The Cable Installer And The Homeless Guy Day!

You work as a technician for the cable company, cruising the city all day long in a little white van hooking people up with their HBO and their internet. You wanted to quit months ago, but you need the money. Especially now that you went ahead and proposed to your girlfriend.

Today you're going to be sent to an address that doesn't exist. Or at least, an address that used to exist. When you pull up you'll see nothing but a vacant lot full of dirt and debris. You'll check the neighboring addresses and it will be clear that you're in the right place.

"Cable man!" a voice will shout.

A homeless man will squeeze through the fence of the vacant lot and approach you.

"You give me my TV, cable man," he'll say.

"Sorry," you'll tell him. "I must have the wrong address."

The homeless man will say, "To hell with that. You give me my cable TV."

You'll explain to the homeless man that he has to have a residence with electrical power and a television set. He'll point towards the middle of the vacant lot at the TV sitting on an overturned oilcan that appears to be working somehow.

"Oh," you'll say. "You're one of those homeless people who can still watch TV."

He'll say, "You win some you lose some."

You'll explain to the homeless man that he'll still need an address where he can receive mail for the bills and it looks pretty clear that that's not possible with his current situation. He'll ask if you might be able to bend the rules for your future father-in-law.

"You're..?" you won't know what to ask. Your girlfriend told you her father was homeless, but she never went into details. "But how did you know about me?"

The homeless man will explain that he breaks into his daughter's apartment from time to time to steal the jewelry she inherited from her mother, and on occasion he's had to hide in the closet while you and his daughter have sex. "But I got a good look at you," he'll say. "Figured it'd be best if I met you, seeing as we'll be kin soon. Figured you might give me my cable for free. Do your old man a favor."

You'll worry over what your girlfriend would want you to do, but your need to make a good impression with her father will be too strong to deny him. So you'll run a cable illegally out of the neighboring building's patch and hook your girlfriend's homeless father up.

"So how do you keep your TV working out here on the streets like that?" you'll ask.

"Some homeless people are just lucky," he'll say. "You be good to my daughter?"

"Are you going to break into our house and steal from us after we're married?"

Your future father-in-law will say, "Nope." Then you'll both laugh really hard because you'll know he's lying. He'll settle in for some "Entourage" on-demand and you'll head off for your remaining assignments, really glad that you got along so well with your girlfriend's dad. When you get home and tell her what happened, she'll cry for a day before telling you that the man hasn't tried to contact her in thirteen years.

Happy The Cable Installer And The Homeless Guy Day!

Walk The Path Of The Chicken Or The Fish Day!

Congratulations. Today is the first day of the rest of your life as a Cater Waiter. You're about to join the ranks of the only truly free class of people.

"But they're like bums that can hold down jobs for four hours at a stretch!" your Dad wll exclaim when you tell him. "Oh please think this through. The cater waiters at your sister Nancy's wedding were like a street gang without the bicycle chains. If you're a cater waiter you're nothing but�"

"Nothing but a drifter in a stolen tux," you'll tell Marty, the veteran cater waiter who'll show you the ropes before the wedding party arrives. Marty is one of the few who've worked events at this hall before. Most cater waiters like to keep three hundred miles between each job. But Marty got caught in a trap.

"I fell in love with a bride's maid," he'll tell you. "Every time word floats down about a convention in Scottsdale or a Bar Mitzvah in Poughkeepsie, I get my tux all packed and I'm just about to climb out the window when I catch sight of her, sleeping in the moonlight. And I just climb right back into bed and snuggle up beside her. Don't let it happen to you kid, if you want to walk the Path Of The Chicken Or The Fish."

That's what they call it, the Path Of The Chicken Or The Fish. The ones who consider it less of a job and more of a lifestyle, they see themselves as unique persons of leisure, choosing the path of least responsibility. It's your life, starting today. You'll show up out of nowhere, with barely your first name as identification, to make a quick hundred bucks shuffling around wedding receptions and business conventions with cold soup and crab-cakes. You'll make friends with the bartender to skim your drinks on shift and you'll eat potatoes off of dinner plates after you leave the kitchen but before you can be seen by the guests. You won't pay taxes and you'll only have sex in unwashed groups, after the wedding party has dispersed and the sidework is complete. You'll all adjourn to the dance floor and lay down in a blanket of naked and writhing underemployment. The only time the bunch of you will bathe is when you find an old swimming hole where you can strip down and dive in from dangerously high cliffsides.

The company of the other cater waiters will be the closest you'll get to being part of a family. You won't see your father or mother again, unless you happen to work an event they're attending. And if you're lucky, you'll never fall in love. Not even with another cater waiter. She'll wanna do a Tech Expo in Seattle but you'll want to work an advertising awards dinner in New York and before you know it you'll be at each other's throats with, "Why don't you ever want to work the events that I wanna work?" Then one of you will have to move out of the car and it's just a scene you don't want any part of.

Walk the path. Serve, collect, then hit the road. You're a cater waiter, and for the six years you have left to live**, you will know what it means to be free.

**(cater waiters average a lifespan of six years following their first event due to the prevalence of contagious disease among catering wait staff and the likelihood of freezing to death in January and February, when meeting halls go dark and the winter grows angry)

Happy Walk The Path Of The Chicken Or The Fish Day!

Milkman Day!

You're the last milkman in the country. You have just one customer left, a 91 year old woman who doesn't know she's the last woman in America to have milk delivered to her house. She also doesn't know that all these years she's been the love of your life. Tell her today.

"We're relics," say to her.

"I wonder what kept us from moving into the future with the rest of the world?" she'll ask.

"An appreciation for the simpler things?" you'll propose.

"Isn't it amazing?" she'll say. "You being my milkman all these years and you never once came in through the back door and ravaged me on my kitchen table."

"Yeah, the other milkmen called us the Will-They-Won't-They couple of the milk routes, since you're the only housewife of any milk route that didn't take it from a Milkman."

"What kept you?" she'll ask.

"Perhaps I didn't want to reduce you to just another lonely housewife that I could enter as a notch on my belt," tell her.

She'll tell you that the mailman never cared quite so much.

Say, "Now I feel like a fool. I kept real happiness at bay to hold on to some imaginary idea of purity, while all the while the mailmen was sending you to a place of ecstasy. That could have been me."

She'll walk her fingers up your chest and say, "It's never too late."

Tell her it actually is too late. She's 91 and you're 87. Neither of you should be having sex with anybody, and you don't really have any desire to try. Sit side-by-side and silently enjoy the twilight of your lives.

Happy Milkman Day!

They Call You Chocolate Martha Day!

It's because you're a 43 year old woman and you always have chocolate on your face. Little kids run up to you and they say, "Do you have any more chocolate?" And you say, "Nope," even though you do. You just don't like to share your chocolate.

Today you're going to be in line at the airport metal detector and you're going to meet a little boy with cancer.

The boy's mother will say to you, "These heightened security measures sure are annoying, huh?"

You'll say to the boy's mother, "Yep. Nice to meet'cha. They call me Chocolate Martha."

The boy's mother will say, "I predict we're going to be friends for a very long time."

Then the boy will notice the chocolate on your face. He'll say, "Do you have any more chocolate?"

You'll tell him no.

The boy will cough. "I have cancer you know."

You'll just shake your head no. Then you'll wait to be ushered through the metal detector.

When you pass through, the detector will beep and you'll be forced to empty your purse of the 43 tin-foil wrapped Hershey's Kisses in your bag. You'll steal a glance back at the boy with cancer and his mother. The boy with cancer will be crying because he's dying and you made him feel like nobody cares enough to even give him some chocolate. The mother will just look away. You'll feel bad because it would have been nice to have a friend for once. Then you'll think about having to share your chocolate with the boy with cancer, and just thinking about it will make you glad to be all alone. You'll spend the flight caressing your candy.

Happy They Call You Chocolate Martha Day!

One Bad Apple Day!

You've run the most profitable apple cart in the city for forty years now. It's difficult holding off the competition. For example, today a rival apple cart operator is going to kidnap your wife and daughter and he won't return them unless you compromise your apple inventory with wormy apples.

"A worm in every eighth apple sold," the voice on the phone will say. "It has to look like your crop is compromised, but not sabotaged."

You've never sold a wormy apple in your life. And you thought you never would. But now these kidnappers are making you decide which you love more: your wife and daughter, or your integrity as a produce salesman. Even if you get your wife and daughter back, other rivals will strike next. It won't stop until your customer-base is obliterated. The best thing to do is to show them you can't be compromised. Find where the kidnappers are hiding out and when they show you your wife and daughter, kill them yourself. It's the only way to keep the worms at bay.

Happy One Bad Apple Day!

In The Margins Day!

You're about halfway through that Malamud book you bought at the Once Again Bookshop. Today you'll get to around page 181 and you'll see a small note written in the right-hand margin.

It is important that you meet the man at the Degas on Friday at 3.

You check the copyright page and it shows that you bought a reprint published in 1974. That note could have been written any time within the last thirty-two years. Whomever wrote it could be dead already. But you never ever work so you figure what the hay.

There's only one Degas at the art museum. It's of one of those ballerinas (perv). You'll get there a little early and stand before the painting, taking it in. You'll hold the book in your hand at your side. At 3:00 on the dot, a man who looks to be in his fifties or sixties will enter the gallery and when he sees you, he'll stop in his tracks.

"Holy shit! You bought my book!" He'll have a lisp.

Say, "Yeah. Saw the note and I figured�"

"I've had to come to this fucking painting every Friday for the past twenty-seven years! My Christ, I can't believe it! It's all over!"

The man will do a little dance.

"Um, glad I could help," tell him.

"Wow, thank you. Thank you so fucking much!" The man will grab you in his arms and hug you tight. Then he'll turn to the painting and give it an "Up Yours" with a slap to his forearm. "So long you talentless little waif. I hope you get an anorexia-related complication and faint mid- Chass�."

He'll hold his middle finger as close to the ballerina as he can without drawing the attention of the guards.

"So, what was so imperative? Is your life in danger?"

"My life's in tatters, if that's what you're asking. After having to drop everything and come here every Friday for all these years, all the things I've passed on because of this commitment. My life's been a whole lot of false-starts, if that's what you're asking."

"It isn't," say. "Why'd you write that note?"

The man will shrug. "I thought it was a cool idea. To arrange something clandestine like that in the margin of a book. And I came here the first few weeks expecting every time to meet the stranger that bought my book. But I always left alone. Then it became kind of a dare for myself. Like, I've already wasted all this time on it, you know? I even went down to the bookshop every week and checked to see if it sold, but it never did. Until now!"

The man will kiss you on the lips in a "welcoming you as liberators" kind of way.

"So you dragged me up here for nothing?"

The man will hand you some microfilm. "You're not going to leave empty-handed."

Say, "What is this? Launch codes?"

The man will say, "Just a vacation I took in Cape May in 1970. Good snapshots." The man will kiss your lips again. Then he'll dance out of the gallery as if he were that painted ballerina he'd just showered with epithets and obscene gestures.

When you get home you'll examine the microfilm. Instead of vacation snapshots, it will contain evidence of a 30-year old international scandal with proof that President Carter was behind it all along. Get down, they're coming!

Happy In The Margins Day!

Your Brother The Cult Leader Day!

You hate how your parents are always comparing you to your brother the cult leader. "You always need to borrow money. Why can't you have thousands of international devotees send you Experience Tuition fees every year like Ronald has?" they ask. "Ronald came over last week and he had some of his followers reshingle the house," they tell you. "Have you found a cheaper apartment yet?" And then there's always, "Did you hear how Ronald sent that stadium full of cancer patients into remission just by having them all join hands and listen to him hum into a microphone? He calls much more often than you do."

You're going to have to call your parents tonight and tell them you can't make it home for the holiday. Don't tell them it's because you've had a tough month and you don't think you can handle listening to Ronald talk about all the enemies he's destroyed via his bottomless checkbook style of litigation. Just tell them you have to work. They won't care anyway. "We're not celebrating the holidays this year," they'll tell you. "Ronald's flying us all out to his De-Pollution Retreat center in St Tropez. Sorry you can't come, but Ronald doesn't think you'd have fun anyway because you're too accepting of the Modern Lie." That's his clever way of referring to modern life. "You're brother's so funny," they add. "You were always the serious and quiet one. He was the funny one."

Happy Your Brother The Cult Leader Day!

Welcome To Jail Day!

Tonight when you show up at jail, everyone on your cell block will jump out of their cells and shout, "Welcome To D-Block" and they'll unfurl a banner from the upper level that reads, "Glad To Have Ya, Kiddie Raper." You'll meet so many new people you'll barely be able to remember your own name, let alone everybody else's. They'll have managed to smuggle in a cake for you, and after it's cut everyone will gather for a "Challenge Circle," which is where two inmates meet in a circle and try to rape each other. You'll realize that it's a lot like Fight Club, except with rape. And just like with Fight Club, the surge of male camaraderie you'll feel will cause you to raise your hand and say, "Can I be next?" Everyone will applaud and start chanting, "New Guy! New Guy!" You'll be paired up with an older looking Aryan, and he'll rape you pretty fast. But in the end he'll give you his hand to pull you back up and he'll say, "Better luck next time." And everyone will applaud when you leave the circle because you'll have shown that you really want to be a part of their family. The next three weeks you spend in the infirmary will be torture as you count down the days until you're healthy enough to go see your new friends in D-Block.

Happy Welcome To Jail Day!

Found In The Ice Chest Day!

You intend to wait until you got to the Bed and Breakfast, but that storm they're predicting is going to make you and your girlfriend pull over at an old roadside motel for the night. You'll both be so charmed you'll decide that rickety old motel is the perfect place to ask her to marry you. But first you'll go get some ice for your soft drinks.

In the ice chest you'll find a bottle of champagne sporting a label you've never heard of. You'll pull it out of the chest to get a closer look. The bottle will be dated 1912.

"Put my champagne down," the terrifying motel operator who has a limp will say. "I'm saving that for when my wife returns."

You'll apologize and say that it looks like she's in for one heck of a good sip of bubbly.

Back in the motel room you'll propose and she'll say yes and you'll make love and then you'll hop into the bath. You'll be so blissed out you'll start to fall asleep a bit. You won't hear your new fianc� leave the room. You won't hear a thing until you hear the POP! of the bottle of champagne in her hands.

"Look what I found in the ice chest. It's like a sign!" she'll say.

The terrifying motel operator with a limp will come in and kill you both. Then he'll put both of your bodies in the ice chest, on top of his wife's body, who clearly isn't coming back at all because she's dead and in the ice chest. The terrifying motel operator with a limp must just be crazy if he's saving bottled beverages for a woman he knows is dead. And then he goes and kills a young couple in love for drinking some champagne that no one's ever going to drink? He overreacts.

Happy Found In The Ice Chest Day!

They're Moving You Out Of Reception Day!

They're going to be switching you to a desk in the back so that they can try out the new temp up front for a little while. It's not that they're unhappy with your work. They just feel you've gotten a little "vein-y" lately.

"Vein-y?"

"Your skin is so pale it's almost translucent," your supervisor will tell you. "You're very ghostly lately. People have been complaining about having to see you first thing when they come back from lunch because you remind them of death."

Say, "I'm going through a breakup. I should be allowed some time to let my skin slide off of my bones. Every breath from my mouth could be a sob if I forget to grind my fist under my knee first."

Your supervisor will sit up in her chair, fold her hands in front of her on her desk, and she'll say, "That's very understandable. But while you're healing, why don't we just pull you out of the waiting room for a little while, hmm?"

Ask her why she folded her hands in front of her like she did. "You're trying to send me an off-limits signal, aren't you? You're afraid that since I'm going through a breakup I'm gonna make a pass at you, right?"

Your supervisor will keep her hands clasped before her. "Yes I am," she'll say.

Tell her, "Relax. I'm still too heartbroken to even know that other women exist."

Your supervisor will unclasp her hands and breath a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness!" she'll say. "So you'll consent to being moved to the back for a while?"

Say, "Why not. Might do me some good."

Your supervisor will say, "Excellent." Then the both of you will get up from your chairs, the perfect time to make a pass. Go on, everyone in the world has probably been waiting with bated breath for you to be single again. Give them what they crave!

Happy They're Moving You Out Of Reception Day!

Snowglobe Day!

You love creating miniature dioramas for snowglobes. But you also love killing runaways and leaving clues for the police to try to grasp whom and where you'll kill next. In these two loves, you refused to compromise.

The way your game of cat and mouse works is, you create a diorama depicting the setting, method, and victim of your next murder down to the smallest detail. For example, your next victim will be a cherub-faced runaway who lives underneath the bridge. You plan to kill him with some garden shears in the alley behind the opera house (the cherub-faced runaway loves to lean his ear up against the back wall of the opera-house and listen to the performances). Today you're going to finish up a snowglobe that displays a beautiful snowfall blanketing the very accurately designed back-alley where the cherub-faced runaway is leaning against the opera-house wall and you, your face covered in a red winter scarf, are lurking behind him with the garden shears held in your upraised hand. Then you'll mail the snowglobe to Detective McKluskey (the only detective that you think might actually be your intellectual equal) and he'll have only two things to do. Scour the shelters for that cherub-faced runaway and check the daily weather reports for hints at the next snowfall. Where you live though, snow is as frequent and unpredictable as the breeze.

McKluskey will study the snowglobe for clues he knows you left for him. Clues as to where in the city that alleyway could be. He knows there's something. Amongst the sanitation company names on the little dumpsters and the style of fire escape on the buildings, there's a message you left for him and when he finds it, it will seem as simple as if you wrote the address on a post-it note and stuck it to the glass. He knows you're playing with him, and he knows you want to play fair. That's why he's letting his marriage go down the toilet while he spends his nights sitting at his desk, shaking to vibrant life the ominous winter tableau of a child-murder contained inside a snowglobe.

Happy Snowglobe Day!

Gay Jackoff Webcams For Charity Day!

Today's the big day. All of your favorite gay webcam stars have signed on with the United Jewish Appeal to donate the proceeds from today's webcasts to the UJA's Operation Promise project for Jews in Ethiopia. So today, if you watch a nineteen-year old boy masturbate at his desk in his bedroom at his mom's house in Decatur, every penny you spend will be used to help bring Ethiopian Jews to Israel. So log on, drop trou, and help those who need it most by masturbating to nineteen year olds who might be sixteen. You like them skinny, so sue you.

Incidentally, though 100% of today's proceeds have been promised to the UJA Federation, the charity will only receive 4%. This was a predictable outcome since every day, 96% of the world's gay webcam porn models go missing and are never found.

Happy Gay Jackoff Webcams For Charity Day!

Super Umbrella Day!

Today when you get into a taxi, you will find an umbrella left behind by a previous passenger. It will be yours for the taking.

"Take me to the railyard," tell the cabby.

"The rail-yard?" the cabby will say. "That's been abandoned for years. There's not a soul around."

Hold up the umbrella and say, "Exactly. I gotta test this thing out."

When you get to the rail-yard, pay the cabby to wait for you, but tell him to park his cab behind one of the old train-cars should he need the cover. Walk about 500 paces into the field of empty train tracks until you're as far away as you can be from any hobos who might be sleeping out of sight. Then you should raise the umbrella pointed out away from you towards the empty expanse and push the button.

If the umbrella opens out without any gunfire, that means the button alone is not a trigger for a hidden pistol. But it could still be armed by twisting the handle in its base. Or the handle could pull out of the umbrella to reveal a hidden gun barrel or dagger or even a heat ray. Twist and turn at the handle to see if it can be adjusted in any manner.

If the handle doesn't move, it's unlikely that the umbrella stem contains any sort of weapon. But the skin of the umbrella itself could work as a parachute, or it could even be a bullet-proof shield. Jump up and down with the umbrella open to see if it feels like it might be able to hold your weight. And to check if it's bullet proof, borrow one of the cabby's handguns and shoot it.

If it does not appear to hold your weight and if the bullet pierces the umbrella skin, then the umbrella cannot protect you from steep falls or assassins. Last thing is to make sure the umbrella is not a bomb whose trigger you've activated via your testing. Hold the umbrella to your ear and listen for ticking or beeping, and smell it for any hint of plutonium.

If that all checks out, head back to the taxi and have the cabby take you where you need to go.

"That thing a piece of high tech weaponry or is it just�" he'll ask you.

"It's just the thing I need to keep me dry," tell the cabby. The cabby will laugh hysterically and he'll tell you that you are a piece of work.

Happy Super Umbrella Day!

Some Complaints About Your Dental Assistant Day!

She talks about Christ too much. It's a shame because she used to be all the patients' favorite because she was so hot. But ever since she came back from vacation, the suggestion box has been filling up with notes from patients saying that as soon as you leave the room, your assistant leans over the patient and starts expounding on Jesus' love. You aren't sure whether they know her vacation was spent at a recovery center and that her new love for Jesus has taken the place in her heart where her old love for painkillers used to be. Or maybe they do know and they just don't care. Maybe all of your patients are so selfish that they would rather your assistant place her life in the perilous hands of addiction just so they don't have to be made uncomfortable by a little talk about the long-haired man on the cross that saved her life.

"If someone saved my life, I'd wanna tell some people about him," you'll think. You'll sort through the notes in the suggestion box that read, "I'm made to feel uncomfortable" and "This is no place for religious talk" and "Aw man she was so hot why'd Jesus have to go and snatch her up?"

"I never knew how uncaring my patients could be," you'll think. Carry the pile of suggestion notes out to your receptionist and tell her to compare the handwriting to the handwriting on the patient files to find out their names.

"Then call them and tell them I won't be providing dental services to them anymore," tell her. "If they persist in asking why, tell them we have different ideas about just what we're doing here. Tell them I won't provide care to those who would prefer my dental assistant die from an overdose than be made to hear the word Jesus from time to time. I won't care for those who don't care about my team."

Your receptionist will say, "With pleasure!" and then she'll set about making her list of unwelcomes. This will be a blow to your income, losing all those regular visits. But if dental school taught you anything, it's that everything gets put on the backburner when your dental assistant is in distress. Know who comes first.

Happy Some Complaints About Your Dental Assistant Day!

Worst. Mafia. Ever. Day!

Your mafia connections suck. The only thing you can ever get from them is cheap ceramics. Anytime anyone in the house wants to go to a ceramic store, you step up like a big man and say, "Just tell me what you need. I know a guy." And a month or so later you'll come waltzing in with an ashtray and some coasters that cost you about forty cents less than they charge at The MudBurner. And you give up thirty percent of your income in return for that? You're a schoolteacher for God's sake. What do you need to be mobbed up for?

Today some of your mafia connections are going to show up at your house demanding that you give them your son's old room so that they can run a brothel-slash-stolen-car-repainting-garage out of it. They heard your son went off to college and you owe them for all those half-full Subway club cards they slide your way. Explain to your wife that this is the way the world works.

Happy Worst. Mafia. Ever. Day!

You Gas Up Ambulances Day!

You are an essential part of the life-saving process. When an ambulance pulls into the hospital lot, it's your job to take it back out and fill the tank up with gas. You'll never get recognized as a hero. Most people don't even know your job exists. In fact, the only time you're noticed is when you slip up and someone is sent out on an emergency with an empty tank. When that ambulance comes back you can bet there are going to be some questions about whose job it is to fill up the tanks.

Today is going to be one of those days where you wish you could be even more invisible. While driving your ambulance to the gas station, someone will spot you coming and will run out to the street waving her arms for you to stop. She'll have either called for an ambulance or decided to try and flag you down before she could even get to a phone. This is the only other way you get noticed on the job and it's a major drawback. Since you're not a trained paramedic, all you can do is drive on past, hoping that her real ambulance is on its way. You used to stop and explain to the person in distress that you were just taking the ambulance for gas, and you'd offer to radio for a real ambulance if necessary. But people who need an ambulance are a little too excited to listen to all of that explanation about a job they never knew existed. So today you'll just drive past looking straight ahead as if you just didn't see the girl with the arms in the air and the blood on her shirt. You'd best take the roundabout way back.

Happy You Gas Up Ambulances Day!

Agree To Some Bad Ideas Day!

You're a gnarled ex-fighter with a heart that beats only to the memory of your late wife. You run a dilapidated boxing gym in a bad neighborhood where lost causes train under the tutelage of true believers. Today, for the first time in fifteen years a woman is gonna come walking into your gym. She'll earn a chorus of catcalls and whistles as she marches her dress past your clientele. That woman is your daughter, come to say hi for the first time since your 60th birthday two and a half years ago.

"Mamie," say.

"I'm gettin' married papa," she'll tell you. "I want you to give me away."

Say, "Who is it thinks he's good enough to marry you? Nobody from this here neighborhood."

Your daughter will say, "It's Jack Plenty."

The last time you trained a fighter, eight years ago, he lost his eye in the ring to Jack Plenty. You had staked your life on that kid.

"He already took too much from me. I ain't giving him nothing."

"He's done with fighting, Papa. He just wants to love me and we're gonna co-manage a 99 cent store called Plenty Cheap."

Say, "Why'd you have to go and fall in love with a fighter, kid?"

Your daughter will say, "I'm my Mama's girl. We both can't help but hand our lives over to those hard boys with the soft hearts."

Agree to give her away. Then go into your office and sit at your desk staring at a picture of your late wife until a skinny kid with a tricky uppercut walks in begging you to train him. Against your better judgment, you'll agree to help the kid out. As you could have predicted, he'll end up making it to the title fight, which he will win right before he dies when his heart blows up in his chest (TOO MUCH HEART!). After you agree to train the kid, a telemarketer will call and ask you if you'd like to switch cell phone services. Tell the telemarketer that even though you're probably going to regret it, you'll go along with his crazy anytime minutes plan.

Happy Agree To Some Bad Ideas Day!

In A Super 8 In Denver Day!

When Mortimer disappears, you'll both worry that she ran out the door while you were bringing your bags in from the Ryder truck. You had gone in and out a few times, and you might have left the door open. And Mortimer might have slipped past your ankles to disappear underneath the sea of parked cars in a parking lot in the middle of Denver.

You'll spend an hour wandering in separate directions throughout the parking lot, calling to your cat to come. You won't find anything in the truck but her wet food, so you'll run into an AM/PM and pick up two boxes of Meow Mix so you can shake the boxes of dry food and lure her out with the sound. You'll look like fools, and you'll occasionally have to say out loud, "Lost cat," whenever you pass a stranger who looks as if he might have concerns about the safety of his family with likes of you lurking around. You won't be able to speak for Sally, but for your own part you'll be glad to be searching alone.

"This is no good," Sally will tell you when you get back to the motel room. She'll have given up sooner. You'll make a point to be out there longer than her. Mortimer is her cat and to avoid a fight you have to stay out there longer than her.

"We'll find her," you'll say.

She'll say, "And what if we don't? Is it a good sign for our new life on the West Coast that getting here killed my favorite pet?"

The drive has been quiet ever since Nebraska. And there's been no sex in the motel rooms at night. You can't speak for Sally, but for your part you were content to remain silent and wonder whether you should have stayed back in New York. It never occurred to you that she might have some doubts of her own.

"This move is for you. Would you rather we not have come?" you'll say.

She'll say, "We just never discussed it. I told you the firm wanted me to relocate and you just immediately started talking as if we both had to go."

You'll say, "You're saying I should have stayed?"

She'll say, "I'm saying you could have stayed."

None of this will have anything to do with her cat going missing. She'll just be cluing you in on everything she's been thinking about for the past thousand miles or so. Maybe she's been thinking about it ever since they proposed the relocation to her. You could have stayed. She had to move across country and it was as good a time as any to break it off. You could have stayed. And if you had so much as broached the subject, you'd probably still be in New York at that moment, instead of putting your shoes back on to go out to a Denver parking lot and make loud kissing noises at a missing cat.

"So what do you want me to do then?" you'll ask.

"No," she'll say. "I want you to decide what you want. This move might already have caused something tragic, and I don't think we should make any more decisions together."

You'll go into the bathroom and splash some water into your face. It will feel like she just placed in your hands the resolve you've been missing all these months. The door will be open. And she'll have practically just given a shove to your back.

When you come out of the bathroom, your eyes will fall to the little nook where the wooden bed frame hits the wall. Just a couple of square inches of space with a gray and black striped cat's tale poking out of it.

Say to Sally, "When we get to San Francisco, I could just help you move in, then keep the truck. Drive my stuff back."

Sally won't say anything. You'll try not to look down at Mortimer's tale wagging just a twitch from time to time.

Sally will start to cry. "I'm sorry."

Say, "Don't be. It's okay. Let's go give another look around."

You'll both go outside and split up again, giving you each a chance to let your new decision settle in. When you get back upstairs a half hour later, you can "discover" that Mortimer was hiding under the bed frame all along. You'll have already been broken up for a half hour at that point, and when she finds her cat alive and well, Sally will take it as a sign that everything's gonna be okay.

Happy In A Super 8 In Denver Day!

Vampire Club Day!

Not long after entering high school, your little sister fell into the wrong crowd. She hangs out with these gay kids who pretend that they're vampires. Their activities amount to basically wearing black, being pale, and giving each other shitloads of hickies. Yours is a football school, so if you're not on the team or in one of the team booster clubs, you kind of have to make your own way. You're varsity, which kind of earns your sister a free pass to all the parties and clubs she could want to join. She's just too much of a loser to make friends with anybody who isn't all skinny and gay. Anyway, they like to hang out in the cemetery at night and have s�ances or some shit, and you just heard that some guys from the team are gonna go into the cemetery tonight and pound them with piss balloons (that's a balloon full of piss). You have to warn her.

"Don't go into the cemetery tonight," tell her. "Some of the guys are gonna launch a piss attack on you."

She'll say, "Good luck to them on finding us. Tonight we're going to transmogrify into a cougar. All of us as one jungle cat."

Say, "Oh good, so you'll be able to run real fast."

She'll say, "And kill with the strength and speed of ten men."

Say, "Seriously though, they're gonna through piss balloons at you."

She'll talk about that cougar shit again, which will make you call her a freak and say, "Your funeral." Tonight, she'll come home reeking of piss ad covered in hickies. She'll tell you your friends are dickheads. Tell her that she's not a vampire.

Happy Vampire Club Day!

Pinky Needs Two Stamps Day!

The letter with your pinky inside is going to be returned to you today for insufficient postage. Apparently, a pinky weighs more than an ounce. You'll be happy to discover that the envelope will be clean and free of blood. The sealed plastic bag in which you wrapped the pinky did the trick. Except for the odor. It will smell terrible. And when you squeeze the envelope, it will be difficult to locate any bone. Just a lot of mush.

You'll have to send it back out right away though. Just include a note that says, "This is my left pinky." And send it Fed Ex. Otherwise your old elementary school homeroom teacher will receive your fingers out of order, and the whole thing will look sloppy. This morning, he received your letter that read, "When I was your pupil, your words tore me apart. I thought you might like to have the pieces." So he's gotta receive the pinky tomorrow. Otherwise there'll be a wait between getting the letter and then getting your marriage finger, and he might misinterpret the whole thing as you saying you're a swinging single or something. Send it priority overnight and check the box for Saturday delivery or you might as well just throw your body pieces into the gutter.

Happy Pinky Needs Two Stamps Day!

Soap Star Day!

Tonight's your big date with a superhot soap star. He's dashing, he's effeminately handsome, and he's a terrible actor. He's not going to like you though, because he was hoping for someone who isn't too caught up in soaps. He's sick of soaps and he wants to meet one of the "real people" on the other side of the TV. He'll know you're wrong for him by the way you refuse to drink anything at the table. When he asks why you won't even drink the water, you'll tell him that it's just a simple precaution considering how many times he's been poisoned.

"You think the soap opera is real, don't you?" he'll say.

"I know they embellish somewhat," you'll tell him.

He'll just stare at you, then he'll say he has to go to the bathroom and he'll bring his coat with him. When he doesn't come back, you'll assume he was kidnapped by a rival oil company.

Happy Soap Star Day!

What Makes Marshmallows So Soft Day!

Today on the bus a little girl is going to poke you on your knee and make put down your newspaper.

Say to her, "What would you like to know, young lady?"

The girl will ask, "What makes marshmallows so soft?"

You'll look around at the other adults on the bus, but they'll all just shrug. They're never any help with anything. You don't want to give her the wrong answer and look stupid. So just say, "You mean you don't know? Duh!"

The girl will say, "I know. But I don't think you do."

It's make or break time. Take a guess. "Crushed kitten whiskers. Ripped from kittens who are too happy and playful and cute."

The girl will start to cry, and you'll realize you were supposed to guess something like "love" or "Dads who don't leave." Everyone on the bus will be pissed at you for having made the girl cry, so you're going to have to get off at the next stop and walk the rest of the way to work just like yesterday (you farted and everyone laughed and it was too much to take).

Happy What Makes Marshmallows So Soft Day!

Van Detail Day!

You're a married man now and you have a good job selling insurance that people need for their peace of mind. You and your wife have been talking about kids too.

Looks like it's about time to take the detail of Topher Grace's face off of the side of your van.

We all have to grow up one day. You enjoyed all the highs that came with being a superfan of a network sitcom star (and movie star of late). But you're taking clients out to lunch these days. Do you really want to start all of your meetings by fielding questions like, "Isn't that the kid from Win A Date With Tad Hamilton?" Or, "Did you like Win A Date With Tad Hamilton?" Or, "So you're superqueer then?"

You don't want to waste time explaining to clients what the youthful everyman demeanor of Topher Grace has meant to you. You want to try to get them to sign on the dotted line from the minute you shake their hands. So take Gracie Boy off of the van. You can go the easy route and just paint over him with a solid coat. But just because you're growing up, there's no reason your van should stop being bitchin'. Go down to the Van Detail place and see if they can play with the Topher image and do something new. Like maybe some seals sitting on rocks staring at a pirate ship under the moonlight. Topher Grace already kind of looks like some seals sitting on rocks staring at a pirate ship under the moonlight. If you tilt your head when you look at him, sure.

Happy Van Detail Day!

On Mushrooms Day!

Today your temp is going to come into work high on mushrooms. This is nothing new. The tasks you bring in temps for are all menial and thoughtless, and it isn't long into the assignment before one of your temps thinks, "I could do this fucking shit high on mushrooms, so I'm going to."

You had a daybed put into your office so that you could have someplace for your temps to recline while you talk them down from their high. Today it'll be Marcus. That you won't have expected. It's usually the young ones who do mushrooms before work, and Marcus is fifty-two. But age isn't a factor when someone thinks there are mites all over his face.

You'll calm him down with a wet washcloth and lots of, "Look at me, we're here in this room together and we'll stay together until you come down." Everything will seem fine until Marcus lowers his voice into a growl and begins channeling your dead Grandfather. You'll know it's him when he says, "There's some butterscotch for my stick of butter."

"Grandpa?" you'll ask with your hands held inches from Marcus' skin. You'll be afraid to touch him while your grandfather is talking through him. "Grandpa? Where are you?"

"I'm in hell. Be a good girl and you won't end up like I am. Oh the hellfire."

Say, "You're lying, aren't you grandpa? You're in heaven and you're just trying to scare me into behaving better, even though I'm 38."

Your grandfather will say through Marcus, "Yeah. You're a smarty. Bye bye for now."

Say to Marcus, "Bye bye grandpa." Then back away. When your grandfather leaves Marcus it will set his arms flailing and scratching at the fabric of the daybed.

Happy On Mushrooms Day!

Get Into Somebody's Will Day!

It's pretty clear by now that the only way you're ever going to get your hands on more than forty bucks at a time is if someone wills that money into your hands. That's why today you have to get yourself written into somebody's will. The best way to go about this is hang around a park and be the only one who'll listen to a well-dressed old man's boring stories about when he was stationed in Korea. You have to show up and listen to him on a regular basis in order to trick him into thinking that even though you're penniless and you smell terrible, you're the son he wishes he had instead of that never-visiting, never-calling captain of industry with his house on a hill someplace. Make sure he's well-dressed though. You don't want to get written into the will of some guy who has nothing to pass down through the generations but an oscillating fan and an empty birdcage. Keep your eye out for golden-handled walking sticks. Or if he has trouble buying a roll from the street vendor to feed the birds with because, "All I got is a twenty-thousand dollar bill," he's rich. But if you don't spy any jewelry or money and his skin is yellow from head to toe, keep moving. You need to make this count. Your wife and six sons expect you to provide.

Happy Get Into Somebody's Will Day!

Cat In The Carrier Day!

Today you'll be happening down the block on your way to start drinking (Noonish) when you'll come upon a boy and a girl (mid-thirties) yanking back and forth on a cat carrier full to the bring with a moaning, mewling and hissing housecat. There'll be furniture and boxes full of books all over the sidewalk.

Settle this.

"Hoooo there," say to them. "What's the problem."

"She'll leave our home, but she'll not be taking Funnyface to be raised by that woeful man!" the boy will say.

"It was I who rescued Funnyface from that deplorable shelter. Long before I ever made the mistake for which I can never forgive myself, the mistake of falling in love with you," the girl will retort.

Say, "Sounds like the lady's got dibs."

The boy will use one hand to point a finger at the girl. "Her morals are wretched. She is leaving me for a failed rock and roll musician. She invited him into our bed while I was watching my father die in a hospital in Des Moines, waiting for him to awaken in order that we could share one civil word before he passed. But he never awoke; he died with my hand clasped in his without ever having regained consciousness. And I returned with darkness in my heart only to find that my love had packed put her share of our life into boxes, which were being carted down the steps by a skinny child with died black hair and more than likely genital warts."

The horn of the parked moving van will sound and the skinny child behind the wheel will wave to you upon hearing his introduction.

Wave back, then say to the girl, "Sounds like he's got some pretty valid grievances. What about you, pretty?"

"He's boring," the girl will say.

"Well I'm stumped," tell them. "Why don't you take the cat out of the box, place it on the sidewalk between the two of you, and whomever it runs to first will be the rightful caregiver."

The boy and the girl will warily release their grips on the cat box and you'll place it on the ground and open the gate. The cat will crawl from the box and without looking at anyone he'll race down the block and disappear into a construction site.

The boy and the girl will burst into tears and run into each other's arms to kiss. The kid in the van will take off with all the girl's stuff in it. He'll sell it all and buy an amp. Your work will be done, and you'll finally head off the bar and not a moment too soon because the last time you waited until one o'clock for your first drink you had a series of mini-strokes and lost the hearing in your left ear.

Happy Cat In The Carrier Day!

Pickpocket In The Planetarium Day!

The signs all over the planetarium warn you not to just look up the whole time. "That's just what he wants you to do," the sign says. "Despite our best efforts, we just can't seem to catch the Planetarium Pickpocket (It's really dark in here). Watch your wallets."

Today while staring up at the rings of Saturn, you're going to feel some scuffle along your backside, where your wallet is hanging out of your jeans. You'll check and your wallet will be gone, replaced by a slip of paper that reads, "Out back. Ten minutes."

You'll sneak off from your class and run out to the alley behind the planetarium. There you'll see the pickpocket, a boy with shaggy brown hair dressed in denim from head to toe, except for the tight white tee shirt underneath his denim jacket.

"Are you gay?" you'll ask.

"No!" he'll shout.

"Sorry," you'll say. "All that denim. So you're the pickpocket. Sounds pretty exciting."

"It can be," he'll say. "I guess you want your wallet back."

"What do I have to do to get it?" you'll ask.

He'll say, "All you gotta do is be my girl."

You and the pickpocket will make out up against the back wall of the planetarium and you'll let him feel your breasts through your coat. He'll go on pickpocketing in the dark and you'll meet him there after school behind the planetarium to kiss and be his girl until you go to college or he gets arrested and tried as an adult, whichever comes first. Teenage years are lonely.

Happy Pickpocket In The Planetarium Day!

You Work In A Major Corporation Day!

You visit executives' offices when summoned and you shine their shoes. Most of them leave the shoes outside their doors for you to bring downstairs to the boiler room and shine them when convenient. It's the ones who keep their shoes on their feet while you shine them; they're the ones who want to talk to you about girls.

"How do I know if my wife likes me?" one will ask. Tell him that if she asks him to give her another child, that means she's got the hots for him.

"How can I tell my mistress that I know people who'll kill for money and that she should just take the eighty thousand and go?" another will ask. Tell him to say it in a public park in the summertime, when she can't wear enough clothes to hide a wire.

"I'm being indicted," another will say. You'll look up from your shine, baffled. "What do I know about legal stuff?" ask him.

He'll say, "The prosecuting attorney's a girl and she's really pretty. Should I buy her a Porsche?" Now that's your area of expertise. Say, yes, buy her a Porsche, but not before the sentencing.

The worst are the heartbroken ones. And their shines always take the longest because the leather has been worn down with tears. Jenkins in suite 9156, he's got it bad.

"We were married for twenty one years," he'll tell you again today. "How can she just throw it all away and take off in the night like that? How do I get her back?"

Tell Jenkins what you always tell him. Tell him no one can say why they go. The only thing he can know for sure is when she goes, she's gone.

You never accept a tip from the heartbroken ones. People tip to be lied to. No one should tip for having to hear the truth.

Happy You Work In A Major Corporation Day!

Earplugs Day!

You work nights as an admitting nurse, so you have to sleep during the day. But your live-in boyfriend is unemployed and likes to light firecrackers in the living room all day long, seeing what little knickknacks and toiletries do when a firecracker is lit underneath them (they usually jump up in the air and shatter). You tried to come up with some kind of a compromise. You suggested that he only light his firecrackers in the house at night after you go to work, or that he doesn't light his firecrackers in the house at all. He accused you of trying to cage him in, so you bought earplugs instead.

Today your boyfriend is going to accidentally blow his entire left hand off of his wrist. He'll go into shock and will be unable to speak or move, and since you'll have your earplugs in you'll sleep peacefully for a bit as his blood drains out onto the living room carpet. You'll luckily wake up after only a few moments. You're used to those dull thuds of the firecrackers that you hear through the muffler of your earplugs, and when they stop your body will be startled awake. You'll find your boyfriend unconscious and pale and you'll call the ambulance just in time.

When he comes to, he'll tell you that your selfishness made you wear those earplugs and he nearly died because of it. With a missing hand, he'll be able to receive disability and he'll leave you and finally be able to light firecrackers all day in his own place. Things will pick up for you once he's gone.

Happy Earplugs Day!

You Sell Flatscreen TVs Day!

Today a young man is going to come into your store looking for a traditional, small and boxy color television that can fit on top of a dresser so that his pregnant girlfriend can have a TV to watch during her bed-rest after the delivery of the baby.

"Congratulations," say to him.

"Oh, it was kind of an accident," he'll say. "But I'm cool with it."

You'll be showing him some 13" TVs for under a hundred dollars when his pregnant girlfriend will come to his side and take his arm. As it turns out, his pregnant girlfriend will have been your prom date in high school.

"Oh my God," she'll say.

"Look at you," you'll say.

"Fucking weird," her boyfriend will say.

She'll hug you and you'll feel her belly touch yours.

She'll laugh, "Guess you're glad that I didn't let you go all the way after prom!"

Say, "Am I?"

Then start your pitch. Drag them away from the tiny televisions and begin your song-and-dance about the emergence of plasma technology and what a newborn baby deserves.

"Do you really want him to one day ask you why the Johnsons down the block have a better TV than you do? Of fucking course not."

Then tell them about 0% financing. Your prom date will stand by her boyfriend's side, watching you exercise your craft. When your boyfriend points to a 46" plasma screen wall unit and he says "I'll take it," there will be a smile on his face. Send him over to the financing desk.

"You're really good at your job," your prom date will tell you. "Really�"

"Graceful?" say. "This is nothing compared to the tenderness and grace that I would have bestowed upon your joyous flesh had you only given me the chance that night in our shared motor lodge room."

"I can see now that I made a mistake then," she'll say.

"Too late for that," tell her. Sulk a bit.

"I cannot entertain regret," she'll say. "I have a child on the way and my child will not have a mother who wishes things could have been different. My child will not grow up knowing his mother thinks she should have slept with her prom date but chose not to out of fear."

"Your child will have a liar for a mother," tell her.

She'll say, "So be it, Television Salesman."

Her boyfriend will come back with his finished paperwork and you'll direct them to the back of the store where they can pull up their car to pick up their unit. Not long after they are gone, several members of the nominating committee of the secret neighborhood treehouse, which you were never invited to join because they said you sounded gay when you talked, will enter the store looking for someone to sell them a set of modestly priced stereo speakers. Vengeance is yours.

Happy You Sell Flatscreen TVs Day!

In The Back Of The Ambulance Day!

Today when you finally get up the nerve to ask Jenny to the dance, you'll only get as far as, "Um, Jenny I was wondering if you'd�" before you get shot by a drug dealer's stray bullet. Jenny will kneel beside you and hold your head in her hands and scream for help. She'll ride in the back of the ambulance with you.

In the back of the ambulance, with your breath short and blood all over your stomach, tell her that you've had a crush on her for the longest time and that all you ever wanted was to take her to the dance, and now you're so angry because you might die before you ever get to dance with her. Jenny will tell you to hang in there because she's really counting on you to take her to that dance. She wants nothing more in the world than for you to take her to the dance, she'll say. That's when you should ask her if you can have a kiss in case you don't make it. She'll say that it won't be necessary since you are going to make it. Cough a little and bring your heart rate down so that the heart monitor's beeping changes in pattern (not sure how to do this). Jenny will panic and she'll plant one on you and you'll have just kissed Jenny, the girl you're gonna go to the dance with.

When you wake up in the hospital, your mother will be by your bedside, but Jenny won't be anywhere to be found. Your mother will tell you that Jenny seemed like a nice girl. She'll also relay the message from Jenny that everything that happened in the back of the ambulance happened because you were in the back of an ambulance, and that it doesn't count. Your mother will also tell you that Jenny said she is going to the dance with Greg Kelly, a varsity forward on the Lacrosse team. Greg will come by later and he'll tell you that you're lucky you got shot because if you had kissed his girl when you were healthy he would have beat your ass. Out of respect for you having gotten shot by a drug dealer's stray bullet, he'll just give you an Indian burn.

Happy In The Back Of The Ambulance Day!

Your Wife And The Portraitist Day!

For her fortieth birthday, you commissioned a portraitist to paint your wife's portrait. Naturally, they ran off together. Today you'll find on the mantelpiece her finished portrait covered in brown paper, and a note that reads:

"It might come as a shock to you, but to us it feels inevitable. Look at the painting, see what he sees, and you'll understand why I've left."

You'll rip the paper from the frame and stare into your wife's face rendered in oil. The portrait will be a kind of allegory, with the ring on her ring finger painted to look like a bear trap and in her hands scraps of paper painted to look like a ripped up photo of you and your wife on your wedding day. Copious tears will be pouring from her eyes, and above her head will float a cartoon thought bubble and a speech bubble. The thought bubble will have an image of you as a big fat man with a giant red "X" overtop of him, next to an image of the portraitist naked with generous genitals between his legs and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. In the speech bubble will be the words "Oh how I loathe my husband and long for my portraitist."

You'll let the image seep in and a tear will roll down your cheek. You'll think, "How could I have been so blind to all of this? I should have at least noticed that tattoo on her bicep that reads, "I've made an enormous mistake."

You'll quickly write them a check for enough money to pay for the portrait and to get her started on her long-overdue new life. The life with her portraitist that you've selfishly prevented her from enjoying all of these years, all because you felt the need to cling to your precious little "marriage to the only woman you've ever loved" cock of poo.

Happy Your Wife And The Portraitist Day!

Your Old Skeletor Doll Day!

Your daughter loves to hold little tea parties with her dolls. She loves it almost as much as you love watching her sit with her dolls at the table, changing the tone of her voice as she changes roles, speaking the parts for each of her dolls as the tea party conversation unfolds.

Today you'll hear her up in her room making those cute little voices. High-pitched, then deep and growly, then prim and proper. You'll run upstairs and peek into her door and you'll see that she's got three of her dolls sitting at her little tea table, and the fourth seat will be occupied by your old Skeletor doll that she must have found in one of the boxes in the basement.

Scream at your daughter, "Juuuuuu-lieeeeee whaaaat haaaaave yoooooou doooooone?!!!"

Dive for the table to wrestle Skeletor to the ground. Your daughter will scream and run underneath her bed. As you fly through the air, Skeletor's eyes will light up and flash at your daughter's dolls, turning them to piles of melted plastic. You'll grab for the Skeletor doll, but you'll only grip his empty chair. Skeletor will be gone, set free from his basement grave. He will have embarked on his journey to the hills, laying waste to all who stand in the way of his reclamation of the Power of Grayskull.

"Daddy?" your daughter will whimper from under the bed. "What's happening?"

"I have to go away for a little while baby," tell her. "I have to go get my doll back."

"When will you come home?" she'll ask.

Say, "I don't know baby. I don't know."

Happy Your Old Skeletor Doll Day!

Build A Prison Made Out Of Lincoln Logs Day!

Put your cat in it and say, "For the crimes you have committed against the sleeping habits of your owners, you are hereby remanded to Lincoln Log Prison until 6 PM or until you get very hungry, whichever comes first."

Your cat will appear to accept her sentence with dignity, but the first chance she gets she'll shiv you in the belly three times and bust through the wall of lincoln logs, making a run for the space behind the toilet where she likes to hide. Luckily, your roommate will be able to take her down with his AK. This is dedicated to everyone on the inside. Come home soon.

Happy Build A Prison Made Out Of Lincoln Logs Day!

Portly Pete Day!

Today you're going to be rescued by Portly Pete, a big fat superhero.

A group of corporate embezzlers will yank you into an alley and start kicking the living shit out of you. They'll clearly be high on crank. You'll scream for help and that's when Portly Pete will sound his call of warning.

"I'm gonna fall on you guyyyyyyyys!" he'll shout from down the block. The embezzlers will look at the majestic mass of Portly Pete straining and panting to quicken his pace all the way down at the end of the block and they'll start laughing while they continue kicking the shit out of you.

Portly Pete will stop once or twice to keep from fainting. The embezzlers will be merciless in their beatdown. Finally, Portly Pete will enter the alley, his face red and sweaty. He won't be able to catch his breath to threaten the embezzlers.

"You want some of this?" one of the embezzlers will say when he pulls a switchblade from his sock.

At that Portly Pete will faint on two of the embezzlers, killing them instantly. The other three will try to roll Portly Pete off of their friends, but they will succeed only in rolling Portly Pete over top themselves. They will die of asphyxiation.

You'll get up and thank Portly Pete, but he'll be unconscious, his lips turning blue. Call an ambulance.

Happy Portly Pete Day!

Roll The Dice Day!

Today, when you're at the craps tables and you're deeper in the hole than you ever thought you could be, a rich man will approach you and your husband with a proposition.

"One roll of the dice," he'll say. "If you roll a seven, my henchmen kill your husband with rocks. If you roll any other number, I give you one million dollars."

You and your husband will look at each other, then you'll both say, "Deal."

The rich man will lead you to a dark alley and he'll hand you some dice. You'll roll a four, and then you and your husband will jump up and down in each other's arms. When you look to the rich man for payment, he'll say, "Double or nothing?"

Say, "You mean if I roll anything but a seven, I win two million. But if I roll the seven, we're even and me and my husband walk away empty-handed?"

The rich man will say, "No. If you roll the seven, I get to kill your husband. If not, you get two million."

Say, "Deal!" and roll the dice before your husband objects. You'll roll a four again and you'll jump up and down. But your husband won't join you.

The rich man will say, "Try for four million?"

Say, "Deal!" You'll roll and win. Roll and win. Roll and win over and over again, doubling your money up to 32 million before you roll a seven and your husband is killed. As they drag him off to pound in his skull with rocks, you'll hear him shout, "You have a very bad gambling problem! It's very bad!" Then you'll hear him shout some other things that are too horrible to describe.

Your husband is right. Get to a Gamblers Anonymous meeting. You sure will have a hell of a story to tell them when you hit 30 days.

Happy Roll The Dice Day!

Apple Farmer Day!

Today you are an apple farmer and some super-big pharmaceutical company wants to build over your farmland. They're going to try to convince you to sell with the following argument:

"An apple a day isn't enough anymore, White Witch. People need pills and lozenges. Give us the space to make our medicine, and sickness and disease will be sent packing."

Say, "I never wanted to make people stay sick�"

The pharmaceutical company representative will say, "Then maybe you should yield."

Say, "I just always thought my apples kind of helped the healthy ones to stay healthy."

The pharmaceutical representative will ask if eating one of your apples can cause boners and you'll be so ashamed you'll sign whatever they put in front of you.

Happy Apple Farmer Day!

Your Dinner Party Murder Mystery Will Be A Disappointment Day!

After the lights come back on and the 80 year old art collector Mr Billingsby is discovered to be dead in his chair, you'll quickly lock the doors to the mansion and demand that no one leave until the killer is named. Over the next few hours, the majority of dinner guests will argue that Mr. Billingsby could not have been murdered because there is no wound. You'll respond that he might have been poisoned. Why else would he suddenly die right when the lights went out? The other guests will unanimously argue that there is no need for the lights to be struck in order for a man to be poisoned. They will further argue that perhaps Mr Billingsby was merely startled by the storm and his weak heart gave out. You'll begin to argue that that's exactly what the killer would like everybody to believe, but you'll be interrupted when paramedics come barging in to tend to the body. Someone will have called them, since it will have been decided very early on that your murder mystery idea was just the work of a very bored individual who has no qualms about wasting people's time in order to avoid being lonely.

Happy Your Dinner Party Murder Mystery Will Be A Disappointment Day!

Bounced Check Day!

Tonight, in the middle of your first date with a girl you like, your veterinarian will come to your table and tell you that the check you gave him to have your cat put to sleep bounced. He'll joke with your date that she'd better be prepared to go Dutch, and that if she ends up marrying you she'd better hope that she doesn't one day need a $700 medical procedure because you'll probably end up taking the eighty dollar option and have her destroyed. Then the vet will lean in real close and tell you to make good on the check or he'll sick a collection agency on your ass, which will make you wish you were where poor little Whiskers is today. The vet will return to his table, and your date won't talk to you for the rest of the meal. You'll split the bill.

Happy Bounced Check Day!

Skywrite Only Truth Day!

You're a skywriter who makes very little money because so much of what people want you to write is treacly drivel. "Marry Me Kristy." "Congratulations Mom." "Plattsburgh Plymouth Blowout Sale." It's enough to make you crash your plane into a barn.

You decided long ago that you wouldn't whore out your instrument any longer. Only in the service of poetry, of truth, or of absolute urgency would you employ your talent for Atmospheric Calligraphy as you like to call it. It's caused you to go many weeks without any income, and you're close to hanging up your pilot's scarf.

Today you're going to start cashing in when a brilliant unpublished novelist who has turned to kidnapping hires you to skywrite all of his eloquently composed ransom notes for the next few weeks. He won't be able to pay you until he receives the ransom, but the notes will be so perfectly expressive of the desperation that can grip a man in modern America that you'll feel indebted to him just for allowing you to pen those sentences in your elegant trails of white. When you go to prison, you'll still be able to hear the sputter of the propellers as you would scribble the novelist's words into the sky. It will have been worth it just to get his voice up there.

Happy Skywrite Only Truth Day!

Ghost Farts Day!

The ghosts in your house think it's fun to hold your head down on the couch and fart on your face. The farts smell like attics and wet spiderwebs. They've been holding you down on the couch for five days straight so far, which is nothing to them since they face an eternity in the spirit-world. They haven't let you eat or drink anything so you're just barely alive. If you don't want to die, you're going to have to help them pass over into the next world. They most likely held a kid down and farted on his face in a playground and accidentally killed him at some point. Go and tell that kid's parents that the ghosts are sorry. If that doesn't work, slip them some Ghost Bean-O.

Happy Ghost Farts Day!

Trick Some Stupid Kids Into Painting A Fence For You Day!

You're required to paint a fence today as part of your work release program, but fuck if you're gonna actually do it. Trick some kids into painting it for you instead. Just grab the first group of kids who walks past and offer them each a dime if they'll paint the fence for you. If they say no because a dime is not enough money for all that hard work, point to a church belltower and tell them that the man who lives up in that belltower is very sad because girls always tell him he's gross and he hates to see children refuse random chores from strangers. Tell them that the man went up to the belltower because he knew if one more girl told him he looked gross, he'd start crying and never stop. Same thing goes for kids who refuse random chores from strangers. While the belltower protects the man from girls who might tell him he's gross, he can still see all the children in the town and if any children refuse a random chore from a stranger, the man in the belltower might never stop crying.

This should get the kids to paint the fence. Just make sure they paint really fast because if you get caught farming out your work-release assignments, you're going back inside.

Happy Trick Some Stupid Kids Into Painting A Fence For You Day!

Map Of Your Pants Day!

Today your boyfriend is going to show you a treasure map that he made. It's basically a line drawing of a pair of jeans that you own. There's a big "X" at the crotch, which according to him indicates that there's some treasure there.

"What are these?" you'll ask, pointing to little circles surrounding the pants.

"Piranhas," he'll say. Then he'll introduce you to his crew of bloodthirsty pirates.

"So you have a boat and everything?" you'll ask.

"Got a truck," he'll say. He'll point his thumb out the window at a dirty white pickup truck. You'll point to your jeans, the ones depicted in the map, which will be slung over a chair in the corner of your room.

He'll give you a fierce look and you'll realize he doesn't want you to let on to his crew that the map might be wrong. You'll beg him not to leave because it's only a matter of time before his crew discovers that the captain has gone mad and is leading them on a fool's quest.

"They'll mutiny," you'll pant in his ear. But you'll know all along that you can't hold onto him. He's a pirate, and no matter what you say or do, nothing will keep him from walking out that door and climbing into the back of that pickup truck (he doesn't drive).

Happy Map Of Your Pants Day!

Your New Robotic Arm Day!

Your new robotic arm arrives today. It was really expensive and it is guaranteed not to short out every time you touch the "cook" button on a microwave like your last arm would. This robotic arm is state of the art, built by engineers who left the Department of Defense to appease their consciences.

Unfortunately, they continued to order their parts through the same suppliers they dealt with at the DOD. Your robotic arm has been fashioned from circuits that were pulled out of the dismantled prototypes for the super-secret Cyber-Soldier program that was scrapped due to the prototypes being "too aggressive" and "too bloodthirsty" and "too likely to do whatever they want just to kill a little bit more" and "too into hurting children specifically; when the Cyber-Soldier enters a family dwelling where parents and children reside together, the children are always murdered first, then on up age-wise, and we never programmed them to do that, it's as if they rewired their own circuits to generate their own commands, which soon became the only commands that they would follow. These robots want to kill, if that hasn't been made clear. It's in their circuitry, if that hasn't been made clear either."

It's a shame you won't know all of this ahead of time. And it's a shame that immediately after attaching your new robotic arm to your shoulder, you'll see the paperboy riding by on his bicycle. Your robotic arm will start to whir and come apart so that a grenade launcher can lift from inside its casing and fire on the boy. After your street is laid waste in a storm of fire and smoke, you should call Sharper Image and ask them what the fuck.

Happy Your New Robotic Arm Day!

Have Sex With Boys Until Your Parents Aren't Divorced Anymore Day!

Your parents' divorce has hit you pretty hard, but you can't complain about it since it's clearly all your fault. You've tried to be a better daughter. You've made a point of not asking for money or new clothes or dinner. You've cleaned the house until it's so clearly immaculate your Dad will have no choice but to move back in. But no matter how long you stare out the window, his car just never pulls into the driveway.

None of your efforts have worked, so you decided the best way to heal the rift between your parents was to constantly have sex with boys. The plan is, every time you take off your clothes and lay down in the back seat of a car or behind the water heater in a basement rec room, it will make your parents love each other, and you, just a little bit more. Whether you want to have sex with the boy or not, giving the boy what he wants will hopefully be sacrifice enough to make up for not being a good daughter. Or maybe having sex with boys you don't like will be a good example for your parents. "See?" you'll say. "I hate this boy and yet he's inside of me. Now you try!"

Today, you're going to conceive your first child. The question is, do you abort quietly and continue to heal your parents' rift through casual and rampant teen sex, or do you have the baby so that your Mom and Dad will be brought together as grandparents? It's a tough one kiddo, but you're mature enough to make the right decision.

Happy Have Sex With Boys Until Your Parents Aren't Divorced Anymore Day!

"Okay So Who's This Joker?" Day!

Your Sunday mornings always start off the same way. You wake up in the throes of a head-splitting hangover so pronounced you feel like sunlight might turn your eyeballs to stones. You summon the strength to turn your head on its side and check out the guy lying next to you. Then you ask the question you ask yourself every Sunday morning without fail.

"Okay so who's this joker?"

Without waking him for an answer, you go into the kitchen and fix a pot of coffee, trying to down a few cups before he comes in and introduces himself again. You savor those first few cups. You drink them while you're coming back to life. It's after those cups are drained that you have to actually try and live again, and that's when you start to worry over all the wasted hours lost to alcohol and friends whose company you don't enjoy.

After those two cups, he'll shuffle into kitchen, rubbing the sight into his eyes, still managing to muster up a naughty smile. That's when you'll ask your second question of the morning.

"All right so what's your story, Smartguy?"

Happy "Okay So Who's This Joker?" Day!

Date A Profiler Day!

Over margaritas, he'll tell you that he became a profiler of serial killers because two of his former girlfriends went to jail for serial murder. One killed six ice cream truck drivers over the course of nineteen years, and the other would lure junkies into a secret studio apartment she had rented solely for the purpose of having a place to bring back junkies and dismember them while on the nod.

"It's funny," he'll say. "Since she was my second serial killer, I must have had an instinct for it. When I discovered all of those checks paid towards rent of this other apartment, I didn't even think that she might be cheating on me. I just thought, that's where the bodies are."

Say to him, "So you became a profiler so as to determine sooner whether someone you find attractive might be a serial killer?"

"It gave me some tools that I need," he'll say. "But ultimately, it's become clear that the best way I can tell whether someone is a serial killer is whether or not I find them attractive."

You'll remember how much you used to love pounding in the skulls of neighborhood cats when you were a child and you'll ask, "Do you find me attractive?"

He'll grab hold of some silverware and raise it in a defensive posture. "Very attractive," he'll say.

Place your hand over his and lower it down to the table. He'll let go of the utensils and he'll wrap his fingers up in yours.

Say, "Guess that means I'm dangerous."

The heat between you will be palpable. "An earthly evil," he'll say. If the table weren't there you'd be on top of him already.

"Come home with me," say to him.

He'll tell you yes. There's a man in your life now. Perhaps bringing him to your bed will quiet the shrieking chorus of voices in your skull that has been growing louder lately. Always, talking about "the infected ones" and "lance the boils." Blah blah blah.

Happy Date A Profiler Day!

Rob Your Doctor Again Day!

The last time you went in for a physical, you robbed your doctor at gunpoint. You didn't ask for any cash that the office might have collected. You just demanded his wallet, his wedding ring, and his blackberry. Since he had all of your personal information, he sent the police to your house to arrest you. You did six months.

Today you have another appointment for a physical. You called him when you got out, and at first he said he never wanted to be your doctor again. But you convinced him that you couldn't trust any other doctor. You told him that some things happened while you were inside and you felt it was important that he check you out soon. He felt bad for you since he's the one who sent you to jail, so he agreed to give you a checkup.

"Just don't rob me again!" he said. You promised him you wouldn't.

Today's the appointment. You're going to have to use a knife this time since he'll probably demand that you strip before he enters the examination room with you, so there won't be any place to hide your gun. But you could keep your socks on and stash a knife in the elastic band, held to the back of your calf. He won't make you remove your socks because he wants to trust you. He wants to make sure you're healthy. He's a total mark.

Happy Rob Your Doctor Again Day!

Elderly Action Day!

Today you and your wife are going to try to remember when the last time you had sex was. One of you will say that it happened in 1991, and the other will bet on 1990, and since neither of you will agree you'll have to settle for your last time having occurred in 1965, when your youngest son was conceived. It's the only one that's got some evidence backing it up.

"Man that was fantastic," you'll say.

"How can you remember?" your wife will ask.

"Think I'd forget the last time we had sex?"

She'll ask how she was. You don't remember, but just make stuff up until she falls asleep. I know it's hard to keep from falling asleep before her, but this is a special moment. Stay awake, and tell her how she touched you.

Happy Elderly Action Day!

The Cleaning Lady's Get Well Card Day!

Your office cleaning lady's appendix burst and she went into the hospital for about ten days. When the news hit the floor, a "Get Well" card was passed around for everyone to sign. Unfortunately, you had called in sick that day so you never heard anything about any card.

At 3:00 today you're going to find the cleaning lady standing behind you. She's going to thank you for the card, and you're going to assume she's confusing you with someone on the floor who has a name that is similar to yours. She'll explain that she's referring to the card that everyone signed. Your face will go blank for a moment, than you'll try to save the situation and you'll say, "Don't mention it."

The cleaning lady will go and take another look at the card and when she discovers that your signature is not on it, she'll run back to your desk crying and calling you a liar who doesn't care about the little people. Everyone else on the floor will listen in and word will quickly spread that you did not bother to sign the cleaning lady's "Get Well" card but that you took credit for it anyway.

You'll try to explain to whomever will listen that you would have been happy to sign the card, had you been in the office that day. You'll send around an office-wide memo explaining that you only pretended to have signed the card because you didn't want to create an awkward situation by telling her you never signed the card. No one will pay heed to your explanations, so you'll have to pay someone to kidnap the cleaning lady's daughter so that you can pretend to rescue her and return to your workspace a hero. You must win their hearts and minds.

Happy The Cleaning Lady's Get Well Card Day!

Bra Cannon Day!

The men in your family have been members of the Tri Beta fraternity for generations, and all of them but you are blind. That's because it's a point of pride amongst the men in your family that they have always been the ones to operate the Tri Beta bra cannon.

At all of the larger campus events the students can count on the Tri Betas to gather all of the bras that have been collected at their frat house over the preceding months and propel them up and into the crowd with the shot of a cannon. The Tri Betas are not the only fraternity to practice this time-honored ritual, but they are the only ones to still use the very first cannon that was acquired by the fraternity in 1884. The other fraternities use devices that operate with hydraulics and springs. But the Tri Beta bras have always been sent flying using a combination of flame and gunpowder. It's why the Tri Beta bras are often reduced to burning cinders when they finally touch ground.

From, your great grandfather down to your father, every man in your family has been blinded by that godforsaken cannon. Today you have to set it off for the first time since returning from Christmas break. You're thinking about all that you have before you, and how difficult it all will be if you lose your sight. You're also thinking about how you'd rather go blind than have to look upon your father and grandfather if they ever found out you had worn goggles behind that storied weapon.

Today, light the match. Let your heritage claim what it will.

Happy Bra Cannon Day!

Your New Boyfriend Was The Killer All Along Day!

For the past few days your new boyfriend has been your fearless protector because whenever you'd find another body or you'd hear something in the woods and start running, he'd appear out of nowhere and hold you tight in his arms. You felt really lucky for having met this guy just as the killings began because it would have really sucked to be single during all of this. Every night after someone's body is found, everyone couples up in the living room, the girlfriends crying into their boyfriends' shoulders while the boyfriends ask questions like, "So we're just supposed to sit here and wait for him to pick us off, one by one?" Normally you'd be the one in the kitchen doing dishes and testing the CB radio to see if it works yet, but now you get to cry into your boyfriend's shoulder just like everyone else.

Until now. Now that you're alone in the basement with all the doors locked shut from the inside, you notice that your boyfriend has two razor sharp hooks where his hands should be.

"How long have you had those?" you'll ask.

"Since the accident, when I was left to die by the side of the road while teenagers drove by having sex and throwing beer cans at me," he'll say. He'll be scraping the hooks along metal stuff to make scary noises.

"Oh my God, it was you all along," you'll say.

"You were right about what you said when I asked you why you're still single," he'll say. "Guys are jerks."

He'll lunge at you. You should duck out of the way and run and scream, okay?

Happy Your New Boyfriend Was The Killer All Along Day!

The World's Favorite Former Tennis Star Is A Drunk Day!

Spend your morning with a bottle of vodka so that when the TV crew arrives at your house, you'll barely be able to sit up straight. Give them an interview that will replayed on every celebrity tabloid show for weeks. The highlights clips will go storming across the internet like wildfire. That's right, the world's beloved former tennis star is a drunk now, and she's damn good at it.

The interviewer will luckily be intelligent enough to grab hold of the opportunity. She'll never ask if you're drunk or if you have a drinking problem. She'll only ask, "Is the life of a sports celebrity the life you've always wanted?" That will open up the gate for you to talk about the drawbacks in the life of a sports celebrity, such as the part where you have to sue your mother to get half of your earnings back. Or the part where you purposely injure yourself just to get painkillers prescribed to you again. Or the part where your movie star husband, the only man you've ever loved, explains that the reason he never wants to sleep with you is because you're not a man.

"But I've thrown up on some of the finest clay on the planet," you'll tell the camera. "So I got that going for me."

You'll exude the same charm that made you such an icon on the court, and your little breakdown will actually earn you fans who've never even watched tennis. When you come out of rehab next year, you'll be sent two VIP tickets to the US Open. When you arrive with your latest movie star husband (also queer), the two of you will receive a standing ovation, and within a week you'll sign the papers to host a daytime talk show that has the same name as you. The only thing America loves more than a celebrity with her pants down is a celebrity who has the common courtesy to moon the camera before hoisting her pants back up.

Happy The World's Favorite Former Tennis Star Is A Drunk Day!

Turnstile Hopper Day!

Today you're going to hop the turnstile for the very first time. You're not poor. But whenever you look into the eyes of all the poor kids who hop the turnstile you can see a fire there. While everyone else is just counting the stops until they come to theirs, the poor kids can barely sit still they're so excited because their train ride could have cost them way more than the two bucks they bailed on. They steal their rides, and they savor every last minute of them.

Today you're gonna find out what it feels like to cherish something as base and irritating as a ride on public transportation. You're gonna hop the turnstile and march down to the platform trying not to look over your shoulder to see if anyone's about to grab you. When you make it to the platform an attractive woman will ask you whether she can stand with you, explaining that she's not feeling very safe down there and being next to you will make her feel like she is where she belongs. "You can put your arm around me if you like," she'll say. "I'd appreciate it. I bet your arm over my shoulder will feel like a warm, bulletproof poncho." Put your arm around her, but don't try anything because whatever you start, it won't last. She'll just be reacting to the glow of a man who's stealing every moment of his life as if it were a diamond. Once you climb back up to street-level, you'll just be another guy with his eyes on the sidewalk hoping to get home before someone tries to address him by his first name.

Happy Turnstile Hopper Day!

Strip Club Buffet Day!

You're trying to cut back on expenses because your son is in jail for grand larceny and needs you to pay his legal bills for his appeal. So instead of going to your favorite strip club after work, why not go at lunchtime when they offer their free buffet (chicken fingers, French fries, and western omelet)? You might still have to spend between 180 and 900 dollars on lap-dances and bottles of champagne, but at least you'll be able to cross off your lunch expenses. At ten dollars a day, you could save as much as fifty dollars if you go to the strip club for lunch every day of the workweek. And Monica has a lot more time for you during the far less crowded lunch hour. A lot more time to sit and talk, which is all you want her to do since her voice reminds you of your ex-wife's. It's your ex-wife having run off the way she did that sent your kid into a life of crime by the way. No reason not to say it. If she wants to come back and defend herself after twelve years away, she's more than welcome to do that. You can even introduce her to Monica.

Happy Strip Club Buffet Day!

Maintain A Message Board For Runaways Day!

You're a forty-three year old man taking care of your sick father and you feel like you're in prison. You need to find yourself some manner of escape without having to leave your father's house. You need to maintain a message board for runaways.

You can make it an online safe haven where runaways can drop word that they're doing okay. That they're still a little hungry, and they're still a little scared, but they got word of a place where they can get warm tonight. The runaways can share tips with each other on new shelters or kindly men who'll give out water and sandwiches if you show up in their backyards. Make it clear that the board should not be used for talk about why they decided to start running. Make it clear that the board is about the run. Every once in a while you should weigh in with a quick, brief, "Man do I ever envy you kids. Can't be a runaway when you're 43. All you can be is a selfish son of a bitch, and believe me I've considered it."

Happy Maintain A Message Board For Runaways Day!

Sharktalkers Day!

You and your wife are marine biologists who make money by sailing around the Caribbean waters of island resorts and sending roving sharks out to sea by pummeling them with sound waves below 1,000 hertz, irritating them enough to distract them from all the kicking legs by the shoreline.

Yesterday your wife found little umbrellas in your bed and she knew that you had slept with one of the 19 year old Daiquiristas at the swim-up bar. She just wants to know which one, but you're denying everything. Today, you're going to feel a starboard bump on your boat. You're going to look down and see about a dozen sharks circling close to you. Your wife will have changed her sound frequency and told them the whole story. They always liked her better. And now they're out to avenge her honor.

"Her name!" your wife will shout from her boat.

"Call them off Suzanne! This is not how you want to do this!"

"Her name!" she'll call again. "They're growing impatient."

"Goddammit!" you'll shout. Before you can say more a shark will fling his nose up onto your boat and grab the cuff of your jeans in his teeth. You'll hear your wife scream. Then things will happen fast.

Happy Sharktalkers Day!

Break Into Your Son's School And Steal His Finger-Painting Day!

Your son's art teacher isn't hanging his work prominently enough, and you let her know it at the last Parent's Night.

"How do you hang them?" you asked. "Alphabetically? Because my son's name comes early in the alphabet."

She said, "That is correct. Your son's name places him very high alphabetically. Unfortunately, his talent places him way at the bottom of the wall behind where we usually prop the door open."

"Nice encouragement," you said.

"Your son can be encouraged by his math and science teachers," she said. "I'll reserve my encouragement for those students who demonstrate a talent that might benefit from it."

"A lot of people probably said that about Munch and Van Gogh. Maybe. I'm not sure. But my point is, now people are breaking into the Louvre to steal their paintings."

His teacher chuckled. "It's safe to say no one will be breaking into the school to steal your son's finger-painting off the wall."

At that, all of the other parents laughed. And you vowed to make her eat those words. Which is why tonight you're going to break into the school and snatch your son's finger-painting off the wall. Tomorrow his teacher will see that your son's was the only painting stolen, the only item stolen from the entire school in fact. It will be clear that the theft of that painting was the sole purpose of the break-in. But instead of reevaluating your son's talent in light of his work having apparently been snatched by a skilled crew of globe-trotting art thieves, the art teacher will swiftly direct the police in your direction since she'll remember her conversation with you on Parents' Night. Have an alibi ready because the questioning will not come gently.

Happy Break Into Your Son's School And Steal His Finger-Painting Day!

You Have Naked Pictures Of Someone Very Powerful Day!

It was over a decade ago, long before anyone knew his name, when you and he slept together on approximately seventeen occasions. When your roommate offered to take pictures of the two of you having sex, he consented readily because he had no idea of the man he would later become. Also, he had hoped your roommate would eventually put down the camera and jump in. But she had to get to work.

The fact that some sexual photos were taken of him long ago is not enough in itself to get him to pay up. He was not married and he had no office to jeopardize at the time. These are new days and no one gets penalized just for having had sexual relations with someone at some point in his life.

The fact that that someone is you, however, makes the destruction of those photos a bargain at any price. For he might have become someone very powerful. But you have become the most reviled and detestable woman of the 21st century.

"Ten million dollars or I'm handing these over to a blog," tell him.

"Anything," he'll say. "Anything."

There'll be a pause.

"So, how've you been?" he'll ask.

Say, "So so. Little short on cash."

He'll say, "It's hard to keep an eye on all of it. I have to hire people to watch over the people I hired to count it."

Chuckle a bit.

"Man," he'll say. "Did you ever think way back then that we'd become who we are today? I mean, you were working at a Kinko's back then. And now you're loathed by the entire population of a planet."

"I know," say. "And you didn't even have a job. And now you can manipulate an entire third world region with just a visit to a particular dictator."

"The right photo op can move mountains," he'll say.

You'll both laugh.

"It's really great to talk to you," he'll say. "It's always nice to talk to the people who knew us when, am I right?"

"Seriously," tell him. "No one can believe there was a time when I wasn't this horrible enemy of all that is good. I guess it�s like the way I can't look at my parents and ever imagine them as young kids just kind of fooling around."

"Yeah," he'll say. "I gotta go. But make sure you get me all the copies and all the negatives okay?"

Say, "I'm keeping a couple of the negatives. So you won't have me killed. They'll be burned when I die old and peaceful. If I die before then�"

"I'll have some 'splaining to dooooooo!"

You'll both laugh like you used to do when you'd laze through an afternoon on a bed together, when you'd think about nothing beyond the twenty seven dollars you had between you and how much dinner that could buy.

Happy You Have Naked Pictures Of Someone Very Powerful Day!

Go Tell The Zebra Day!

There's a zebra at the zoo that you like to run things by whenever you think it's time to move out of you and your girlfriend's apartment.

"I'm gonna move out," you'll say to the zebra today. "The spark's gone."

The zebra won't give you any input. He'll wander away from you to a child who is holding out a palm full of feed. Go over to where the child is feeding the zebra and say, "You think I'm doing the wrong thing don't you?"

The zebra will just eat the feed in the child's hand.

The zebra doesn't like to just come right out and give a command. He likes to let you figure things out on your own. He's like Socrates or Ol' Ben Kenobi in that regard. You have to get him to help you in a more roundabout manner.

"Tell you what," say to the zebra. "If you think I should move out of my apartment with my girlfriend, say in English, I think you should move out of your apartment with your girlfriend. That well is dry. Just say those words, in the English language, and my bags are packed before dinnertime. I'll give you four hours."

Wait by the fence for four hours. The Zebra will wander around the grass occasionally eating the feed from people's hands. He'll go into his little cavern for about an hour or so. At one point a different zebra will come walking by that you'll mistake for the zebra you like to talk to. But then your zebra will show himself and you'll feel silly. Finally, the four hours will be up and the zebra will not have said, "I think you should move out of your apartment with your girlfriend. That well is dry," in English.

"All righty," say to the zebra. "I just hope it works out this time."

Then go home to your girlfriend and give it another shot. You do this every five weeks or so, and the zebra is always there to let you pretend that the decision to stay in this relationship is completely out of your hands. Zebras are real good that way.

Happy Go Tell The Zebra Day!