Shopaholic Day

Shopaholic Day!

Because you're a shopaholic, tonight you're going to rifle through your son's desk drawers looking for coupons.

Your son will wake up bleary-eyed, spot you scrabbling about amongst the contents of his desk strewn across the carpet, and he'll say, "Daddy, why can't you just love us?"

Say, "I will. Right after I hit triple coupon day at the Sav-On."

Your son will roll his eyes comically and say, "Promises, promises!"

That's when you should slap your son in the mouth and accuse him of hiding his coupons so that he can keep them all for himself. Then apologize, fall on the floor, and start crying.

"I'm weak, boy," say.

Your son will start shouting "Cry-Baby" like Richard Dreyfuss' son did in Close Encounters. Except, since your son is seventeen, he'll also kick your ass. He'll beat you as hard as you used to dream of beating on your own father. He'll even pull a boot onto one foot just so that he can kick you in the teeth with it.

Happy Shopaholic Day!

Eat The End Of Your Family Line Day

Eat The End Of Your Family Line Day!

Your only son is dead and you and your wife are beyond childbearing years. You could adopt, sure, but an adopted child would not carry on your bloodline. It has been an American tradition since 1989 that should parents outlive the son who would be the last hope of carrying on their family name and bloodline, those parents must eat the body of their child. You may prepare his body any way you wish.

"Even on one of those sizzling plates that makes everyone else in the restaurant envy you with all the heart they have left inside of them when they hear it being carried to your table?" you'll ask.

The answer is yes.

"Will this make us miss our son any less?" you'll ask. "The pain is unbearable."

Rather than provide an answer to that, Girls Are Pretty turn and walk in the opposite direction, very slowly.

Happy Eat The End Of Your Family Line Day!

You Won A Motorcycle Day

You Won A Motorcycle Day!

You won’t need to waste time hanging out with your wife and your brother anymore (he’s unemployed and had to give up his place). You won a motorcycle!

After dinner (dinner sucks!) hit the open highway. Wear white, because you want to be seen at night. And make sure to blow your whistle when you go through intersections. Repeat nightly.

A month from now, your wife is going to come out to the driveway while you’re working on your motorcycle and she’s going to speak to you for the first time in a month.

“What’s with all this motorcycle shit?” she’ll ask. Tell her that she can’t cage you in anymore. Nobody can.

“What if I did this?” She’ll spit on the motorcycle seat.

Wipe her spit from the leather and then say, “We’re through.”

“Where you gonna get the money to pay my alimony?” she’ll shout at your back. You’ll be walking to the garage to wax your helmet. She’s not gonna break your routine. “And what about your brother? I’m tellin’ you, if you leave me alone with him I’ll kill him tonight. You know I wanna!”

Your brother will hear that and he’ll take off out the back door and over the fence, so no worries.

Turn to her and say, “I’ll have your money. The bike will show me the way.”

She’ll go marching back into the house to break your things. When you’re finished waxing your helmet, go for a ride. Tonight, die by jumping your bike through the belly of a gasoline truck.

Happy You Won A Motorcycle Day!

Cul de Sac Warlords Day

Cul de Sac Warlords Day!

Your neighbor refuses to tend to his overgrown and weed-strangled lawn. You, your wife and your kids should shave your heads into Mohawks. Then you should split up all the lacrosse pads that your oldest son, who died in a drunk driving accident over the summer, used to wear. Your Mercedes is a hard-top, so you'll have to rip the roof off but keep the windows intact. With each of you wearing one element from your dead son's protective sporting gear, tear across the cul de sac in the Merc and lay waste to your neighbor's lawn and home with flamethrowers.

Only use flamethrowers. That'll be your family's thing. Your neighbor will only use shotguns and gasoline cans (he tosses the cans over approaching warlords and shoots the cans while still in the air so his enemies are bathed in a shower of fire). Your daughter is going to burn to death today on his property and you'll have to leave her behind. There'll be no turning back after that.

Happy Cul de Sac Warlords Day!

Suitcase Full Of Guns Day

Suitcase Full Of Guns Day!

Your old high school buddy looked you up recently and asked if he could crash with you for a week. It's been a month now that he's been sleeping on your couch, and you're tired of talking about the old times. He says he's been looking for work, but he hasn't had any luck. You don't know what kind of work he's looking for, and when you try to ask he changes the subject to how hot the captain of the field hockey team used to be and how he fat she was at the last reunion.

He never wears a suit jacket for his job hunt. Every morning when he leaves he's wearing the same black and white velour sweat suit. And just before he leaves, you see him pull his suitcase out from under the couch and drag it and an empty duffel bag into the bathroom. When he comes out, the duffel bag is full. He then shoves the suitcase under the couch again and disappears until dinnertime.

Today, you came home early, and since there were still a few hours before he would get back you decided to finally open his suitcase. You were surprised when you saw all those guns because you had assumed he was selling cocaine. Surprised and disappointed. You love cocaine and you were hoping that you might be able compensate yourself for your hospitality by stealing from his supply.

"Great," you said out loud. "What am I supposed to do with a handgun?'

You took one of the guns out of the suitcase and starting shooting stuff around the house that you never really liked. A vase left behind by an old roommate. A Garfield clock. All your old shoes. It turned out to be a really great time.

"Guns are fun," you said out loud to yourself.

You put the gun under your pillow and started making a big dinner. You had so much fun you were suddenly glad that your old high school buddy came to stay and you decided to make him something special. The phone is about to ring. It will be your old high school buddy calling to tell you that your life is in danger.

"Get out of the house," he'll say.

"Why?"

"I'm a gun runner."

Say, "I know, I found your guns. Guns are really great. I had no idea. I've been shooting stuff all day. The place is kind of a mess."

"Glad you had fun," he'll say. "My supplier got picked up by the FBI. He's going to testify against his boss. The whole crew is gunning to take out everybody who worked for him, including me. Get out of the house now. They're coming for me."

Say, "Where should I go?"

"Just start running and call my cell in an hour," he'll say. "And bring the guns."

Say, "Awesome. I was gonna ask if I could have some of the guns."

"We'll need to sell them for cash," he'll say. "Get going."

Pull the case out from under the couch and get going. When you meet up with your old high school buddy, shoot him. Just like you did with your shoes. The gun doesn't know the difference between your old high school buddy and some shoes. Shoot him and then run off someplace where you can find work and live cheap so you won't have to sell any of your guns. Your beautiful guns.

Happy Suitcase Full Of Guns Day!

Drink The Requisite Amount Of Alcohol So That You Will Finally Be Able To Saw Off Both Of Your Big Toes Day

Drink The Requisite Amount Of Alcohol So That You Will Finally Be Able To Saw Off Both Of Your Big Toes Day!

You've hated your big toes ever since you turned 32.

"Hey Big Toes," you often like to shout at them when you're in the bath. "Why don't you both go swimming in a river of shit and die there fucking big toes. Suck my face."

At which point you lift a foot up to your face and thrust a big toe in and out of your mouth until you've been shamed again. You know that the relationship you have with your big toes aint right, but you can't stop it. And that makes you hate them all the more because with every one of these episodes you know you're being dragged a little further away from Jesus.

You often imagine your big toes laughing at you at night. It keeps you up. Your toes are laughing at you and at what little control you have over yourself when it comes to their thick and meaty flesh. It's time to show them that you've got a whole lot more appendages that serve you far better than those two hunks of flesh and bone. Appendages that serve Jesus better too, though that's not hard. It's time to get drunk and cut off your big toes.

You'll need two bottles of bourbon, one hacksaw, a bathtub, and a tennis racket. The bourbon is to get you wasted so you don't feel much. The hacksaw is to get those fucking toes off of your body. The tub is to collect the blood. And the tennis racket is because you're going to be wanting to slap around and knock shit over from all the pain.

You should drink both bottles of bourbon, though that still won't be enough to dull the pain. But at least you'll have had a fun party up until the hacking starts. Once the toes are gone, give them to a priest. If you hang on to them, you know what will happen. Sure, a priest might fuck your toes too, but that's not your fault. You just have to get those things out of the house so that you can pray just once without hearing that cackling coming from inside your shoes.

Happy Drink The Requisite Amount Of Alcohol So That You Will Finally Be Able To Saw Off Both Of Your Big Toes Day!

Pizzaface Day

Pizzaface Day!

Today, you and your friends are going to drive Pizzaface out to the park under the guise that he has been invited to come out and party with you. When you get to the park, you'll all take a seat on a felled telephone pole and start drinking the warm beers that had been sitting in the back seat of Greg's car since last weekend. Everyone will pay way too much attention to Pizzaface and he'll do his best to try to be cool with all of the questions. Questions like: Hey Pizzaface, I heard you and that kid Marcus were buttboys. Is that true?, and Hey Pizzaface, homosezwut? He'll laugh it off, even though you're calling him Pizzaface still, which is what you always yell at him when you shouldercheck him into the lockers.

Eventually, Greg will take the first swing at Pizzaface. Then you will all drop your beers and pound on him. He'll die, even though you didn't mean to do anything more than beat him with the strength of seven young men. You'll all be national disgraces. TV commentators will chastise you for killing one of your peers just because he happened to have acne, and you'll reignite debate over violent video games. You'll all go to jail of course, except for one of you. Martin. His Dad's rich.

13 years from now when you're paroled, a reporter will ask you if it was worth it. Say, "No."

Happy Pizzaface Day!

Site Visit Day

Site Visit Day!

Today you have to perform a site visit at the Cleveland office. Karl, the systems analyst you were cheating on your husband with has been working out of the Cleveland office for the past four months. When management discovered your relationship with Karl, several options were offered for how the situation should be dealt with. Karl had already been pushing for the transfer to Cleveland, so when it was offered as one of the options he was actually excited. Having an embarrassing office affair with you proved to be just the nudge that was needed to cut through the red tape.

Tonight, you're going to sleep with Karl again because you just haven't found anyone else to cheat on your husband with. It will be just like old times for you. And Karl will be on cloud nine since he'll have been very lonely since his move. He'll tell you that he didn't think he'd miss you when he left.

You'll explain to Karl that you love your husband and this is just a fling. But it will be too late. He'll already be on his way down a path to madness. You're going to have to learn how to use a handgun so that you can shoot Karl dead when he breaks into your house to kill your husband in a few weeks.

Happy Site Visit Day!

Postcards Day

Postcards Day!

Your ex-girlfriend died three years ago in a car crash. She was pregnant with her first child from her husband, now her widower, whom she met two years after you ran off. Her death and the death of her unborn child condemned her parents and her widower husband to years of pained mourning, relieved only by stretches of numbing exhaustion. The past year or so has been the first where it could be said that everyone has begun to move on. Her former husband has remarried (her parents having attended the wedding), and her parents have found they can sometimes go months without succumbing to a spell of grief over her absence.

Your postcards aren't helping. When you started sending them the year after you left, while she was still alive, she appreciated the first few. She appreciated that you weren't able to just expel her from your life without a second thought. She never bought your extensive explanations for why you had to leave, but they offered her some small vindication that what she felt for you wasn’t entirely one-sided.

Once she met her future husband, she of course tired of your postcards, usually responding to them only with a pitying chuckle before tossing them in the trash. She thought it was cute that you would tell her each time you started a new job or arrived in a new town, but she could tell you were simply lost and might never be found.

Once she died, however, and the postcards kept coming, her parents and her former husband came to despise you with all the emotion they could muster. Their hatred for you was refreshing. It was a relief to feel something besides absolute loss.

As her parents' pain began to subside, a postcard from you was all it took to bring the loss of their daughter back to the forefront of their minds. They knew you couldn't know that she was gone, and that you were responsible for so much hurt, but when one or the other would burst into tears at the sight of their daughters' name in your handwriting, they both wanted nothing but to see to your own untimely death.

Her father has taken measures. Not to kill you, but he's paid a man to find you and make you bleed. He's paid an additional three hundred dollars to guarantee that your hand is broken. He couldn't remember which hand you write with, but he asked that your right hand be broken. The man will visit you tonight in your room above the bar. He'll tell you first that your ex died many years ago, then he will beat you with a baton and shatter your right hand. When he leaves, everything will be different. Your ex-girlfriend will be dead, and you'll have spent the previous three years stirring pain in the hearts of those who loved her more than you ever could. This is going to be the thing that finally makes you stop goofing around so that you can go back to school and get that degree.

Happy Postcards Day!

All Your Friends Keep Killing Themselves Day

All Your Friends Keep Killing Themselves Day!

As of New Years Day, 2005, you had 14 friends whom you would call your "buds." As of the phone call you received this morning at 8:40 AM, that number has dwindled down to 8. Go wake your wife.

"Ginny's gone," tell her.

Your wife will ask, "Note?"

Nod. "She wrote only, 'I'm sick of TV.' Then slit open one of her wrists and sat on her couch in front of the TV."

Your wife will ask, "What channel?"

"E!"

Your wife will hug you. Don't tell her that you're going to kill yourself next. She always said that you and your friends were really creepy with the way you all dressed the same and were into the same bands and stuff. "In high school and college, fine. But for God's sake you're all in your forties," she'd say.

You've decided that you're going to jump off a bridge. None of your friends have done that yet, and you think they'll all be impressed with your knack for originality. "That was the thing about [YOUR NAME]," they'll say. "He was always the one who made everyone go, Now that's the way it's done! Like remember his Halloween costumes?" The they'll all reminisce about your clever "visual pun" Halloween costumes.

When your wife pulls herself out of your hug, she'll say, "I'm so glad you haven't killed yourself. If you ever did such a thing, I don’t think I'd ever recover."

Don't let it dissuade you. Friends are important.

Happy All Your Friends Keep Killing Themselves Day!

Everyone Is Dancing To The Same Song Day

Everyone Is Dancing To The Same Song Day!

Sarah will be crying into your armpit. You won't know why. Sarah drinks a lot and she sometimes finds herself on a dance floor crying into the armpit of a close friend she's never slept with. You'd like to sleep with Sarah. You'll hope that she cries so vociferously that you will be enlisted to take her up to her hotel room and when you try to put her to bed she'll start kissing you. You'd tell her that she's drunk and she should go to bed. But she'd insist that she's not drunk and that she's wanted to be closer to you for the longest time. You'd apologize and tell her that as much as you'd like to, you're certain she'd be regretful in the morning. She wouldn't let you go. She'd tell you that she promises that this has been on her mind ever since you and she had dinner in Chinatown alone together the night after Thanksgiving. "If I'm drunk," she'd say, "Good. It's giving me the guts to say what I really feel." She'd kiss you once more, her hand held firm around the back of your head, and she'd pull you down into the bed on top of her.

"Sarah?" It will be Meg, Sarah's best friend, the one who always comes and finds her when she's crying into the armpit of someone she hasn't slept with.

"Come on," Meg will say and she'll pull her from your armpit and across the dance floor to the bathroom.

The next morning, if you had slept with Sarah, she'd wake up and take a gulp of breath when she saw you there. Then she'd start to laugh.

"It really happened," she'd say.

You'd say, "Now what?"

With a big giddy smile on her face, Sarah would say, "Get out!" Then she'd grab you around the neck and pull you into a kiss. You'd hold her naked body in the daytime for the first time.

You'd pull away and say, "We don't have to make this anything it isn't."

Sarah would smile and say, "We're not." Then she'd kiss you some more.

At the bar, you'll watch everyone on the dance floor. You'll know every single face out there. They'll all be beautiful and lit red and blue with gels. With vodka in your tissue, you'll be glad to have been sent from the dance floor. You'll look to the ladies room to see if Sarah's come out yet. Then you'll beam out at everyone but you on the dance floor again, glad to be watching them all, remembering it all for them.

Happy Everyone Is Dancing To The Same Song Day!

The Movie Cool Runnings Day

The Movie Cool Runnings Day!

Tonight, you're going to admit to once having performed oral sex on somebody simply because you found out he was one of the co-stars of the movie Cool Runnings. When you admit this, you will be drunk, as will many of your friends. Your boyfriend will not be.

"Where did you do it?" your friend Sarah will ask you.

Tell her you did it in the darkened back yard of the Los Angeles home where the party took place.

Many of your friends will say, "Cool Runnings?" They'll be seeking verification.

Say, "Cool Runnings, yes."

Daniel, your boyfriend's friend will say, "You all right with this Kevin?"

Kevin, your boyfriend, hates it when you talk about men in your past. Especially the co-star of Cool Runnings. He will get up and walk out of the bar, which is what you were hoping would happen. You had an abortion last month, which Kevin was all for, but he refuses to let you talk to him about it. Tonight when you get home, the fight you and he are going to have will finally grant you the forum to shout what you need to shout at him.

After Kevin leaves, your friend Marcy will ask, "Did you ever see him again? The co-star of Cool Runnings I mean?"

Tell her, "He called me once. But I heard that he likes to take pictures of the girls he's with, so I never called him back."

Happy The Movie Cool Runnings Day!

Blood In Your Hair Day

Blood In Your Hair Day!

Today, you'll feel fine, but you'll discover that a patch of your hair on the top of your head is caked with fresh blood. Trouble is, when you discover the blood you'll be sitting in a reception area waiting to begin your third interview for a job you're dying to get. You'll have already poked and tapped your head and you won't have found a wound, or even a sore point. And you won't have time to run to the bathroom to inspect yourself further because just a moment after finding your fingertips wet with bright red blood, the acting manager of the firm will come out to lead you into his office for your interview. You'll have to wipe the blood from your hand onto the black waiting room chair in order to shake his hand. And then you'll conduct yourself swimmingly throughout a 70 minute interview, all the while with fresh blood matting your hair to your skull.

Happy Blood In Your Hair Day!

The Homeless Man Went To Her High School Day

The Homeless Man Went To Her High School Day!

Today, in the middle of your girlfriend's effort to break it off with you gently, a homeless man will push his way in between the two of you and ask you for change.

"I'm sorry no," you'll say with very little patience in your voice.

The homeless man will turn to your (soon-to-be-ex-) girlfriend and he'll open his mouth but he won't say anything. He'll look her in the eye, and then he'll make his way down the block at a pace that will probably be painful for him based on the way he was limping when he first approached.

"I don't think you've really given this a chance," you'll say to her, trying whatever you can to halt the axe in its fall. But she won't hear you. Her eyes will be following the homeless man down the block.

"Maura," you'll say. "Maura are you listening to me?"

"Ray!" she'll shout to the homeless man's back. But he'll keep walking at his hastened pace. "I swear to God that guy felt me up in the tenth grade," she'll say to you.

You'll look at the disheveled back of the man who will be just inches away from disappearing into a crowd. "My God," she'll say. Her voice will crack. "Ray!" she'll call to him again. This time she'll start to run a few steps to chase after him.

"Maura!" you'll shout. But she'll be watching Ray walk. And she'll be crying.

"My God!" she'll say. "What happened to him? What happened to him?" She'll ask you as if you had a hand in it. Her tears will be relentless. She'll move to run after him again.

"Maura wait," you'll say. If she won't let you change her mind she could at least finish reciting the speech she'd prepared.

"Godammit, what happened to him?" she'll cry. "It's over. I'm sorry, I have to talk to him."

"Maura."

But she'll be gone. And you'll be single again. You can call her later to see if maybe there's a loophole since she didn't get to finish you off. But there won't be. And please don't be upset about her not breaking up with you all the way. It's not often that she bumps into a homeless person that she once made out with on a high school Whale Watch trip, and she'll tend to drop everything whenever she does.

Happy The Homeless Man Went To Her High School Day!

Drive A Van Full Of Cocaine Someplace Day

"Someplace" is rather vague, I suppose. You should drive the van full of cocaine to wherever the men who are paying you $300 tell you to drive it. Otherwise they'll kill you then go find anyone who knows you and kill them too. They just start killing the shit out of people when their cocaine doesn't go where they want it to go.

But if the schedule isn't too prohibitive, you and your wife could turn this into that honeymoon trip you never got to take because right after the wedding she had to head out of town with 50 balloons full of heroin in her stomach. Maybe stop off at the Alamo or the Grand Canyon? Someplace scenic. At least find yourselves a romantic bed and breakfast for a night. But make sure you stop someplace where you can park in the back or in a garage, being as the contents of your van will be worth around $2.2 million. Remember, before they kill you they make you swallow your own eyes.

Happy Drive A Van Full Of Cocaine Someplace Day!

Lightning Splits Open The Tree In Your Front Yard Day

Lightning Splits Open The Tree In Your Front Yard Day!

Tonight, the electrical storm they've been predicting is going to send a bolt smack down the middle of that big Oak tree clouding over most of your yard. The trunk will split down the middle like it was to give birth. And give birth it will. It will bring forth the answer to a mystery that has befuddled your seaside town since before it was founded.

That mystery: Just where did the fearsome sea pirate Macdonald Blackflower bury his third wife? For it was said that to find her grave is to find his chest of jewels.

"Honey, come here," you'll shout to summon your wife to the window.

She'll look out the window and see in the split tree trunk a skeleton with a bejeweled dagger protruding from its throat sitting upon a pile of gold and silver pieces as if they were one chaotic toilet.

"Is that the third wife of Blackflower?" she'll ask.

You'll say, "That's my guess."

"Looks like we're rich," she'll say.

You and your wife will go out to gather the jewels, but when you each pick up your first piece from the pile, the third wife of MacDonald Blackflower's skeleton will come to life and slit both of your throats with the dagger that it will have yanked from its own neck. The rain will then come down in such torrents that the street will flood in minutes. Perfect to carry the ghostly black ship rising up from your front lawn back out to sea.

Had you read up on the town's history, you'd know that the third wife of MacDonald Blackflower has one or two long overdue scores she's been waiting to settle ever since her corpse was cast into the thick of an oak tree.

Happy Lightning Splits Open The Tree In Your Front Yard Day!

Pass Out On Public Transportation Day

Pass Out On Public Transportation Day!

Whether it's from drinking, drugs, or just being exhausted because that fucking baby won't stop crying and you swear she's got it in for you, tonight you should fall asleep on public transportation. For the first few stops, do all you can to stay awake, just like you do at the movies. But before long, you should conk out and wake up only when the train pulls into the stop at the end of the line.

The end of the line will either be a train yard or a stop just like any other except a little more desolate. If it's just another stop, hop on the departing train across the platform and try not to miss your stop this time. If it's a train yard, you'll hear someone shouting for help and when you climb down into the dark jungle of trains, you'll discover that you were tricked and that a gang lured you down there to rob you and strip you nude because it's funny. Or, if you were riding on a magic train, when you get off at the last stop a lion will be waiting there for you and the lion will say to you, "Hop on. We're late as balls." And off you will gallop into the magical world of Happy Happy Trenton (the magical counterpart to Trenton, NJ).

Happy Pass Out On Public Transportation Day!

Mile-High Club Day

Mile-High Club Day!

Tonight, after you and your neighboring passenger have become acquainted with each other's basic identifying facts such as occupation, place of residence, and level of anger at the federal government's handling of Hurricane Katrina, and you've begun to speak more intimately (Did you cry when Radar announced that Col. Henry Blake had died en route back to America?), you should ask her whether she wants to have sex with you in the airplane's bathroom.

She'll say, "Solid!"

Tell her to go ahead into the bathroom first and about a minute after you'll head back and knock on the door three times.

Grab her by the shoulders, hold her eyes with yours, and repeat: "THREE TIMES. DO NOT FUCK THIS UP."

She'll go and you'll wait. You'll think about your sister while you wait. You'll wonder whether she'll refuse to reconcile with you when you show up on her doorstep tomorrow afternoon. She hasn't spoken to you in six years, not since the morning of her son's funeral. You've warned her that you're coming. In letters. But you've done that before and chickened out. This isn't even the first time you've flown to her town. Once before you managed to make it to the soil of Cincinnati, but you never made it to your sister's house. Instead you locked yourself inside your hotel room with several bottles of Wild Turkey and waited until you got to fly home again (though you overslept and had to reschedule your return flight).

When the minute is up, go back to the bathroom and knock three times. You'll hear a gruff man's voice say, "Occupied." Turn around and knock on the opposite door. Your neighbor will yank you into the bathroom with her and say, "We're gonna do it on a plane."

Once you're inside her, concentrate on the fact that you're doing it on a plane. Say to her, "We're doing it on a plane."

She'll say, "We're not supposed to do it on a plane."

Reply, "We barely know each other even."

She'll say, "30,000 feet in the air. And we're having intercourse."

Say, "If the plane crashes, we'll have been having sex when the plane crashed."

"Aw man," she'll say.

You'll finish quickly. Once you've both refastened your clothing, tell her to go back to her seat first.

"See you soon," say.

When she's gone, look in the mirror and resolve that when you land, once again, you are not going to visit your sister. Though it's unlikely that she'd turn you away, the process of apologizing and making amends will be a huge drag.

With that weight off of your shoulders, go back to your seat. Your neighboring passenger will not speak to you for the rest of the flight, and ever again. Begin drinking hard liquor so that you have a head start for when you land.

Happy Mile-High Club Day!

Fight City Hall Day

Fight City Hall Day!

All your life you were told that you can't fight City Hall, which is an inaccurate statement. You can fight city hall all you want. You just can't win.

Tonight you are going to fight City Hall in the playground behind the little league diamond. Bring your bicycle chain. City Hall is always packing a blade.

You're going to fight over City Hall's girlfriend. She's the prettiest girl in local government, and she's been hanging around you quite a bit. City Hall's girlfriend (her name is Public Advocate Patty) can tell you things she could never tell City Hall. She's said that she wished that things weren't so complicated. She often asks you, "Why couldn't you be an influential governing body instead of just being a low-income housing development that's about to be leveled to make way for a stadium?" In response, you stole a kiss.

So City Hall got jealous and challenged you to a fight tonight. Of course City Hall will win. But it will use a dirty trick (asbestos) and when you fall, Public Advocate Patty will run crying to your side. City Hall forgot the most important part of the fight. It's not who wins or loses, it's who the girl runs to when its over. Some girls will run to the winner and squeeze his big muscles. But those girls are assholes.

Most girls will, without fail, run to the one who falls (that's you, Eastside Towers). So City Hall can go home and try to be satisfied with the knowledge that it whooped your ass. It's gonna be a lot easier for you to be happy tonight when you're fucking City Hall's girlfriend. (Remember, you're a bunch of buildings!)

Happy Fight City Hall Day!

Behind The Picket Fence Day

Behind The Picket Fence Day!

Today, when you dare to discover what lurks behind the picket fence, in addition to a disembodied ear covered in ants, you will find the following:

a) a fat kid covered in chocolate holding a sling shot

b) a small dragon

c) an asian gang in its entirety

d) THE TRUTH

e) squirrels

f) raccoons

g) MILFs

h) innocence (not yours)

i) jodhpurs (yours)

j) a guy in a mask with a knife, waiting

k) the baseball mitt your dad gave you, the only thing he gave you before he ran off

l) heartache, nothing but heartache


ANSWER: A, C, and K. And L. Oh, and G. awwww yeah!

Happy Behind The Picket Fence Day!

Date Night Day

Date Night Day!

You and your wife are grossed out by each other. But tonight's Date Night, which means you have to eat dinner with each other and then have sex with each other.

"At least the food is good," your wife will tell you when her plate of seared tuna is placed before her.

"Mmm," you'll say while chewing on your Filet Mignon. "When we're having sex later, I'll be thinking about this steak."

"I'll be thinking about a good movie I saw recently," your wife will say.

"A movie?" you'll ask. "Was it a sexy movie?"

"Just a biopic. But I was enthralled."

You'll laugh. "And that's what's going to carry you through unwanted sex with me? I'll never understand women."

"Oh but a steak is sexy?" she'll say.

You'll chew on another bite with great fanfare. "You have no idea how sexy, my dear."

You'll eat in silence for the rest of the meal, just a conversation between your utensils scraping across the plates. Then the check will come.

"Should we go home and have some sex then?" you'll ask her.

"Let's go to the bar for a few," she'll say. "I don't think I can take it yet."

You'll be relieved, because you weren't ready to have sex yet either. You needn't worry though. You're not going to make it home to have sex tonight. You'll both order way too many drinks and you'll be the last ones at the bar when three gunmen arrive to rob the place. They'll kill both of you, along with the bartender and the floor manager of the restaurant.

It's a shame. Had you not lost your desire for each other, you never would have needed to engage in Date Night and you'd still be alive tomorrow.

Happy Date Night Day!

No Giving Up Day

No Giving Up Day!

When you send out the updated list of office practices and regulations, your staff will be startled to find there in the middle of the list, just below, "No jeans or flip flops" and above, "No mugs with 'slogans' other than our company logo and slogan,'" you've added:

No Giving Up On Your Dreams And Settling For Your Current Job Because It's Convenient To Do So

It's going to make a few on your staff chuckle, while a few others will weep at their desks. By lunchtime, three of your junior level employees will be gone, with notes on their desks that read, "Left for band practice. Be in early tomorrow." They're all musicians and after reading your updated list of office practices and regulations will have agreed to form a band together.

At four today, Mary will resign. "Thanks for the updated list of office practices and regulations," she'll say. "I'm going to go back and get my masters in archeology."

You won't have time to wish her well before the screams out on the floor send you running to see what's happened. It will be Marcus, the accounts payable clerk who graduated law school but never passed the bar. He'll have jumped.

Happy No Giving Up Day!

"Suck the Gay Outta Me" Day

"Suck the Gay Outta Me" Day!

Tonight, when you are finished performing oral sex on a young male prostitute in the front seat of your wife's station wagon and it's time for him to reciprocate, say to him, "Go on now. Suck the gay outta me."

Your young male prostitute will think this is very funny. He'll think you're different than most of the suburban closet cases who pick him up. He'll smile in a way that reminds you of your son. This will ruin things for you and before he can even bend forward and undo your pants, you'll toss a handful of twenties at him and shout, "I'm sorry. I'm wretched!" Then you'll reach past him to open his door and shove him out of the car before peeling away.

This won't have been the first of his dates tonight that ended that way, but it will alarm the young male prostitute that he actually allowed himself to be charmed by you before you proved to be no different than the next guy in a Volvo. "Gotta be tougher than that Curtis," he'll say to himself. His name's Curtis.

Happy "Suck the Gay Outta Me" Day!

Motion Detector Day

Motion Detector Day!

Your ex is going to come sneaking up to your house to try to drop a letter in your mail slot and run away. The letter will tell you that he was a fool for having let you go, and that he would do anything to get you back. He wants this all to reach you in a letter first, because he fears he'd mess it all up if he told you in person. But when the motion detector switches on the floodlights outside your house, he'll freeze and wait for you to come to the window.

Since you've never referred to him as "Cowboy," say, "What you got in your hands, Cowboy?"

"Cowboy?" he'll say. Don't respond. Just wait.

"It's a letter," he'll say. "For you." He'll hold it out to you.

Go to the door and let him see you in your light blue nighty, the one that shows your knees. He always loved that one. He'll take two steps toward you before you ask:

"What's it say?"

He'll hold the letter out to you again. This time, kind of pleading you to take it.

"What's it say?"

He'll look down at the envelope in his hands, as if he had no idea what might be written on the pages inside.

Say, "Does it say that you want me back?" Take a step forward onto your porch and cross your arms. The yellow from the porch lamp will look awesome on your bare shoulders.

He'll say, "Yeah. Kind of."

"That doesn't sound like a very well-written letter," say.

Again he'll hold out the letter to you. "Read it," he'll say.

Step closer to him. Say, "Why? I already know that it says you kind of want me back."

He'll open his mouth but he won't say anything. He really can't say anything. He can only answer your questions either with direct answers, or with requests that you read his letter.

Ask him, "Do you want me back? I won't read your letter. I just want you to answer that with your words. Do you want me back? Do you want us to get back together and be together?"

He'll open his mouth. Nothing will come out.

"Do you want us to be together? Because we could be together for a really long time if you say yes. And it'll be just like before, but a little worse. Do you want that?"

Now he's gonna just look angry. Like his mom just explained, very clearly, why he can't ride his bike after dark.

"Do you want me back?" ask.

He'll finally say, "I don't know."

Say, "The letter doesn't say that, does it?"

He'll shake his head. Now, grab the letter out of his hands and open it and read it aloud to him. By the time you get to the second paragraph, he'll run away with his hands over his ears.

Happy Motion Detector Day!

Former Activists On The Run From The FBI Day

Former Activists On The Run From The FBI Day!

Ever since 1971, you've been harboring two former peace activists in your attic who are wanted by the FBI for the accidental death of a janitor who worked at a nuclear lab that they bombed. Though you were a member of their militant anti-war group and you are still something of a peacenik yourself, you hate the activists you've been harboring so much that you're about ready to shoot them yourself with a gun you'd have to borrow because you could never keep a gun in your house.

They started pissing you off in 84, when they asked if they could have a choice of jams with their morning toast. Ever since then, you've brought them up three jams: grape, strawberry, and blueberry. And that's also when you began greeting them with: "Morning, hippies. Just wanted to remind you that in your effort to bring peace to the world, you set off a bomb and killed an innocent janitor."

You wait for them to cry a little and hug each other. Then you drop their breakfast on the floor before they start to rationalize aloud.

There has been some butting of heads. Usually over whether or not they can have a newspaper, and you've held firm that papers are a no-go because whenever they read one they start to pace and shout at Nixon. Occasionally they'll accuse you of being just as bad as Johnson. But they don't do that too much since you always refuse to bring them food for 72 hours after they do.

But tonight, you're going to burn your whole house down. It will kill them if they don't get out. That's your rationalization. You're only protecting them from the G-men. Should the house catch fire, no matter who might have lit the match, even if it was you, it is not your responsibility to keep these people from dying. You only agreed to keep them out of jail. If they die outside of jail, you've held up your end of the bargain, yes? Light the match!

If they do get out, you'll build another house with an attic and you'll allow them to live there. You'll even put them up in a motel temporarily until the house is done. It's what you signed on for.

But if they die, if they burn and turn to so much ash and scorched tissue, you'll feel like an 80-pound tumor had just been ripped from your belly. You'll spend your nights carrying yourself off to sleep with dreams of what it was like at the end for them. You'll wonder which imaginary government shadow-body they decided to blame it on, and whether they finally consented to believing in God long enough to pray to him. You'll wonder if they knew you had something to do with it. They wouldn't guess that you'd lit the match. But maybe they'll think that when the firemen arrived and asked you if anyone else is in the house, you probably said, "Nothing but the rats always squealing away up in the attic." You'll hope they thought that. That would make you laugh, if they thought that's how you let them go.

Happy Former Activists On The Run From The FBI Day!

Read Your Roommate's Diary Day

Read Your Roommate's Diary Day!

Last week, when you went into the fridge for one of your diet shakes, you discovered that all of your diet shakes were gone. When your roommate wandered into the kitchen with a circle of chocolate around his lips and six empty diet shake canisters in his hands, you began to suspect him.

"Have you been drinking my diet shakes?" you asked.

He said, "No." Then he dropped all of the empty diet shake canisters into the trash.

"Well, if you have," you said gently, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't. The diet I'm on only allows me to eat those shakes. So when I don't get to eat one, it makes me cry for a really long time. The kind of crying where I have to be laying down because my arms and legs go numb."

Your roommate didn't say anything. He just walked away, back to his room. You immediately began to worry that he would now dislike you because you asked him not to drink your diet shakes. It's been keeping you up at night. You even tried to make amends by buying extra shakes and writing your name on some, and your roommate's name on the others. But he hasn't drank any.

You didn't want to do this, but you're going to have to read his diary. It's the only way to find out whether or not he dislikes you.

You'll flip through and read some entries from a couple of months ago first, just to get an idea of what he thought of you before all of this. Here's an excerpt of what you'll find:

July 4th, 2005
Today is Independence Day. Many years ago, our forefathers declared independence from Great Britain on this date. I will attend a barbecue.

July 5th, 2005
I want to make love to my sister.

July 6th, 2005
Independence Day was lots of fun two days ago. Yesterday I wanted to make love to my sister.

July 7th, 2005
So far I've killed 19 prostitutes.

Crap, nothing about you. So you'll flip ahead to this week and see if he mentions anything about the whole diet shake mess.

September 2, 2005
Made love to my sister. Eh.

September 3, 2005
I just drank six diet shakes. The TV is on.

September 4, 2005
Those diet shakes I drank yesterday weren't mine. It's sunny out today.

September 5, 2005
I've heard someone screaming in the hallway for 26 hours now but when I go to the door, no one is there. I've gone to the door over 100 times. I want to sleep again.

September 6, 2005
Digging the new Kanye.

September 7, 2005
'Nother prostitute last night.

Phew! Nothing about you asking him not to drink your diet shakes. Nothing at all about you, actually. It's like if someone found your roommate's diary in a hundred years, they'd think he lived alone. It's like you don't even exist.

Time to go out there and make something special of yourself. History will not speak of you if you don't tell it what to say.

Happy Read Your Roommate's Diary Day!

Give Your Lover A Trophy Day

Give Your Lover A Trophy Day!

The most important thing is the design. This should really say something special about what sets your Lover apart from all of the other lovers who've made your life such a wondrous playground of ass.

For example, let's say your lover has really strong arms and lots and lots of money. The trophy should feature a muscle-toned Adonis carrying two sacks with dollar signs on them. You should be curled up at his feet with one arm clawing up his leg as if you were a wild animal that needs to be fed or you won't be able to control yourself. The Adonis should have a bulge in his jogging shorts.

OR! Let's say your lover is the most beautiful neurosurgeon in medicine and she can't have an orgasm without punching you in the glasses and she's wheelchair-bound. First, the wheelchair should have wings on the back and it should be tilted up from the base of the trophy as if it's about to launch into the sky. Next, the woman in the wheelchair should be dressed in a bikini bottom (tasteful!) but no top (electric!) and she should be holding a human head in one hand and a power drill in the other (ew!). Finally, she should have a little pet dinosaur frolicking nearby.

OR MAYBE! If your lover is someone famous like Dabney Coleman or Michael Jackson, the trophy should feature just a big star with the words "You're A Famous Star And It's Why I'm Attracted To You, Sexy" etched into it.

The ceremony should be special, but not overdone. No one likes a big hoo-hah. Just a few hundred colleagues and a mermaid statue that queefs Veuve Clicquot. You might not be able to go since your lover is going to want to bring his or her mother to the ceremony because your lover is queer (surprise!).

Happy Give Your Lover A Trophy Day!

Marry For Money Day

Marry For Money Day!

Tonight, until 12 midnight, any wealthy person who enters a marriage with a poor person will receive a bonus award of $30,000 upon the death of the poorer spouse, guaranteed! This award will be on top of, and completely separate from, any inheritance that might be passed on upon the death of the poorer person, should the poorer person manage to turn things around for him or herself and amass any assets, which is of course highly unlikely (the poor just want to eat Oxycontin). This promotion has been established to encourage the wealthy to again allow themselves to be taken advantage of by succumbing to the charms of a poor person and devoting the whole of his or her fortune to that same poor person.

Before today, when faced with the possibility of marrying an impoverished American, many wealthy have asked, "What's in it for me?" With this promotion comes the answer: $30,000. The offer stands until 12 midnight tonight. It might be considered hasty to enter into a marriage within such a short timeframe, but allowing for more time will only allow for the families of the wealthy to have the poor husband or bride-to-be either deported or slaughtered. So get down to city hall and get on line.

Happy Marry For Money Day!

Unemployed Psychic Boyfriend To Remain Unemployed Day

Unemployed Psychic Boyfriend To Remain Unemployed Day!

Your unemployed psychic boyfriend is going to watch an Aqua Teen Hunger Force marathon instead of working on his resume.

Ask, in a calm and generous voice, "But weren't you going to try for that opening at Psychic Mart this week?"

He'll say, "I got a premonition that Bugsy Marks is gonna get the job. Decided not to bother submitting."

He'll toss a grape up in the air and catch it in his mouth. "Knew I was gonna catch that one," he'll say.

Again, very gently, say, "But might that be the outcome only because you refuse to submit your resume?"

He'll fly into a rage (without getting up): "Are you going to suggest that our fates are malleable? That my talent amounts to nothing more than suggestion and trickery?"

Say, "I just want to know how much longer I'm going to support us both on my salary."

He'll close his eyes and put his fingertips to his forehead. "Eight more months," he'll say. "Then the money will come pouring in and you'll never have to work again."

Relieved, go get dressed and head down to the restaurant. You're working a double today.

Happy Unemployed Psychic Boyfriend To Remain Unemployed Day!

Burn The Santa Hat Day

Burn The Santa Hat Day!

Burn it in the sink. Let your eyes go blank as the flames climb higher and higher. Breathe calmly, surely, making it know that despite the growing smoke and ash graying the room away like an eraser on a chalkboard, your ironclad resolve will remain unscathed.

Once the Santa Hat is just some wet black dust, step outside and begin your journey North. It's time to destroy Christmas.

Happy Burn The Santa Hat Day!

Rooting Through Your Son's Schoolbag Day

Rooting Through Your Son's Schoolbag Day!

You're going to find nothing but a wad of used condoms and a pistol with two shots remaining. He hasn't been doing his schoolwork.

"What happened to the other four shots?" ask him.

"I was just shooting cans," he'll say. "And some dirtpiles."

Lift his chin up so he's looking you in the eye. "Don't lie to me Tommy," say.

He'll start to cry. "It was a fair fight," he'll say. "A gunfight."

"Over a girl?" ask him. "Is that what all these condoms are about?"

He'll nod and wipe the snot from his nose. "I wanna marry her Mom. I'm gonna. But her ex-boyfriend, this jock jerkoff—"

"No swearing!" shout.

He'll say, "He came around. Telling her she was his. Telling me we had to fight like men. He said it at lunch, in front of the whole tenth grade. I couldn't back down."

Now it's you who'll wanna cry. For the fact that his father died before he could hear his son speak the words of so true and beautiful a man.

"I'll want to meet this girl," tell him. "She'll be setting with us for dinner. Tonight."

Your boy will sniffle. "Will you make your clams and spaghetti?"

Nod. Pull him into your arms.

"She can't wait to meet you," he'll say into your blouse. "I told her about your clams and spaghetti."

Say, "You go up and lay down." Then go into the kitchen and get to work.

Happy Rooting Through Your Son's Schoolbag Day!

Say Goodbye To Your New Daddy Day

Say Goodbye To Your New Daddy Day!

Tonight's the night. You're old Dad said so. He came by the playground the other day, first time you saw him in seven months. He asked how you liked living in your big new house. You told him the truth. That the house is nice, but that you miss living with him. And that Mommy's always telling you to be nice to your new Daddy, but you don't like your new Daddy and you don't think that he likes you.

"After 8:30, he won't let me come into the TV room," you said. "Even if I've done my homework. He doesn't like me playing in there when he's watching TV."

Your old Daddy told you three things before he told you he loves you with all of his heart. He told you not to tell anyone you saw him. He told you you're not going to have to worry about your new Daddy anymore. And he told you, "On Friday night after dinner, go to your room. No matter what you hear downstairs, don't come out until I come in and get you."

Your old Daddy's going to come and get you tonight. And mommy too. You think. Though he never said.

Happy Say Goodbye To Your New Daddy Day!

Your New Job Starts Today Day

Your New Job Starts Today Day!

Wear a pair of pants that shows off your cock. They can be a little less than formal, as long as people can make out the girth of your cock's shaft. Once your coworkers spy that special "joie de vivre" bloating in your cock's tip, they'll clue you in on which three-hole punches will get the job done right, and which ones will make your printouts look like you just pulled them out of the mouth of a feral cat.

"This is the kind of thing that you usually have to find out for yourself around here," a coworker will say. "Not to be cruel. Just a rung on the ladder we all climb here is all. But since I can see how your cock pastes itself horizontal across the right plane of your pelvis when it's flaccid, I feel like I can tell you anything. I like to let mine rest on my scrotum, so it's all wrapped in a ball down there. You'll know when I wear my tighter pants. I save them for Fridays."

Once your tour is over, settle into your desk and call your Mom. Tell her, "I made it Mama. I got me a job. You tell Papa not to worry. Yeah, my cock looks good. You are? Thanks, Mama. I wanted to make you proud of me."

Happy Your New Job Starts Today Day!

Russian Roulette Day!

Russian Roulette Day!

Your hot streak at Russian Roulette is going to end tonight. But man was it a good run, huh?

Anyway, bet against yourself.

Happy Russian Roulette Day!

Your Worthless Sixteen Year Old Daughter Day

Your Worthless Sixteen Year Old Daughter Day!

She's pregnant. The father is a 25-year old, recently married policeman who's already got a one-year old daughter. He's cut your daughter off completely and has made it clear that things will be made hard for her, and for you and the rest of your kids, if she tries to force him to acknowledge that he's the father.

She wants to keep the baby, even though you already told her if she does you'll kick her out of the house. Don't back down. Pack her bags for her and throw her out. Change the locks tomorrow. You'll miss her, but she needs to learn. After all, your mom did it for you when you got pregnant at sixteen and you turned out just goddamn fine.

Happy Your Worthless Sixteen Year Old Daughter Day!

Turnpike Breakup Day

Turnpike Breakup Day!

The morning traffic jam leading to your exit will look no different than the previous 736 weekday mornings of your life. You usually crawl for twenty minutes and then it's a clean stretch to your cubicle. But today, your heart will sink when you spot a young man walking backwards in between the cars. People don't generally get out of their cars unless there's an ugly wreck up ahead, which means you could be looking at over an hour's delay.

You'll be startled when the young man knocks on your passenger side window.

"Can you give me a lift?" he'll ask when you roll down the window for him.

Ask him, "Did your car break down?"

"No," he'll say. "My girlfriend doesn't understand me."

You'll unlock the door and he'll slump in the passenger seat. He'll tell you that he couldn't take her nagging anymore and stormed out of his car. This will be followed by a long, bitter speech about how his girlfriend thinks that he's not really an artist just because he's a struggling cartoonist writing a yet-to-be-published comic strip about a talking raccoon and the family whose trash cans it is constantly raiding. Just nod and occasionally cluck your tongue when he talks about his girlfriend's (perfectly sensible) insensitivity to his need to remain unfettered by employment in order for his "vision" to mature. He'll be cute, and at least a decade younger than you, which means you can take him home today and control his every word and deed for as long as he's satisfactory in the sack.

"I'll get you out of here kiddo," say. Then call in sick to work and start maneuvering your way to a closer exit. Unbeknownst to you, his girlfriend will only be five car lengths ahead and will have watched him climb into your vehicle. She'll have positioned her car to follow you home well in advance. While you're having sex with her boyfriend later this afternoon, she's going to burst into the bedroom and pepper spray the both of you. You'll wake up hours later alone in your bedroom and tied to the radiator. You'll hear some noises coming from the living room.

Happy Turnpike Breakup Day!

Find Everyone Who Ever Broke Your Heart And Evict Them Day

Find Everyone Who Ever Broke Your Heart And Evict Them Day!

Now that you are one of the most powerful real estate moguls in the country, with two hundred million square feet of business and residential space under your control, it's time to give your acquisitions department a slightly more emotional focus.

Give your scouts the names and any identifying details concerning all of those former paramours, unrequited loves, and prospective prom dates who laughed in your face when you asked. Locate their current residences, have a buyout plan prepped, and one by one take over their land and kick them out on the street.

They won't know why or what for. So you're gonna have to roll up in your limo and show your face. Just hang out the window and shout something like, "Guess you wish you'd have thunk twice before grinding my heart into the dirt! Enjoy homelessness." Then have your driver peel away in such a fashion that your limo speeds through a puddle and splashes any children your ex-lover might now have to transfer into a new, less desirable school district.

Happy Find Everyone Who Ever Broke Your Heart And Evict Them Day!

It's the Girls Are Pretty "Goin' On An Eating Tour Of Your Butthole" Weeklong Sabbatical

It's the Girls Are Pretty "Goin' On An Eating Tour Of Your Butthole" Weeklong Sabbatical!

Prettygirl has been looking forward to this trip for months. The tram will launch just to left of your butthole. From there, it will progress into and up your butthole. In a week, the tram will come back out of your butthole. Throughout the entire week, Prettygirl will never once stop eating your butthole. Prettygirl hasn't eaten in hours and she is famished. Her bib has already been tied on tight. It reads, "Let's Cut Me A Slice Of Some O' Your Butthole Already, Nazi Fucker!"

Since Prettygirl will be busy all week gobbling up your butthole, the coming week's Holidays are going up in advance. As always, scroll way down to read today and try to avoid reading tomorrow's until tomorrow. If you get caught reading ahead, your eyes will be set on fire.

Saturday, August 27, 2005

Teach The Pet Store Parrot To Say Stuff Day!

You didn't get hit by that car just to sit around for the rest of your life sucking on the fat of that insurance settlement did you? You always said if you were ever freed up from your responsibilities you'd use the time to finally exercise the extent of your genius. Of course, you never swallowed that horseshit anymore than your friends or you mom were willing to. But you could at least hobble down to the mall a couple of days a week and teach one of those parrots to say stuff. Possible phrases to inculcate into that parrot's skull are as follows:

Hey Fatso! Yeah, you fatso!

Yeah Baby!

Or…

[YOUR NAME] is supercool!

Good luck, teach.

Happy Teach The Pet Store Parrot To Say Stuff Day!

Friday, August 26, 2005

World Record For Drinking Without Dying Or Calling Your Estranged Daughter Day!

There are several different world-records pertaining to how much one person can drink in one day. There is the record held for highest volume of alcoholic beverages (18% or greater in alcohol content) drunk in one day, followed by that person's death within the week (set by Harrison Tucker of Jackson, Mississippi in March of 1987). There is the record for highest volume of alcoholic beverages (18% or greater in alcohol content) drunk in one day while consistently operating a motor vehicle without causing a fatality (set by Maureen Bowie of Anaheim, California last Sunday*). And there's the one you're going for: Highest volume of alcoholic beverages (18% or greater in alcohol content) drunk in one day without dying or calling your estranged daughter (set by Colin Heinz of Portland, Oregon on December 24, 1977). You have to drink 11.4 pints of vodka to win.

And remember, you can't die or call Helen. Eat something first.

Happy World Record For Drinking Without Dying Or Calling Your Estranged Daughter Day!

*Disputed.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Send The Vermin A Message Day!

Today, some kids on a speed-fueled bender are going to break into your apartment and try to beat you into a coma with some wrenches and pistol butts. They'll steal whatever they can find before fleeing via the fire escape, but it's really all about the thrill-beatdown. What you need to do is send a message to these kids and all their reprobate friends.

First, you're going to have to fight off all five of them and win.

Next, shave their heads and write little notes on their faces that say, "I'm going nowhere" and "I'm a punk."

When they go back to their neighborhoods, they'll be humiliated. And all their friends will discover that crime has consequences. Gun-related fatalities will plummet.

Happy Send The Vermin A Message Day!

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Bucket Of Pee Day!

The bucket of pee that you keep in the unfurnished bedroom upstairs is full. Time to start over.

Happy Bucket Of Pee Day!


Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Ziti Hitler Day!

Finances have been tight ever since your wife took a leave of absence from the accounting firm to work on her sculpting. Tonight she will unveil her masterpiece for you and the kids. It will be an eight-and-a-half foot tall sculpture of Hitler composed entirely of uncooked ziti. You and the kids will burst forth with gleeful applause when she yanks the sheet from her creation. But almost immediately, his arm upraised in salute will loose its adhesive and fall to the ground. Your wife will be devastated.

This is where the bad time begins.

Happy Ziti Hitler Day!

Monday, August 22, 2005

Write An Anonymous Love Letter On The Field Hockey Field Day!

Summer practice has begun for your high school's fall sports, which means Heather will be out on the field hockey field bright and early at 8 AM today to get ready for her first year on Varsity squad field hockey. You should congratulate her and tell her how you've always felt about her but were too afraid to tell her by writing it all on the field in sideline paint. You'll have to break in to the groundskeeper's closet, and good luck because I don't know how you're going to pull that off. But once you do, get writing. You need to be done before dawn so no one will see you from the passing traffic. Your letter should make mention of how if there were a sport where sexy knees dominated, she'd be MVP.

Happy Write An Anonymous Love Letter On The Field Hockey Field Day!

Sunday, August 21, 2005

Come Up With An Excuse To Eat Part Of Your Own Thigh Day!

Say to yourself, "With all the starving people in, um, other countries, who am I to eat food that didn't come from my thigh."

They bought it! Now dig in!

Happy Come Up With An Excuse To Eat Part Of Your Own Thigh Day!

Saturday, August 20, 2005

Mating Season Day!

Watch out for yourself because mating season begins today. Everywhere you go, people and animals are going to come up behind you and try to penetrate you. Even when you've obviously got hold of someone or something else that you are attempting to penetrate from behind. Many of the people and animals that will try to penetrate you are not the sort of people or animals that you would ever find attractive. Be polite, but firm.

Happy Mating Season Day!

Friday, August 19, 2005

Bury The Hatchet (You And Your Former Best Friend Are 85) Day!

Being as you are 85, it's time to forgive your former best friend for stealing the woman you loved in 1962. After all, she hurt him in 1988 far more than he hurt you in 1962. Let bygones be bygones. Give him a call and say, "Being as it's amazing that either of us didn't wake up dead today, wanna call a truce?" Your former best friend will hang up on you without calling a truce, but he'll die first.

Happy Bury The Hatchet (You And Your Former Best Friend Are 85) Day!

Crowd Control Day

Crowd Control Day!

Today, a crowd of angry people will surround you demanding refunds. You'll try to explain that you don't sell products, but they'll tell you that they were told you were the one to sign off on this. When you ask them what product they're trying to return, you won't be able to make it out because they'll all start shouting at once. When you revert back to, "But I don't sell products," they'll grow firey and ask you why you asked them which product they're unhappy with if you don't sell products. Suddenly, they'll all take out their receipts and read from the return policy on the back in unison. It will sound beautiful. Occasionally, they'll fall silent and allow one little boy with an angelic voice sing important passages solo, like, "If the item is not in it's original packaging…" Once the recitation ends, they will all begin pummeling you with the products they wish to return. At first, this will be hilarious, since they will all be trying to return a plush toy frog that "Rib-its" when you squeeze it. But it won't be long before they stuff one of the frogs into your mouth and hold your nostrils closed. The name of the plush toy frog product is "Wally Warts."

Happy Crowd Control Day!

Stab Somebody's Eye Out Day

Stab Somebody's Eye Out Day!

Whether your Mom isn't watching you and your little brother when you start to play with your grandfather's antique ice pick collection, or you decide to strike back against your Peeping Tom landlord who drilled holes in the ceiling above your living room so that he could watch you watch TV every night (you haven't been touched in years), today's the day to stab somebody's eye out. It's going to be awful and you'll never forgive yourself.

Happy Stab Somebody's Eye Out Day!

Explain Why You Cry Sometimes Day

Explain Why You Cry Sometimes Day!

He'll say, "You cry so much for no reason. I want to break up."

Tell him, "I can't help it. I been through some stuff."

He'll lift up your chin and look at you with tenderness. "Molested?" he'll ask.

Say, "Ew."

He'll get angry again. He'll say, "Unless you tell me why you cry, and you give me a good reason, I'm laters. It's been a good couple months, but hell."

Breathe deep. Get ready to let it out. Say, "Christmas tree fires."

He'll repeat, "Christmas tree fires?"

Tell him that your mother ran off because your father was a strange and holy man. When she left, his faith ran wild with him. He believed the celebration of Christmas to be evil and he had a small following that agreed. After Christmas, his followers would travel through the towns in trucks, knocking on doors offering to dispose of the neighborhood's Christmas trees at no charge. Everyone knew they were up to something strange, but they were all so poor (you and your father too) that the remnants of Christmas spirit in the neighborhood made it hard to deny them anything. The only time people refused was when his followers were unable to disguise their disgust with what they perceived to be sinful observers of an apocryphal holiday. Around January eighth or ninth, your father would preside over a ceremonial Burning of the Christmas Trees. And he and his followers would rejoice as the crackling dry wood and tinsel fire soared towards the sky.

"That was my Christmastime," tell him. "We'd dance and sing hymns and hug around the warmth of that terrible bonfire."

He'll say, "Holy fucking shit."

Say, "I've felt guilty ever since. Because I love Jesus, just the way my father taught me to love him. But I think I've always loved Christmas trees even more. And I dreaded those fires. I used to run into the woods pretending to pee over and over again so that my father couldn't see me cry. But I knew Jesus could. I just never was able to love him more than those beautiful Christmas trees."

He'll say, "Motherfuck!" And then he'll put his shirt on and book it out the door. You'll be alone again. Try to get some work done this time, Jesusface.

Happy Explain Why You Cry Sometimes Day!

In The Trunk Of Your Car Day

In The Trunk Of Your Car Day!

A cute but skinny boy is going to give you a love poem today. It will read as follows:

I don't care who you're with
Just let me ride
In the trunk of your car

After we graduate
When you head off to college
Let me ride in the trunk of your car

If you go away for some time abroad
Or pursue a graduate degree
I just wanna ride in the trunk of your car

One day you'll marry a man
A man who's richer than me and slicker than me
That's fine. Cause I just wanna ride in the trunk of your car

Maybe one day you'll divorce
But even then I won't pretend you'll come running to me
But I'll be right where I was all along, riding in the trunk of your car

And when you die that hearse won't carry you alone
Cause I'll slit my wrists and curl up beside you
Whatever it takes for one last ride inside the trunk of your car

You'll fold the poem up and spend the rest of your classes trying to diffuse your blush. You're a pretty one and you've been asked out in a lot of different ways by lots of different boys. But you never thought such a skinny little boy would write for you such a pained and beautiful plea for butt sex.

Check the box for yes. Happy In The Trunk Of Your Car Day!

Prepare For A Nuclear Holocaust Day

Prepare For A Nuclear Holocaust Day!

Preparing for a nuclear holocaust means a lot more than going out shopping for bulk prices on canned goods and porn. It also requires that you use your children's college money to dig under your home and fortify the walls in iron. You'll have to buy some bandanas too. And small arms to keep out the neighbors who will come banging on the door to your shelter, forgetting how they used to call you a damned fool when you first broke ground. And like it or not, you'll eventually have to choose a daughter with whom you'd be willing and likely to procreate should the propensity of the species fall on your shoulders.

There's no better day than today to get started. Especially since its safest to assume that at any given moment a horde of warheads are hurtling across the Atlantic just itching to incinerate your freedom into the dust. Remember, every time you fall asleep the communists are breaking into your home, placing their dicks on your shoulder and taking Polaroids.

Happy Prepare For A Nuclear Holocaust Day!

Your Commemorative 9/11 Bong Is In Bad Taste And You Should Be Ashamed Of Yourself Day

Your Commemorative 9/11 Bong Is In Bad Taste And You Should Be Ashamed Of Yourself Day!

Haven't you noticed how whenever people come over they always decline a hit from your bong, opting instead to light up their own pipes? No one wants to suck smoke out of the Twin Towers. I know you think it's because they don't know how to hold it without banging their noses on the antenna atop Tower 2. But the real problem is that each time someone takes a hit, everyone has to sit and watch as leftover smoke billows up from Tower One. Consider the mellow harshed, my friend.

It was cool at first, true. But that was only because of the inscription at the base:

9/11: We Remember

Considering that the We in question was guaranteed to be you and your pothead friends (especially Clyde) sitting around in front of a Space Ghost DVD, how could one not be tickled? But everyone's been complaining of bad dreams lately (especially Clyde). Just throw the thing away and break out the R2D2 bong again. Everyone loved that one. And though you refused to smoke out of it "in protest against the crimes George Lucas has committed against your childhood," it's safe to say that Lucasfilm Ltd never got the press release.

Break out R2. Clyde's gonna be by any minute now.

Happy Your Commemorative 9/11 Bong Is In Bad Taste And You Should Be Ashamed Of Yourself Day!

Home Invasion Spree Day

Home Invasion Spree Day!

Today, invade some homes. Get a couple of friends together and storm through a suburban neighborhood bursting through front doors and climbing into ground floor windows. When you get inside, you'll find a stay-at-home parent and some kids, or just some people who are unemployed. Regardless of why they're at home, they'll be excited that you want to play Home Invasion Spree, and they'll spring into action to defend their kingdoms.

First, they'll run to the kitchen and start flinging carving knives and electric crock pots at your head. If either hits you, you could die so stay frosty.

Next, they'll take off upstairs with their children and lock themselves in a bedroom. You need to break down the bedroom door with an axe (or a bat) and get a hold of them before they climb out the window and warn everyone else on the block that they should prepare defenses against a home invasion spree.

Once you've gotten into the room, tie everybody up and duct tape their mouths. Now it's time to plant your flag. Drill a hole into the floor boards and insert the staff there, being sure to hold it in place with some caulk. Then begin your dance around the occupants and sing your Home Invasion Victory Song:

You can lock your doors
And load your guns
But you can't stop The Havenhurst Municipality Bandits!

So hide behind the couch
And cover the floor in boiling fat
The Havenhurst Municipality Bandits will still rule!

Ev – en
If – You
Shoot – Our
Face-es
We –will
Prob – Ly
Die

So don't shoot the faces
Of The Havenhurst Municipality Bandits
And we won't spraypaint anybody!

Now that the home has been claimed, move onto the next house. But don't steal anything on your way out because stealing is wrong.

Happy Home Invasion Spree Day!

Supermarket Checkout Girl Day

Supermarket Checkout Girl Day!

Today, you're going to watch your favorite supermarket checkout girl get arrested for kidnapping. She'll be ringing up your items and chatting you up with the same jovial demeanor that she always has when two detectives in suits will walk up behind her and say, "Pamela Worth?"

She'll turn around and say, "Yes?"

One detective will hold up his badge for her to see. "Ma'am, you are under arrest for your role in the kidnapping of Mary Radano."

Mary Radano disappeared seven months ago and no one could talk about anything else for weeks. But it's been a while since anyone but the newspapers mentioned her name. She's been missing for so long it's too sad a story to gossip over.

The whole store will freeze in time when the detective says that name. Later, you'll remember that the moving checkout conveyor belts all froze as well. Everyone will stop and watch your favorite supermarket checkout girl get handcuffed. She'll look up at you while she's bent over her register, her eyes big with shame.

Ask her, "Is Mary Radano still alive?"

She won't tell you. But you'll find out when you get home and turn on the TV. Next week, you'll start bringing your cart to checkout number 9 where Collette, your second favorite checkout girl, is stationed. Collette is pleasant enough, but she has acne that can flare up from time to time and her face gets so raw it makes you look down into your wallet while you're waiting for her to double your coupons.

Happy Supermarket Checkout Girl Day!

My Cheating Husband's Volvo Day

My Cheating Husband's Volvo Day!

Your wife found out about you and your secretary a month ago, and she reacted the way any betrayed woman of virtue would react. She entered your Volvo V50 Sportswagon in a demolition derby. And she won.

And she's been winning. Every week since she stopped speaking to you she's been heading to the dirt bike track out by the airport and smashing up triumph after triumph. She's turned into a sensation amongst regulars. When she pulls into the ring with those four words spraypainted onto the hood, My Cheating Husband's Volvo, the crowd stirs itself into a frenzy. They revel in the joy of some foolish husband's car about to be destroyed by his woman scorned. But when she starts to win (after all it is a Volvo), there is no limit to how hard that crowd wants to cheer her on. The Derby commissioner says he's never seen a Derby star breakout so fast.

Tonight's the division championship. If she wins tonight, she takes your wagon out to Cleveland for a shot at a $50,000 cash prize and an endorsement for next year. If you wanna make amends with her, you can send her fanbase reeling by getting on a bus and taking yourself out to that track.

When you first see your car, you'll want to scream. She's been keeping it parked in a garage behind the track and you'd been forced to assume she drove it into a lake since she's refused to respond to your queries. But when you see what she can do, when you see what art she can make from her rage and her defensive driving skills, you'll fall in love with her like never before.

You don't want to let her know you're there ahead of time. Just buy your ticket and cheer her on with the rest of the civilians. Wait until she wins. When she's standing in the center of the track and is being handed her trophy, interrupt the ceremony by climbing down and walking halfway to her.

Your wife and the commissioner will both stop the ceremony to see what you're up to. The crowd will read in your wife's body language that it was your Volvo all this time. They'll immediately start booing you and pegging you in the head with beer and batteries. Just stand there about twenty feet from your wife with your arms held out from your sides, waiting. The tension will be thick enough to stop up a blown muffler. But when she finally drops her trophy and runs into your arms, the crowd will roil itself into such a fever pitch you'll think we finally figured out how to win that Iraq thing over there.

Stand by her side as she finishes the ceremony, and then go to your Volvo and climb into the driver's seat. Pull away slow, letting your wife hang out the passenger side window so she can wave goodbye to every last one of her fans. They'll all wish her the best, as they'll be worried her having made up with you will stamp out her rage and pull her out of the demolition game forever. You'll be wondering too. Guess you'll find out for sure in September when you're in the stands in Cleveland, screaming your head off while your wife busts the shit out of a big mess of chrome with her Cheating Husband's Volvo.

Happy My Cheating Husband's Volvo Day!

Assassination Day

Assassination Day!

Today at work, Norman Dilansky, the HR guy who comes down to your floor every morning to take roll call, will be shot twice in the neck and once in the back by a sniper positioned on the roof of the Landers Mutual building across the way. In the wake of the tragedy, a group of your coworkers will use the assassination as an excuse to leave for the bar and start drinking at 11:30 AM.

"Guess someone really didn't like having his name taken for roll call," you'll suggest, just before downing your second of ultimately six gin and tonics.

"It is pretty demeaning," Jennifer, the hot technical writer will offer. "It's like we're in grade school."

"That's true," Ben will say. Ben is handicapped, so everyone will turn around from their stools to look down at him in his wheelchair, because it's polite. "Dilansky had it coming. He should've watched his step."

A few others from the office will be sitting in the corner of the bar sobbing into each other's embrace. You won't know them and you'll assume they're full of crap, like the ones who make a big show of wishing you a happy birthday when the cafeteria sends up the requisitioned birthday cake.

Manny the temp will slam his drink down on the bartop. "You guys really think this is about roll call? Jesus, open your eyes. It's Iraq!"

When you get back to the office, you'll find out that Dilansky's assassin was his wife. Apparently Dilansky had been prostituting his daughter to his poker buddies. She decided the world needed to be wiped clean of the likes of him and as his wife, she felt it was her responsibility to spring for the rifle and bullets.

Happy Assassination Day!

Washed Up Rock Star Corey Hart Day!

Washed Up Rock Star Corey Hart Day!

You drink too much, which explains why last night you went home with washed up rock star Corey Hart. He's making a lot of noise putting together some pancakes in the kitchen, and you're lying in bed trying to figure out how to get him out of your apartment before your roommate spots him.

"You don't have any blueberries," he'll say when you walk into the kitchen. "I thought I saw a produce stand on the corner. I'll go get some."

Say, "That's okay Mr. Hart."

Corey will turn around. "Wait a minute. Mr. Hart?"

"Sorry. Corey," say. "I'm sorry, I just remember you from when I was a kid, dancing all day and night to your song."

Corey Hart will lean against the kitchen cabinet. "It was a great song wasn't it."

Nod. "It was pretty good. Definitely fair."

Corey Hart will move to you and take your cheeks in his hands. "But now you're a woman. And I'm still the man who sang that song for you."

Take his hands off of your cheeks. "You sang your song for the world. I hold no claim on you Mr. Hart."

"I'm yours if you'll have me," he'll say. "Forget the blueberries. Lemme make you a frittata."

"I don't want Corey Hart to make me a frittata. I want you to stay the way you were the day I first heard you," tell him. "I'm sorry, but if we go any further, it will ruin what you've meant to me all these years."

Corey Hart will say, "But we already went further. For like 40 minutes. You were a stallion."

"Luckily, I was drunk enough that I don't remember anything about that," tell him. "And sure, I could keep drinking and go on seeing you while in the debilitating throes of a blackout…"

You and Corey Hart will look at each other, suddenly freed from the bounds of nostalgia. "Eureka!" you'll say.

Corey Hart will pull the bottle of Wild Turkey down from the top of the fridge. You'll down as much of it as you can while he leads you back to your bedroom with just a gentle pull on your fingertips.

Happy Washed Up Rock Star Corey Hart Day!

It's The Girls Are Pretty "Gonna Go Try To Stop A Wedding" Weekend

It's The Girls Are Pretty"Gonna Go Try To Stop A Wedding" Weekend!

Hey there. So a lover that Prettygirl pushed away is marrying someone else this weekend. The wedding's upstate and Prettygirl's gotta get up there and make a scene to try and put the kibosh on the whole thing. It's not a "Now that I know I can't have you I realize you're the one I want" kind of deal. It's more like, "Even though I don't want you, I demand that you never love again." Time to pack!

The wedding's Saturday, but Prettygirl's gonna try to go tubing on Sunday, so the whole weekend's gonna go up right now. As per convention, scroll down to read today's today. Don't read tomorrow's until tomorrow. You wouldn't want to find out in advance that tomorrow you're going to get lost in a man-made cave, now would you?

Sunday, August 7th, 2005

Cotton Candy Machine Day!

Using all the money you've saved from not drinking, you bought a cotton candy machine for your wife.

"Can you believe that last year I wasn't able to buy this for you because I was spending so much money on alcohol," you'll say to her.

She'll nod. "You really did waste a lot of money on alcohol," she'll say.

Flop onto the couch and tell her that no matter how hard you try to make amends, she won't cut you any slack. "You make me wonder why I stopped at all!" say.

"I'm sorry," she'll say. "I really love the cotton candy machine. I'm so proud of you."

Say, "Too late!" and start drinking again. Beginning tonight, disappear for four days, leaving her with nothing to warm up to at night but a contraption that spits out edible fur. See how she likes that!

Happy Cotton Candy Machine Day!

Saturday, August 6th, 2005

Get Lost In A Man-Made Cave Day!

As you try to make your way back outside, use a rock to scratch sketches of yourself into the cave wall at various points. Underneath the sketches, write "If you see this man, in this cave, no matter how cool he tries to seem, he's lost. Help him." Eventually you'll stumble into the man-made cave's janitor's closet, and you'll find evidence that the janitor has been The Man-Made Cave Strangler all along. He'll chase you down, and he knows this man-made cave better than you, but you have to get that evidence to the fuzz.

Happy Get Lost In A Man-Made Cave Day!

Friday, August 5th, 2005

Warts And All Day!

When your girlfriend tries to break up with you tonight, say, "It's because of my warts isn't it?"

Your girlfriend will say it's not just your warts, it's also that you're poor.

Using a really whiny voice, say, "But the only reason I'm poor is because I have to spend all my money on wart removal!"

Just then, one of the warts that you had dry-frozen at the dermatologist's office will fall off of your cheek and into your soup.

Say, "See, they're going away!" Then, using a high-pitched scream, ask her not to leave you like this just when things are starting to turn around for you. She'll run.

Happy Warts And All Day!

Be The Witness Day

Be The Witness Day!

Today, you should happen upon the scene of a crime that involves the highest levels of government. The crime should be murder, but if it can't be murder, it should be arson.

When you spy the crime taking place, first, hide. You'll make a little bit of noise when you find your place in the dark corner of the schoolbus garage or when you hoist your feet up in the bathroom stall, but not to worry. When the henchman comes over to check things out, he'll be called away just before he's about to discover your hiding place. (PHEW!)

Next, watch the crime take place. The crime will either be the murder of a bespectacled bookkeeper who is screaming "I swear to God I don't! know! anything!" Or it will be the illegal setting on fire of a bespectacled bookkeeper who is screaming "I swear to God I don't! have! the ledger!"

Finally, let the shock of the crime you've just witnessed disorient you so that you accidentally make a little bit of noise (you start jerking off and rattle a bucket full of shovels) that attracts the attention of the Mayor, the Comptroller, and the entire Tri-Lateral Commission. You'll have to make a run for it, and you might never be able to stop running. Here's hoping you don't have any kids, because fuck them. You're running.

Finally, turn the tables. Tell the Mayor, the Comptroller, and the entire Tri-Lateral Commission something along the lines of, "If I don't make a phone call in a half hour, my story gets mailed to all the major newspapers." Except tell them something that will actually scare them. When you're finished, sit back and take a deep breath because you run this town now. First thing you should do is ask for access to the Tri-Lateral Commission's records room so you can follow through on your theory about the link between the Kennedy assassination and the alien craft kept hidden at Roswell.

Finally, use your access to the Tri-Lateral Commission's records room to find out which of your high school girlfriends were spies, and which were dudes.

Happy Be The Witness Day!

The Roof Party Jumper Day

The Roof Party Jumper Day!

It's just a lucky break that you have roof access and that your rooftop has been done up as a beautiful outdoor deck. You're not rich, and neither are any of your friends. And as is common amongst the Not-Rich, many of your friends are depressed and/or chemically dependent and/or emotionally demonstrative (the rich learned to contain themselves long ago). With all of this being evident, you should know before you invite all of your friends up to your roofdeck for a party that one of your friends will break up with another of your friends (it will have been a long time coming. At dinner parties, all they do is quietly undercut each other and even more quietly cry), and that the one who gets dumped will climb onto the ledge and start making noise about jumping and about how he just wasted two years and eight months with an unimaginative drone.

You should know that everyone else will start shouting, "Get off the ledge Robby."

And that Robby will retort, "I'll get down shortly. But let me first say that Melissa Martinez is going to live a very long life and when she dies, she will not have felt a single thing. There's a woman on the roof who has never known passion and based on who she's leaving me for, she never will. And there's a man on the roof who's about to be a man on the ground."

You should know, before you send out the evite, that your rooftop party will be ruined when Robby throws himself over the ledge and dies on the sidewalk. While this won't bode well for your party, the rooftop party across the street, packed full of rich people who are no strangers to rooftop parties, will watch impoverished Robby somersault to his death and they will find this to be immensely entertaining. Thus, your sad little attempt at tasting a slice of the beautiful life will at least provide some diversion to those who are actually meant to live such a life. So you should go ahead with the rooftop party. For the benefit of the rich.

Happy The Roof Party Jumper Day!

Go To The Street Magician Day

Go To The Street Magician Day!

There's a street magician in the park who will tap his hat and pull a rabbit from it. Or scarves. Go to him. Perhaps he can help.

Stand at the rear of the crowd ooing and aahing at the appropriate times, such as when the magician convinces his magic wand to levitate. Keep your head down low when the hat is passed around and filled with money. Wait until the street magician sits down on his bench to smoke a cigarette. Then race to his side before he might be approached by anyone else.

Say, "Great show, big guy."

The street magician will say, "You could have said as much by dropping some cash in the hat." He'll then open one eye wide at you and say, "I see all, even the cheapos."

Apologize. "I am poor," say. "I came here for help."

Explain that your son needs insulin, and you don't know how to get it for him because you don't have any money.

"Baby," he'll say, "I earned this bread. You saw me earn it. I'm sorry, but you gotta find someone at social services."

Explain that you're too proud to ask for money and you wouldn't presume that he might part with his performance fee. Explain that you were hoping he might make use of his magic hat.

"Perhaps you could make a vial of insulin appear in it?" say. "Or the cash equivalent. 78 dollars?"

The magician won't want to explain to you that his magic hat is nothing more than a hat with a trick flap. So he'll say, "It is done. Prepare to be amazed."

The magician will tap his hat twice, then he'll reach in and move the rabbit aside (you'll spy the ears poking out from the brim) and he'll move his hand around at the bottom of his hat and he'll find an unopened vial of insulin still in the pharmacy bag.

"Thank you," you'll shout when he places the bag in your hands. "You are truly a gifted sorcerer. Thank you good man!"

The magician will assume that you don't know his name, and so you won't know that that's his son's name on the label when you open it up later. He also won't know that you were aware that magicians hate to let on that they're not really magical, and that he has a kid with diabetes (word spreads when in a small town like yours). He's just happy he got to really wow somebody, and you're just happy that your kid's not gonna fade out any time soon.

So what if you took some trickster's kid's juice. He's got the power of darkness on his side. All you got is two ex-husbands and a drunk tenant living in the basement.

Happy Go To The Street Magician Day!

Rowboat Race Day

Rowboat Race Day!

Ten guys in ten rowboats are about to race across a lake to a dock where you're sitting in a deck chair. The first guy to reach the dock, jump from his boat and tackle you in an embrace without knocking you into the water wins your hand forever. If you get knocked into the water, the contest is over. Only ten guys were allowed to sign up for the race, and when the signup sheet was posted in the town square a gigantic fistfight broke out as every single man in three counties rushed for a shot at being your fella. You even got one or two married guys to go ahead and secure a quickie divorce in the hopes of securing your hand as their second or so-on wife. You're that hot (none of the quickie divorce guys made it into a rowboat).

The reason they can't knock you into the water is because you can't swim, and the rules dictate that if you go into the water, you're not to be rescued so that you'll have no choice but to learn to swim to safety. It's part of an ancient tradition in your town wherein the hottest girl in town is either married off or taught to swim in one fell swoop. Your town believes that the most beautiful women should either be married or they should know how to swim. Never both. Both is unseemly.

Your mother submitted to this process before you, and until the day she died of a lightning-strike, she wanted nothing more than for you to follow in her footsteps. However, she always hoped that you might be knocked into the water. Whenever things got hard between her and your father, your mother used to dream about what it would be like to know how to swim.

Happy Rowboat Race Day!

Public Display Of Affection Day

Public Display Of Affection Day!

Tonight at the bar, while carrying on a conversation with your friends, pause from time to time to lick your boyfriend's face and forearms.

One of your friends will say, "That's gross."

Tell her, "You're just jealous that no one loves you as much as we love each other."

Your boyfriend will say, "I don't love you that much."

Pull your tongue off of the underside of his elbow, where you were determinedly tickling the letters of the alphabet, and say, "Then what the hell have I been making such a fool of myself in public for all these years?"

He'll say, "You know just what to do with your tongue, and I wouldn't give you up for a million years. See, as you know, my Mom was a big drunk. I was left alone most of my childhood. The two housecats my Mom kept were more motherly to me than she ever was. Many nights, the only bath I got was when they'd lick my face clean. But I never felt a really deep love from either my Mom or those cats. I just really liked the feel of a tongue on my skin. Which is why I enjoy when you lick me so much, though I could do with your tongue being a little more sandpapery."

Say to him, "So I'm just a mother figure for you?"

He'll say, "No. You just remind me of the cats that used to lick my face. Don't ever go."

Your friend will ask him, "What were your cats' names?"

He'll say, "Asshead and Count Lovesalot."

Happy Public Display Of Affection Day!