stuck underneath some boxes. You tried to get to the box in the middle of the pile because you were pretty sure that the picture of your sweet little mother was in that box and you wanted to talk to it. But when you pulled that box out, your entire pile of boxes tumbled atop your head and pinned you to the ground.

You can't breathe deep enough to shout for help. And you can't talk to your mother's picture anymore because every time you look into those eyes you can hear her shouting that you should turn yourself into the police for being gay. There is nothing to eat or drink and you have no friends who might stop by to find out why you won't return any calls because, while you have a handful of friends, you only get a call for the group invites. Outside of those, all responsibility for staying in touch with your friends lands in your lap. You don't talk to your neighbors either. There is a very good chance you're going to die.

But you've still got one chance left. Nineteen feet away from you, way up on the wall, is a small red button that opens the garage door. Within your reach is a toy bow and arrow from when you were a kid. You have only one arm free. If you can pull the bow with your teeth and shoot the arrow at that button, the door will open and some of the boxes will tumble out, lessening the weight above you and opening the door to the rubble so someone might poke his nose in to see what happened. However, when you were a child, after the car accident and before you had your arm reattached, you were the prized archer for your elementary school's team and they needed you to bring them to victory. They were counting on you to adjust to having only one arm. You didn't come near hitting the target of course, and that failure, you're certain, made the rest of your life take a turn for the worse.

Well, now it's not your team record on the line, it's your own preservation. If you miss the target, you'll die there under those boxes. If you hit the target, your whole life will change because you'll have compensated for that humiliating day so long ago when everyone was counting on you to shoot a bow and arrow with one arm and your teeth and you failed. Give it your best shot and you're going to miss and die there. It won't make a difference that you tried because after you miss, you'll know that your fear of failure kept you from concentrating on the task at hand, and it will feel like you were doomed to fail from the first moment that the challenge presented itself.

Happy Trapped Under Boxes Day!

Woke Up In A Girl Day!

When you opened your eyes you were wrapped up in her arms, in her legs, caught up in the gusts of her breath. You were laid flat rendered defenseless under 110 pounds of a girl you've only had sex with seven times. She wouldn't stop sleeping.

You said, "Wake up, let me go."

Her eyes fluttered and her mouth closed and her lips pursed up into that coy little redheaded smile. Then you wriggled out from underneath her like you just found out she had poison ivy.

She said, "What?"

"I couldn't get away," you said.

She stared, making sure it wasn't a dream. Then she pulled her legs up to her chest and said so that you could not in a million years think she might need you even the slightest little bit, "Go then." That's when you felt ice cold, like last November, and you stretched back out in bed.

After ten minutes, she wrapped herself up and around you again. After four hours, you said, "I didn't want to leave. It was just…" After nine hours she left the bed and came back with an orange cut up into slices.

Happy Woke Up In A Girl Day!

Blood All Over Day!

Last night he sliced a giant maw into your lower calf with his over-grown toenail and you're not sure whether the loss of blood itself made you woozy or did you need to stand on your knees only after you saw just how wild and wide the red had spread? You talked to the police and they said if you were to die from the blood loss, your husband would be suspected of murder only if there appeared to be probable cause, given that that method would look so much like an accident. So you took out an insurance policy on yourself, naming your husband the sole benficiary, and you've begin an affair with a coworker. And tonight you're going to present all of this to your husband so he'll understand that he risks being raped in prison for the rest of his life if he doesn't cut his fucking toenails. Jesus.

Happy Blood All Over Day!

Too Cool For Anderson, Lipschitz, Morrisey, Jullan, Heimlich, and Fried LLP Day!

You try to play off your junior partnership in the firm as if you're above it all. They're lucky if you show up to a third of the mixers thrown throughout the year. Whenever your team manages to score a big new client, even if you're primarily responsible for bringing them on, all anyone gets out of you is a shrug and a "Not too bad if that's the sort of thing you care about I guess. I get much more excited by Jazz." And God forbid you're asked to give a speech or else you'll start spewing out about what's really important, or worse, you'll tell a thrice-told anecdote from your post-college year in Prague.

The difference between you and almost everyone else at your firm is that they are not disappointed in themselves.

Happy Too Cool For Anderson, Lipschitz, Morrisey, Jullan, Heimlich, and Fried LLP Day!

The Skirt Of Her Wedding Dress Flares Out Like A Bell Day!

It's the only dress she packed. In the darkness of 3 AM she didn't need to see it to know it was the one she'd marry in.

While packing she was aware of the story she'd one day tell, perhaps to her daughter, perhaps only to her mother. "I packed only one dress," she would say. "Just one dress to marry in. Some jeans, socks and underwear and I tossed the bag out my window to Paco waiting in the garden." It was going to be a very good story.

"I've seen you in that already," Paco says when she meets him at the podium of the wedding chapel.

"Bad luck?" she asks, her face a teardrop with a grin.

Paco lifts the makeshift veil up to rest on her hair. "We'll see," he says. And he turns to hear what the minister has to say.

Happy The Skirt Of Her Wedding Dress Flares Out Like A Bell Day!

Broken Coffee Pot Day!

You'll smack it into the head of the long-neck faucet when your trying to swish the water around to clean the walls of the pot. You'll take a huge shard out of the side, down to the metal band at the bottom. Your heart will stop beating and you'll sit on your couch, trying to remember whether you've ever replaced a coffee pot before. Not the entire coffee maker, just the pot.

"Must have," you'll think. But you won't be able to remember when. You'll only be able to assume that large stores like Wal-Mart have an abundance of replacement coffeepots for every brand of coffee maker.

"At least I hope."

You'll stay on the couch until you're fifteen minutes late for work. Though in a panic, you'll walk to the elevator, take it to the lobby, walk out of your building and make your way to your train to get to work. With every step the anxiety will grow. You don't have a coffee pot anymore. And you're going to have to find out how to get a new one. Somehow.

Oh dead God almighty the whole world prays only for you.

Happy Broken Coffee Pot Day!

Raindrops Made Of Teardrops Day!

Not to be confused with Teardrops Made Of Raindrops Day. Which is essentially a day that means nothing to no one. All it is is some chick crying but the drops that come out of her eyes are of the same composition as the rain. Wheee!

Today however, the raindrops that fall from the sky are of the same organic makeup as the drops that fall from the eye of your average person who has just had a hair plucked from his nose or lost a dad.

So what's today mean? Well, if you believe in God and you believe that God is up in the sky, you can believe that he's crying and you can try to figure out what you did wrong. If you don't believe in God, today it's raining weird.

Additionally, it doesn't have to rain today. But if it does, you get it.

Happy Raindrops Made Of Teardrops Day!