Lure Them With A Bowl Of Greek Olives Day!
If you use the same bowl that you used for the Hershey Kisses, make sure you wash it thoroughly. You don't want your co-workers to bite into a Greek Olive and say, "This tastes like yesterday's Hershey's Kisses. What the fuck, Saperstein?"
You want them to say, "Olives? Hot shit!" And then they'll plant themselves there by your cube, sucking olive meat from those beautiful stones and telling you stories that end with lines like, "I never did make it Constantinople that Summer, and I've regretted it with every breath I've taken since," or stories that begin with lines like, "Buckle up, Dicksnot." You want the salt of your coworkers tears to mix with the sweat on the skin of those Olives. What you want, what you really want, is to know these people who surround you every day.
To finally know them. Jelly beans tomorrow. Go shopping.
Happy Lure Them With A Bowl Of Greek Olives Day!
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Park By The River And Tell Him You're Bored Day
Park By The River And Tell Him You're Bored Day!
He's gonna lean over to get some, so you'd better not wait too long before you tell him that you're sick of his face.
"But we're parked at the river," he'll say. "This is where we go to do it."
Explain to him that you took him to the river on purpose. "I wanted the river back," say.
Tell him how, over the years, the river has lent itself for a backdrop to all those moments you figured you'd want to remember one day. How there's so little going on in your shithole corner of the country that you had to go down to the river if you wanted anything important in your life to happen outside of a Quiznos.
"So I took you here for us to do it," say. "But I also came down here the morning after my Dad died. And whenever I get an important package or letter via the mail, I come down here to open it."
He'll say that he's glad you at least thought he would be something you'd want to remember. Don't tell him you were wrong.
"See, I can't let you and I having done it here by the river be the last thing that happened down here. I need my river back, so I had to break your heart here too."
He'll nod. "So you're canceling me out," he'll say.
"No," say. "You and me doing it here will always be here. The river saw it. Just as the river is watching me say goodbye to you. Now the next time I come down here, the river won't have to ask me, Hey, where's your boy?"
"Does the river ever tell you to do stuff?" he'll ask.
Just look straight ahead, look at the river. Contemplate its strength and its persistence.
"Is the river telling you to do something right now?" he'll ask.
Say, "You should go now."
He'll hold your eyes with his.
Scream, "Go!"
Pray that he gets out of the car in time.
Happy Park By The River And Tell Him You're Bored Day!
He's gonna lean over to get some, so you'd better not wait too long before you tell him that you're sick of his face.
"But we're parked at the river," he'll say. "This is where we go to do it."
Explain to him that you took him to the river on purpose. "I wanted the river back," say.
Tell him how, over the years, the river has lent itself for a backdrop to all those moments you figured you'd want to remember one day. How there's so little going on in your shithole corner of the country that you had to go down to the river if you wanted anything important in your life to happen outside of a Quiznos.
"So I took you here for us to do it," say. "But I also came down here the morning after my Dad died. And whenever I get an important package or letter via the mail, I come down here to open it."
He'll say that he's glad you at least thought he would be something you'd want to remember. Don't tell him you were wrong.
"See, I can't let you and I having done it here by the river be the last thing that happened down here. I need my river back, so I had to break your heart here too."
He'll nod. "So you're canceling me out," he'll say.
"No," say. "You and me doing it here will always be here. The river saw it. Just as the river is watching me say goodbye to you. Now the next time I come down here, the river won't have to ask me, Hey, where's your boy?"
"Does the river ever tell you to do stuff?" he'll ask.
Just look straight ahead, look at the river. Contemplate its strength and its persistence.
"Is the river telling you to do something right now?" he'll ask.
Say, "You should go now."
He'll hold your eyes with his.
Scream, "Go!"
Pray that he gets out of the car in time.
Happy Park By The River And Tell Him You're Bored Day!
Monday, February 07, 2005
You Lost Your Virginity To The Tune Of Metallica's "Ride The Lightning" Day
You Lost Your Virginity To The Tune Of Metallica's "Ride The Lightning" Day!
Listen to yourself for God's sake. Talking about "perfect moments" and "a love so strong you just know." When you lost it there was a muddy puddle of beer seeping through the back of your winter coat, which, to complete that "right moment," was still on and half zipped. Joe Pownell took you on the grass of a raided kegger not three feet away from a barbed wire fence with "Ride The Lightning" blasting from Jeff Conway's (sitting fifteen feet away) boom box, and you're going to tell your daughter to be that long-rumoured "ONE" who'll manage to lose it when the moment is right? Buy her some birth control, tell her not to be stupid, and go upstairs to your Netflix.
Additionally, you never had sex again in high school, but you were a whore in college.
Happy You Lost Your Virginity To The Tune Of Metallica's "Ride The Lightning" Day!
Listen to yourself for God's sake. Talking about "perfect moments" and "a love so strong you just know." When you lost it there was a muddy puddle of beer seeping through the back of your winter coat, which, to complete that "right moment," was still on and half zipped. Joe Pownell took you on the grass of a raided kegger not three feet away from a barbed wire fence with "Ride The Lightning" blasting from Jeff Conway's (sitting fifteen feet away) boom box, and you're going to tell your daughter to be that long-rumoured "ONE" who'll manage to lose it when the moment is right? Buy her some birth control, tell her not to be stupid, and go upstairs to your Netflix.
Additionally, you never had sex again in high school, but you were a whore in college.
Happy You Lost Your Virginity To The Tune Of Metallica's "Ride The Lightning" Day!
Sunday, February 06, 2005
Raid On The Cult Compound Day
Raid On The Cult Compound Day!
The ATF is going to raid your compound at 5 PM today. You have to convince your followers to kill themselves before then. Trouble is, while you had planned for them all to kill themselves from the get-go, you expected to have a few more years of brainwashing to convince them that mass suicide was the only way to go. Right now they're all with you in the whole "defend the compound" scenario. But to walk in and say, "I know what, let's all off ourselves," it would really be coming out of left field.
You could try to just rattle of a litany of really depressing stuff and see if that works. Show them a slide-show maybe of puppies being punched in the face or an "According To Jim" marathon. Or how about this? As the leader of the cult, all of your followers wanna marry you, correct? So why not write each of them a "Sorry, I've just always seen you as a friend" letter? Nothing makes people commit suicide like unrequited love.
If it gets to around 4:30 though, you're going to have to kill them all and make it look like a mass suicide instead of a mass murder. Best way to do this is if you slit all of their wrists and forge "goodbye cruel world" notes in each person's handwriting. Not feeling so great now, are you Oh Great One?
Happy Raid On The Cult Compound Day!
The ATF is going to raid your compound at 5 PM today. You have to convince your followers to kill themselves before then. Trouble is, while you had planned for them all to kill themselves from the get-go, you expected to have a few more years of brainwashing to convince them that mass suicide was the only way to go. Right now they're all with you in the whole "defend the compound" scenario. But to walk in and say, "I know what, let's all off ourselves," it would really be coming out of left field.
You could try to just rattle of a litany of really depressing stuff and see if that works. Show them a slide-show maybe of puppies being punched in the face or an "According To Jim" marathon. Or how about this? As the leader of the cult, all of your followers wanna marry you, correct? So why not write each of them a "Sorry, I've just always seen you as a friend" letter? Nothing makes people commit suicide like unrequited love.
If it gets to around 4:30 though, you're going to have to kill them all and make it look like a mass suicide instead of a mass murder. Best way to do this is if you slit all of their wrists and forge "goodbye cruel world" notes in each person's handwriting. Not feeling so great now, are you Oh Great One?
Happy Raid On The Cult Compound Day!
Saturday, February 05, 2005
Here Comes Trouble Day
Here Comes Trouble Day!
Your son started another fight. His third at this fancy new middle school.
"I thought you people were supposed to be good at dealing with troubled youths," you shout at the principal through the receiver.
"We do what we can with what we're given," her words are very clipped. "And what we're given is designed in the home. How's the home going?"
His Dad's gone and sometimes calls and says he might come back, which is less an empty promise and more an empty threat. "My son hates me. So what? Fix him."
He hates you only because you've decided to let his Dad's absence be replaced with silence. He hates you because you assumed he would and, as far as he can tell, you were fine with that.
"When he takes a swing at a classmate," the principal asked, "who's he really wanna hit?"
I think he wants to drive his arm straight through my belly. You think it but don't say it. "I don't know lady. You perhaps? The more we talk, the more understandable that seems."
She breathes for ten seconds. Then, "If you're not going to work with us, I'm afraid…"
Say, "He won't be back Monday."
She'll say, "I'm afraid that will be best."
With no schools left that will take him, and no money to pay his tuition even if they could, you hang up the phone with the rest of the day ahead of you to try not to think about it.
Happy Here Comes Trouble Day!
Your son started another fight. His third at this fancy new middle school.
"I thought you people were supposed to be good at dealing with troubled youths," you shout at the principal through the receiver.
"We do what we can with what we're given," her words are very clipped. "And what we're given is designed in the home. How's the home going?"
His Dad's gone and sometimes calls and says he might come back, which is less an empty promise and more an empty threat. "My son hates me. So what? Fix him."
He hates you only because you've decided to let his Dad's absence be replaced with silence. He hates you because you assumed he would and, as far as he can tell, you were fine with that.
"When he takes a swing at a classmate," the principal asked, "who's he really wanna hit?"
I think he wants to drive his arm straight through my belly. You think it but don't say it. "I don't know lady. You perhaps? The more we talk, the more understandable that seems."
She breathes for ten seconds. Then, "If you're not going to work with us, I'm afraid…"
Say, "He won't be back Monday."
She'll say, "I'm afraid that will be best."
With no schools left that will take him, and no money to pay his tuition even if they could, you hang up the phone with the rest of the day ahead of you to try not to think about it.
Happy Here Comes Trouble Day!
Friday, February 04, 2005
Your Date Doctor Is A Quack Day
Your Date Doctor Is A Quack Day!
You misspoke when you said that your date's dress made her look thinner than usual, yes. Your instinct was to laugh at yourself and point out that you're very nervous and are therefore talking like a bit of an idiot. Your Date Doctor suggested a different approach.
"Give her a tickle torture!" he shouted.
So you leapt across the table and dug your wiggling fingertips into her sides. She begged you to stop in between bursts of frantic giggling. When you finally relented, she maced you and ran.
On another date chaperoned by the Date Doctor, you were glad to have him there because your date started choking on a big piece of steak and your Date Doctor administered the heimlich, which was cool. But then he told you to make her feel better by giving her thirty dollars. She maced you and ran.
Last week, you actually got lucky and your date invited you upstairs to fuck. Your Date Doctor insisted that he come along.
"You'll never be able to pull this off without me. You're nothing. You're worthless. I'm your only hope," was his argument. "You're disgusting and you smell bad," were two additional points to his argument.
You couldn't help but agree, so you asked your date if your Date Doctor could come up with you.
"Whatever it takes," she said. "I need it bad."
Upstairs, the sex was going pretty well for a first night. You stayed on top, occasionally holding your date's arms down on the pillows behind her head. About midway through, your Date Doctor pulled you up from the bed in a full-nelson and whispered in your ear, "Keep going."
You were still inside your date, being held aloft with your arms pinned up in the air by your Date Doctor's elbows. You looked down at your date, and she shrugged as if to say, "It's worth a shot.:
So you continued to thrust with your body bent backwards and held captive by your Date Doctor, who stood at the foot of the bed. Things escalated for another couple of minutes until you and your date shared one of the most powerful orgasms either of you could remember.
"Pretty sweet, right?" asked your Date Doctor.
"I have to admit, that ruled," your date said.
"That was almost as good an orgasm as the ones I used to have with my most recent ex-girlfriend," you said.
This upset your date, so your Date Doctor suggested that you write the words I'm sorry on her bedroom window with the semen you collected in your condom. She maced you and ran. But since you were in her place, she could only run into the bathroom. Once you regained your eyesight, you and your Date Doctor went out and got drunk.
Happy Your Date Doctor Is A Quack Day!
You misspoke when you said that your date's dress made her look thinner than usual, yes. Your instinct was to laugh at yourself and point out that you're very nervous and are therefore talking like a bit of an idiot. Your Date Doctor suggested a different approach.
"Give her a tickle torture!" he shouted.
So you leapt across the table and dug your wiggling fingertips into her sides. She begged you to stop in between bursts of frantic giggling. When you finally relented, she maced you and ran.
On another date chaperoned by the Date Doctor, you were glad to have him there because your date started choking on a big piece of steak and your Date Doctor administered the heimlich, which was cool. But then he told you to make her feel better by giving her thirty dollars. She maced you and ran.
Last week, you actually got lucky and your date invited you upstairs to fuck. Your Date Doctor insisted that he come along.
"You'll never be able to pull this off without me. You're nothing. You're worthless. I'm your only hope," was his argument. "You're disgusting and you smell bad," were two additional points to his argument.
You couldn't help but agree, so you asked your date if your Date Doctor could come up with you.
"Whatever it takes," she said. "I need it bad."
Upstairs, the sex was going pretty well for a first night. You stayed on top, occasionally holding your date's arms down on the pillows behind her head. About midway through, your Date Doctor pulled you up from the bed in a full-nelson and whispered in your ear, "Keep going."
You were still inside your date, being held aloft with your arms pinned up in the air by your Date Doctor's elbows. You looked down at your date, and she shrugged as if to say, "It's worth a shot.:
So you continued to thrust with your body bent backwards and held captive by your Date Doctor, who stood at the foot of the bed. Things escalated for another couple of minutes until you and your date shared one of the most powerful orgasms either of you could remember.
"Pretty sweet, right?" asked your Date Doctor.
"I have to admit, that ruled," your date said.
"That was almost as good an orgasm as the ones I used to have with my most recent ex-girlfriend," you said.
This upset your date, so your Date Doctor suggested that you write the words I'm sorry on her bedroom window with the semen you collected in your condom. She maced you and ran. But since you were in her place, she could only run into the bathroom. Once you regained your eyesight, you and your Date Doctor went out and got drunk.
Happy Your Date Doctor Is A Quack Day!
Thursday, February 03, 2005
Worst. Kitten Funeral. Ever. Day
Worst. Kitten Funeral. Ever. Day!
You've shown ineptitude in the past, but today you've outdone yourself. It was supposed to be a solemn, respectful occasion, something brief, during which we could quietly turn our thoughts to those two out of seven kittens who were crushed underneath boxes of China when the movers got impatient and decided not to look where they were tossing your valuables. Just something to make the kids feel better about it all. But against your wife's wishes, you said, "I'll take care of everything."
Just a brief eulogy would have been fine. "Sorry we never got to know you," and the like. But no, you had to bring the neighbor's aged cat, Morpheus, up to the lectern (where'd you get a lectern?) with you, and you just had pretend that Morpheus was the kittens' mother, throwing your arms around Morpheus' neck and screaming about vengeance for her lost brethren. That was all very cute. Not so cute? Jumping on the kittens' shoebox coffin. When you got back up, the kids could see the shoebox had been crushed, and they were terrified by what they could only imagine was inside that box. Yes, it was very classy of you to hire David Sanborn to play taps when the box was being lowered into the grave. Not so classy: Repeating over and over to the kids that he was charging you $7,000 for the half hour.
It's just a good thing that it's over with. But no one thinks it's cute that you're spending the night outside praying over their grave. Come to bed, asshole.
Happy Worst. Kitten Funeral. Ever. Day!
You've shown ineptitude in the past, but today you've outdone yourself. It was supposed to be a solemn, respectful occasion, something brief, during which we could quietly turn our thoughts to those two out of seven kittens who were crushed underneath boxes of China when the movers got impatient and decided not to look where they were tossing your valuables. Just something to make the kids feel better about it all. But against your wife's wishes, you said, "I'll take care of everything."
Just a brief eulogy would have been fine. "Sorry we never got to know you," and the like. But no, you had to bring the neighbor's aged cat, Morpheus, up to the lectern (where'd you get a lectern?) with you, and you just had pretend that Morpheus was the kittens' mother, throwing your arms around Morpheus' neck and screaming about vengeance for her lost brethren. That was all very cute. Not so cute? Jumping on the kittens' shoebox coffin. When you got back up, the kids could see the shoebox had been crushed, and they were terrified by what they could only imagine was inside that box. Yes, it was very classy of you to hire David Sanborn to play taps when the box was being lowered into the grave. Not so classy: Repeating over and over to the kids that he was charging you $7,000 for the half hour.
It's just a good thing that it's over with. But no one thinks it's cute that you're spending the night outside praying over their grave. Come to bed, asshole.
Happy Worst. Kitten Funeral. Ever. Day!
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Nearing The Conclusion Of Blind Man's Bluff Day!
Nearing The Conclusion Of Blind Man's Bluff Day!
You've lost a lot of blood. There are at least three opponents out there who are still alive and waiting for you to come stumbling out in your private darkness so that they can pummel you into nothing with bats and razor sharp garden saws. Your advantage: There will be no stumbling.
"You got no chance boys!" shout at them. "I've spent the last year with a rag over my eyes every hour of every day. I took it off only to attend my brother's second wedding in July. And I can tell you from here, I know where every pebble in this lawn is placed, where every bump in the soil will rise up to try and stub my toes, and where each one of you is hidden, panting out a whispered prayer to get just one shot in, before I open up your skulls and send you off to meet your teammates in the next world. You got ten seconds to run."
They won't buy it. They won't run. You're going to have to move on to plan b (stumble upon their hiding places completely by chance and then carve into their bellies with the jagged edge of a sawed off wiffle ball bat).
Happy Nearing The Conclusion Of Blind Man's Bluff Day!
You've lost a lot of blood. There are at least three opponents out there who are still alive and waiting for you to come stumbling out in your private darkness so that they can pummel you into nothing with bats and razor sharp garden saws. Your advantage: There will be no stumbling.
"You got no chance boys!" shout at them. "I've spent the last year with a rag over my eyes every hour of every day. I took it off only to attend my brother's second wedding in July. And I can tell you from here, I know where every pebble in this lawn is placed, where every bump in the soil will rise up to try and stub my toes, and where each one of you is hidden, panting out a whispered prayer to get just one shot in, before I open up your skulls and send you off to meet your teammates in the next world. You got ten seconds to run."
They won't buy it. They won't run. You're going to have to move on to plan b (stumble upon their hiding places completely by chance and then carve into their bellies with the jagged edge of a sawed off wiffle ball bat).
Happy Nearing The Conclusion Of Blind Man's Bluff Day!
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Things Don't Turn Out The Way They Were Supposed To Day
Things Don't Turn Out The Way They Were Supposed To Day!
Call in sick to your temp agency and get on a train to your childhood home. Stake it out for a little while, to make sure the current occupants have all left the premises for the day. Once the coast is clear, sprint across the lawn and hop the fence to the back yard.
They chopped down the rose bushes, but the grass where they used to stand doesn't match. Dig there. You remember it being at least six feet under the surface, but you actually never managed to get deeper than a foot and a half.
Slap. You hit the shoebox.
The scotch tape you sealed it with when you were ten just slips off of the cardboard. Inside, the box has become a home to potato bugs and a bunch of larvae of some kind. You fish the piece of paper out from underneath all of the creatures.
Shake the piece of paper out over the grass and unfold it carefully. It still rips at the creases. Lay it down on the ground. It says at the top, "Here's how things are gonna turn out." Underneath that is a crayon drawing of you getting out of a limousine holding money in your fists with lots of people cheering.
"Oh yeah," you think. "That's how things were supposed to turn out."
Take a piss on the drawing, then replace the dirt in the lawn so it looks like you were never there. Now pick up the piss-drenched drawing and box (be careful, they're covered in piss) and toss them in the plastic bag in the back seat of your rental car, making a point to toss them in the trash later. Get back home early enough to lay claim to the TV for the night before your roommate does.
Happy Things Don't Turn Out The Way They Were Supposed To Day!
Call in sick to your temp agency and get on a train to your childhood home. Stake it out for a little while, to make sure the current occupants have all left the premises for the day. Once the coast is clear, sprint across the lawn and hop the fence to the back yard.
They chopped down the rose bushes, but the grass where they used to stand doesn't match. Dig there. You remember it being at least six feet under the surface, but you actually never managed to get deeper than a foot and a half.
Slap. You hit the shoebox.
The scotch tape you sealed it with when you were ten just slips off of the cardboard. Inside, the box has become a home to potato bugs and a bunch of larvae of some kind. You fish the piece of paper out from underneath all of the creatures.
Shake the piece of paper out over the grass and unfold it carefully. It still rips at the creases. Lay it down on the ground. It says at the top, "Here's how things are gonna turn out." Underneath that is a crayon drawing of you getting out of a limousine holding money in your fists with lots of people cheering.
"Oh yeah," you think. "That's how things were supposed to turn out."
Take a piss on the drawing, then replace the dirt in the lawn so it looks like you were never there. Now pick up the piss-drenched drawing and box (be careful, they're covered in piss) and toss them in the plastic bag in the back seat of your rental car, making a point to toss them in the trash later. Get back home early enough to lay claim to the TV for the night before your roommate does.
Happy Things Don't Turn Out The Way They Were Supposed To Day!
Monday, January 31, 2005
Big Wheel Near The Train Tracks Day
Big Wheel Near The Train Tracks Day!
Child, have you outgrown your Big Wheel? If so, take care in how you discard it. You can do one of three things:
1. Melt it. Use your Dad's barbecue lighter. And if you're a poorly supervised latchkey kind of kid whose parents are divorcing, take a can of hairspray to the lighter to make a blow torch. Melting your Big Wheel will prohibit anyone from ever enjoying it again and you'll get to see and smell burning plastic. If you already have a sense of mortality, you can connect the sight of the melting Big Wheel to your own passage into pubescence and, ultimately, your next steps towards an inevitable death.
2. Give it to a neighboring poor child. The kid with smudges of soot all over his face who wears dress shoes at all times, even on the playground, because they are the only shoes he has. That kid's parents will never be able to afford a Big Wheel for him because their minds were ruined long ago by inhalants. You'll make one little kid feel very happy if this is the way you decide to go.
3. Toss it into the hill of garbage leading up away from the train tracks. Every day thousands of commuters pass along those tracks on their way to work and back to home and every day they gaze blankly at that hill of garbage trying to quell any metaphors that might spring up in their minds. When they spot the perfectly nice Big Wheel discarded amongst so many rusted shopping carts and hack-sawed pickle barrels, it will be too much for them to handle. Their heads will be clouded with thoughts of death, impoverished children, children being molested in industrial landscapes, tubercular mothers, and fathers who drink and hit. They will remember all the bad there is in the world and they'll give a silent prayer of thanks that they and their families have been fortunate thus far. And they'll pray that nothing comes to pass that would leave them subject to the sort of poetic fate that calls to mind a child's toy gleaming from the tangles of a trash heap. You'll make a thousand adults feel helpless to the whims of a miserable Lord if this is the way you decide to go.
Happy Big Wheel Near The Train Tracks Day!
Child, have you outgrown your Big Wheel? If so, take care in how you discard it. You can do one of three things:
1. Melt it. Use your Dad's barbecue lighter. And if you're a poorly supervised latchkey kind of kid whose parents are divorcing, take a can of hairspray to the lighter to make a blow torch. Melting your Big Wheel will prohibit anyone from ever enjoying it again and you'll get to see and smell burning plastic. If you already have a sense of mortality, you can connect the sight of the melting Big Wheel to your own passage into pubescence and, ultimately, your next steps towards an inevitable death.
2. Give it to a neighboring poor child. The kid with smudges of soot all over his face who wears dress shoes at all times, even on the playground, because they are the only shoes he has. That kid's parents will never be able to afford a Big Wheel for him because their minds were ruined long ago by inhalants. You'll make one little kid feel very happy if this is the way you decide to go.
3. Toss it into the hill of garbage leading up away from the train tracks. Every day thousands of commuters pass along those tracks on their way to work and back to home and every day they gaze blankly at that hill of garbage trying to quell any metaphors that might spring up in their minds. When they spot the perfectly nice Big Wheel discarded amongst so many rusted shopping carts and hack-sawed pickle barrels, it will be too much for them to handle. Their heads will be clouded with thoughts of death, impoverished children, children being molested in industrial landscapes, tubercular mothers, and fathers who drink and hit. They will remember all the bad there is in the world and they'll give a silent prayer of thanks that they and their families have been fortunate thus far. And they'll pray that nothing comes to pass that would leave them subject to the sort of poetic fate that calls to mind a child's toy gleaming from the tangles of a trash heap. You'll make a thousand adults feel helpless to the whims of a miserable Lord if this is the way you decide to go.
Happy Big Wheel Near The Train Tracks Day!
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Firestorm Day
Firestorm Day!
It's your wedding day, yes, but your job is to put out forest fires and wedding or no wedding, you're gonna go drop water out of a plane.
Your bride wants you to stay. "Don't go," she says. "You'll die and we won't even be married yet."
Tell her that you have no choice.
"Why on Earth did you ever take such an insane job anyway?" she asks. "It's not like it's even all that brave. You're just dropping water out of planes."
"It is brave."
"No it's not," she says. "You don't have to get that close to the fire when you drop the water. Aside from being able to watch shit burn from up high, the job really sounds kind of boring."
"Fuck you," tell her.
"No, seriously," she won't let it go. "Doesn't it start to feel really routine, just flying over a lake and collecting the water, then flying over the forest and dropping the water, then flying over the lake and collecting the water again? I'm bored just thinking about it."
"Why are you marrying me if you think I'm so boring?" ask her.
"Because you're hot," she says. "And anyway, I'm probably not marrying you since you're rushing off from our wedding to fly over a forest fire and die. And I never said you were boring. I said your job sucks."
Say, "Wait, if you think I'm going to die out there, how can my job be boring? It would have to be pretty dangerous if I could die, right?"
"You can die washing dishes in a restaurant if you slip in the right puddle," she says. "You'll fuck up is all. Do something stupid probably."
Say, "Jesus."
"Stay. Marry me."
Tell her you have to go because even though your dad died twenty years ago you're still trying to prove something to him.
Happy Firestorm Day!
It's your wedding day, yes, but your job is to put out forest fires and wedding or no wedding, you're gonna go drop water out of a plane.
Your bride wants you to stay. "Don't go," she says. "You'll die and we won't even be married yet."
Tell her that you have no choice.
"Why on Earth did you ever take such an insane job anyway?" she asks. "It's not like it's even all that brave. You're just dropping water out of planes."
"It is brave."
"No it's not," she says. "You don't have to get that close to the fire when you drop the water. Aside from being able to watch shit burn from up high, the job really sounds kind of boring."
"Fuck you," tell her.
"No, seriously," she won't let it go. "Doesn't it start to feel really routine, just flying over a lake and collecting the water, then flying over the forest and dropping the water, then flying over the lake and collecting the water again? I'm bored just thinking about it."
"Why are you marrying me if you think I'm so boring?" ask her.
"Because you're hot," she says. "And anyway, I'm probably not marrying you since you're rushing off from our wedding to fly over a forest fire and die. And I never said you were boring. I said your job sucks."
Say, "Wait, if you think I'm going to die out there, how can my job be boring? It would have to be pretty dangerous if I could die, right?"
"You can die washing dishes in a restaurant if you slip in the right puddle," she says. "You'll fuck up is all. Do something stupid probably."
Say, "Jesus."
"Stay. Marry me."
Tell her you have to go because even though your dad died twenty years ago you're still trying to prove something to him.
Happy Firestorm Day!
Saturday, January 29, 2005
Michigan's Gone Day
Michigan's Gone Day!
Your brother Michigan is dead. He died with you standing by his deathbed. Your name's Matinee.
"Matinee," he said. "Come closer."
You leaned in.
"Dad's alive."
You asked how he knew and Michigan turned so livid you thought he might not be as sick as the doctors said. "Because he brought me up there to where he's living. He's rich, Matinee. He's got a family."
Your father disappeared after your mother died. You were sixteen, and you were left to raise Michigan, two years younger, until he turned 18 and left you in kind. He came back a month ago to die where he grew up. One of his nurses went to high school with you and contacted you is how you found out where he was.
"Where?"
Michigan's face went gray again. "It's always been about him running off," he said. "He's in Middlecrest. I went there. Before I checked into the hospital."
Your father has been living 20 minutes away from you by car.
"For how long?"
A rumble of coughing. Michigan was starting to go. "The whole time," he sputtered out. The spit on his chin was black. "It just didn't occur to me to call you. I—"
"Michigan," you said. "Stop apologizing. I stayed away from you too. I knew you were in New York and I kept quiet."
He took one last clean breath. "He's got a daughter Matinee. She's older than me."
Daddy had another family. "He's got a wife up there?"
Michigan nodded and died. All that meant was he couldn't answer the several hundred questions you were waiting to ask. You declared Michigan dead back when you were 20 years old and left to live your own life finally. And now, all you can think was that your Daddy had another Mommy stashed away someplace, when you and your brother could have used one, and he kept her all to himself.
Stick around until the nurses pull his eyelids down shut, then drive up the hill to Middlecrest.
Happy Michigan's Gone Day!
Your brother Michigan is dead. He died with you standing by his deathbed. Your name's Matinee.
"Matinee," he said. "Come closer."
You leaned in.
"Dad's alive."
You asked how he knew and Michigan turned so livid you thought he might not be as sick as the doctors said. "Because he brought me up there to where he's living. He's rich, Matinee. He's got a family."
Your father disappeared after your mother died. You were sixteen, and you were left to raise Michigan, two years younger, until he turned 18 and left you in kind. He came back a month ago to die where he grew up. One of his nurses went to high school with you and contacted you is how you found out where he was.
"Where?"
Michigan's face went gray again. "It's always been about him running off," he said. "He's in Middlecrest. I went there. Before I checked into the hospital."
Your father has been living 20 minutes away from you by car.
"For how long?"
A rumble of coughing. Michigan was starting to go. "The whole time," he sputtered out. The spit on his chin was black. "It just didn't occur to me to call you. I—"
"Michigan," you said. "Stop apologizing. I stayed away from you too. I knew you were in New York and I kept quiet."
He took one last clean breath. "He's got a daughter Matinee. She's older than me."
Daddy had another family. "He's got a wife up there?"
Michigan nodded and died. All that meant was he couldn't answer the several hundred questions you were waiting to ask. You declared Michigan dead back when you were 20 years old and left to live your own life finally. And now, all you can think was that your Daddy had another Mommy stashed away someplace, when you and your brother could have used one, and he kept her all to himself.
Stick around until the nurses pull his eyelids down shut, then drive up the hill to Middlecrest.
Happy Michigan's Gone Day!
Friday, January 28, 2005
Buried Treasure Day
Buried Treasure Day!
Today, after you make certain choices that I'm not really gonna go into here, you'll find a treasure chest containing several billion dollars in ancient jewels. Your husband and son will immediately knock you unconscious and throw you in the trunk of your Honda. When you come to in the trunk of the moving car, you'll retrace the steps you took through out the day. And again, I really can't dwell on all that here in any great detail. But once those steps have been retraced you'll see the big picture, which is that, as far back as the day you met, your husband knew you were be the only person on Earth capable of locating that treasure chest. And he impregnated you with your son because he needed an accomplice who would be tied to him with bonds as thick as blood. Your entire marriage, even your motherhood, was a con. And now you're in the trunk of your Honda next to a chest full of some dead king's gold. You might wanna dig through that chest and see if the king was into collecting any particularly sharp be-jeweled daggers before the Honda pulls to a stop.
Happy Buried Treasure Day!
Today, after you make certain choices that I'm not really gonna go into here, you'll find a treasure chest containing several billion dollars in ancient jewels. Your husband and son will immediately knock you unconscious and throw you in the trunk of your Honda. When you come to in the trunk of the moving car, you'll retrace the steps you took through out the day. And again, I really can't dwell on all that here in any great detail. But once those steps have been retraced you'll see the big picture, which is that, as far back as the day you met, your husband knew you were be the only person on Earth capable of locating that treasure chest. And he impregnated you with your son because he needed an accomplice who would be tied to him with bonds as thick as blood. Your entire marriage, even your motherhood, was a con. And now you're in the trunk of your Honda next to a chest full of some dead king's gold. You might wanna dig through that chest and see if the king was into collecting any particularly sharp be-jeweled daggers before the Honda pulls to a stop.
Happy Buried Treasure Day!
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Blue In The Face Day
Blue In The Face Day!
"She breathed in the gas from her oven until she was blue in the face."
All of the uniform cops stopped what they were doing and looked at Detective Pinsky.
"Why'd you say that Kip?" Pinsky's partner, Detective Karr, asked.
"Just tryin' to make a joke I guess. Like when you do something until you're blue in the face. Screaming or talking. You know?"
"Yeah, I know," Detective Karr said. "But it wasn't funny."
The uniform cops went back to what they were doing.
"I was just…"
"Lady just killed herself. No one's looking for somebody to crack wise with a joke about it," Karr said. "Especially not one of your jokes."
Pinsky crouched down and peeked into the oven. Without looking up at Karr he muttered, "Sorry."
Karr just continued writing in his notebook. Pinsky stood up and looked around the kitchen. He looked like somebody who was considering signing a lease on the place. Then he said, "Jesus, I'm sorry."
"Forget it," Karr said. He and the other cops left Pinsky there in the kitchen, where he stayed until the coroner came for the body. He followed the body bag out to the stoop, and then he sat there on the top step until Karr told him it was time for them to go home.
Happy Blue In The Face Day!
"She breathed in the gas from her oven until she was blue in the face."
All of the uniform cops stopped what they were doing and looked at Detective Pinsky.
"Why'd you say that Kip?" Pinsky's partner, Detective Karr, asked.
"Just tryin' to make a joke I guess. Like when you do something until you're blue in the face. Screaming or talking. You know?"
"Yeah, I know," Detective Karr said. "But it wasn't funny."
The uniform cops went back to what they were doing.
"I was just…"
"Lady just killed herself. No one's looking for somebody to crack wise with a joke about it," Karr said. "Especially not one of your jokes."
Pinsky crouched down and peeked into the oven. Without looking up at Karr he muttered, "Sorry."
Karr just continued writing in his notebook. Pinsky stood up and looked around the kitchen. He looked like somebody who was considering signing a lease on the place. Then he said, "Jesus, I'm sorry."
"Forget it," Karr said. He and the other cops left Pinsky there in the kitchen, where he stayed until the coroner came for the body. He followed the body bag out to the stoop, and then he sat there on the top step until Karr told him it was time for them to go home.
Happy Blue In The Face Day!
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
You Live Near A Landfill Day
You Live Near A Landfill Day!
It's trash from a city about 300 miles away. Since you don't have to work after having defrauded the government out of disability payments, today you're gonna take a few bags of that trash and throw it into your hatchback. Drive that steaming trash on up to the city from whence it came. The first couple you see on the street, wave them down. They'll think you just want directions, so you're gonna have to move fast. Hop out of the car, pull the bags out of the hatchback and drop the trash bags at their feet screaming "Pigs! Look at this! What's wrong with you?!" Next, find a place to park your car for the day and take in a show.
Happy You Live Near A Landfill Day!
It's trash from a city about 300 miles away. Since you don't have to work after having defrauded the government out of disability payments, today you're gonna take a few bags of that trash and throw it into your hatchback. Drive that steaming trash on up to the city from whence it came. The first couple you see on the street, wave them down. They'll think you just want directions, so you're gonna have to move fast. Hop out of the car, pull the bags out of the hatchback and drop the trash bags at their feet screaming "Pigs! Look at this! What's wrong with you?!" Next, find a place to park your car for the day and take in a show.
Happy You Live Near A Landfill Day!
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Model Train Enthusiast Day
Model Train Enthusiast Day!
Today, you'll bury Meredith, your kitten. Meredith jumped in front of a model train.
She started chasing after it as it rolled along the track. And since you were trying out a new connector that you hadn't even fully soldered yet, various spots on the track had an open current. Meredith went for the engine head-on. The current held her paw to the track and baked her into a twitching mess. The Engine crashed into her forehead and tumbled to its side.
It was then that you learned just where your enthusiasm had taken you. When you saw Meredith catch the current and stop still, you knew she would die there. And all you could consider was the safety of your Engine. Even now, as you realign the wheels and trucks and paint over where the current turned the paint black, you curse that kitten under your breath. You've decided that you'll not try to extend your love to another living thing again. A kitten can now die in your presence and you'll feel nothing for it.
The Trains have taken you.
Happy Model Train Enthusiast Day!
Today, you'll bury Meredith, your kitten. Meredith jumped in front of a model train.
She started chasing after it as it rolled along the track. And since you were trying out a new connector that you hadn't even fully soldered yet, various spots on the track had an open current. Meredith went for the engine head-on. The current held her paw to the track and baked her into a twitching mess. The Engine crashed into her forehead and tumbled to its side.
It was then that you learned just where your enthusiasm had taken you. When you saw Meredith catch the current and stop still, you knew she would die there. And all you could consider was the safety of your Engine. Even now, as you realign the wheels and trucks and paint over where the current turned the paint black, you curse that kitten under your breath. You've decided that you'll not try to extend your love to another living thing again. A kitten can now die in your presence and you'll feel nothing for it.
The Trains have taken you.
Happy Model Train Enthusiast Day!
Monday, January 24, 2005
You Made A Move On Your Writing Teacher Day
You Made A Move On Your Writing Teacher Day!
He stopped you on your way out of class. He said, "Walk with me."
You walked him to his car, determined to get inside it. While walking, he said, "Your last story really showed me something new."
At the car, you said, "There's something else I'd like to show you."
"Please don't."
"We both know it's inevitable."
"I'm your teacher."
"And I am your student. Teach me what you know. It's your duty."
"I have a family." He held up a picture of him and his wife and daughters on an amusement park ride. You ripped the picture from his fingertips and tore it in two before throwing it to the ground, grinding it into the concrete and spitting on it. Then you put his hand down your pants.
"Oh God," he said.
"Yeeeeaah," you growled into his ear. "That's what I wanna hear. I wanna hear you scream that shit."
"Hi Dr. Gaines," someone yelled at him. He threw you into the car.
"No one can see us," he said.
You took off your top and undid his pants. "Take us someplace fast. I'm not going to wait."
You fellated him while he sped through town. Your head was down, but at every stop light you could hear the sound of dozens of students crossing the street in front of the car's bumper. When the car stopped, he kept both hands on the wheel. When it moved again, you felt his right hand on your bare back and on your ass underneath your pants.
"Hurry up!" you barked at him. Then you went back to it.
He pulled up to a motel. "Lemme just check in," he said.
You waited. You waited a while. You got angry.
Finally, you saw the door to the office open again. But the man who approached the car wasn't your professor.
"Roll down the window ma'am," the motel manager knocked on the glass. You obeyed.
"That man who came into my office over there, it looks like you scared him something awful," the motel manager said.
"Where is he?"
"He asked me to give you a message. He said he can't go through with it. He asked that you just go home on your own."
You pulled yourself out of the car and marched to the office. The manager shouted at your back. "Now you won't find him in there ma'am. I put him up in one of my rooms and I won't be telling you which one it is I'm afraid."
You stopped and wheeled around to the manager. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
"I'm a man who values the meaning of family," he said. "And I won't let you take this fella's family down."
The rage was boiling inside you now. "Know what!" You shouted at the motel rooms. "Your car's out here! You're gonna have to come out and get it eventually teacher. And I'll be waiting! Cause you're gonna finish what you started teacher! I'll be waiting right here."
"Now ma'am, if you don't start walking I'm gonna have to call the police," the manager said.
"Oh I'm sure he'd love for that to happen. Go ahead and ask him if he's okay with that before you make the call."
No police ever showed. You've been up all night, shivering cold on the hood of his car. You wonder if he snuck out the back and walked home, but it doesn't really matter. There are papers in his backseat that he needs to grade. He'll come for them eventually. And you'll be waiting.
Happy You Made A Move On Your Writing Teacher Day!
He stopped you on your way out of class. He said, "Walk with me."
You walked him to his car, determined to get inside it. While walking, he said, "Your last story really showed me something new."
At the car, you said, "There's something else I'd like to show you."
"Please don't."
"We both know it's inevitable."
"I'm your teacher."
"And I am your student. Teach me what you know. It's your duty."
"I have a family." He held up a picture of him and his wife and daughters on an amusement park ride. You ripped the picture from his fingertips and tore it in two before throwing it to the ground, grinding it into the concrete and spitting on it. Then you put his hand down your pants.
"Oh God," he said.
"Yeeeeaah," you growled into his ear. "That's what I wanna hear. I wanna hear you scream that shit."
"Hi Dr. Gaines," someone yelled at him. He threw you into the car.
"No one can see us," he said.
You took off your top and undid his pants. "Take us someplace fast. I'm not going to wait."
You fellated him while he sped through town. Your head was down, but at every stop light you could hear the sound of dozens of students crossing the street in front of the car's bumper. When the car stopped, he kept both hands on the wheel. When it moved again, you felt his right hand on your bare back and on your ass underneath your pants.
"Hurry up!" you barked at him. Then you went back to it.
He pulled up to a motel. "Lemme just check in," he said.
You waited. You waited a while. You got angry.
Finally, you saw the door to the office open again. But the man who approached the car wasn't your professor.
"Roll down the window ma'am," the motel manager knocked on the glass. You obeyed.
"That man who came into my office over there, it looks like you scared him something awful," the motel manager said.
"Where is he?"
"He asked me to give you a message. He said he can't go through with it. He asked that you just go home on your own."
You pulled yourself out of the car and marched to the office. The manager shouted at your back. "Now you won't find him in there ma'am. I put him up in one of my rooms and I won't be telling you which one it is I'm afraid."
You stopped and wheeled around to the manager. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
"I'm a man who values the meaning of family," he said. "And I won't let you take this fella's family down."
The rage was boiling inside you now. "Know what!" You shouted at the motel rooms. "Your car's out here! You're gonna have to come out and get it eventually teacher. And I'll be waiting! Cause you're gonna finish what you started teacher! I'll be waiting right here."
"Now ma'am, if you don't start walking I'm gonna have to call the police," the manager said.
"Oh I'm sure he'd love for that to happen. Go ahead and ask him if he's okay with that before you make the call."
No police ever showed. You've been up all night, shivering cold on the hood of his car. You wonder if he snuck out the back and walked home, but it doesn't really matter. There are papers in his backseat that he needs to grade. He'll come for them eventually. And you'll be waiting.
Happy You Made A Move On Your Writing Teacher Day!
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Fire In The Reality Show House Day
Fire In The Reality Show House Day!
Marcus the sexist bodybuilder started it with all those candles he lights in his room every time he brings a waitress home with him. He and the waitress fell asleep. The waitress got out, but Marcus is still in there as the firemen continue to drench the flames from the street. All of America watches.
Still in the house: Nina, the touring acrobat; Bex, the raging alcoholic who gets naked every chance she gets; Kevin, the cartoonist; Freakwide, the rapper; and Lucien, the guy with the prosthetic leg who wants to open his own bar.
On the sidewalk, huddling under flame-retardant blankets: Maxine, the illustrator; Beebo, the pastry chef; that fashion designer chick who broke up with her boyfriend on camera; and Boris, the investment banker.
America thinks Maxine is full of shit, screaming and sobbing about how her roommate Bex is still stuck in there when just last week Maxine confessed in the Gripe Closet that Bex was driving her out of her mind and that she was arranging an alliance with Boris to get her booted. And of course Beebo is the one to wrap his arms around her to calm her down. Beebo's been shot down by every chick in the house, and now that most all of them are in the house being burnt to a crisp, he has no choice but to take a crack at Maxine. Meanwhile, Boris made a cell phone call explaining to someone that his laptop got stuck in the fire and he'd need a new one in the morning. Unfortunate that the camera caught that call. The fashion designer chick is being really helpful, running to get water and blankets for the people evacuated from the neighboring house. She's really showing some leadership skills that, under normal circumstances, would have totally earned her immunity from next week's elimination.
What America wants to know but is too ashamed to ask is this: If most of the residents of the house burn to death, does the show continue on with those remaining alive? It would be pretty anti-climactic to go from twelve contestants to just four or five in a week's time, and it would be hard to pit them against each other in a Creativity Challenge without allowing them enough time to mourn for those who perished. But someone has to win that fleet of Mini-Coopers.
Happy Fire In The Reality Show House Day!
Marcus the sexist bodybuilder started it with all those candles he lights in his room every time he brings a waitress home with him. He and the waitress fell asleep. The waitress got out, but Marcus is still in there as the firemen continue to drench the flames from the street. All of America watches.
Still in the house: Nina, the touring acrobat; Bex, the raging alcoholic who gets naked every chance she gets; Kevin, the cartoonist; Freakwide, the rapper; and Lucien, the guy with the prosthetic leg who wants to open his own bar.
On the sidewalk, huddling under flame-retardant blankets: Maxine, the illustrator; Beebo, the pastry chef; that fashion designer chick who broke up with her boyfriend on camera; and Boris, the investment banker.
America thinks Maxine is full of shit, screaming and sobbing about how her roommate Bex is still stuck in there when just last week Maxine confessed in the Gripe Closet that Bex was driving her out of her mind and that she was arranging an alliance with Boris to get her booted. And of course Beebo is the one to wrap his arms around her to calm her down. Beebo's been shot down by every chick in the house, and now that most all of them are in the house being burnt to a crisp, he has no choice but to take a crack at Maxine. Meanwhile, Boris made a cell phone call explaining to someone that his laptop got stuck in the fire and he'd need a new one in the morning. Unfortunate that the camera caught that call. The fashion designer chick is being really helpful, running to get water and blankets for the people evacuated from the neighboring house. She's really showing some leadership skills that, under normal circumstances, would have totally earned her immunity from next week's elimination.
What America wants to know but is too ashamed to ask is this: If most of the residents of the house burn to death, does the show continue on with those remaining alive? It would be pretty anti-climactic to go from twelve contestants to just four or five in a week's time, and it would be hard to pit them against each other in a Creativity Challenge without allowing them enough time to mourn for those who perished. But someone has to win that fleet of Mini-Coopers.
Happy Fire In The Reality Show House Day!
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Mary Gorgonzola Day
Mary Gorgonzola Day!
She died thirty-six years ago today. And thirty-six years ago today, her dream came true.
Mary Gorgonzola believed that everyone in the town of Midvale should have a statue of some kittens playing on their front lawns. When people asked her if the statues could perhaps be in their backyards, Mary Gorgonzola would pitch a shitfit and accuse those people of owning pornography. Other citizens would ask how big the statues should be, and how many kittens should the statues depict at play? May Gorgonzola would respond, first, by suggesting that those people are from Mexico, then she'd say the statues had to have six kittens, and they had to be six feet tall and four feet wide, and they had to include a rabbit watching from off to the side. Also, the statues had to be day-glo. Mary Gorgonzola warned that if the town's children knew that the town had considered this proposal and rejected it, the children would never forgive them.
The town of Midvale told Mary Gorgonzola to go to hell so she killed herself, but not before she sent letters to all of the town's children explaining what their parents had done. The children confronted their parents with the letters, asking for an explanation. The parents did not want to lose the love of their children, so they all commissioned the local house full of unmarried artistic women to design and produce the sculptures. For thirty years now, Mary Gorgonzola's legacy has adorned the front lawns of Midvale. And the fate of all of Midvale has been determined by the whims of that house full of unmarried artistic women, since they became very rich after their kitten lawn sculpture design business took off like a jet plane.
Raise your glasses for Mary Gorgonzola today. She was weird.
Happy Mary Gorgonzola Day!
She died thirty-six years ago today. And thirty-six years ago today, her dream came true.
Mary Gorgonzola believed that everyone in the town of Midvale should have a statue of some kittens playing on their front lawns. When people asked her if the statues could perhaps be in their backyards, Mary Gorgonzola would pitch a shitfit and accuse those people of owning pornography. Other citizens would ask how big the statues should be, and how many kittens should the statues depict at play? May Gorgonzola would respond, first, by suggesting that those people are from Mexico, then she'd say the statues had to have six kittens, and they had to be six feet tall and four feet wide, and they had to include a rabbit watching from off to the side. Also, the statues had to be day-glo. Mary Gorgonzola warned that if the town's children knew that the town had considered this proposal and rejected it, the children would never forgive them.
The town of Midvale told Mary Gorgonzola to go to hell so she killed herself, but not before she sent letters to all of the town's children explaining what their parents had done. The children confronted their parents with the letters, asking for an explanation. The parents did not want to lose the love of their children, so they all commissioned the local house full of unmarried artistic women to design and produce the sculptures. For thirty years now, Mary Gorgonzola's legacy has adorned the front lawns of Midvale. And the fate of all of Midvale has been determined by the whims of that house full of unmarried artistic women, since they became very rich after their kitten lawn sculpture design business took off like a jet plane.
Raise your glasses for Mary Gorgonzola today. She was weird.
Happy Mary Gorgonzola Day!
Friday, January 21, 2005
Church Girl Day
Church Girl Day!
You're a church girl, which is to say, you don't screw and everyone resents you for it because you're fine. The other kids paint graffiti all over your locker that says "She thinks her insides are so great that she won't let anyone see or thrust into them," but not in so many words. This bugs you. You want to be liked and you wish there was a way for people to get to know you so that they could see what a great person you are.
There is a way. Have intercourse with a boy tonight and make sure everyone finds out about it. Who you have intercourse with doesn't matter much. You don't have to worry about having sex with the wrong guy since everyone will be too blown away that you did the bangbang at all (in the future, "right guy" and "wrong guy" will become very important when considering public perception). Tonight it just matters that everyone finds out all about it by the end of the weekend. No one will hate you anymore on Monday. In fact, they'll like you so much that they'll all try to have sex with you, which after all is the most anyone can ever like anyone.
Don't cry till it's almost over.
Happy Church Girl Day!
You're a church girl, which is to say, you don't screw and everyone resents you for it because you're fine. The other kids paint graffiti all over your locker that says "She thinks her insides are so great that she won't let anyone see or thrust into them," but not in so many words. This bugs you. You want to be liked and you wish there was a way for people to get to know you so that they could see what a great person you are.
There is a way. Have intercourse with a boy tonight and make sure everyone finds out about it. Who you have intercourse with doesn't matter much. You don't have to worry about having sex with the wrong guy since everyone will be too blown away that you did the bangbang at all (in the future, "right guy" and "wrong guy" will become very important when considering public perception). Tonight it just matters that everyone finds out all about it by the end of the weekend. No one will hate you anymore on Monday. In fact, they'll like you so much that they'll all try to have sex with you, which after all is the most anyone can ever like anyone.
Don't cry till it's almost over.
Happy Church Girl Day!
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Take The Gun Out Of My Mouth And I'll Tell You Day
Take The Gun Out Of My Mouth And I'll Tell You Day!
It's not safe to have a gun in your mouth. It could go off, and kill you. Also, guns are notoriously dirty. They're often kept inside people's pants, pressed up against the bare pelvis held tight underneath the belted waistline. Sure, she's your girlfriend of two years and you're more than happy to ingest whatever might be smeared all over her pelvis. But you don't know where she got that gun. It's doubtful that she bought it brand new. More likely, she bought it from a gun show or Craig's List. Who knows the state of the pants that gun has lived inside. And now it's in your mouth.
"I don't know how to work this thing," she says. Bringing you back to the "gun could go off and blow your head open" thesis. Considering all the filth that's probably living inside your mouth right now, getting your head blown off doesn't sound like such a bad idea. But there's something you can do to avoid getting your head blown off and to get that filthy gun out of your mouth. You can tell her what she wants to know.
"Grrllllargh," you say.
"You ready to talk?" she asks.
"Khhhlaaaersshhhccch," you say.
"If I pull this gun out of your mouth and you don't tell me what I wanna hear, I'm gonna shove it back in for the last time. Understand? Bye bye brains," she says.
"Haaahgglllh," you say.
She considers your eyes. And with a swift jerk of her shoulder she yanks the gun past your teeth and holds it an inch from your chin. You pant fresh air into your lungs and spit saliva to your chin.
"Make me happy," she says.
"Kim," you say. "I think you're so great that you should look for work as an angel because that's what you look like."
The furrow in her brow goes flat. She looks down at the gun, then looks into your eyes.
"Okay," she says. "Now do you know how to get the hammer to go back into the gun without shooting any bullets?"
"Lemme see," you hold out your hand for her to give you the gun.
"No funny business," she says.
She hands you the gun, and you shove it in her mouth and demand to know who's the squeeziest pleasiest boyfriend she ever had.
Happy Take The Gun Out Of My Mouth And I'll Tell You Day!
It's not safe to have a gun in your mouth. It could go off, and kill you. Also, guns are notoriously dirty. They're often kept inside people's pants, pressed up against the bare pelvis held tight underneath the belted waistline. Sure, she's your girlfriend of two years and you're more than happy to ingest whatever might be smeared all over her pelvis. But you don't know where she got that gun. It's doubtful that she bought it brand new. More likely, she bought it from a gun show or Craig's List. Who knows the state of the pants that gun has lived inside. And now it's in your mouth.
"I don't know how to work this thing," she says. Bringing you back to the "gun could go off and blow your head open" thesis. Considering all the filth that's probably living inside your mouth right now, getting your head blown off doesn't sound like such a bad idea. But there's something you can do to avoid getting your head blown off and to get that filthy gun out of your mouth. You can tell her what she wants to know.
"Grrllllargh," you say.
"You ready to talk?" she asks.
"Khhhlaaaersshhhccch," you say.
"If I pull this gun out of your mouth and you don't tell me what I wanna hear, I'm gonna shove it back in for the last time. Understand? Bye bye brains," she says.
"Haaahgglllh," you say.
She considers your eyes. And with a swift jerk of her shoulder she yanks the gun past your teeth and holds it an inch from your chin. You pant fresh air into your lungs and spit saliva to your chin.
"Make me happy," she says.
"Kim," you say. "I think you're so great that you should look for work as an angel because that's what you look like."
The furrow in her brow goes flat. She looks down at the gun, then looks into your eyes.
"Okay," she says. "Now do you know how to get the hammer to go back into the gun without shooting any bullets?"
"Lemme see," you hold out your hand for her to give you the gun.
"No funny business," she says.
She hands you the gun, and you shove it in her mouth and demand to know who's the squeeziest pleasiest boyfriend she ever had.
Happy Take The Gun Out Of My Mouth And I'll Tell You Day!
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
A Famous Tapdancer Day
A Famous Tapdancer Day!
"Not Gregory Hines!" they shout.
You hate this game. You don't know any fucking famous tapdancers, yet if you don't think of one fast you're going to let your whole team down.
"Running out of time," the dick with the hourglass shouts.
"Fuck you."
No one says anything. You try to laugh it off, then you remember that your wife is the only one in the room who met you before tonight.
"Honey," your wife says.
"Fuck you too," you say. "This party sucks. This party game sucks harder."
Leave.
Happy A Famous Tapdancer Day!
"Not Gregory Hines!" they shout.
You hate this game. You don't know any fucking famous tapdancers, yet if you don't think of one fast you're going to let your whole team down.
"Running out of time," the dick with the hourglass shouts.
"Fuck you."
No one says anything. You try to laugh it off, then you remember that your wife is the only one in the room who met you before tonight.
"Honey," your wife says.
"Fuck you too," you say. "This party sucks. This party game sucks harder."
Leave.
Happy A Famous Tapdancer Day!
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Teach Your Son A Trick Day
Teach Your Son A Trick Day!
Hold the lighter up in front of the hairspray nozzle. Ignite the lighter, then press down on the nozzle to send the spray to the flame. Let the firestream blow for just a few seconds.
Say, "And that's how you make a Hairspray Fireball. Now you try it."
Your son's hands are too small to hold the hairspray can and press the nozzle in one hand, so let him just hold the can and ignite the lighter and you can press down on the nozzle for him.
"Remember," say, "If you let the firestream blow for too long, the flame could crawl up the stream into your hairspray can and blow it up in your hand like a big tin bomb."
Your son will say, "Sometimes I really wish Mommy were still around."
Say, "I don't."
Happy Teach Your Son A Trick Day!
Hold the lighter up in front of the hairspray nozzle. Ignite the lighter, then press down on the nozzle to send the spray to the flame. Let the firestream blow for just a few seconds.
Say, "And that's how you make a Hairspray Fireball. Now you try it."
Your son's hands are too small to hold the hairspray can and press the nozzle in one hand, so let him just hold the can and ignite the lighter and you can press down on the nozzle for him.
"Remember," say, "If you let the firestream blow for too long, the flame could crawl up the stream into your hairspray can and blow it up in your hand like a big tin bomb."
Your son will say, "Sometimes I really wish Mommy were still around."
Say, "I don't."
Happy Teach Your Son A Trick Day!
Monday, January 17, 2005
Wafer Thin Excuses Day
Wafer Thin Excuses Day!
Your wife says she got caught in the middle of a liquor store holdup and that's why she couldn't make it home in time for your birthday party.
"Should I explain this to all of my coworkers? My boss? My parents? That you got caught in the middle of a liquor store holdup?"
Tap your foot accusingly.
"I thought about making a move for his gun," she'll say. "But this guy had a lotta crazy in his eyes."
Don't say anything until she does. She'll say, "Feel like this is the first day of the rest of my life really." She'll pop a stuffed mushroom in her mouth. "Food tastes really awesome."
Say, "It tasted even better when it was hot."
She'll say, "Wow, that would have been something. If my food tasted better because I cheated death and I got to bite into a fresh hot stuffed mushroom like this one."
You should sigh.
"But then in order for me to cheat death the food would have to get a little cold really."
Wait for it.
"Heh, heh," she says. "Cold canapés, but really good cold canapés."
Raise one eyebrow as if to say, Don't gimme no guff.
"It's your brother. We're in love."
Happy Wafer Thin Excuses Day!
Your wife says she got caught in the middle of a liquor store holdup and that's why she couldn't make it home in time for your birthday party.
"Should I explain this to all of my coworkers? My boss? My parents? That you got caught in the middle of a liquor store holdup?"
Tap your foot accusingly.
"I thought about making a move for his gun," she'll say. "But this guy had a lotta crazy in his eyes."
Don't say anything until she does. She'll say, "Feel like this is the first day of the rest of my life really." She'll pop a stuffed mushroom in her mouth. "Food tastes really awesome."
Say, "It tasted even better when it was hot."
She'll say, "Wow, that would have been something. If my food tasted better because I cheated death and I got to bite into a fresh hot stuffed mushroom like this one."
You should sigh.
"But then in order for me to cheat death the food would have to get a little cold really."
Wait for it.
"Heh, heh," she says. "Cold canapés, but really good cold canapés."
Raise one eyebrow as if to say, Don't gimme no guff.
"It's your brother. We're in love."
Happy Wafer Thin Excuses Day!
Sunday, January 16, 2005
Atlantic City Day
Atlantic City Day!
Today, in Atlantic City, none of your dreams will come true. Unless you dreamed about losing the four thousand dollars you needed to pay for your mother's residence home before throwing yourself off of a 16-story balcony. She lost her memory a year ago, so she won't mourn you. She'll just be removed from the home with no idea that there was once someone in her life who was supposed to prevent that from happening.
Happy Atlantic City Day!
Today, in Atlantic City, none of your dreams will come true. Unless you dreamed about losing the four thousand dollars you needed to pay for your mother's residence home before throwing yourself off of a 16-story balcony. She lost her memory a year ago, so she won't mourn you. She'll just be removed from the home with no idea that there was once someone in her life who was supposed to prevent that from happening.
Happy Atlantic City Day!
Saturday, January 15, 2005
Clear. Blue. Not So Easy. Day!
Clear. Blue. Not So Easy. Day!
Pregnant? Fuck!
You're gonna have to get outta town. If your Dad finds out, he'll have it taken away from you because he thinks you're dangerous. And if your ex-boyfriend finds out, he'll try to get custody. And with your record, he'd stand a hell of a good shot (You threw your mom down some steps).
When you get across the state lines, open a bar. Name the bar and the baby the same name. Gluggs. The bar will become your favorite place in the world.
Your dad, your ex-boyfriend, and the law are gonna come after you to get their hands on the kid. When they all die, it will be thanks to your son. He'll have killed them to save your life. That night, he'll burn down the bar and take off.
Though you won't have the bar anymore, you won't be sad. Because you'll know that somewhere in this country Gluggs lives on in the shape of your beautiful boy. All you ever wanted was a bar that would outlive you.
Happy Clear. Blue. Not So Easy. Day!
Pregnant? Fuck!
You're gonna have to get outta town. If your Dad finds out, he'll have it taken away from you because he thinks you're dangerous. And if your ex-boyfriend finds out, he'll try to get custody. And with your record, he'd stand a hell of a good shot (You threw your mom down some steps).
When you get across the state lines, open a bar. Name the bar and the baby the same name. Gluggs. The bar will become your favorite place in the world.
Your dad, your ex-boyfriend, and the law are gonna come after you to get their hands on the kid. When they all die, it will be thanks to your son. He'll have killed them to save your life. That night, he'll burn down the bar and take off.
Though you won't have the bar anymore, you won't be sad. Because you'll know that somewhere in this country Gluggs lives on in the shape of your beautiful boy. All you ever wanted was a bar that would outlive you.
Happy Clear. Blue. Not So Easy. Day!
Friday, January 14, 2005
Your Boyfriend Is Blind And High-Maintenance Day!
Your Boyfriend Is Blind And High-Maintenance Day!
All day long it's "Get that for me, I can't see it!" and "What are they doing on the television now?" and "No, you drive!" Doesn't this guy realize that a girl likes herself a doer?
You feel like you're being taken for granted, and you are. It's best not to confront him directly on this. What you should do is start stealing his money. Just a little at a time, but enough for him to notice when he counts out the bills in his wallet at the beginning of every day. Eventually, he'll ask you about it.
"But you knew I'd catch you. You know that I have to keep my bill count exact."
Say, "I know."
He'll say, "I think you felt that I was taking you for granted and so you started stealing from me to draw my attention to a lack that you felt."
Say, "Yes."
He'll swing his stick out at you and cut your eye. It'll bleed, but he won't let you call a doctor. He'll just shriek at you until you go.
Happy Your Boyfriend Is Blind And High-Maintenance Day!
All day long it's "Get that for me, I can't see it!" and "What are they doing on the television now?" and "No, you drive!" Doesn't this guy realize that a girl likes herself a doer?
You feel like you're being taken for granted, and you are. It's best not to confront him directly on this. What you should do is start stealing his money. Just a little at a time, but enough for him to notice when he counts out the bills in his wallet at the beginning of every day. Eventually, he'll ask you about it.
"But you knew I'd catch you. You know that I have to keep my bill count exact."
Say, "I know."
He'll say, "I think you felt that I was taking you for granted and so you started stealing from me to draw my attention to a lack that you felt."
Say, "Yes."
He'll swing his stick out at you and cut your eye. It'll bleed, but he won't let you call a doctor. He'll just shriek at you until you go.
Happy Your Boyfriend Is Blind And High-Maintenance Day!
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Stumble Onto A Communiqué From Your Wife To The Leader Of A Foreign Government's Intelligence Agency Day
Stumble Onto A Communiqué From Your Wife To The Leader Of A Foreign Government's Intelligence Agency Day!
It'll have today's date on it and it'll say that everything is going according to plan. "American blood with muddy the soil," it will read. And it will also mention her return to the arms of "my real husband, my only love." You'll finish reading it just as she returns from her morning jog. She'll be standing in the doorway when you turn away from the computer.
"Whatcha readin'?" she'll ask.
Happy Stumble Onto A Communiqué From Your Wife To The Leader Of A Foreign Government's Intelligence Agency Day!
It'll have today's date on it and it'll say that everything is going according to plan. "American blood with muddy the soil," it will read. And it will also mention her return to the arms of "my real husband, my only love." You'll finish reading it just as she returns from her morning jog. She'll be standing in the doorway when you turn away from the computer.
"Whatcha readin'?" she'll ask.
Happy Stumble Onto A Communiqué From Your Wife To The Leader Of A Foreign Government's Intelligence Agency Day!
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Make A Move On The Lady In Front Of You Waiting In Line For Milk Day
Make A Move On The Lady In Front Of You Waiting In Line For Milk Day!
So it's day three in the milk line for you. Your wife and kids have come to visit you a couple of times a day to bring you a bucket to defecate in. Your mother stopped by yesterday to tell you that your father had passed that morning (he needed milk). And people near the front of the line have been getting shot at intermittently.
But hold the phone. Who's the refugee with the pretty blue eyes? She showed up a few hours ago to take her brother's place in line after he slipped into a coma. You didn't notice her at first because she's covered in so many cloaks and a big part of her head is wrapped in bloody bandages. But just now she turned and wept in your direction. Looks like she digs the goods.
You only have a couple more days to take a shot. Less, if rumors of an airlift are true. What are you waiting for? She's right there sobbing into her hands, waiting for you to take the hint. Are you gonna let this one slip away?
"You know," you should say. "The warlords are coming back. There's no time to waste."
If you want, you can do it without leaving your places in line. Everyone's watching that woman deliver her baby about ten feet behind you. Turn that gravel under your feet into the Sands Of Pleasure.
Happy Make A Move On The Lady In Front Of You Waiting In Line For Milk Day!
So it's day three in the milk line for you. Your wife and kids have come to visit you a couple of times a day to bring you a bucket to defecate in. Your mother stopped by yesterday to tell you that your father had passed that morning (he needed milk). And people near the front of the line have been getting shot at intermittently.
But hold the phone. Who's the refugee with the pretty blue eyes? She showed up a few hours ago to take her brother's place in line after he slipped into a coma. You didn't notice her at first because she's covered in so many cloaks and a big part of her head is wrapped in bloody bandages. But just now she turned and wept in your direction. Looks like she digs the goods.
You only have a couple more days to take a shot. Less, if rumors of an airlift are true. What are you waiting for? She's right there sobbing into her hands, waiting for you to take the hint. Are you gonna let this one slip away?
"You know," you should say. "The warlords are coming back. There's no time to waste."
If you want, you can do it without leaving your places in line. Everyone's watching that woman deliver her baby about ten feet behind you. Turn that gravel under your feet into the Sands Of Pleasure.
Happy Make A Move On The Lady In Front Of You Waiting In Line For Milk Day!
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
No Left Thumb Day
No Left Thumb Day!
Your left thumb went first. It's useless now and all you can do is wait for it to turn black and disattach itself.
You are so very bored with yourself, but refuse to commit suicide. So your appendages and organs have no choice but to do what they can to cease functioning at a cellular level in the hopes up withering up and falling away from you. So your left thumb took the mutinous steps necessary to invite gangrene to settle in. Now, no one looks to it for results, and soon, it will go away forever. You envy your purple little thumb.
Happy No Left Thumb Day!
Your left thumb went first. It's useless now and all you can do is wait for it to turn black and disattach itself.
You are so very bored with yourself, but refuse to commit suicide. So your appendages and organs have no choice but to do what they can to cease functioning at a cellular level in the hopes up withering up and falling away from you. So your left thumb took the mutinous steps necessary to invite gangrene to settle in. Now, no one looks to it for results, and soon, it will go away forever. You envy your purple little thumb.
Happy No Left Thumb Day!
Monday, January 10, 2005
Witchcraft Day
Witchcraft Day!
Your wife's taking Witchcraft Class at the Rochester Women's Center. You keep asking her if it's like a History of Witchcraft or if it's about integrating folklore into practical modern practice, and she never gets any more committal in her response than to say, "Sort of like that, you could say."
What's bugging you is you've woken up in the middle of the night once or twice to find her side of the bed empty. You haven't gotten out of bed to track her down. You just don't want to find out she's nowhere around.
Today things are going to become a bit more urgent. For today, Mark Caslow, your colleague and fellow candidate for VP at your Securities firm, will be found dead in his car, his eyes having turned to black coals. The car will have gone head first into a ravine.
If she was responsible, yes, she'll have killed and that's very bad. More importantly, the killing will reveal that she clearly didn't think you had what it takes to secure that promotion. You never thought of yourself as the kind of man who needs his wife to go out and sear people's eyeballs black in order to help him get ahead. But she clearly did.
Happy Witchcraft Day!
Your wife's taking Witchcraft Class at the Rochester Women's Center. You keep asking her if it's like a History of Witchcraft or if it's about integrating folklore into practical modern practice, and she never gets any more committal in her response than to say, "Sort of like that, you could say."
What's bugging you is you've woken up in the middle of the night once or twice to find her side of the bed empty. You haven't gotten out of bed to track her down. You just don't want to find out she's nowhere around.
Today things are going to become a bit more urgent. For today, Mark Caslow, your colleague and fellow candidate for VP at your Securities firm, will be found dead in his car, his eyes having turned to black coals. The car will have gone head first into a ravine.
If she was responsible, yes, she'll have killed and that's very bad. More importantly, the killing will reveal that she clearly didn't think you had what it takes to secure that promotion. You never thought of yourself as the kind of man who needs his wife to go out and sear people's eyeballs black in order to help him get ahead. But she clearly did.
Happy Witchcraft Day!
Sunday, January 09, 2005
Calibrate The Love Ray Day
Calibrate The Love Ray Day!
It's time to exact your luscious justice upon a fast devolving society. You've spent many years and sacrificed many lives trying to obtain the nuclear components necessary to adequately power your Love Ray. If calculations are correct, the activated Love Ray should fire a current of your droopy-eyed affections that will permeate the loins of every living thing on the face of the earth within a matter of seconds.
Go and stand on a mountaintop and say, "Soon, my Love Ray will circle the globe. Everyone on the planet will become consumed with that special something of mine that makes the ladies go 'Heck yeah.' As of tomorrow, human beings will stop waging war on each other so that they can get to the rubbing up against each other faster."
Start to climb down the mountain, then climb back up to add one more thing. "Terrorism will stop too. Everyone hates terrorism."
Now, climb all the way down the mountain and steer your pod under the riverbed to your laboratory deep under the surface of the earth. Calibrate your Love Ray so that tomorrow at 9 AM it'll be ready to start spraying the boogie.
Happy Calibrate The Love Ray Day!
It's time to exact your luscious justice upon a fast devolving society. You've spent many years and sacrificed many lives trying to obtain the nuclear components necessary to adequately power your Love Ray. If calculations are correct, the activated Love Ray should fire a current of your droopy-eyed affections that will permeate the loins of every living thing on the face of the earth within a matter of seconds.
Go and stand on a mountaintop and say, "Soon, my Love Ray will circle the globe. Everyone on the planet will become consumed with that special something of mine that makes the ladies go 'Heck yeah.' As of tomorrow, human beings will stop waging war on each other so that they can get to the rubbing up against each other faster."
Start to climb down the mountain, then climb back up to add one more thing. "Terrorism will stop too. Everyone hates terrorism."
Now, climb all the way down the mountain and steer your pod under the riverbed to your laboratory deep under the surface of the earth. Calibrate your Love Ray so that tomorrow at 9 AM it'll be ready to start spraying the boogie.
Happy Calibrate The Love Ray Day!
Saturday, January 08, 2005
The Russian Mafia Day
The Russian Mafia Day!
Today, you should go to the Russian Mafia for help. Your assigned parking space at your apartment complex is right next to a tree, and you have to take extra care when you open the door to keep from dimpling the body of your Saturn. There's a primo space that's right in front of your unit, but the guy who has it won't give it up. That guy drives a motorcycle and could park it wherever he wants. He's just hanging on to the parking space to stir some shit.
Ask the Russian Mafia to talk some sense into him. What they'll do is they'll kill him with a hammer. You'll get your parking space in no time, and then you'll owe the Russian Mafia 25% of the annual revenue from your candy store, pre-tax.
Happy The Russian Mafia Day!
Today, you should go to the Russian Mafia for help. Your assigned parking space at your apartment complex is right next to a tree, and you have to take extra care when you open the door to keep from dimpling the body of your Saturn. There's a primo space that's right in front of your unit, but the guy who has it won't give it up. That guy drives a motorcycle and could park it wherever he wants. He's just hanging on to the parking space to stir some shit.
Ask the Russian Mafia to talk some sense into him. What they'll do is they'll kill him with a hammer. You'll get your parking space in no time, and then you'll owe the Russian Mafia 25% of the annual revenue from your candy store, pre-tax.
Happy The Russian Mafia Day!
Friday, January 07, 2005
Each Of These, My Three Babies Day
Each Of These, My Three Babies Day!
"I've decided my life needs to be more simple," tell them.
"How, Max?" asks Tricia.
"Yes, Max. How?" asks Maria.
"Have I made your life complicated Max?" worries Carolyn.
"You've all been wonderful to me. Very giving." Go to each of them and give them a long kiss on the lips.
"We're living in a conventional world, now," tell them. "And I'm at an age where I think it's time for me to adhere closer to convention."
Look at them wait for your conclusion. Were it not for their rivalries, they could huddle together in comfort. Each using her grip to steady the other's shaking.
"It is time that I made do with only one girlfriend," you say. They gasp in unison. Your eyes are to the carpet.
Carolyn's voice cracks. "Who do you choose?"
Pull the papers from your drawer. "That is yet to be decided. You'll find on this sheet of paper a list of items that can be found in various locations throughout the city. The one of you who acquires the most of the items on this list will remain my girlfriend. We will tally the fruits of your hunt in 24 hours from now, here in the living room. Do your best."
Your girlfriends scatter. Tricia is crying as she walks out the door.
Happy Each Of These, My Three Babies Day!
"I've decided my life needs to be more simple," tell them.
"How, Max?" asks Tricia.
"Yes, Max. How?" asks Maria.
"Have I made your life complicated Max?" worries Carolyn.
"You've all been wonderful to me. Very giving." Go to each of them and give them a long kiss on the lips.
"We're living in a conventional world, now," tell them. "And I'm at an age where I think it's time for me to adhere closer to convention."
Look at them wait for your conclusion. Were it not for their rivalries, they could huddle together in comfort. Each using her grip to steady the other's shaking.
"It is time that I made do with only one girlfriend," you say. They gasp in unison. Your eyes are to the carpet.
Carolyn's voice cracks. "Who do you choose?"
Pull the papers from your drawer. "That is yet to be decided. You'll find on this sheet of paper a list of items that can be found in various locations throughout the city. The one of you who acquires the most of the items on this list will remain my girlfriend. We will tally the fruits of your hunt in 24 hours from now, here in the living room. Do your best."
Your girlfriends scatter. Tricia is crying as she walks out the door.
Happy Each Of These, My Three Babies Day!
Thursday, January 06, 2005
End It Via A Fingerpainting Of A Dragon Day
End It Via A Fingerpainting Of A Dragon Day!
You met on parents' night. He came alone, one of the only dads who was there alone. He lingered behind after you'd finished your presentation because you're one of the only teachers in the school who isn't shaped like a medicine ball.
"Does Mike have talent?" he asked, examining his son's construction paper rendering of a tree in a field on a sunny day.
"He doesn't eat the paste," you said. You had fulfilled your parents' night responsibilities. He walked you to your car.
You've spent a total of eleven hours together, split up over four individual nights, but that was the best night of all. When he sat in the passenger seat of your parked car and the two of you watched the parents walk to their parking spaces.
"That's the Lamberts," you said when Kevin Lambert's parents came walking out of the main entrance. "Their son Kevin got beat up in the rain after school last Thursday."
The Lamberts were laughing as they approached their Hyundai. "Poor Kevin," he said.
"The Morrisseys," you said when the very tall and shaven-headed Mr. Morrissey walked past your car with his tiny wife. "I bet when their girl Jessica hits middle school she'll be the most popular kid in the place."
"I'll tell Mike to start laying the groundwork, get in early," he said.
You said, "Jessica would never go steady with Mike."
He looked shocked, and you laughed very hard, then leaned in and kissed him for four minutes.
Today you've sent Mike home without any stars on his fingerpainting.
"Keep a close eye on Mike's artwork," you had said. "If I give him three gold stars, you're to meet me at the Super 8 the following evening at 7 PM."
"And what if I want to see you?" he asked.
"Too bad," you said. "You're married. You're not supposed to want to see me."
He had his index finger on your bare breast when you said that. He'd lifted up your sweater and tugged down your bra cup.
"We'll see each other only when I wanna see you," you said. "And when I never wanna see you again, poor little Mike won't get any stars that day."
He took his fingertip from your breast. "Why does Mike have to be involved?"
"I'm Mike's art teacher," you said. "Don't try to forget that."
Mike cried on his way home, his fingerpainting of a dragon crumpling at the edges where his fists held it close to his chest. He didn't ask you why you skipped him when you were giving out the stars. But he waited at his desk long after the rest of the class had left. You walked out with your eyes to the floor, unable to look at him.
It was bad enough that you were expected to assign grades to the first creative endeavors of children. You'd always tried to give out the stars so arbitrarily you thought it might even be fun to use that grading system for your lascivious communiqués.
But there'd been so many days when you wanted so badly to see Mike's Dad. But those were days when Mike had turned in work that was decidedly less than three-star quality. You found you just couldn't do it, and so you gave him the stars he deserved and spent the following night at home alone. And if Mike ever turned in a three-star project, it was always in a week when a rendezvous would have been impossible.
You'd managed four nights together, and each night had required you to give Mike an inappropriate star grade. But today was the last straw.
Today, Mike made a fingerpainting of a dragon. It was the best work Mike had ever done. The best fingerpainting of the entire class since school began last Autumn. A decidedly five star piece. But you wanted to see his Daddy tomorrow night.
You couldn't do it. When you looked at that painting, you knew the affair had to end today. Not another work would be awarded with anything but the most honest of praise. And to punish yourself for falling into such a state of compromise, you would break a student's heart on the day he'd done his best. You'd condemn yourself to the lowest point in your teaching career.
Mike cried on his way home. And so did you.
Happy End It Via A Fingerpainting Of A Dragon Day!
You met on parents' night. He came alone, one of the only dads who was there alone. He lingered behind after you'd finished your presentation because you're one of the only teachers in the school who isn't shaped like a medicine ball.
"Does Mike have talent?" he asked, examining his son's construction paper rendering of a tree in a field on a sunny day.
"He doesn't eat the paste," you said. You had fulfilled your parents' night responsibilities. He walked you to your car.
You've spent a total of eleven hours together, split up over four individual nights, but that was the best night of all. When he sat in the passenger seat of your parked car and the two of you watched the parents walk to their parking spaces.
"That's the Lamberts," you said when Kevin Lambert's parents came walking out of the main entrance. "Their son Kevin got beat up in the rain after school last Thursday."
The Lamberts were laughing as they approached their Hyundai. "Poor Kevin," he said.
"The Morrisseys," you said when the very tall and shaven-headed Mr. Morrissey walked past your car with his tiny wife. "I bet when their girl Jessica hits middle school she'll be the most popular kid in the place."
"I'll tell Mike to start laying the groundwork, get in early," he said.
You said, "Jessica would never go steady with Mike."
He looked shocked, and you laughed very hard, then leaned in and kissed him for four minutes.
Today you've sent Mike home without any stars on his fingerpainting.
"Keep a close eye on Mike's artwork," you had said. "If I give him three gold stars, you're to meet me at the Super 8 the following evening at 7 PM."
"And what if I want to see you?" he asked.
"Too bad," you said. "You're married. You're not supposed to want to see me."
He had his index finger on your bare breast when you said that. He'd lifted up your sweater and tugged down your bra cup.
"We'll see each other only when I wanna see you," you said. "And when I never wanna see you again, poor little Mike won't get any stars that day."
He took his fingertip from your breast. "Why does Mike have to be involved?"
"I'm Mike's art teacher," you said. "Don't try to forget that."
Mike cried on his way home, his fingerpainting of a dragon crumpling at the edges where his fists held it close to his chest. He didn't ask you why you skipped him when you were giving out the stars. But he waited at his desk long after the rest of the class had left. You walked out with your eyes to the floor, unable to look at him.
It was bad enough that you were expected to assign grades to the first creative endeavors of children. You'd always tried to give out the stars so arbitrarily you thought it might even be fun to use that grading system for your lascivious communiqués.
But there'd been so many days when you wanted so badly to see Mike's Dad. But those were days when Mike had turned in work that was decidedly less than three-star quality. You found you just couldn't do it, and so you gave him the stars he deserved and spent the following night at home alone. And if Mike ever turned in a three-star project, it was always in a week when a rendezvous would have been impossible.
You'd managed four nights together, and each night had required you to give Mike an inappropriate star grade. But today was the last straw.
Today, Mike made a fingerpainting of a dragon. It was the best work Mike had ever done. The best fingerpainting of the entire class since school began last Autumn. A decidedly five star piece. But you wanted to see his Daddy tomorrow night.
You couldn't do it. When you looked at that painting, you knew the affair had to end today. Not another work would be awarded with anything but the most honest of praise. And to punish yourself for falling into such a state of compromise, you would break a student's heart on the day he'd done his best. You'd condemn yourself to the lowest point in your teaching career.
Mike cried on his way home. And so did you.
Happy End It Via A Fingerpainting Of A Dragon Day!
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
The Daily Number Day!
The Daily Number Day!
After you've bought $79 worth of three digit daily number lottery tickets, ask the 19-year old girl behind the machine for a suggestion.
"314!" she offers with a smile.
Say, "Straight and box for a dollar. If that wins, it'll be our wedding date."
The number of course will win, and you'll be $540 richer. That $540 will help pay for your divorce from your wife of 46 years (you're 71). The 19-year old lotto machine operator will be a little hesitant about marrying you before she finishes college, but she'll be glad to not have to live at her parents' house anymore during summer break. Her boyfriend will not be too happy with the way she breaks up with him ("A deal's a deal baby. Can't you be a little more mature about this?") He'll punch you once and give you a minor heart attack (your fourth), but you'll recover after not too long and you and the lottery machine operator will enjoy a happy life together for the 17 months remaining before you die in the bath.
Happy The Daily Number Day!
After you've bought $79 worth of three digit daily number lottery tickets, ask the 19-year old girl behind the machine for a suggestion.
"314!" she offers with a smile.
Say, "Straight and box for a dollar. If that wins, it'll be our wedding date."
The number of course will win, and you'll be $540 richer. That $540 will help pay for your divorce from your wife of 46 years (you're 71). The 19-year old lotto machine operator will be a little hesitant about marrying you before she finishes college, but she'll be glad to not have to live at her parents' house anymore during summer break. Her boyfriend will not be too happy with the way she breaks up with him ("A deal's a deal baby. Can't you be a little more mature about this?") He'll punch you once and give you a minor heart attack (your fourth), but you'll recover after not too long and you and the lottery machine operator will enjoy a happy life together for the 17 months remaining before you die in the bath.
Happy The Daily Number Day!
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
Car Off The Cliff Day
Car Off The Cliff Day!
Yes, sometimes when a car goes off a cliff, the passengers can manage to jump out and land safely on the rock face before the car explodes. But that requires a lot of dexterity and quick-thinking. And you have to hope that the passengers did not have seatbelts on or else who could imagine them having the cool heads necessary to unfasten their seatbelts, then open the doors and jump all in a matter of seconds? Then there's the tumble into the rock-face, which is more than enough to kill them. All things considered, the chances that someone could go off a cliff in a speeding car and survive are very slim. It's best to assume your fiancé is dead and start dating again.
No one's calling off the search and rescue teams. Hell, we couldn't if we wanted to. Those fires have to be put out whether your sweetstuff is alive or not. All we're saying is, it's been hours already. When are you going to accept that she's dead and start calling chicks you had your eye on while she was still alive? Such as her friends and sisters. They are waiting to extend to you their companionship.
All you've been doing since she went over the cliff this morning is howling at the heavens or peering over the cliff's edge to see if anyone found anything. You could have composed like nine Nerve Personal profiles in that time, one for every type of love affair you're looking for. Stop living in the past and go home and work out. I don't know how much you ate at that rehearsal dinner, but you're looking a little doughy. If you're gonna get back in the game you gotta be ready to play.
Oh, it sounds like they found her and she's alive. All the same, until she's brought up to the surface road and you can see that she is out of danger, you should assume she's dead and try to move on with your life. Goddammit, it's what she would have wanted.
Happy Car Off The Cliff Day!
Yes, sometimes when a car goes off a cliff, the passengers can manage to jump out and land safely on the rock face before the car explodes. But that requires a lot of dexterity and quick-thinking. And you have to hope that the passengers did not have seatbelts on or else who could imagine them having the cool heads necessary to unfasten their seatbelts, then open the doors and jump all in a matter of seconds? Then there's the tumble into the rock-face, which is more than enough to kill them. All things considered, the chances that someone could go off a cliff in a speeding car and survive are very slim. It's best to assume your fiancé is dead and start dating again.
No one's calling off the search and rescue teams. Hell, we couldn't if we wanted to. Those fires have to be put out whether your sweetstuff is alive or not. All we're saying is, it's been hours already. When are you going to accept that she's dead and start calling chicks you had your eye on while she was still alive? Such as her friends and sisters. They are waiting to extend to you their companionship.
All you've been doing since she went over the cliff this morning is howling at the heavens or peering over the cliff's edge to see if anyone found anything. You could have composed like nine Nerve Personal profiles in that time, one for every type of love affair you're looking for. Stop living in the past and go home and work out. I don't know how much you ate at that rehearsal dinner, but you're looking a little doughy. If you're gonna get back in the game you gotta be ready to play.
Oh, it sounds like they found her and she's alive. All the same, until she's brought up to the surface road and you can see that she is out of danger, you should assume she's dead and try to move on with your life. Goddammit, it's what she would have wanted.
Happy Car Off The Cliff Day!
Monday, January 03, 2005
Confess Day
Confess Day!
Unless the thing you're confessing about could put you in jail. But if it's something along the lines of, "I know you really like your Ho-Ho's dude," go ahead and own up. You'll feel better about it.
But you shouldn't think that confessing is an across-the-board good idea. For example, let's say that about six months ago you killed a rapist. You were just walking through the park looking for someone to sell you some acid when you heard a woman's muffled shouting. You stepped over a fence and pushed through some bushes to find a man pinning a woman down in the grass, the dull edge of his knife pressed into the corners of her mouth.
You shouted, "Hey!"
The guy wheeled around at you. His eyes were yellow with bright red bulbs in the center.
The woman kneed him in the abdomen and wriggled free. He grabbed at her pants leg but she took off. You never saw her again.
The guy got up and came at you. The sharp edge of his knife was coming right at your nose. He was smaller than you but a lot stronger. He had you on the ground. You were holding his knife hand away from you, but the knife was coming closer. You were growing weaker. You were about to die.
Your left hand scrabbled in the grass and found a rock. You swung your left arm up from the grass and cracked the rock into the back of the rapist's head. When the rock hit his skull, the yelp that came out of his mouth sounded like he was gargling mouthwash.
You rolled him off of you, stood, then saw the blood in the grass. It was coming near your shoes. You ran.
The next day, you read about the dead man in the paper. The story told nothing of an attempted rape. It only told of a dead man who'd been arrested for burglary in the past.
You read the paper every day for a month, but the story disappeared after less than a week. Never was there any mention of an attempted rape.
If that's the kind of thing you were thinking of confessing, that kind of "murder in self-defense resulting from a prevented rape that you can't prove," keep your mouth shut.
But if you ate your roommate's Ho-Ho's, by all means wipe the slate clean. Unless you can't afford to replace them. Then blame his buddy Ken.
Happy Confess Day!
Unless the thing you're confessing about could put you in jail. But if it's something along the lines of, "I know you really like your Ho-Ho's dude," go ahead and own up. You'll feel better about it.
But you shouldn't think that confessing is an across-the-board good idea. For example, let's say that about six months ago you killed a rapist. You were just walking through the park looking for someone to sell you some acid when you heard a woman's muffled shouting. You stepped over a fence and pushed through some bushes to find a man pinning a woman down in the grass, the dull edge of his knife pressed into the corners of her mouth.
You shouted, "Hey!"
The guy wheeled around at you. His eyes were yellow with bright red bulbs in the center.
The woman kneed him in the abdomen and wriggled free. He grabbed at her pants leg but she took off. You never saw her again.
The guy got up and came at you. The sharp edge of his knife was coming right at your nose. He was smaller than you but a lot stronger. He had you on the ground. You were holding his knife hand away from you, but the knife was coming closer. You were growing weaker. You were about to die.
Your left hand scrabbled in the grass and found a rock. You swung your left arm up from the grass and cracked the rock into the back of the rapist's head. When the rock hit his skull, the yelp that came out of his mouth sounded like he was gargling mouthwash.
You rolled him off of you, stood, then saw the blood in the grass. It was coming near your shoes. You ran.
The next day, you read about the dead man in the paper. The story told nothing of an attempted rape. It only told of a dead man who'd been arrested for burglary in the past.
You read the paper every day for a month, but the story disappeared after less than a week. Never was there any mention of an attempted rape.
If that's the kind of thing you were thinking of confessing, that kind of "murder in self-defense resulting from a prevented rape that you can't prove," keep your mouth shut.
But if you ate your roommate's Ho-Ho's, by all means wipe the slate clean. Unless you can't afford to replace them. Then blame his buddy Ken.
Happy Confess Day!
Sunday, January 02, 2005
That Shade Of Pearl Doesn't Communicate To Visitors The Awesomeness Of Your Balls Day!
That Shade Of Pearl Doesn't Communicate To Visitors The Awesomeness Of Your Balls Day!
Just stir in a little more yellow, just a drip. Right now, the paint looks pretty much "there" when it's in the can. But dry on the wall, your balls just seem sort of, how you say, "GUMDROPPY." A little more yellow and you'll cross the line over to "Those computer generated orbs that are always flying around in the animation they use to demonstrate the digital sound system at the movie theater before the movie starts." And you'll be well on your way to communicating the true awesomeness contained therein (your pants). You want someone to just blink twice at your walls and think, "I could not compete with, nor could I refuse, this man's balls, should I be challenged by or offered said same."
Little more yellow. Try it, I'm telling you.
Happy That Shade Of Pearl Doesn't Communicate To Visitors The Awesomeness Of Your Balls Day!
Just stir in a little more yellow, just a drip. Right now, the paint looks pretty much "there" when it's in the can. But dry on the wall, your balls just seem sort of, how you say, "GUMDROPPY." A little more yellow and you'll cross the line over to "Those computer generated orbs that are always flying around in the animation they use to demonstrate the digital sound system at the movie theater before the movie starts." And you'll be well on your way to communicating the true awesomeness contained therein (your pants). You want someone to just blink twice at your walls and think, "I could not compete with, nor could I refuse, this man's balls, should I be challenged by or offered said same."
Little more yellow. Try it, I'm telling you.
Happy That Shade Of Pearl Doesn't Communicate To Visitors The Awesomeness Of Your Balls Day!
Saturday, January 01, 2005
Settle Your Roommate Problems With A Calm Discussion Day
Settle Your Roommate Problems With A Calm Discussion Day!
Sit cross-legged on the couch. Encourage your roommate to sit cross-legged on the comfy chair. Invite your roommate to present the first grievance.
He'll say, "I would appreciate it if you could clean up after yourself in the kitchen with a bit more diligence. I just don't want to attract bugs."
Say, "Fair enough. I would appreciate if you were less assholish. You're such an asshole. Asshole."
Your roommate will tell you that he'll try. Accuse him of lying and then borrow his money.
Happy Settle Your Roommate Problems With A Calm Discussion Day!
Sit cross-legged on the couch. Encourage your roommate to sit cross-legged on the comfy chair. Invite your roommate to present the first grievance.
He'll say, "I would appreciate it if you could clean up after yourself in the kitchen with a bit more diligence. I just don't want to attract bugs."
Say, "Fair enough. I would appreciate if you were less assholish. You're such an asshole. Asshole."
Your roommate will tell you that he'll try. Accuse him of lying and then borrow his money.
Happy Settle Your Roommate Problems With A Calm Discussion Day!
Friday, December 31, 2004
Matchmaker Day
Matchmaker Day!
You got set up with a guy with no arms. He has two legs and can walk around fine, but he holds stuff with this mechanical claw that's strapped around his torso and sticks out from the center of his chest. He operates the arm with deep inhalations and exhalations, causing his chest to drastically expand and retract. Therefore, during dinner or a game of checkers he is constantly panting and gasping. Luckily, you can't hear his breathing over the constant whirring of the motors contained within the mechanical claw.
On his way into the Japanese restaurant he stubbed his sandaled foot on a large ceramic vase near the entranceway. He swore up and down and started berating a hostess. His rage was unjustified and aimless, like your father's, and so you fell in love. Additionally, before he lost his arms he was a hitter. Now that he only has the mechanical arm, he's still a hitter. Trouble is, the torque on that arm's hydraulics can take off a head at the neck. Don't move in right away.
Happy Matchmaker Day!
You got set up with a guy with no arms. He has two legs and can walk around fine, but he holds stuff with this mechanical claw that's strapped around his torso and sticks out from the center of his chest. He operates the arm with deep inhalations and exhalations, causing his chest to drastically expand and retract. Therefore, during dinner or a game of checkers he is constantly panting and gasping. Luckily, you can't hear his breathing over the constant whirring of the motors contained within the mechanical claw.
On his way into the Japanese restaurant he stubbed his sandaled foot on a large ceramic vase near the entranceway. He swore up and down and started berating a hostess. His rage was unjustified and aimless, like your father's, and so you fell in love. Additionally, before he lost his arms he was a hitter. Now that he only has the mechanical arm, he's still a hitter. Trouble is, the torque on that arm's hydraulics can take off a head at the neck. Don't move in right away.
Happy Matchmaker Day!
Thursday, December 30, 2004
Most Of September, 2004 Day!
Most Of September, 2004 Day!
You spent it remembering an hour on March 18th, 2004, when she fell asleep in the passenger seat. When she'd fall asleep you'd watch her mouth drop open from her face shut tight, it made you happy to know she could fall asleep in your presence.
"You're not afraid I'm going to steal your stuff or anything," you explained.
"That's no reason to videotape me at night."
You destroyed the tapes, and it turned out to be a great idea because it made you cherish all the more those moments when you caught her napping. Moments like the 60 or so she spent blissfully asleep in the passenger seat of your Honda on March 18th, 2004. You nearly veered off the road a couple of times you were watching her so intently. You thought you could actually see her dreams by the expression on her face. She looked concerned, a little overburdened, like she'd been told to fill a thousand pickle jars with her pee or her sisters would be sent to war. But then again, you might be the only one who has that dream.
By September, 2004, all you had left of her were the memories. You focused tight on that hour on March 18th and you exhausted it. Until you could no longer remember which parts of it were fact and which were fabrications added in the process of recalling a memory.
Today, you remember September, and you're able to shudder and feel a little better off. What have you learned from all of this.
"Don't destroy videotapes?"
Correct.
Happy Most Of September, 2004 Day!
You spent it remembering an hour on March 18th, 2004, when she fell asleep in the passenger seat. When she'd fall asleep you'd watch her mouth drop open from her face shut tight, it made you happy to know she could fall asleep in your presence.
"You're not afraid I'm going to steal your stuff or anything," you explained.
"That's no reason to videotape me at night."
You destroyed the tapes, and it turned out to be a great idea because it made you cherish all the more those moments when you caught her napping. Moments like the 60 or so she spent blissfully asleep in the passenger seat of your Honda on March 18th, 2004. You nearly veered off the road a couple of times you were watching her so intently. You thought you could actually see her dreams by the expression on her face. She looked concerned, a little overburdened, like she'd been told to fill a thousand pickle jars with her pee or her sisters would be sent to war. But then again, you might be the only one who has that dream.
By September, 2004, all you had left of her were the memories. You focused tight on that hour on March 18th and you exhausted it. Until you could no longer remember which parts of it were fact and which were fabrications added in the process of recalling a memory.
Today, you remember September, and you're able to shudder and feel a little better off. What have you learned from all of this.
"Don't destroy videotapes?"
Correct.
Happy Most Of September, 2004 Day!
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
She Shouts "Glory Be To God" When She Comes Day
She Shouts "Glory Be To God" When She Comes Day!
"Do you always do that?" you ask. Her breasts are smaller than yours, you notice.
"Zip it," she says. She starts to get dressed. "My mom's gonna be picking me up soon."
"You could stay for dinner," you say.
"One word of this to my Mom, the kids at school, anybody, and I swear to God I'll kill you dead."
You reach out to put your hand on her hair, but think better of it. "Is that why you transferred to our school? Did you—"
"Dykes get real possessive real fast," she says. Is that what you are? A Dyke? "If you don't slice some blood from their palms right off the bat, they grab at every piece of you they can reach."
She picks up the baby blanket that you still sleep with and gently wraps it around your neck. She's looking in your eyes as she pulls it tighter and tighter. You don't gasp for air. You don't blink. You feel like you have to keep your face as hard as stone if you ever want her to come back to your room. Just hold her stare. Don't feel anything.
"I wanna tear this town to pieces," she says. "Wanna come with?"
You shrug. She loosens the blanket. Her mom honks her horn from the driveway. You just signed on to a lesbolescent life o' crime little girl.
Happy She Shouts "Glory Be To God" When She Comes Day!
"Do you always do that?" you ask. Her breasts are smaller than yours, you notice.
"Zip it," she says. She starts to get dressed. "My mom's gonna be picking me up soon."
"You could stay for dinner," you say.
"One word of this to my Mom, the kids at school, anybody, and I swear to God I'll kill you dead."
You reach out to put your hand on her hair, but think better of it. "Is that why you transferred to our school? Did you—"
"Dykes get real possessive real fast," she says. Is that what you are? A Dyke? "If you don't slice some blood from their palms right off the bat, they grab at every piece of you they can reach."
She picks up the baby blanket that you still sleep with and gently wraps it around your neck. She's looking in your eyes as she pulls it tighter and tighter. You don't gasp for air. You don't blink. You feel like you have to keep your face as hard as stone if you ever want her to come back to your room. Just hold her stare. Don't feel anything.
"I wanna tear this town to pieces," she says. "Wanna come with?"
You shrug. She loosens the blanket. Her mom honks her horn from the driveway. You just signed on to a lesbolescent life o' crime little girl.
Happy She Shouts "Glory Be To God" When She Comes Day!
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
The Kickline Girl Is Dead Day
The Kickline Girl Is Dead Day!
Most people who saw her thought she was just another Vegas showgirl who'd keep paying the bills until her knee gave out on her. But Justine knew something they didn't know.
"I know how to pick combination safes," she told the only man she ever loved.
"It's a rare talent. Never use it," Keith told her. "Promise me you'll never use it. As long as we both shall live?"
"As long as we both shall live," Justine promised.
Keith ended up not living all that long. Another four months to be exact. Keith's death sentence had been signed long before he walked into Justine's life. About a hundred grand in the hole, hooking up with a safecracker should have been the answer to his prayers.
"I might be a gamblin' junky," said Keith. "But I'm a gentleman. And a gentleman doesn't bring his girl in on a score just so's he can even his debts."
Eventually, Keith's debts came due. The night Justine walked out of the dressing room and found no one waiting for her outside, she knew he'd been killed. The only happiness she'd ever known had been ripped out of her arms, and she wanted revenge.
A hit on your average nobody will cost around $25,000 if you expect it to come off without a hitch. A hit on the kind of guys Justine wanted dead, the guys Keith owed his money to, you're talking a hundred grand a head, minimum. A showgirl doesn't make that kind of money. To get that kind of money, you'd have to crack a safe.
A lot of safes as it turned out. Justine put the word out that she was ready to come on board with any crew who had a line on the right score. She was glad to say goodbye to the showgirl life. Her knees were even more glad. And she took to a life of crime like a bee to honey.
This morning, at around 4 AM, she'd just cracked open the safe that would give her the last 50 grand necessary to put out her contracts. But she never even got to hold the money. It was dumb luck, but the crew who brought her the score just happened to have been put together by Horst Murinven, the loan shark Justine believed to have pulled the trigger on her Keith. When Murinven's crew told him about the kickline girl safecracker who could make the score happen, he checked her out and discovered her link to Keith. A few more questions around town and he knew she was looking for a killer for pay.
Murinven knew she was coming his way. And he also knew how much money was in that safe. He told his crew to bring guns for a change. He told them to wait for her to pull the door of the safe open wide. And he told them they'd each get an extra ten grand if they put a bullet in her head before she could turn around. That's why the kickline girl is dead.
Happy The Kickline Girl Is Dead Day!
Most people who saw her thought she was just another Vegas showgirl who'd keep paying the bills until her knee gave out on her. But Justine knew something they didn't know.
"I know how to pick combination safes," she told the only man she ever loved.
"It's a rare talent. Never use it," Keith told her. "Promise me you'll never use it. As long as we both shall live?"
"As long as we both shall live," Justine promised.
Keith ended up not living all that long. Another four months to be exact. Keith's death sentence had been signed long before he walked into Justine's life. About a hundred grand in the hole, hooking up with a safecracker should have been the answer to his prayers.
"I might be a gamblin' junky," said Keith. "But I'm a gentleman. And a gentleman doesn't bring his girl in on a score just so's he can even his debts."
Eventually, Keith's debts came due. The night Justine walked out of the dressing room and found no one waiting for her outside, she knew he'd been killed. The only happiness she'd ever known had been ripped out of her arms, and she wanted revenge.
A hit on your average nobody will cost around $25,000 if you expect it to come off without a hitch. A hit on the kind of guys Justine wanted dead, the guys Keith owed his money to, you're talking a hundred grand a head, minimum. A showgirl doesn't make that kind of money. To get that kind of money, you'd have to crack a safe.
A lot of safes as it turned out. Justine put the word out that she was ready to come on board with any crew who had a line on the right score. She was glad to say goodbye to the showgirl life. Her knees were even more glad. And she took to a life of crime like a bee to honey.
This morning, at around 4 AM, she'd just cracked open the safe that would give her the last 50 grand necessary to put out her contracts. But she never even got to hold the money. It was dumb luck, but the crew who brought her the score just happened to have been put together by Horst Murinven, the loan shark Justine believed to have pulled the trigger on her Keith. When Murinven's crew told him about the kickline girl safecracker who could make the score happen, he checked her out and discovered her link to Keith. A few more questions around town and he knew she was looking for a killer for pay.
Murinven knew she was coming his way. And he also knew how much money was in that safe. He told his crew to bring guns for a change. He told them to wait for her to pull the door of the safe open wide. And he told them they'd each get an extra ten grand if they put a bullet in her head before she could turn around. That's why the kickline girl is dead.
Happy The Kickline Girl Is Dead Day!
Monday, December 27, 2004
Trapped Underneath Your Girlfriend Day
Trapped Underneath Your Girlfriend Day!
You phone for help. You phone Steve.
"She's dead and she's on top of me."
Steve tells you to try and shove her off of you, asks you how she died.
"Cancer," you say. " This is really difficult. She won't budge."
Steve asks you where you are.
"I'm not sure. It looks like a warehouse."
Steve asks if anyone else is there.
"Look, I don't have time for 20 questions. I'm really broken up over the death of my girlfriend. And I just need someone to get her off of me."
Steve says he understands, but he can't send help unless he knows where you are.
"Makes sense to me. Sorry I lost it there for a second. Bad day."
Steve doesn't say anything.
"Dead girlfriend and all," you continue. "On top of me and everything," you add. "Shortening my breath, cutting off the blood to my brain," you clinch the deal.
"Okay," Steve says. "I'll devote my every waking breath to freeing you from the weight of your dead girlfriend."
"You're the best," you say.
"Smoking hurts us all," Steve says and hangs up.
You wait, occasionally putting a kiss to your dead girlfriend's earlobe. With every kiss, she's just a little bit colder.
Happy Trapped Underneath Your Girlfriend Day!
You phone for help. You phone Steve.
"She's dead and she's on top of me."
Steve tells you to try and shove her off of you, asks you how she died.
"Cancer," you say. " This is really difficult. She won't budge."
Steve asks you where you are.
"I'm not sure. It looks like a warehouse."
Steve asks if anyone else is there.
"Look, I don't have time for 20 questions. I'm really broken up over the death of my girlfriend. And I just need someone to get her off of me."
Steve says he understands, but he can't send help unless he knows where you are.
"Makes sense to me. Sorry I lost it there for a second. Bad day."
Steve doesn't say anything.
"Dead girlfriend and all," you continue. "On top of me and everything," you add. "Shortening my breath, cutting off the blood to my brain," you clinch the deal.
"Okay," Steve says. "I'll devote my every waking breath to freeing you from the weight of your dead girlfriend."
"You're the best," you say.
"Smoking hurts us all," Steve says and hangs up.
You wait, occasionally putting a kiss to your dead girlfriend's earlobe. With every kiss, she's just a little bit colder.
Happy Trapped Underneath Your Girlfriend Day!
Friday, December 24, 2004
It's The Girls Are Pretty "Go Into The Woods And Find A Little Bit Of Truth" Weekend
It's The Girls Are Pretty "Go Into The Woods And Find A Little Bit Of Truth" Weekend!
It's all coming apart at the seams for Prettygirl. One morning, about four years ago, she woke up feeling like things were going to be getting worse from then on. She tried to ignore it throughout constant narcotics abuse, which was really really fun and gave her some good ideas for children's books she plans to write and illustrate one day, but they didn't help her to pretend that life works on some level. At one point, she took the advice of a grandmother and tried to give and receive love. Pure chicanery.
So now, Prettygirl's going into the woods in the hopes that watching frogs hump will put some blood back in her veins. If she doesn't start to perk up in a couple of days, she'll take off all of her clothes (Prettygirl's got a nice bod still, and whenever's she's naked it's a good thing), lay down on the frozen dirt and let the cold have her last breaths (which she'll be able to see, cause it'll be cold). If she finds, as the long-haired poets might say, "Something to believe in," she'll be back with more horseshit for you all to obey thoughtlessly. Either way, she's putting some days up in advance since she doesn't expect to make it to a Kinko's anytime soon. Scroll down to read today's today. Don't read tomorrow's until tomorrow or you'll grow one of those 115 pound tumors in your stomach that you'll assume is just the result of you being a big fat pig.
These might be the last ever. Make them count.
Sunday, December 26, 2004
Scold Your Pets For Not Being Romantic Enough Day!
Tell Wiffles that she never tries to surprise you. That she takes you for granted. Tell her that it would be nice if you could just come home one day to find that Wiffles had done something, perhaps arranged her poo to look like your face or whatever, just to let you know that you're still special. Wiffles will just kind of walk away because she doesn't speak English. When she does, weep.
Happy Scold Your Pets For Not Being Romantic Enough Day!
Saturday, December 25, 2004
Get Up From The Table And Go Day!
Tonight, your lover will tell the truth. He'll tell you what he's been so afraid to say for such a long time. He'll tell you that far more frightening than the potential retribution from various foreign governments, is the possibility that you might think less of him.
React thusly: Get up from the table and go out to the street. Run down the street in your bare feet with no idea where to go, who to go to. He'll catch up to you in the car after a few blocks. You'll get in and you two will come up with a plan. You'll say to him, "I'm involved now. I'm in just as much danger as you. Thanks a lot jerkface."
Happy Get Up From The Table And Go Day!
Friday, December 24, 2004
Covet Children At A Playground Day!
You're childless and empty. Worthless, in the eyes of the world and your Lord. Your lack of children is proof that you remain unloved and unlovable. Go to the playground and look at all the beautiful children at play. As you watch them, whisper aloud a both ends of a conversation you imagine you're having with your own little boy or girl. It's fun to pretend at 38.
Happy Covet Children At A Playground Day!
It's all coming apart at the seams for Prettygirl. One morning, about four years ago, she woke up feeling like things were going to be getting worse from then on. She tried to ignore it throughout constant narcotics abuse, which was really really fun and gave her some good ideas for children's books she plans to write and illustrate one day, but they didn't help her to pretend that life works on some level. At one point, she took the advice of a grandmother and tried to give and receive love. Pure chicanery.
So now, Prettygirl's going into the woods in the hopes that watching frogs hump will put some blood back in her veins. If she doesn't start to perk up in a couple of days, she'll take off all of her clothes (Prettygirl's got a nice bod still, and whenever's she's naked it's a good thing), lay down on the frozen dirt and let the cold have her last breaths (which she'll be able to see, cause it'll be cold). If she finds, as the long-haired poets might say, "Something to believe in," she'll be back with more horseshit for you all to obey thoughtlessly. Either way, she's putting some days up in advance since she doesn't expect to make it to a Kinko's anytime soon. Scroll down to read today's today. Don't read tomorrow's until tomorrow or you'll grow one of those 115 pound tumors in your stomach that you'll assume is just the result of you being a big fat pig.
These might be the last ever. Make them count.
Sunday, December 26, 2004
Scold Your Pets For Not Being Romantic Enough Day!
Tell Wiffles that she never tries to surprise you. That she takes you for granted. Tell her that it would be nice if you could just come home one day to find that Wiffles had done something, perhaps arranged her poo to look like your face or whatever, just to let you know that you're still special. Wiffles will just kind of walk away because she doesn't speak English. When she does, weep.
Happy Scold Your Pets For Not Being Romantic Enough Day!
Saturday, December 25, 2004
Get Up From The Table And Go Day!
Tonight, your lover will tell the truth. He'll tell you what he's been so afraid to say for such a long time. He'll tell you that far more frightening than the potential retribution from various foreign governments, is the possibility that you might think less of him.
React thusly: Get up from the table and go out to the street. Run down the street in your bare feet with no idea where to go, who to go to. He'll catch up to you in the car after a few blocks. You'll get in and you two will come up with a plan. You'll say to him, "I'm involved now. I'm in just as much danger as you. Thanks a lot jerkface."
Happy Get Up From The Table And Go Day!
Friday, December 24, 2004
Covet Children At A Playground Day!
You're childless and empty. Worthless, in the eyes of the world and your Lord. Your lack of children is proof that you remain unloved and unlovable. Go to the playground and look at all the beautiful children at play. As you watch them, whisper aloud a both ends of a conversation you imagine you're having with your own little boy or girl. It's fun to pretend at 38.
Happy Covet Children At A Playground Day!
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Dogcatcher Day
Dogcatcher Day!
It's been two days since Rex has disappeared. It's time to go to the town dogcatcher and make a threat.
"You find my dog you do one of two things. Bring him back to me, or leave him be."
The Dogcatcher won't turn to you when he speaks from his leather seat.
"I'll do as my occupation dictates I do," the Dogcatcher will say.
Go to the arm of his chair and squat down so your mouth is at his ear. "Place my dog in danger," say, "And I will bring you pain in kind."
The Dogcatcher will scoff. "Can't feel pain," he'll say.
You'll stay by his side, not sure of what he said.
"Just get out of here."
Stand, but don't go.
"GET OUT OF HERE! NOW! GO NOW!"
The Dogcatcher will fly into a rage without even getting to his feet. He'll just bark at you from the sink of his chair until you go.
On your drive home you'll remember that the Dogcatcher is addicted to heroin and it must have been time for his fix. He flew into a panic because you were in the house when he was ready to shoot up. No one's been in his house in 8 months. He didn't know how else to handle it. He just knew he had to be rid of you in order to administer to his self.
Happy Dogcatcher Day!
It's been two days since Rex has disappeared. It's time to go to the town dogcatcher and make a threat.
"You find my dog you do one of two things. Bring him back to me, or leave him be."
The Dogcatcher won't turn to you when he speaks from his leather seat.
"I'll do as my occupation dictates I do," the Dogcatcher will say.
Go to the arm of his chair and squat down so your mouth is at his ear. "Place my dog in danger," say, "And I will bring you pain in kind."
The Dogcatcher will scoff. "Can't feel pain," he'll say.
You'll stay by his side, not sure of what he said.
"Just get out of here."
Stand, but don't go.
"GET OUT OF HERE! NOW! GO NOW!"
The Dogcatcher will fly into a rage without even getting to his feet. He'll just bark at you from the sink of his chair until you go.
On your drive home you'll remember that the Dogcatcher is addicted to heroin and it must have been time for his fix. He flew into a panic because you were in the house when he was ready to shoot up. No one's been in his house in 8 months. He didn't know how else to handle it. He just knew he had to be rid of you in order to administer to his self.
Happy Dogcatcher Day!
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
The Ku Klux Klan Day
The Ku Klux Klan Day!
Today, you are going to sit down with the Ku Klux Klan and go over some concepts.
"Presently," say, "The public sees the Klan as a terrorist organization. An instrument of hate."
Their hoods will rustle, indicating that they're nodding in agreement.
"To up your membership, you need to promote the deep social element of your club."
They turn to each other, then back to you. Get your artwork ready.
"Friendship. Teamwork. Playdates for your children. Gentlemen, it's time for a name-change."
They're on the edge of their seats.
"Say goodbye to the Ku Klux Klan." Show them the mock-up of families of hooded Klan members cheering on a sack race in a public park; smoke billowing from a barbecue in the background. "Say hello to the Ku Klux Community?."
They don't need to take off their hoods to let you know that you just hit one out of the park.
Happy The Ku Klux Klan Day!
Today, you are going to sit down with the Ku Klux Klan and go over some concepts.
"Presently," say, "The public sees the Klan as a terrorist organization. An instrument of hate."
Their hoods will rustle, indicating that they're nodding in agreement.
"To up your membership, you need to promote the deep social element of your club."
They turn to each other, then back to you. Get your artwork ready.
"Friendship. Teamwork. Playdates for your children. Gentlemen, it's time for a name-change."
They're on the edge of their seats.
"Say goodbye to the Ku Klux Klan." Show them the mock-up of families of hooded Klan members cheering on a sack race in a public park; smoke billowing from a barbecue in the background. "Say hello to the Ku Klux Community?."
They don't need to take off their hoods to let you know that you just hit one out of the park.
Happy The Ku Klux Klan Day!
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Roundhouse Day
Roundhouse Day!
Say, "I love you roundhouse."
Roundhouse will say, "I love you too."
A gang of drug addicts will come down the alley towards you, hooting and hollering.
"Not now," says Roundhouse.
Smile at her. "Do what you were brought here to do."
Roundhouse meets the gang halfway down the alley and kills them all with kicks.
"Go Roundhouse!" you shout. Your girlfriend was trained in a government lab to murder troublemakers. You have to share her with an entire crimewave. Some guys wouldn't be able to handle having a girlfriend with such a consuming career. But you were raised correctly.
Happy Roundhouse Day!
Say, "I love you roundhouse."
Roundhouse will say, "I love you too."
A gang of drug addicts will come down the alley towards you, hooting and hollering.
"Not now," says Roundhouse.
Smile at her. "Do what you were brought here to do."
Roundhouse meets the gang halfway down the alley and kills them all with kicks.
"Go Roundhouse!" you shout. Your girlfriend was trained in a government lab to murder troublemakers. You have to share her with an entire crimewave. Some guys wouldn't be able to handle having a girlfriend with such a consuming career. But you were raised correctly.
Happy Roundhouse Day!
Monday, December 20, 2004
Who Cut The Cheese Day
Who Cut The Cheese Day!
Say, "Who cut the cheese?"
No confessions.
Repeat, "Who cut the cheese?"
No confessions.
Pick up the child with the messiest hands. Say into his face, "Did you cut the cheese?"
The child will not confess.
Bring the children into the milk room in pairs, making sure not to pair up any children who are often seen playing together. A method known as Chatham's Uncomfortable Contract. Two people with no history, no shorthand for communication, no basis of knowing how the other will react to a situation, they get thrown together and they rush each other to a compromised position with the interrogator, neither wanting to give the other the chance to shift suspicion with an accusation.
Wear them down.
Shout into the first child's face: "Did you cut the cheese? No? Are you accusing him then? No? Then it must have been you!"
This is the Morrissey Axiom of interrogation. Pose no question that offers safe exit from the interrogation room. The suspect should be as damned in denying the crime as he is in confessing the crime.
"You two want me to believe neither one of ya's never puffed but the rosiest perfumes out between those cheeks, that it?" say. "Then you better tell me who done it, if you're so sure."
This is Handel's "Bottom Line." The suspects have been ground so far down they don't see any options open. There is no such thing as truth at this level. They gave up hope on the truth setting them free a dozen hours ago. The only hope they have for ever being let go is to tell the interrogator exactly what he wants to hear. At this point, you should be waiting out in the playroom, watching the other children fake their way through naptime, giving the two in the milk room a chance to formulate a cohesive story.
When you go back into the milk room, those two kids are going to tell you who stunk a fart into the day care center.
Happy Who Cut The Cheese Day!
Say, "Who cut the cheese?"
No confessions.
Repeat, "Who cut the cheese?"
No confessions.
Pick up the child with the messiest hands. Say into his face, "Did you cut the cheese?"
The child will not confess.
Bring the children into the milk room in pairs, making sure not to pair up any children who are often seen playing together. A method known as Chatham's Uncomfortable Contract. Two people with no history, no shorthand for communication, no basis of knowing how the other will react to a situation, they get thrown together and they rush each other to a compromised position with the interrogator, neither wanting to give the other the chance to shift suspicion with an accusation.
Wear them down.
Shout into the first child's face: "Did you cut the cheese? No? Are you accusing him then? No? Then it must have been you!"
This is the Morrissey Axiom of interrogation. Pose no question that offers safe exit from the interrogation room. The suspect should be as damned in denying the crime as he is in confessing the crime.
"You two want me to believe neither one of ya's never puffed but the rosiest perfumes out between those cheeks, that it?" say. "Then you better tell me who done it, if you're so sure."
This is Handel's "Bottom Line." The suspects have been ground so far down they don't see any options open. There is no such thing as truth at this level. They gave up hope on the truth setting them free a dozen hours ago. The only hope they have for ever being let go is to tell the interrogator exactly what he wants to hear. At this point, you should be waiting out in the playroom, watching the other children fake their way through naptime, giving the two in the milk room a chance to formulate a cohesive story.
When you go back into the milk room, those two kids are going to tell you who stunk a fart into the day care center.
Happy Who Cut The Cheese Day!
Sunday, December 19, 2004
Get Hit By A Car Day
Get Hit By A Car Day!
Today you're gonna get hit by a car and everyone is gonna come to your hospital room and be nice to you for a change. Additionally, Brad, who broke up with you because you weren't pretty enough, is going to come to your hospital bed and beg you to take him back. You'll refuse him and he'll kill himself.
Your brush with death will also open your brother Michael's eyes to the damage he's inflicting on himself with his drug abuse. He'll stop abusing drugs and he'll get rich. Also, your mom's cancer will go away because God will think it's too cruel for so much sadness to get crammed into one family. And God will also give your family a new car.
Finally, you'll be visited by President George W Bush. He'll ask you to hang in there and he'll promise to make laws that make the roads safer for beautiful girls like you.
Happy Get Hit By A Car Day!
Today you're gonna get hit by a car and everyone is gonna come to your hospital room and be nice to you for a change. Additionally, Brad, who broke up with you because you weren't pretty enough, is going to come to your hospital bed and beg you to take him back. You'll refuse him and he'll kill himself.
Your brush with death will also open your brother Michael's eyes to the damage he's inflicting on himself with his drug abuse. He'll stop abusing drugs and he'll get rich. Also, your mom's cancer will go away because God will think it's too cruel for so much sadness to get crammed into one family. And God will also give your family a new car.
Finally, you'll be visited by President George W Bush. He'll ask you to hang in there and he'll promise to make laws that make the roads safer for beautiful girls like you.
Happy Get Hit By A Car Day!
Saturday, December 18, 2004
Launch The Rocket Day!
Launch The Rocket Day!
Hello, Country With A Space Program. Today is the day to launch your rocket.
You're welcome for the reminder. Now go explore outer space.
Happy Launch The Rocket Day!
Hello, Country With A Space Program. Today is the day to launch your rocket.
You're welcome for the reminder. Now go explore outer space.
Happy Launch The Rocket Day!
Friday, December 17, 2004
Treehouse Graffiti Day
Treehouse Graffiti Day!
It reads, YOU ARE AN ARMY OF ONE.
This is in reference to your efforts to make friends by building a tree house and inviting children at school to join what you called "The Lanfair Avenue Army," Lanfair avenue being the street where you live.
All of the kids politely declined, some of them were downright cordial about it. But now, perhaps under cover of night, they have struck and made plain what was screaming through your head every time you looked up at that airborne shack built from wood leftover from your father's half-completed sundeck.
you have no friends
Not such a big deal. Once construction halted on the sundeck you knew your father would be moving you and your mother again. It's San Diego in 4 more months. Perhaps San Diego will be the burgh that will finally offer you a little bit of company.
Happy Treehouse Graffiti Day!
It reads, YOU ARE AN ARMY OF ONE.
This is in reference to your efforts to make friends by building a tree house and inviting children at school to join what you called "The Lanfair Avenue Army," Lanfair avenue being the street where you live.
All of the kids politely declined, some of them were downright cordial about it. But now, perhaps under cover of night, they have struck and made plain what was screaming through your head every time you looked up at that airborne shack built from wood leftover from your father's half-completed sundeck.
you have no friends
Not such a big deal. Once construction halted on the sundeck you knew your father would be moving you and your mother again. It's San Diego in 4 more months. Perhaps San Diego will be the burgh that will finally offer you a little bit of company.
Happy Treehouse Graffiti Day!
Thursday, December 16, 2004
Gardener Wars Day
Landscaper Wars Day!
Landscaper Wars is a very violent video game that has been putting horrible ideas into your son's eleven year old head. Today, he will let a girl know that he likes her by opening up the back of her neck with a trovel. You should have paid more attention to what sort of games your son was playing. You were too busy online dating, too busy trying to find him a new Dad you never found the time to be a Mom.
Happy Landscaper Wars Day
Landscaper Wars is a very violent video game that has been putting horrible ideas into your son's eleven year old head. Today, he will let a girl know that he likes her by opening up the back of her neck with a trovel. You should have paid more attention to what sort of games your son was playing. You were too busy online dating, too busy trying to find him a new Dad you never found the time to be a Mom.
Happy Landscaper Wars Day
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Monster Day
Monster Day!
Your girlfriend is convinced that there are monsters under her bed and she wants you to sleep over her house to make her feel safe. You want her to sleep soundly, but you're both only sixteen and you don't want to have sex until you at least are out of high school. Spending the night in her room might compromise that plan.
You ask your girlfriend, "We're still on the same page right?"
"About what?" she says.
"Not fucking."
She says, "I don't want to fuck. I just want you to sleep in my room. The monsters, you know."
You say, "I know and I want to be there to protect you. I'm just afraid of fucking you."
"You don't think you can sleep over without fucking me?" she says.
"No," you say. "Not just me. Us. I'm afraid if we're in your bedroom all night long in our pajamas like that, we're just going to lose control and fuck like crazy. And I wanna go to college."
She says, "Please. The monsters."
You hold her eyes with yours, seeking out some truth. "Okay," you say. "But if we all of a sudden fuck…"
"Yeah?" she says.
You break out in a smile, "Don't say I didn't warn ya' is all."
She smiles and the two of you hug. Later tonight, you're torn apart at the sternum by monsters.
Happy Monster Day!
Your girlfriend is convinced that there are monsters under her bed and she wants you to sleep over her house to make her feel safe. You want her to sleep soundly, but you're both only sixteen and you don't want to have sex until you at least are out of high school. Spending the night in her room might compromise that plan.
You ask your girlfriend, "We're still on the same page right?"
"About what?" she says.
"Not fucking."
She says, "I don't want to fuck. I just want you to sleep in my room. The monsters, you know."
You say, "I know and I want to be there to protect you. I'm just afraid of fucking you."
"You don't think you can sleep over without fucking me?" she says.
"No," you say. "Not just me. Us. I'm afraid if we're in your bedroom all night long in our pajamas like that, we're just going to lose control and fuck like crazy. And I wanna go to college."
She says, "Please. The monsters."
You hold her eyes with yours, seeking out some truth. "Okay," you say. "But if we all of a sudden fuck…"
"Yeah?" she says.
You break out in a smile, "Don't say I didn't warn ya' is all."
She smiles and the two of you hug. Later tonight, you're torn apart at the sternum by monsters.
Happy Monster Day!
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Water My Plants While I'm Away Day
Water My Plants While I'm Away Day!
You love George, but George isn't gay. Yet, you see so few prospects for a gay man in your town that the most aggressive effort you're going to make towards securing romance is having George come up and water your plants while you're away at an adhesives seminar (you purchase glue for a bottling plant) and letting George find evidence of your love through his own curious volition.
First, you'll leave out a pile of photos on the kitchen table. George will recognize the people in the photo on the top of the pile, and he'll sift through to see if he can recognize the event where the photos were taken. Somewhere in the middle of the pile will be a lovingly framed photo of George he won't remember having been taken. The photo will give the impression that the photographer spent the evening in silence, content to drink in George's profile from across the table.
Next, a piece of scrap paper full of phone numbers. Somewhere in the middle of the mass of scrawl will be the lines, "Hey George, wanna go check out that new Nicole Kidman movie about her dead boyfriend coming back as a little kid? No big deal, I was just looking for someone to go with and…" George won't be able to see this as anything but a script, though he'll try to ignore it. He'll know you had scripted out how you should casually ask him on a date. He'll also remember the phone call when you asked him to come see that movie with you. It came out differently than what was scripted.
Finally, leave scattered around some surveillance photos of George and his girlfriend walking hand in hand, his girlfriend's eyes having been blacked out with a Sharpie.
George might be creeped out, but if you come home and your plants aren't dead, that means he cares for you too.
Happy Water My Plants While I'm Away Day!
You love George, but George isn't gay. Yet, you see so few prospects for a gay man in your town that the most aggressive effort you're going to make towards securing romance is having George come up and water your plants while you're away at an adhesives seminar (you purchase glue for a bottling plant) and letting George find evidence of your love through his own curious volition.
First, you'll leave out a pile of photos on the kitchen table. George will recognize the people in the photo on the top of the pile, and he'll sift through to see if he can recognize the event where the photos were taken. Somewhere in the middle of the pile will be a lovingly framed photo of George he won't remember having been taken. The photo will give the impression that the photographer spent the evening in silence, content to drink in George's profile from across the table.
Next, a piece of scrap paper full of phone numbers. Somewhere in the middle of the mass of scrawl will be the lines, "Hey George, wanna go check out that new Nicole Kidman movie about her dead boyfriend coming back as a little kid? No big deal, I was just looking for someone to go with and…" George won't be able to see this as anything but a script, though he'll try to ignore it. He'll know you had scripted out how you should casually ask him on a date. He'll also remember the phone call when you asked him to come see that movie with you. It came out differently than what was scripted.
Finally, leave scattered around some surveillance photos of George and his girlfriend walking hand in hand, his girlfriend's eyes having been blacked out with a Sharpie.
George might be creeped out, but if you come home and your plants aren't dead, that means he cares for you too.
Happy Water My Plants While I'm Away Day!
Monday, December 13, 2004
Love And War Day
Love And War Day!
Your boyfriend's in Iraq, and you've been faithful ever since he left. Before he left is another story.
"I won't betray this man when he's living a life surrounded by the promise of death at every turn," you tell Stephen.
"You'll betray your heart then," says Stephen.
"So be it," you say. "Don't come to the diner anymore."
Stephen has been good about staying away. Before Charles got shipped out, Stephen kept a nightly appointment parked in the parking lot across the street, waiting for your shift to end. You'd get into your car and follow him either to someplace scenic where you'd get out of your car and climb into his big backseat, or to a hotel with a parking lot away from the street.
Things got more intense with Stephen, and you had plans to tell Charles about him. You had plans to leave Charles, but the Army Reserves had other plans.
"I won't touch you while he's away," you told Stephen the night after Charles went away. "I can't risk coming home from a night with you to get a phone call saying my Charles got hurt."
"Now he's your Charles?" Stephen asks. "You'll give up your own happiness just to keep him from being made the fool."
"I've given up worse," you said. You were referring to the baby you'd aborted that morning. It could have been Charles'. But it was far more likely Stephen's. You couldn't risk it.
But you were seen coming out of the clinic. Not by anyone who knows Charles. But by Stephen's Daddy. They barely talk. But it wouldn't take too many words to say what he saw.
Happy Love And War Day!
Your boyfriend's in Iraq, and you've been faithful ever since he left. Before he left is another story.
"I won't betray this man when he's living a life surrounded by the promise of death at every turn," you tell Stephen.
"You'll betray your heart then," says Stephen.
"So be it," you say. "Don't come to the diner anymore."
Stephen has been good about staying away. Before Charles got shipped out, Stephen kept a nightly appointment parked in the parking lot across the street, waiting for your shift to end. You'd get into your car and follow him either to someplace scenic where you'd get out of your car and climb into his big backseat, or to a hotel with a parking lot away from the street.
Things got more intense with Stephen, and you had plans to tell Charles about him. You had plans to leave Charles, but the Army Reserves had other plans.
"I won't touch you while he's away," you told Stephen the night after Charles went away. "I can't risk coming home from a night with you to get a phone call saying my Charles got hurt."
"Now he's your Charles?" Stephen asks. "You'll give up your own happiness just to keep him from being made the fool."
"I've given up worse," you said. You were referring to the baby you'd aborted that morning. It could have been Charles'. But it was far more likely Stephen's. You couldn't risk it.
But you were seen coming out of the clinic. Not by anyone who knows Charles. But by Stephen's Daddy. They barely talk. But it wouldn't take too many words to say what he saw.
Happy Love And War Day!
Sunday, December 12, 2004
Wake N' Wrestle Day!
Wake N' Wrestle Day!
Every morning, the goal is to open your eyes before your brother. You can't use any alarms or wake up calls. Just the strategy you take down into your unconsciousness with you.
It doesn't count if you wake up before 7. You're allowed to wake up before 7 if you want and wait for the clock to click past 6:59. But you can't make a move before 7. This has often led to the two of you waking at around 6:45 and then just coiling in your spots on the bed for fifteen minutes, waiting to pounce on each other.
Nowadays though, it's gotten so routine that you both sometimes sleep as late as 8 AM before one you wakes up and pins the other to the mattress. You're both really busy too, so it's rare that a real match comes about. Usually, the one who wakes up late just lets himself get pinned so he can get into the shower first (the one who gets pinned always gets to shower first). Maybe once a month, you'll both put up a good fight, but both of you would say it's just for old time's sake.
Anyway, today when you woke up, you saw that the clock said 7:12. You flipped over to the other side of the bed and pinned a long swath of empty air to the mattress. Your brother never came home last night. And he's still not home.
He fell in love. (he's thirty-six, you're thirty-eight.)
Happy Wake N' Wrestle Day!
Every morning, the goal is to open your eyes before your brother. You can't use any alarms or wake up calls. Just the strategy you take down into your unconsciousness with you.
It doesn't count if you wake up before 7. You're allowed to wake up before 7 if you want and wait for the clock to click past 6:59. But you can't make a move before 7. This has often led to the two of you waking at around 6:45 and then just coiling in your spots on the bed for fifteen minutes, waiting to pounce on each other.
Nowadays though, it's gotten so routine that you both sometimes sleep as late as 8 AM before one you wakes up and pins the other to the mattress. You're both really busy too, so it's rare that a real match comes about. Usually, the one who wakes up late just lets himself get pinned so he can get into the shower first (the one who gets pinned always gets to shower first). Maybe once a month, you'll both put up a good fight, but both of you would say it's just for old time's sake.
Anyway, today when you woke up, you saw that the clock said 7:12. You flipped over to the other side of the bed and pinned a long swath of empty air to the mattress. Your brother never came home last night. And he's still not home.
He fell in love. (he's thirty-six, you're thirty-eight.)
Happy Wake N' Wrestle Day!
Saturday, December 11, 2004
Light The Whole Matchbook Day
Light The Whole Matchbook Day!
Then light your cigarette. Then toss the lit matchbook to the trail of gasoline. That shed full of dogs will burst into a fireball in seconds. That'll teach your ex-husband to steal your idea to open up an obedience school for extra Christmas money. Now get outta town. A NEW LIFE IS JUST OFF STARBOARD!
Happy Light The Whole Matchbook Day!
Then light your cigarette. Then toss the lit matchbook to the trail of gasoline. That shed full of dogs will burst into a fireball in seconds. That'll teach your ex-husband to steal your idea to open up an obedience school for extra Christmas money. Now get outta town. A NEW LIFE IS JUST OFF STARBOARD!
Happy Light The Whole Matchbook Day!
Friday, December 10, 2004
The Freezerburn Gang Day
The Freezerburn Gang Day!
Today, the Freezerburn Gang is going to have a meeting at which the topic of a name-change for the gang will again be discussed, ultimately leading to a split vote.
Next, the Freezerburn Gang will happen to listen in on a neighborhood Mad Scientist's vocal detailing of his plan to taint the local bars' beer taps with a serum that makes people who drink it speak the worst thought in their heads, no matter how much they want to keep that thought to themselves. The Freezerburn Gang will stop the Mad Scientist's plan, but not before he manages to infiltrate one bar and gradually poison its patrons with his Dark-Truth Serum. It is an uncomfortably hysterical scene that ensues when the patrons start speaking the recesses of their minds. Thankfully, the Freezerburn Gang stops the spread of the Serum before it can threaten to tear a neighborhood to shreds with honesty.
Happy The Freezerburn Gang Day!
Today, the Freezerburn Gang is going to have a meeting at which the topic of a name-change for the gang will again be discussed, ultimately leading to a split vote.
Next, the Freezerburn Gang will happen to listen in on a neighborhood Mad Scientist's vocal detailing of his plan to taint the local bars' beer taps with a serum that makes people who drink it speak the worst thought in their heads, no matter how much they want to keep that thought to themselves. The Freezerburn Gang will stop the Mad Scientist's plan, but not before he manages to infiltrate one bar and gradually poison its patrons with his Dark-Truth Serum. It is an uncomfortably hysterical scene that ensues when the patrons start speaking the recesses of their minds. Thankfully, the Freezerburn Gang stops the spread of the Serum before it can threaten to tear a neighborhood to shreds with honesty.
Happy The Freezerburn Gang Day!
Thursday, December 09, 2004
Spit On A Statue Day
Spit On A Statue Day!
Mid-day on a beautiful, unseasonably warm afternoon when everyone has rushed out to the park to get a taste of sunshine. Stomp from the entrance to the park straight to the center where the statue of an "important" historical figure casts its silhouette. March right up to that statue and spit at its base. Scream once, "FRAUD!"
Once all the babies and their nannies have turned to enjoy you, shout, "Your legacy is a lie! It's all falling apart!"
Then stomp away to find a nice cheeseburger someplace.
Happy Spit On A Statue Day!
Mid-day on a beautiful, unseasonably warm afternoon when everyone has rushed out to the park to get a taste of sunshine. Stomp from the entrance to the park straight to the center where the statue of an "important" historical figure casts its silhouette. March right up to that statue and spit at its base. Scream once, "FRAUD!"
Once all the babies and their nannies have turned to enjoy you, shout, "Your legacy is a lie! It's all falling apart!"
Then stomp away to find a nice cheeseburger someplace.
Happy Spit On A Statue Day!
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
Shootout On The Log Flume Day
Shootout On The Log Flume Day!
The son of a bitch pushes his way through the line and hops into the empty tail seat of a log flume, startling the family in the seats ahead of him when he flashes his gun. The son of a bitch is confused when he points the gun at the father, sitting in the front seat of the log, and says, "Drive."
You shove your way through the gate, flash your badge, and race to an empty log. As your log pulls ahead to begin its descent, you already see the son of a bitch drop out of site into the flume.
Luckily, your log takes a different track than his and you catch up to him quickly. He starts shooting wildly at you, but you have to be more careful. There are citizens in his log. Just you in yours. You do your best to keep low.
There's actually quite a lot of ducking and hiding. Since the log flume is a pretty slow, calm ride up until the final descent, the shootout is about as simple as if the two of you were walking on opposite sides of a narrow street at an even pace. Before you reach that final descent, you both manage to inflict fatal wounds upon each other.
The big splash at the end of the ride washes the blood from the wounds so that when your logs come to a stop, you both look quite peacefully asleep. The family that shared the son of a bitch's log races away in a panic. Everyone stares at your bodies. And then the blood starts to seep out from your wounds again, and the screaming erupts from the crowd.
Happy Shootout On The Log Flume Day!
The son of a bitch pushes his way through the line and hops into the empty tail seat of a log flume, startling the family in the seats ahead of him when he flashes his gun. The son of a bitch is confused when he points the gun at the father, sitting in the front seat of the log, and says, "Drive."
You shove your way through the gate, flash your badge, and race to an empty log. As your log pulls ahead to begin its descent, you already see the son of a bitch drop out of site into the flume.
Luckily, your log takes a different track than his and you catch up to him quickly. He starts shooting wildly at you, but you have to be more careful. There are citizens in his log. Just you in yours. You do your best to keep low.
There's actually quite a lot of ducking and hiding. Since the log flume is a pretty slow, calm ride up until the final descent, the shootout is about as simple as if the two of you were walking on opposite sides of a narrow street at an even pace. Before you reach that final descent, you both manage to inflict fatal wounds upon each other.
The big splash at the end of the ride washes the blood from the wounds so that when your logs come to a stop, you both look quite peacefully asleep. The family that shared the son of a bitch's log races away in a panic. Everyone stares at your bodies. And then the blood starts to seep out from your wounds again, and the screaming erupts from the crowd.
Happy Shootout On The Log Flume Day!
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
Broken Boy On Your Bedroom Floor Day
Broken Boy On Your Bedroom Floor Day!
He's screaming, "But without you I have nothing left."
Say, "I want a boy who'll bring something to the table."
He'll wiggle around and writhe like a worm cut in two. "I thought you saw my potential."
Say, "I don't gamble."
He'll pound his forehead into the fake wood tile. He'll spit up. "You're probably the last person who would have me."
Say, "If I thought I was that pathetic I'd kill myself before Frazier." Turn on the TV and begin watching Frazier.
He'll get up on his knees and slam his fists into his eyes. "I never want to see anything again."
Say, "'Kay." Chuckle at the dialogue on Frazier.
He'll walk to the end of the living room, sprint across the floor and fling himself against the opposite wall. He'll say, "I don't want my bones to work."
Say, "'Don't fuck up my shit."
He'll go into the kitchen and start searching under the sink for something poisonous to drink. He'll say, "I'm going to die here, at your feet. I'll be the fatal vicitim of your cruelty."
Get up and leave. Sleep over at your new boyfriend's house.
Happy Broken Boy On Your Bedroom Floor Day!
He's screaming, "But without you I have nothing left."
Say, "I want a boy who'll bring something to the table."
He'll wiggle around and writhe like a worm cut in two. "I thought you saw my potential."
Say, "I don't gamble."
He'll pound his forehead into the fake wood tile. He'll spit up. "You're probably the last person who would have me."
Say, "If I thought I was that pathetic I'd kill myself before Frazier." Turn on the TV and begin watching Frazier.
He'll get up on his knees and slam his fists into his eyes. "I never want to see anything again."
Say, "'Kay." Chuckle at the dialogue on Frazier.
He'll walk to the end of the living room, sprint across the floor and fling himself against the opposite wall. He'll say, "I don't want my bones to work."
Say, "'Don't fuck up my shit."
He'll go into the kitchen and start searching under the sink for something poisonous to drink. He'll say, "I'm going to die here, at your feet. I'll be the fatal vicitim of your cruelty."
Get up and leave. Sleep over at your new boyfriend's house.
Happy Broken Boy On Your Bedroom Floor Day!
Monday, December 06, 2004
Online Date Right Day!
Online Date Right Day!
Me: Poor, but wizened from the struggle.
You: Rich, marrying the one your parents chose for you.
We: Find an ease together that doesn't come easy. You: lament that your father demands you marry the daughter of the chairman of the board of the company your father plans to merge with. Me: wish you weren't rich so my father might trust you, so I could trust you in turn.
You: Stand up to your father, for a night at least. Me: stand on my waitress' ankles for twelve hours a day, paying bills is what I understand. We: marvel at the irony of the rich man held captive, the poor woman free.
Me: Shake my head and kick myself when you don't show up when you said you would. You: Limit your rebellion against your father to not smiling at the engagement party, but you make the toast you wrote before you met me. We: Go back to our separate lives, our respective worlds without hope that anyone's going to come along and throw us a life preserver.
We: go out separately for walks where we used to walk, but never bump into each other now matter how much we hope we might. Me: find out it's your wedding day on the society pages of the paper. You: throw society on its ear when you walk out of your wedding and knock on my door.
We.
Happy Online Date Right Day!
Me: Poor, but wizened from the struggle.
You: Rich, marrying the one your parents chose for you.
We: Find an ease together that doesn't come easy. You: lament that your father demands you marry the daughter of the chairman of the board of the company your father plans to merge with. Me: wish you weren't rich so my father might trust you, so I could trust you in turn.
You: Stand up to your father, for a night at least. Me: stand on my waitress' ankles for twelve hours a day, paying bills is what I understand. We: marvel at the irony of the rich man held captive, the poor woman free.
Me: Shake my head and kick myself when you don't show up when you said you would. You: Limit your rebellion against your father to not smiling at the engagement party, but you make the toast you wrote before you met me. We: Go back to our separate lives, our respective worlds without hope that anyone's going to come along and throw us a life preserver.
We: go out separately for walks where we used to walk, but never bump into each other now matter how much we hope we might. Me: find out it's your wedding day on the society pages of the paper. You: throw society on its ear when you walk out of your wedding and knock on my door.
We.
Happy Online Date Right Day!
Sunday, December 05, 2004
You're The Prettiest Hostage Day
You're The Prettiest Hostage Day!
One of the hostage-takers is sweet on you. Was, I mean. The dead one. Clay. You could tell by the way he kept asking you if you needed another can of Country Time from the soda machine they shot open. Clay had grand plans in his head. He imagined taking you as his very last hostage when he'd board the plane to Bermuda. In his fantasy, you'd come to see he's an all right guy. Sweet even, just trying to get what's his.
His partner, Luther, is about to blow. He's going to start tossing bodies out the window to avenge that sniper bullet that went through Clay's voicebox. I suggest that you go and cry beside Clay's body to appear to ally yourself to Luther's side of the situation. Say "it's not fair" and the like.
Happy You're The Prettiest Hostage Day!
One of the hostage-takers is sweet on you. Was, I mean. The dead one. Clay. You could tell by the way he kept asking you if you needed another can of Country Time from the soda machine they shot open. Clay had grand plans in his head. He imagined taking you as his very last hostage when he'd board the plane to Bermuda. In his fantasy, you'd come to see he's an all right guy. Sweet even, just trying to get what's his.
His partner, Luther, is about to blow. He's going to start tossing bodies out the window to avenge that sniper bullet that went through Clay's voicebox. I suggest that you go and cry beside Clay's body to appear to ally yourself to Luther's side of the situation. Say "it's not fair" and the like.
Happy You're The Prettiest Hostage Day!
Saturday, December 04, 2004
Broke Your Foot Day
Broke Your Foot Day!
You're on crutches and you live on the top floor a five-floor walkup in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. It takes you sixteen minutes to climb those stairs. When you open your apartment door, your roommate turns around with the knob that turns on the microwave in her hand.
"This is broken," she says.
She tosses the knob in the trash can and goes into her bedroom to speak to her boyfriend in Polish. You stare at the trash can, then at the freezer. You want to lie down and never get up again, but you need Vodka first. You postpone stretching out on your futon long enough to cut a lime and halfway fill a glass with ice cubes and some tonic. You fill the rest of the glass with vodka. You take both crutches in your right hand, the glass in your left, and you hop into your room, where you fall on your futon without spilling a drop.
After two more journeys into the kitchen for refills, you're nearly blind, and your mother calls you. She asks about your foot and you try to keep your words from crowding each other, but you realize you're going to have to throw up within a minute's time. You do your best to pull yourself to your crutches while scuttling the conversation to a conclusion. But you fall and drop the phone on the floor.
"Hello," she says when you get the phone to your ear.
"My roommate wants the phone," you say.
"Oh," your mother says. "Okay honey well then…"
"Love you Mom," you say and hang up. You're back up on the crutches flinging yourself to the bathroom. The laws of physics get you to the toilet. It all works out.
Several hours later, you realize your roommate must have left before you threw up, because you find yourself sprawled across the kitchen floor with your feet across the threshold to the bathroom and your head in the kitty litter. You pull yourself up, reach into the bathroom, and tug the knob on the toilet to flush your vomit down the drain. The knob, of course, comes off in your hand. You toss it into the garbage and crawl back to your bedroom for some more sleep.
Happy Broke Your Foot Day!
You're on crutches and you live on the top floor a five-floor walkup in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. It takes you sixteen minutes to climb those stairs. When you open your apartment door, your roommate turns around with the knob that turns on the microwave in her hand.
"This is broken," she says.
She tosses the knob in the trash can and goes into her bedroom to speak to her boyfriend in Polish. You stare at the trash can, then at the freezer. You want to lie down and never get up again, but you need Vodka first. You postpone stretching out on your futon long enough to cut a lime and halfway fill a glass with ice cubes and some tonic. You fill the rest of the glass with vodka. You take both crutches in your right hand, the glass in your left, and you hop into your room, where you fall on your futon without spilling a drop.
After two more journeys into the kitchen for refills, you're nearly blind, and your mother calls you. She asks about your foot and you try to keep your words from crowding each other, but you realize you're going to have to throw up within a minute's time. You do your best to pull yourself to your crutches while scuttling the conversation to a conclusion. But you fall and drop the phone on the floor.
"Hello," she says when you get the phone to your ear.
"My roommate wants the phone," you say.
"Oh," your mother says. "Okay honey well then…"
"Love you Mom," you say and hang up. You're back up on the crutches flinging yourself to the bathroom. The laws of physics get you to the toilet. It all works out.
Several hours later, you realize your roommate must have left before you threw up, because you find yourself sprawled across the kitchen floor with your feet across the threshold to the bathroom and your head in the kitty litter. You pull yourself up, reach into the bathroom, and tug the knob on the toilet to flush your vomit down the drain. The knob, of course, comes off in your hand. You toss it into the garbage and crawl back to your bedroom for some more sleep.
Happy Broke Your Foot Day!
Friday, December 03, 2004
Middle School Dance Day
Middle School Dance Day!
Tonight, when you walk past your neighborhood middle school, you will hear loud Top 40 music pumping from its open doors. Just inside the doors you will see bunches of children dressed nicely. You will realize they are attending a school dance.
You'll pause in your walk, watching the kids awkwardly flirt and tease each other. Your mind will drift back to your own middle school dance. You'll remember a kiss you stole on the dance floor. A sip of alcohol in the boys' room. But most of all, you'll remember coming home and finding your minister father waiting up for you so that he can admonish you for whatever sins of the flesh he assumed you had committed that night.
You slept on your belly that night, the lashings of his horsehair whip too fresh on your back. You were pulled out of school not long after that and forced to help your father build a new church (he died before that church heard him give a single sermon). Listening to the sound of that dance tonight will make you think it's about time you got your GED.
Happy Middle School Dance Day!
Tonight, when you walk past your neighborhood middle school, you will hear loud Top 40 music pumping from its open doors. Just inside the doors you will see bunches of children dressed nicely. You will realize they are attending a school dance.
You'll pause in your walk, watching the kids awkwardly flirt and tease each other. Your mind will drift back to your own middle school dance. You'll remember a kiss you stole on the dance floor. A sip of alcohol in the boys' room. But most of all, you'll remember coming home and finding your minister father waiting up for you so that he can admonish you for whatever sins of the flesh he assumed you had committed that night.
You slept on your belly that night, the lashings of his horsehair whip too fresh on your back. You were pulled out of school not long after that and forced to help your father build a new church (he died before that church heard him give a single sermon). Listening to the sound of that dance tonight will make you think it's about time you got your GED.
Happy Middle School Dance Day!
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Cuddle Day!
Cuddle Day!
Jim and Gracie were cuddling together on Gracie's couch at 3:30 PM today. They were cuddling underneath an afghan Gracie's Grandmom made.
"Cuddling's awesome," said Jim.
Gracie agreed. "I feel like if we were to cuddle hard enough, I'd develop x-ray vision."
"Like a secret power sitting dormant inside of you," Jim said. "Pulled to the surface through the strength of our cuddling."
"Right," Gracie said. "Cuddle me a little harder and I'll be able to fly to work tomorrow."
Jim said, "I bet if you cuddle me strong enough…"
"Yeah?" Gracie said.
"And with enough focus and intensity…"
"Yeah?" she was smiling.
"I'd develop the power to get my ex-girlfriend back."
Gracie stopped cuddling Jim.
"Did I say that?" Jim asked. "I don't know why I said that."
Gracie stood and faced Jim on the couch. "You said it because while you were cuddling up against me you were wishing I was your ex-girlfriend."
"No way," said Jim.
Gracie used her X-ray vision to find a picture of Jim's ex-girlfriend in the wallet he had in his pants pocket.
"She's pretty," Gracie said.
"How do you…?" Jim looked down at his pocket and knew what she had found.
"I'm sorry Gracie," Jim said. "I thought I was ready to date by now."
Gracie sighed. "Maybe I cuddled you hard enough that you developed the ability to teleport your ass out of my sight forever."
Jim gave it a shot, and the next thing he knew he was sitting at an outdoor café in Brussels.
Happy Cuddle Day!
Jim and Gracie were cuddling together on Gracie's couch at 3:30 PM today. They were cuddling underneath an afghan Gracie's Grandmom made.
"Cuddling's awesome," said Jim.
Gracie agreed. "I feel like if we were to cuddle hard enough, I'd develop x-ray vision."
"Like a secret power sitting dormant inside of you," Jim said. "Pulled to the surface through the strength of our cuddling."
"Right," Gracie said. "Cuddle me a little harder and I'll be able to fly to work tomorrow."
Jim said, "I bet if you cuddle me strong enough…"
"Yeah?" Gracie said.
"And with enough focus and intensity…"
"Yeah?" she was smiling.
"I'd develop the power to get my ex-girlfriend back."
Gracie stopped cuddling Jim.
"Did I say that?" Jim asked. "I don't know why I said that."
Gracie stood and faced Jim on the couch. "You said it because while you were cuddling up against me you were wishing I was your ex-girlfriend."
"No way," said Jim.
Gracie used her X-ray vision to find a picture of Jim's ex-girlfriend in the wallet he had in his pants pocket.
"She's pretty," Gracie said.
"How do you…?" Jim looked down at his pocket and knew what she had found.
"I'm sorry Gracie," Jim said. "I thought I was ready to date by now."
Gracie sighed. "Maybe I cuddled you hard enough that you developed the ability to teleport your ass out of my sight forever."
Jim gave it a shot, and the next thing he knew he was sitting at an outdoor café in Brussels.
Happy Cuddle Day!
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
Crown Of Thorns Day
Crown Of Thorns Day!
Your crown of thorns makes you look like a fat pig. The blood from your scalp forms streams in the creases of fat on your neck. Some people look good in a crown of thorns. Those people are not 60 pounds overweight. Take off the crown of thorns and hide yourself someplace damp until you’re not so unsightly.
Happy Crown Of Thorns Day!
Your crown of thorns makes you look like a fat pig. The blood from your scalp forms streams in the creases of fat on your neck. Some people look good in a crown of thorns. Those people are not 60 pounds overweight. Take off the crown of thorns and hide yourself someplace damp until you’re not so unsightly.
Happy Crown Of Thorns Day!
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