Let Your Lady Boss Treat You Like A Toy That She Can Use Up And Throw Away As Soon As She Gets Bored With You Or Parts Of You Fall Off And Get Lost Un

You're a young, virile man with your whole life ahead of you, and yet you're wasting so much of it temping in a drab corporate environment. Your boss is a lady who is almost twice your age and you're hot for her in a way that's unfamiliar to you.

Up to now, you've only dated girls your age, and because you're very attractive you've usually had the upper-hand in your relationships. If you become romantically involved with your boss, you'll be the one who is "taken." Since she is older than you, she'll approach her time with you as if it were a lark, an irresponsible diversion that she shouldn't repeat but will anyway. She'll have you when she wants you. When she doesn't want you, she'll ignore you and come off so cold you'll wonder if she feels anything for you at all. You'll console yourself that she must feel something, but you'll be wrong. She's an executive at a Fortune 500 company and it took a whole hell of a lot of horseshit to get where she is. You are one of the few "perks" that she has allowed herself to enjoy.

The course of the relationship will be dictated by her from beginning to end, and you'll be shocked to one day find yourself saying what has been said to you so many times by so many different women.

"Am I just a toy to you? You'll play with me until you get bored or until another toy comes along? Or until my parts fall off and get lost underneath the couch or something? What then?"

She'll tell you with a smirk that if your parts fall off and gather under her furniture, she will most certainly call off the affair. Then she'll make you get on your knees and eat her pussy while she conducts a conference call. It's because your mother died when you were fourteen, is why this will appeal to you so much.

Happy Let Your Lady Boss Treat You Like A Toy That She Can Use Up And Throw Away As Soon As She Gets Bored With You Or Parts Of You Fall Off And Get Lost Under The Furniture Day!

Your Dead Brother Has A Few Things He'd Like To Get Off His Chest Day!

Your older brother (he was ten, you're nine) drowned in the pond last week. The funeral happened over the weekend and everyone's been sad. You didn't cry at the funeral, or after. You know it's a bad thing that he's gone, and you wouldn't have wished this to happen for all the world, but since he died you've just been overwhelmed by how peaceful your home life is without his constantly teasing you or setting your toys in fire. It's like your brother's death has thrown you into a state of pure bliss, which is a terrible thought but it's true because there's no gum in your hair.

Tonight you can kiss that bliss goodbye when your brother's spirit enters the body of one of your Bratz dolls and makes the doll dance around and talk to you. You've always thought that one day your dolls would be able to do these things, but the script you imagined was always just a little bit different.

'Look at me, I'm a dumb gay doll and only dorky ugly girls can play with me!' your Cloe doll will say. 'Girls who play with me smell like turds!'

'Jackie!' you'll shout at the doll from behind your covers. 'Is that you?'

'Don't come near me because I'm covered in my owner's boogers,' the doll will say. 'She picks her boogers and then sticks them to me so that she can eat them later.'

You'll run and grab your Cloe doll and shout, 'Jackie are you okay? Are you in heaven?'

The Cloe doll will stop talking, and your Kumi doll will pop up from the windowsill and say, 'Duh, I talk to dolls because I don't have any friends.' Then the Kumi doll will hop off of your windowsill and run to your dresser where she'll impale her own rubber head on the sharp end of a cuticle knife.

'Kumi!' you'll shout.

Your Sierrna doll will pop up and shout, 'Aw, you feel sadder for your dolls than for your own brother because you're gay and ugly and you like to lick feet.'

You'll shout at your dolls, 'Stop it. I did feel sad. But you were always so mean to me that I couldn't help but feel some relief. And I don't like to lick feet.'

Your Felecia doll will stand up and say, 'Well if it makes you feel better, I'm in hell now and I'm being tortured constantly.'

Your hands will cover your mouth. 'Really?' you'll ask.

Felecia will laugh. 'No gaybird. I'm nowhere and there's nothing. It's as if there's no time and space here. Just the moment, with no hint in my mind as to what might have preceded it. It's not that I am, it's more like I merely do. Like when I do this.'

Your Felecia doll will run over and grab your Sierrna doll and start slamming her head into the windowsill. Your Felecia doll will shout, 'GAY! GAY! GAY! GAY! GAY!' with every slam. Then your Felecia doll will walk over to the glass of soda you were drinking and she'll hang her butt over the rim of the glass and make noises like she's defecating into it. She'll make grunting and farting noises for around two hours, until you go downstairs to have dinner with your parents.

Your parents will eat in silence, almost as if their grief over your brother has drained them of all energy and expression. You'll want to tell them that he's not worth it, but you'll keep quiet.

Happy Your Dead Brother Has A Few Things He'd Like To Get Off His Chest Day!

The Gay-Ass Emo Band That Can Fly Day!

Your gay-ass emo band is getting pretty good. But there are a whole lot of bands out there whose members are all under five feet tall and whose songs are all fucking gay. Every day, a hundred new Myspace profiles are created for a hundred new emo bands who all scream really loud about girls. You're not going to be able to stand out from the pack just on the basis of your gay-ass music and your super-gay-as-shit tattoos. You're going to have to be the gay-ass emo band that can fly. Pitch it to the other guys.

'Do we have to play while we fly?' Ronnie the bass player will ask. He'll be sobbing without explaining why.

'Yes,' tell him. 'We have to play while we fly.'

'Do we have to save people?' Rickie the drummer will ask. Rickie will be drawing a girl's name in a little heart on the back of a notebook.

'Only at our concerts,' tell Rickie. 'And only if our being able to fly is necessary to their being saved. We'd probably be held liable if we were able to save someone from danger at one of our concerts but refused.'

Joey, the lead guitarist, who will be dabbing at the cut on his face where he got punched by the football player who's going out with the girl he loves, will ask, 'What about the music?'

Tell him that the flying is just to get people to notice the band, then the music will win their devotion.

'Okay,' Joey will say. 'What about heat vision?'

Tell Joey that you're an emo band, not a bunch of whores. 'We'll play music and we'll fly around, but we're not going to compromise principals. Now everyone up on the roof for practice.'

Happy The Gay-Ass Emo Band That Can Fly Day!

Asshole On The Ladder Day!

Today on your way to work you'll pass underneath that asshole stonemason up on his ladder tending to a building's facade like he has been every day for almost a month now. And just like every day, when you walk under his ladder, he'll say, 'Uh oh! Looks like someone's in for some bad luck.'

You hate asshole stonemasons, so today you're going to have a little fun with him. When he shouts his trite drivel down at you through that big toothy grin of his, walk back and circle the base of his ladder three times.

'What's that you're doing?' he'll ask, trying to look down your shirt while you walk your circle.

'Reversing the luck,' tell him. 'When you walk under a ladder, if you circle it counter-clockwise three times, the bad luck is transferred back to the person on the ladder. Have a fun day!'

The stonemason will say, 'Hey.' But you'll resume your walk to work. When you're about a block away you'll hear him shout again, 'Hey!' with a little more fear in his voice.

When you're about two and a half blocks away, he'll shout 'HEY!' with all the terror of a man begging for his life. You'll go to work happy.

On your way home, the stonemason will stop you and demand that you reverse his bad luck again. 'I keep stepping in dog crap!' he'll exclaim. Tell him you don't know how.

Tomorrow on your way to work, the stonemason will have bandages all over his fingertips from where he hit them with his hammer. He'll again plead with you to reverse his bad luck. Tell him again that you simply don't know how and continue on your way to work.

On your way home tomorrow night, you'll find the stonemason sitting on the sidewalk begging for change. Apparently he'll have gotten fired during the day. Once again, he'll beg you to reverse his luck. Simply shrug at the man and head home.

The following morning, you'll find the stonemason is missing a leg. 'A safe fell on it,' he'll say. 'For Christ's sake, reverse my luck.' Tell him there's nothing you can do and move on.

On your way home, he'll present you with a dead girl cradled in his arms. 'My daughter turned to drugs the day you circled my ladder. And now she's gone and overdosed. Please, deliver no more pain unto me. Reverse my bad luck.'

You'll feel very sorry for what has befallen the man, and you'll quickly reverse his luck by walking backwards up and down a nearby stairwell three times. You'll apologize to him for having caused his daughter to die.

'Shows how smart you are,' he'll say. At that, the little girl will pop back to life and blow a raspberry at you.

'Did we fool her, Daddy?' the little girl will ask her father

'That's right baby,' the stonemason will say. 'She reversed my luck for me.'

The stonemason will laugh in your face and tell you what an idiot you are. Then you'll watch him hobble away on his one remaining leg, using his daughter as a crutch, occasionally stopping to ask passersby for change, and you'll be glad you reversed his luck before it went too far.

Happy Asshole On The Ladder Day!

Teach Your Parrot To Say Something Important Day!

Today you are going to be murdered by your ex-girlfriend, Marsha. Marsha will have grown increasingly crazed with jealousy for all that hotness you took away from her when you broke it off a few months back. Today she’ll come by to tell you that she’s been watching you with your new girlfriend, and that it’s very insensitive of you to prance around town with her. It’s like you’re trying to make Marsha’s heart break over and over again, Marsha will say. Marsha will tell you that she’s going to make sure she never has to see anything like that again. Then she’ll stab you.

You’ll still be alive after Marsha leaves, but you’ll be pretty sure you’re going to die. At that moment, you’ll be so glad that two months prior you decided on a whim to buy Zany, your pet parrot. With your blood draining from your wound, leaving you too weak to call the police or find a pen and paper, teaching Zany to tell the police that Marsha was the killer will be your only chance of ensuring her arrest.

When you bought Zany, you told your friends you just always thought Parrots were neat. But lying on that floor, staring up at Zany on his perch, you’ll know the real reason. Somewhere in your heart, you must have known this day would come. You knew you would one day be murdered in your home. And you knew that you had to have a parrot in the house that would identify the perpetrator for the police.

"Marsha did it," you’ll rasp up at Zany. "Marsha...did...it.’’

Zany will squawk once in response.

"Marsha...did...it. Come on Zany. Marsha...did...it.’’

Your vision will start to go gray a bit around the edges.

"Marsha...did...it."

Zany will squawk again. "Didit," Zany will say. You’ll feel a brief burst of energy and your vision will clear.

"That’s it," you’ll say. "Marsha did it."

"Didit Marsha Didit Marsha.’’ It will sound like he’s saying it backwards, but he’ll have it.

‘Yes!’ you’ll cough. "Marsha did it."

"Didit Marsha!" Zany will repeat. "Didit Marsha!"

You’ll feel weak again, light as a feather. "Marsha did it," you’ll murmur. "Marsha did it.’"

And then just before you go, you’ll speak the very last thought in your mind. "Kim," you’ll say, bidding goodbye to the world with the sound of your current girlfriend’s name.

In the silence of the apartment where you’ll now lay dead, Zany will squawk over your body, "Didit Kim! Didit Kim"

When the police arrive, they’ll find no weapon, no fingerprints, no apparent clues that would point to an ex-girlfriend having broken in and killed the object of her obsession. Just a parrot repeating an accusation over and over again. Your girlfriend Kim will be charged and she’ll plead guilty to second degree murder. She’ll want to fight the charge, but her attorney will convince her that if a parrot takes the stand and fingers her for the murder of her boyfriend, it will be so frigging cool that the jury will want to give her the chair.

"Polly don’t want this cracker," her attorney will tell her. She’ll never forget those words during her eleven years inside. And she’ll never forgive herself for not having told you before you got killed just how much she hated your stupid parrot.

Happy Teach Your Parrot To Say Something Important Day!

Your Dad Conducts Product Tests On Bunnies Day!

Bunnies are the cutest, most gentle creatures in the world and you plan to become president when you grow up so that you can declare that hurting bunnies is a crime punishable by death. But right now you're only eight and a half, so you've been doing what you can in the meantime.

There are bunnies everywhere you look nowadays. All you have to do is open up your window shutters to see as many cute and fuzzy bunnies as your eyes can stomach. Ever since the truck tipped over and the cages broke open, the fields surrounding your house have been choked with bunnies. But with the bunnies came the men in the suits.

They drive up to where the truck tipped over and they look at the guardrail that broke. They take pictures and they take measurements. And they ask everyone questions. They ask your Dad a lot of questions. They work where your Dad works.

Today after the men in suits finish asking your Dad their questions, he's going to come into your room and tell you he has a question he'd like to ask you.

"Do you know what I do for a living?" he'll ask you.

You learned how to search for stuff on the web a year ago, and when you searched the company name that's on your Dad's work ID and on all the mugs and tee shirts that are around the house, you found a lot of sites about how bunnies get hurt.

"Product testing," you'll tell him.

Your Dad will ask, "Do you know what that is?"

You haven't been able to accept his kiss goodnight without feeling nauseous ever since you found out. "You hurt bunnies," you'll tell him. You'll try hold down a sob when you say it.

He'll let out a long, tired sigh. "I test products to make sure they don't hurt people."

"On bunnies," you'll say.

"A lot of the products don't even hurt the bunnies," he'll say.

You'll want to explain to him why he shouldn't ever hurt any bunnies, and why he should do everything he can to keep other people from hurting bunnies, but you won't be able to get a grip on the words and you'll start to cry.

Your Dad will say, "Someone saw you."

The gasp will halt your sobs.

"Just before the truck went off the road. Someone saw a little girl in a white dress," he'll say. He won't be looking at you. "With a rock in her hand."

You'll be panting for breath now, feeling like the room is filling up with water. "I had to save them," you'll pant. "I had to set them free!"

"You could have killed that driver!" he'll shout. "You should have come to me!"

You'll bark in between sobs, "I'll never...come to you...for anything! You hurt the bunnies. How can I trust you to keep me safe when you're willing to hurt the bunnies?"

Your Dad will grab your suitcase from your closet and start emptying your dresser drawers into it. "You're gonna have to trust me," he'll say. "We're leaving tonight."

But your school. Your friends. You'll shake your head no in a panic. Your Dad will grab your shoulders.

"You cost these people their bunnies, sweetie," he'll say very loudly into your face. "And they want me to repay them by handing you over. We leave tonight."

You'll watch as he continues dumping your things into your suitcase. Outside your window, three bunnies will gallop through the field towards the woods down the hill.

"But your job," you'll say. "And Maria." Maria is your Dad's girlfriend and you liked her. You had hoped she could be your new Mommy.

"We leave tonight only with what we can carry and we never try to contact anyone back here again," he'll say.

You'll realize the trouble you've caused is very real and is not going away. You had quietly disowned your father when you discovered his line of work, but now you have no choice but to let him try to keep you safe. You've taken his life away from him, and the only thing you can offer in return is your obedience.

Your father will finish packing your suitcase and he'll run from your room to pack his. A bunny will come to the window and bounce its little nose at you. You won't wave goodbye.

Happy Your Dad Conducts Product Tests On Bunnies Day!

Bodies Day!

Today an ingenious police detective is going to come to your house and he�ll tell you that he wants to look at the bodies in your tool shed. You�ll calmly ask him, �What on earth would make you think that there are bodies in my tool shed, detective?� The detective will smile slightly when he says, �If there are no bodies in your tool shed you should have no objection to leading me to it and letting me peek inside.�

You�ll lead the detective to the tool shed. At the door to the shed, you�ll ask, �Will you really insult me so dearly as to make me open up my private tool shed like I was a common criminal?� The detective will wait without answering. You�ll open the shed.

�Okay,� you�ll say as the detective stammers to react at the bloody pile of nine male corpses inside the shed. �Yes, my landscaping staff is dead and piled up in my tool shed, and yes, I didn�t want you to see this. But it wasn�t to hide the fact that I killed them. It was to protect their secret.�

�What secret!� the detective will exclaim from behind the handkerchief he�s holding over his nose and mouth.

�They were lovers,� say.

�All nine of them?�

Point to each of the men, one by one, and say who they are and for whom they held an intolerable, unrequited love. �The one with his arm all twisted up, that�s Murray. He loved Keith there with the hole in his face. But Keith loved Jeremy, the one with the meathook in his eye. Unfortunately for Keith, Jeremy had the hots for Louis, the guy at the bottom there without any head. And Louis was way jonezing for Leonard, back when he had a head of course. That�s Leonard there with the nineteen bullet holes in his back.�

When you�re finished identifying each of the mauled and gored corpses and the respective objects of their affections, the detective will ask, �And so they all committed suicide? At the same time?�

�I just kept walking around finding their bodies and dragging them out here to the shed. It was a terrible day for me, as you can imagine.�

The detective will point out that their wounds are not consistent with suicide. �Am I to believe that Leonard was so distraught with longing that he shot himself in the back nineteen times? And what about Daniel, the one whose limbs have all been sawed off and sewn back on to the inappropriate sockets, so that it appears he has a leg sprouting from his neck.�

Shout, �Yes! It worked!� Then explain that to keep their homosexual suicide pact a secret, you took to mutilating and shooting their bodies in order to make it look like they were the victims of a terrible mass murder. Say to the bodies, �You can rest peacefully gentlemen. Your secret will be interred in your graves alongside your earthly vessels.�

The detective will still not be convinced, so you�ll have to show him the nine suicide notes. He�ll wonder why all nine notes were written in the same handwriting, and you�ll explain that the men were not native English speakers, and since they knew they would be found by American investigators, they asked you to write the notes for them.

�But I didn�t think they were the ones who were going to commit suicide,� say. �They asked me to write letters and fill out forms for them all the time, and oftentimes they told me it was for a friend, as they did with these here letters.�

The detective will note at the bottom of each letter is the plea, �Whoever finds this, please keep my suicide and the reason behind it a secret somehow.� He�ll find it odd that someone who writes a suicide note which details his reasoning for committing suicide would then hope to keep his suicide a secret. Even more odd is when nine people have the exact same idea.

�But that would explain why you would want to make this look like a mass murder,� he�ll say.

�Will you help me detective?�

The detective will say, �I obey the law son. And there is no more powerful law than the law of love. Now let�s get these boys in the ground before the media shows up and the whole world finds out that their hearts were just too full of longing to keep on beating.�

The detective will help you bury the nine dead landscapers underneath the expansive back lawn that they spent so many years tending. Then he�ll ask you to show him your pantry, where the mangled bodies of your fourteen-member kitchen staff rest in a precarious pile that nearly reaches the ceiling.

Happy Bodies Day!

Tough Day For Punchy Pete Day!

Punchy Pete, your favorite up and coming boxer, is going to take a dive today. When his face hits that canvas in the second, even though you've barely ever spoken to him for more than a few seconds after a fight, you're gonna feel like your best friend just stabbed you in the back.

"Why'd you do it, Punchy Pete?" you'll ask. "You could'a clobbered Slappy Joe. Why'd you take the dive, Punchy Pete?"

His head will still be on the canvas, even though his eyes will betray his coherence. It will be as if he's hiding down there. Amidst the ringing bells and the sham champion dancing around with his arms in the air and all the spectators tossing their garbage at the ring in disgust, Punchy Pete will spit his mouthpiece out and he'll murmur to you, "It's complicated kid."

Don't let him get away with that one. "There's nothing complicated about boxing!" tell him. "You just gotta fight until you can't fight no more. And you had it in you to fight all the way to the end. You could'a gone pro Punchy Pete. You could'a won it all!"

"You ever loved a lady?" Punchy Pete will ask you.

Shake your head no because you haven't. You can be honest with Punchy Pete.

"Well, I have," Punchy Pete will say, his right cheek still pasted to the canvas. "I loved, and I still love, and when I kissed this canvas just moment ago, that was me kissing her goodbye."

Say, "I don't follow, Punchy Pete."

The din enveloping the ring will start to die down, reduced to just a few spectators in suits shouting at officials. Punchy Pete will stay down. And in a softer voice he'll say, "Let me tell you about Maya."

By the end of Punchy Pete's story, you'll be surprised to learn that boxing can be far more complicated than you knew. You'll learn that the very thing that propels a boxer to the top, that elusive quality summed up all too simply with the term "Heart," is the very thing that can be a good boxer's undoing. It affords him the drive and the understanding to go all the way, but it also leaves him vulnerable to so much that a harder, dumber fighter might never have to worry about.

"When you got heart," Punchy Pete will tell you. "All you ever wanna do is give it away." Punchy Pete gave his heart to Maya, a beautiful young girl who works at a dollhouse factory. It wasn't long after he met her before Punchy Pete asked Maya's father to give them his blessing. Maya's father bragged that he would throw the two of them a wedding the whole town would never forget, and he�d buy his daughter the biggest house he could build.

"I'm all she's got since her mother died," Maya's father told Punchy Pete. "And I intend to give her everything she deserves."

Everything seemed right as rain. Maya sat ringside at Punchy Pete's fights, watching his talent express itself in new and surprising ways with every bout. Maya believed in her fianc� the way she'd always believed in her Daddy: with every ounce of her being. She loved her men and her love drove them to prove their worth to her a little more with every passing day.

The pressure proved too much for Maya's father, however. His need to throw his daughter an extravagant wedding and build her a beautiful house forced him to borrow money from some less than legitimate people. He borrowed more than he could pay back and soon, the note came due.

"I need you to help me," Maya's father told Punchy Pete yesterday. "You're the favorite to win tomorrow night by a longshot. You drop in the second and I'll clean up. I need that money or I'm ruined."

Punchy Pete insisted that he could never take a dive. But Maya's father talked about all those years he spent raising Maya alone after her mother died, how he was the rock she depended on all those years. "If I don't get that money, they'll hurt me. They'll take my business. I can't let my daughter see her father in that situation. It will destroy her. You know it will."

"I knew she'd leave me if I went through with it," Punchy Pete will tell you. "But her Dad was right. I could let her down and she'd bounce back. But if her Daddy broke her heart, she never would have recovered. So I fell, knowing full well she'd walk away."

Through the ropes you'll spot a beautiful girl in a black dress with tears pouring down her cheeks. She'll take a step towards the ring, then she'll think twice and run for the exit. Punchy Pete's back will have been to her.

"She gone?" Punchy Pete will ask.

"She just took off," you'll say. "So you threw it all away just to let a girl keep on believing in her Daddy?"

Punchy Pete will finally lift his head off the mat and he'll say, "I know you think I betrayed you kid, and I'm sorry about that. But the truth is, I couldn't care a good goddamn about you. Not about you, not about this ring, these fists. My heart is with her. I had no choice."

"Well thanks for talking that out with me Punchy Pete," you'll say. "And you can bet that from now on, I'm not going to expect too much from my favorite athletes. I'll just follow their achievements from a healthy distance."

"That's right kid, give 'em some breathing room," Punchy Pete will say. "You want someone to believe in, go check in with Jesus Christ. He's your guy."

You'll thank Punchy Pete again, then you'll run home and Google "Jesus Christ."

Happy Tough Day For Punchy Pete Day!

You Live With A Bunch Of Teenagers Without Any Parental Supervision Day!

You are all extraordinarily attractive and all of your parents are dead. Instead of being thrown into the Foster Care doom cycle, you all made a pact to take care of each other and pitch in to sustain a household together.

There have been some wrinkles along the way. A love triangle took hold for a while, pitting two of the boys against each other as they competed for one of the girls, who eventually settled things when she refused to date either of them because she was saving herself for someone who doesn't live in her house. Another time, a boy began experimenting with drugs, and one of the girls went bulimic like it was on sale. You all had to pitch in to help them through their struggles, but it worked out and you all learned something about teamwork, drugs, bulimia, struggle, and pitching in which falls under "teamwork." It was all going swimmingly, with everyone doing their homework and scoring some great report cards, until today.

Today you'll discover that George, the statuesque Greek boy, is wired for sound. You'll call an emergency meeting.

"He's with social services, man!" Kevin will shout. "He's gotta go."

Kevin's a hothead, but it will be clear that George has been feeding information to the Department of Social Services, helping them build a case to send you all into foster care. You'll all agree that George will have to be taken care of, but that it should be done to send a message to anyone else thinking about squawking. The chore wheel will be checked, and it will show that George will be doing dishes two nights from now. Since he does dishes with his shirt off, that's the night when you can be sure that he's not wired. Put a bullet in his head that night, then stuff an unsigned permission slip for a field trip into his mouth. When they find his body, that unsigned permission slip will let everyone know that if you're working with social services, you're gonna be left behind.

Happy You Live With A Bunch Of Teenagers Without Any Parental Supervision Day!

You Are A Navy Seal Day!

Today, you are a Navy Seal and your son's dog is dying of liver failure. You've already talked to your son about what has to happen, and he's come to terms with the fact that Corky is in a lot of pain and the best thing that can be done is to help her pass on into the next world. He's said goodbye, and now it's up to you to put Corky down.

This is the hard part. Being that you know over 200 ways to take a life, you just can't decide how to take Corky out. You could snap the dog's neck. Or you could slam the ball of your palm into her snout and drive the bone of her snout into her brain. Then again, a knife slides through the back of a dog�s neck like it was butter. She wouldn't feel a thing. The blood can be a little much though. Maybe you should rile her up until she's barking so that you can get the sole of your boot stuck in her mouth, then you just have to stamp the boot on the ground and split the dog's head open. Trouble is, Corky is so weak she can't even bark. You might want to just open up one of her arteries and let her bleed herself to sleep.

Gosh, with every idea at least five alternatives pop up right along with it. You're just like those overeducated grad school kids who just stay in school because they can't figure out what to do with all that knowledge. Except a student staying in grad school can't be held responsible for making an animal continue to live in excruciating pain you indecisive monster.

Happy You Are A Navy Seal Day!

Everyone At Work Knows You Have The Unholy Power To Hear Other People's Thoughts Day!

You warned your coworkers a long time ago that if you are able to catch sight of the white of a person's eye, you can hear his or her thoughts. You asked them to try to either avert their eyes from you or to make their mind a blank slate when they pass. You explained that it causes you quite a bit of head pain when you listen to someone's thoughts and if they safeguarded their minds, it would prevent you from taking so many breaks throughout the day.

So why do they all keep walking past you and thinking the word "asshole?" It almost feels like they're intentionally inviting you into their heads. At least five times a day a coworker will pass your desk, look you directly in the eye so that you can see the whites of his eyes, and then as clear as a bell ringing you'll hear him think, "Asshole" or "Total fucking asshole" or "God what a dick. Asshole. Fucking quit. Asshole fuck." or "FUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOU YOU GETTIN' ALL THIS? FUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOU."

You gave up confronting them on this. They usually take the defense of "Hey, they're my thoughts. You can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen in my head." The one time you accused them of intentionally trying to make you read their horrible thoughts, they all got together and had a contest to see who could make you read so many of their thoughts that you'd get a nosebleed (Trina won).

You don't know how to make them stop. You've tried being more likeable but you just come off as creepy (according to their thoughts, of course). Their thoughts are so ugly that you wish you could just wear a blindfold to work to keep from catching sight of the whites of a coworker's eyes ever again.

But today you'll nearly burst into tears when you meet the new temp. She'll have not been warned about you yet, which explains why she'll come to you to ask for help inserting the coffee canisters into the coffee machine. You'll show her, and when she looks you in the eye and says "thanks," you'll hear her think, "He's so nice. And kind of cute too."

It will be the first kind thought you'll have heard in months. You won't get the chance to come up with something clever to say before you catch the thoughts of Matthew from payroll, who is apparently planning on going home to kill himself by eating all of his anti-anxiety medication. "I spend my life surrounded by drones. Oh, and one circus freak," he'll think as he sees you in the kitchen. "This all ends tonight."

Maybe he intended you to hear his thoughts, in which case he's counting on you to save his life. If he didn't intend it, it's even more important that you race after him and slap those pills out of his mouth. Go be a hero, Mindfuck. Tomorrow, they'll all still hate you because they hate what they don't understand.

Happy Everyone At Work Knows You Have The Unholy Power To Hear Other People's Thoughts Day!

Sing To The Woman You're Going To Marry Day!

Tonight's shift at Pancho's� is going to seem no different than any other. It'll be the same after-work crowd trying to get drunk enough to ask the new temp if she wants to take a walk out back. The same parents on date-night who eat in a tomb-like silence. The same loners watching the game at the bar, and the same families who were sent over by the desk attendant at the motor lodge across the freeway. Like every night, you'll pray that nobody has a birthday. Lucky for you, your prayers will go unanswered.

She'll take a seat at 9:30, alone at a table for two in someone else's section. Her yellow dress, her brown hair, the way she clasps both hands around her plastic collector's PanchoStein� of beer, all of it at once will slam into you like a truck. But you'll get a hold of yourself, you'll go about tending to your customers, and you'll watch her table out of the corner of your eye to see what sort of man will be lucky enough to take that seat across from her. You'll only hope you can keep yourself from socking him in the lip for making her wait.

9:30 will become 10:15 and she'll still be alone, eating without whatever fool stood her up. You'll be dying to go over there and say something to her, but the hockey game on TV will have drawn a crowd and you'll be busy lugging appetizers to the bar tables. Until she gets to dessert.

"Birthday at 14," Janice will tell you.

Your soul will barely start to sink down into your socks before you remember where 14 is.

"14? You sure?" you'll ask.

"The lady sitting alone," Janice will reply. "The motor lodge sent her over. She told me it was her birthday right in front of Pete. I gotta get a candle and then we're singing."

Pete's the manager and he already cut Kevin's shifts when Kevin failed to gather the wait staff to sing the Pancho Cucaracho Birthday Song� after being informed of a birthday in his section. On any other night, singing happy birthday to a customer would make you want to run out the back door of the restaurant to the nearest armed forces recruiting office. But tonight it feels like the chance of a lifetime.

You and Heath will trail Janice while she carries the sundae sporting a lit candle to table 14. At the table, the lady in the yellow dress will smile at each of you, and then she'll hold her eyes on you as you begin clapping and bouncing on your knees while singing her song.

(to the tune of La Cucaracha)

A Happy Birth-day! A Happy Birth-Day!
A happy, happy birthday to you!

Eat spicy sal-sa! Drink margari-tas!
A happy, happy birthday to you!

A Happy Birth-day! A Happy Birth-Day!
A happy, happy birthday to you!

Wear a sombrer-o! Dance the meren-gue!
A happy, happy birthday to you!

You'll stop singing there, even though there are four more verses in the song. Your fellow waiters will continue singing and clapping, occasionally sending a glance your way. They'll see you staring down at the lady in the yellow dress. They'll see her staring back at you, with a look on her face that could mean tears might come at any given moment.

You'll start singing again. But not their song.

Haaaaappy�Biiiirthday�Tooo�You�

Janice and Heath will stop their singing and stare at you. The lady in the yellow dress will be smiling now. And yes, one tear will rest on her cheek.

The restaurant will have been quieted during the Pancho Cucaracho Birthday Song�, and your interruption will keep them quiet, providing a perfect silence save the muffled sound of sports announcers coming from the TVs in the bar. You'll sing it in the best voice you have, which isn't especially stellar. But tonight you'll feel like you could reach the back row of an opera house.

Haaaaappy�Biiiirthday�Tooo�You�

Now Janice and Heath, and many of the customers at their tables will join in.

Haaaaappy�Biiiirthday�Dear�

Through her smile, she'll tell you her name. "Mary," she'll say.

The entire restaurant will erupt in unison: Maaary! Haaappy Biiiirthday tooo youuuuu!

Everyone will be applauding wildly except for you and Mary, who will continue to stare at each other and smile. When the noise dies down and Janice and Heath leave the table, you'll tell Mary your name and what time you get off. Mary will tell you her room number at the motor lodge and she'll say that she'll be awake when you get there.

At the motor lodge you'll learn that Mary's birthday is not today. She is familiar with the policies at Pancho's�, so she lied to her waitress because the only way she could think to get you to come to her table is if you were forced to sing her that horrible song. You'll sing Happy Birthday to her again in four months and two days.

Happy Sing To The Woman You're Going To Marry Day!

Shave Your Genitals Day!

Last year the big trend amongst your friends was to quit smoking and join MySpace. This year, it seems like every one of your friends has been shaving his or her genitals and then going on and on about the myriad benefits. Your friend Martin claims he's more confident when he talks to women. Julissa says she feels like it's stirred up her muses and she's been painting up a storm. And Karen says her car doesn't stall on cold mornings anymore.

You're not one to jump on the bandwagon, but you've been in a rut of late and you're willing to try anything that might turn things around for you. No way to know until you try. So tonight, using either a razor or a depilatory cream, remove all hair from the skin surrounding your vagina and anus until it all looks the way it did back when you were a baby, except bigger.

You'll go to bed tonight not feeling much different, except for a slight sting where raw skin meets the bedroom air without a buffer for the first time in who can count. And tomorrow you'll wake up with the all too familiar feeling of dread for another day that needs to be faced.

It's when you start interacting with people that the change will be apparent. On the bus into work, your fellow riders will smile at you. You see all the same faces every day, and rarely do those faces sport anything but frowns. Today they'll all be smiling as if your very presence was brightening their day. When you get up at your stop and wait behind the yellow line, Stanley the bus driver will say, "I bet I know what put that glint in your eye this morning."

"I didn't have sex," you'll tell him. "I just shaved my puss."

"I said I knew it," Stanley will cackle. "Now get that smoothness off my bus. You're gonna make people slip."

At work, the day will drone on like usual until around 4:00 when your boss walks in and shuts the door behind him.

"Did you shave your puss?" he'll ask.

Tell him yes, and ask, "Is that a problem?"

"On the contrary," he'll say. "I just wanted to come in here and give you the raise I would never have given you while you had pubes."

Jump up and down in the air until your boss tells you to slow down. "The first day it really chafes," he'll say.

"Are yours shaved?" ask him. He'll ask you how the hell you think he got where he is today. "Think they'd let me into the corner office dragging a carpet between my legs?" Then he'll waltz out of your office with what you'll now perceive to be a rather sprightly step.

You'll leave work thinking that things couldn't possibly get better and feeling so happy for having shaved your puss, and you'll meet the married man you've been seeing for a quick fling before he runs home to his wife. He'll make love to your shaved puss with a passion he's never expressed before. When it's all over he'll say, "I want to leave my wife. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

You'll feel like he just slapped you in the gut. "Wow," is all you'll say.

"What?" he'll say. "I thought you'd be pleased. It's what you've been asking me to do for months now."

He's not kidding. You started hounding him to leave his wife for you after your first month together. And you thought you meant it. But once you've shaved your puss and he tells you he's going to really go through with it, you'll want to run for your life.

"You should have thought about this," your therapist will tell you when you bring it up with him. "With a shaved puss comes unmitigated freedom and a large number of choices to be made."

"But I've practically begged him for this," you'll tell your shrink. "Why aren't I happy?"

"Maybe it's the role you enjoyed," your shrink will say. "As the other woman with hairy genitals, you were stuck in a situation that was not likely to ever lead to a committed relationship. The impossibility of the situation protected you from having to address how you feel for this man. Now that you've shaved your puss, all doors are thrown open wide for you, but you feel like you're being dragged through one of them."

Say, "So I wanted to have my options limited?"

"With limited options," he'll say. "Things are decided for us. We don't have to take responsibility for our choices."

Say, "Wow, I never would have learned all of this about myself if I hadn't shaved my puss."

Your therapist will ask you whether you used a razor or a depilatory cream. Tell him you think the question is inappropriate, then call your married man and tell him to stay with his wife because you and he are history. Take the reins, baldy.

Happy Shave Your Genitals Day!

Over The Fence Day!

Today you and your friends will be playing Wiffle Ball in your backyard and one of your friends will hit the ball over the fence. The house next door was sold a little while ago but you haven't met your new neighbors yet. Hop that fence and get your ball.

You'll hunt through the bushes lining the fence but the ball won't reveal itself. The grass will be thick with weeds from not having been tended to while the house was changing hands. Your hunt will be interrupted when you realize a little girl your age (eleven) is watching you. She'll be kneeling in the grass in the middle of her yard, whispering something to a cardboard crucifix sticking out of the ground. Go to her.

"I lost my ball," say.

The little girl will shush you by holding her finger to her lips. Then she'll continue to mutter things at the grave. Go and kneel beside her.

The front of the crucifix will have the words "Snowball � We Will Never Forget You" written on the cardboard in magic marker. There will be some glitter too. The little girl will be saying to the crucifix, "I liked sleeping with you and holding you and brushing your fur and I liked feeding you and petting you."

When she pauses, ask, "Is that your cat?"

She'll nod yes.

"Did it get hit by a car?" ask her.

The girl will shake her head no. "She got out our first night here. She ran through the bushes to the woods down the hill. She came home after two days, but she didn't eat anything. A day later we found her asleep in the basement and she wouldn't wake up."

Tell her your name and she'll tell you hers.

"We don't know why she died," she'll say. "She wasn't old."

Tell her that her cat probably got sick, then find your ball and go back to your game. Later tonight, the little girl will knock on your window and ask you if you'd like to come help her solve the mystery of what killed her cat. You'll say yes because you're at that age when you'll do anything a girl tells you to do as long as your friends aren't watching. The two of you will go into the woods and begin an adventure that will result in a local chemical plant being caught dumping hazardous chemicals into the area's creeks and rivers. While solving the mystery and nearly being killed several times over, everyone at school will accuse you of being the little girl's boyfriend. Tell them that's a lie. Fight them if you have to.

Happy Over The Fence Day!

Memorabilia Day!

You're rich and famous and you're addicted to drugs. You also love to have sex with hookers and hang out with short-tempered people who carry guns. In short, you're going to die soon, probably in the five-star hotel where you've been living like a recluse these past few years. Most likely right there in your king size bed.

Knowing you don't have much longer to live since you're killing yourself with drugs has made you want to set your affairs in order. One thing you'd like to do is pay back the arts high school that started you in your acting career and is ultimately responsible for your stardom and your ability to buy so many drugs. Trouble is, you have one divorce waiting to settle and a previous divorce that's being contested. All of your money is frozen and you might die before you're ever liquid enough to make a donation that could make a difference to that school. But you can still afford to buy a king size bed.

"Sell me the bed," tell the hotel manager.

"But sir," he'll say. "This bed is included in your room fee. There is no need�"

"I'm going to die in it soon," tell him. "I want to make sure none of your vulture bellhops puts it up on eBay after I do. Sell me the bed so it's my property."

The manager will take $1000 from you in exchange for the bed. Next you have to change your will to indicate that the bed goes to Hardt School for the Arts after your body is rolled out of it. Finally, call the Dean at Hardt and tell him he's going to have quite a valuable asset in his possession in around three to five months unless you find Jesus or something. He'll thank you very much, then tonight he'll pray to Jesus to stay away from you so that you die in time for the school's charity auction in September.

Happy Memorabilia Day!

Blackout Babies Day!

Tonight at a cocktail party you're going to meet a girl who was conceived on the night of the 1977 New York City blackout, just like you.

"That's so weird," you'll say. "I thought there was something special about you."

She'll say, "Yeah, you too. Hey, can you shoot electrical current out of your fingertips?"

You'll go pale. You have a foggy memory of having electrocuted the neighborhood bully when you were ten and he was beating up your older brother, but you always figured you were just remembering a dream you once had.

She'll say, "It's okay. You shouldn't be scared. You are an exceptional person and you should be proud."

She'll tell you that on the night of the blackout, the city fell under a darkness far more frightening than could have been imagined. An unholy power entered the living world that night and stole the current from the city's electrical grid, knowing full well that if the city was thrown into darkness, everyone would start fucking. Every viable womb in the city was filled with the seed of that creature of darkness, and the children that were conceived are rightfully his.

"We're all able to shoot electric current out of our fingertips. A group of us has formed and we are discussing how best to use our power," she'll say. "So far, the best anyone can come up with is we all get together and take over the world by electrocuting everything."

She'll hand you an invitation to the upcoming Blackout Baby Meet-Up.

"Come and meet your brothers and sisters," she'll say. "There'll be coffee and donut holes. And we usually go out for drinks after."

Say, "So we're really brother and sister? Since we share this evil spirit as a father?"

She'll say, "I doubt that really matters. In that way, I mean."

Her smile we'll tell you that you both mean the same thing. She'll kiss your cheek and whisper in your ear that she hopes you come.

"Oh by the way," she'll say before she leaves. "You're being hunted by a black ops military team. There are a few people at the Pentagon who are starting to have a clue as to what we're about. They haven't given the kill order yet, since they're just starting to have a clue. We have to decide on a plan of action before they put the puzzle together. Until then, assume you're being watched at all times and don't electrocute anything unless you got no choice. See you at the Meet-up."

With that, she'll split. You'll look around the room and you'll swear that every single person is watching you out of the corner of his or her eye. Then you'll look down at your fingertips, and you'll start to giggle with the knowledge of what you could do to each and every one of them if you could just bother yourself to point a finger in their direction.

Happy Blackout Babies Day!

Makeout Party Poopers Day!

She'll be quiet on the drive home tonight, you'll think. Quiet and staring out her window at the passing houses, almost begging me to ask if everything's okay.

You'll move your left hand from her neck to her hip and you'll grab hold tight, but her kiss won't change. Her lips will continue to open and close like she was eating a forgettable sandwich. Her tongue will rest without a quiver in your mouth. Just a few more minutes and you'll have been making out for nearly a half hour, more than an acceptable amount of time before she takes a break to go to the bathroom.

And later she'll stare at the passing houses out her car window, maybe wondering what goes on behind those curtains. Do they talk to each other when they get into bed? Do they say hello when they come home from work? Do they have any trouble keeping up appearances at makeout parties?

"I'm going to go and freshen up," she'll say when the half hour mark has been reached. She'll have been checking her watch then, peeking at her wrist behind your neck. Just like you were peeking at the other couples, checking to see whether anyone else looked unsure of where to put their hands.

When she's at the bathroom, you get to evaluate the other couples squarely, without having to peek. They're all approximately the same age as you and some have been married for even longer than you. You've been to a few of their weddings. And yet they all make out as if they were newlyweds. Wives devour their husbands and husbands knead the flesh of their wives. As with every weekly makeout party, you'll envy these men their marriages to women who still crave their kiss, women who seem to have had no trouble in discarding their pregnancy weight. These marriages are alive and well. The couples arrive at the rec room antsy to shrug off their worries over finances and their children's prep school applications, like the minute they come down those stairs they just want to angle for the couch with the cushioned arms and start sucking face. And your wife will stare out the window on the drive home.

You'll halt your silent survey of the room when the Nilsson's break it up so that Steve Nilsson (a reinsurance broker with a hell of a commute) can head upstairs to fix himself another drink. Angie Nilsson will pull her bag onto her lap and she'll check her cell phone, then she'll wait with her bag in her lap and stare down at the floor. They were going at it so hot and heavy you'll wonder if the bag is intended to cover up any embarrassing stains that might have sprouted on her slacks.

Her eyes will bounce around the room, occasionally meeting yours and quickly looking away. Then she'll quickly cross the room to join you on your couch.

"You can tell can't you?" she'll ask.

"I can?" you'll ask back.

"The way you're staring at us. Is it that obvious? Did Steve talk to you?"

You won't answer. You'll just stare and wait.

"He did, didn't he?" she'll say. She'll pull out her cell phone again and check for a message that isn't coming. "I said we shouldn't come tonight, but he's not ready to tell everybody yet. He wants us to keep up appearances."

She'll drop the phone into her bag and close the bag tight.

"It's such fucking agony." She'll say it as if it were an afterthought. "Thanks. I know you're Steve's friend more than mine, but I wanted to tell somebody. Anyway, you'll probably never see me again after June."

At that she'll race back to her couch and wait for her husband to return with his alcohol. Your wife will come downstairs first and she'll ask to leave. On the drive home she'll stare out her window at the passing houses. Tonight more than ever, the thought of asking her if everything's okay will chill you to your very bones.

Happy Makeout Party Poopers Day!

Let Your Garden Grow Day!

Ever since you got fired from your job for sexual harassment, you've been going stir crazy in the house because all you've wanted to do is tell your side of the story. But your lawyer has counseled you to remain out of the public eye until your wrongful dismissal suit gets a trial date. As long as you're stuck at home, why not take up gardening?

You could plant some rosebushes along the edge of the lawn that borders the street. The previous owner of the house had rosebushes out there and they were beautiful, but when you moved in you had them pulled up and the soil seeded with grass because you knew you wouldn't have time to care for them. Well you've got nothing but time now.

Once the roses are in bloom and thriving, just sit out there in a folding chair and wait for the flower lovers to pull up and compliment your green thumb.

"Nice roses," a flower lover might say.

Respond with, "Would you believe it if someone told you that the same man who nurtured these flowers to life had also turned his workplace into a sexual minefield where women could not feel safe."

The flower lover will say no, he would not believe that's possible since it takes a very gentle and understanding hand to rear a rosebush. "I know a thing or two about roses, and they don't grow for people who are overly aggressive," he'll say.

Climb into his car and show him the emails you received from the woman before she leveled her accusation against you.

"How is this supposed to be interpreted?" ask the flower lover, pointing to a particularly ribald turn of phrase in an email she'd written about scheduled chair reupholstering throughout the office. The flower lover will read the email and say, "Yup. Sure sounds to me like she was looking to pollinate."

Say to the flower lover, "And now they're trying to humiliate me into silence. I've sued for wrongful dismissal, and they've counter-sued with a negligence case demanding that I return all compensation I'd received during the period in question. What do you think I should do?"

The flower lover will say, "I don't know much about legal battles. But I do know something about lilacs. And if a lilac was being publicly humiliated with accusations of sexual harassment, well that'd be pretty silly wouldn�t it."

Say, "Yeah. I would say so."

The flower lover will say, "Hope I've helped, friend."

Say, "You haven't. At all."

Leave the car and sit by your rosebushes until a flower lover pulls up who knows something about petunias. If a petunia was ever accused of sexual harassment, you can bet good money that it would never stop fighting until the truth was made plain.

Happy Let Your Garden Grow Day!

The Convict Misses Professor Wigglebottom Day!

As you rose through the ranks to become the city's most powerful drug dealer, the number of people you could trust grew smaller and smaller until your only confidante was a small plush piggy named Professor Wigglebottom. At the end of every night, when all of your money was counted and your known enemies were executed, you would retire to your study with a glass of Hennessey to talk out your fears and your doubts with the only one who'd listen, that wise and understanding little pig, Professor Wigglebottom.

"A new cartel tried to bring product in from the west side today, Professor Wigglebottom," you'd tell him. "I had their throats slit and their bodies thrown back into the river so they'd float back to Jersey. Also, I met a girl."

Then you'd hold Professor Wigglebottom up to face you and you'd shiver his head back and forth while you said for him, in a high-pitched voice that sounded almost like a squeal, "That was very wise what you did with the rival gang. You're the best drug dealer in the world. Is the girl pretty?"

"Yes," you'd tell Professor Wigglebottom. "But I discovered she was wired for sound, so I buried her alive, forcing the Feds to listen to her scratch at the inside of the coffin and rasp for her last breath."

"Maaaaake sure the body can't be fou-ound!" Professor Wigglebottom would sing.

You're only four months into serving a ten year sentence for conspiracy to commit drug trafficking and you're starting to feel like you're not going to make it. You can't get a handle on prison culture. On the street you were able to think ten steps ahead, but now that you're inside, you just can't figure out what your next move should be. You need to talk to Professor Wigglebottom.

Shayla, one of the prostitutes that you hooked on your product, has been writing to you regularly to tell you how much she misses the cocaine you'd sell to her, and how she can't wait until you're free so that you can sell her cocaine again. You wrote to Shayla begging that she convince Professor Wigglebottom to visit you. After she wrote back asking that you explain how she's supposed to "convince" a plush toy to do anything, you just went ahead and asked her to bring in the pig. Today's the day.

When you walk into the visiting room, you'll see Shayla on the other side of the glass and you'll worry that she came empty handed. You won't be able to pick up the receiver until she reaches into her bag and reveals your toy pig.

"Professor!" you'll say.

"Well you sure got yourself into a jam this time didn't ya?" Professor Wigglebottom will say in too deep a register. Normally, you'd provide him with his voice, but with the plexiglass separating the two of you it would feel no different than if you were talking to yourself. You have to hear him through the phone.

Ask Shayla to bring her voice up into her head when she talks. She'll make her voice squeak as high as it will go, and it will be a close enough approximation to Professor Wigglebottom's squeal that you'll be able to continue.

"I feel all turned around in here Professor. I don't know how to adapt."

Shayla will read from the script you sent her. "Remember Miami?" Professor Wigglebottom will ask.

You'll start to laugh. "Those were some crazy times."

Professor Wigglebottom will laugh harder, as per the script. Then you'll both sigh.

"You had your head so far up your ass you could cough a fart," the Professor will say. "But when it came time to do what needed to be done, you did what you had to do."

"Yeah," you'll say. "But this is a lot different than murdering Colombians. It's like there's a different planet in here."

"They men ain't they?" Professor Wigglebottom will ask you. "They went in just like you. They might have gotten there first. But you were never one to wait your turn."

"So should I just throw some muscle around?" you'll ask.

The little pig in the hooker's hand will look you in the eyes and say, "When it comes time to do what needs to be done, you do what you have to do."

"Thanks Professor Wigglebottom," you'll say. "I feel better already."

Professor Wigglebottom will say, "Until the next time. Stay cool. Aaaand don't eeeeat aaaany baaaaa-con!"

You'll laugh really hard while Shayla folds up the script and returns it and Professor Wigglebottom to her bag. In her normal voice she'll say, "If you wrote that whole script out, why couldn't you have just read it back to yourself instead of making me come all the way down here?"

Say, "I needed to hear it from him." Then go back to your cell. You'll find that you're calmer, more focused, and ready to tell Cell Block D all the wise and wonderful things that the little piggy told you.

Happy The Convict Misses Professor Wigglebottom Day!

The Desert Island Day!

You and your girlfriend are going to be stranded on a desert island today. At first it will be fun because there won't be anything for the two of you to do but have sex on the beach, figure out how to open a coconut, and grow body hair and lose weight.

"If you weren't here, I'd be really sad about this," you'll tell her.

She'll say, "In a lot of ways, being stranded here on this beautiful island with you is like a dream come true. Except in my dream I would probably be able to contact my mother still."

For a little while it will be just the two of you and it will be paradise. Then you'll discover you're not alone on the island. You'll wake up one morning and a man in a dinner jacket and pressed white sailor's pants will be hovering over you.

"Hello," he'll say. "My name is Roberto."

Roberto will have a sexy Spanish accent and he'll explain that when he got stranded on the island a long time ago, the first thing he did was figure out how to press his pants with a warmed strip of tree bark in case a rescue ship ever arrived. He'll also explain that he is very wealthy and that he loves kids.

"I'm breaking up with you," your girlfriend will tell you not four days after having met Roberto. "Back in society it was easy to look past your shortcomings. But here, when the frame of reference is so limited, it's just too easy to compare you to other men, or, I mean, the other man, and realize that I'm getting shortchanged."

Later, Roberto, being the gentleman that he is, will apologize for things having worked out the way they did. And he'll make it clear that even though you three will likely die without ever again seeing another soul but each other, he'll kill you if you ever touch her again.

"You believe I know how to kill a man? I need to know you believe that."

You'll tell him that you believe it. He'll shake your hand and tell you that he hopes you won't let this make the rest of your lives together awkward.

For the next forty years you'll live on the island with your ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend. Occasionally they'll fight and she'll tell you what a jerk he is, but then they'll make up. You'll help to raise their four children.

Happy The Desert Island Day!

The Sports Heroes Day!

The Sports Heroes are up in a cabin today, remembering the good times.

"Remember when Stucky caught that ball?" the one Sports Hero will say about another Sports Hero named Stucky.

"That was nothing. I remember when Boomer scored that winning point and won the game," a Sports Hero will say about Boomer, who is also a Sports Hero, but who died 16 years prior when it was his time to be euthanized in a cabin.

Hoops, the tallest Sports Hero in the cabin, will say, "Nothing beats the day that Stretch, Mookie, and Titsface ran all the way to home plate, one after the other, and increased their team's score by three."

Everyone will agree that that was an exciting time while a nurse prepares the injections. They all knew this day would come. They've had the date looming over them ever since they made it to the majors. Nevertheless, they all wish they could just have a little more time.

"I tried to pack so much partying in before the big day, I forgot to raise my kids," Whammer will say from his rocking chair.

"It just doesn't seem right," William the Refrigerator Perry will say. "Sports Heroes being forced to commit suicide in groups of twelve every five years I mean."

"Brand control, they say," Slider will say. "We live too long, the young guys get lost in our shadow."

Captain Fastball will snort derisively. "Just tryin' to sell them ugly sneakers," he'll say.

"This is a mighty nice cabin, I must say," Ballthrower will say. "I heard Gamewinner took his shot here too."

The others will start shouting out the names of all the Sports Heroes who died in the very rocking chairs that they're occupying. Then the nurse will come around and inject sodium pentothal into their arms, one by one, until the cabin is silent.

Happy The Sports Heroes Day!

Shelter From The Storm Day!

Today all the global warming stuff that all the celebrities are running around screaming about is going to happen. The ice caps will melt and the oceans will rise and flood the city. Also, dogs will freeze solid right where they're barking (forever cute!) and the clouds will take the form of medieval knights and they'll start jousting in the sky, which will of course result in heavy sleet. And finally, just like Leonardo DiCaprio and Ice Cube warned would happen in the speech they gave when they co-presented at the Independent Spirit Awards, the sun and the moon will start making out right in front of the stars and everybody. With visible tongue and lots of ass-grabs. Ew.

You'll be robbing a bank when it happens, which is about as lucky as you can get since the bank vault will be one of the few structures in the city that will prove impervious to The Day The Environment Fought Back! (that's what the movie will be called when it comes out five years from now. Some will say five years is too soon. Others will say that five years is not soon enough. A few others will say that five years is just right. Regardless, the living will continue to mourn their dead and a crappy re-enactment of how they died will shockingly have no effect on them one way or another).

When the floods come, you'll have just begun hustling a few of your hostages into the vault. Since most of your hostages will still be face down on the ground, you'll be the only one who sees the giant wall of water coming down the block. You'll react immediately, firing your gun in the air and screaming for all your hostages to get up and run for the vault.

"Run or I'll kill every last one of ya's!" you'll shout. They'll believe you since you'll have already shot the bank manager execution style in the side of the head. They'll all hustle into the vault, and you'll grab onto the assistant manager's arm and demand that she lock you all inside.

Only when the vault door is closing shut will your hostages realize what's happening. The wall of water will have reached the bank building and the towering glass windows will shatter under the pressure, sending floods pouring into the main floor where just moments ago the hostages were all lined up and waiting to get through perhaps the most mundane task of their day.

The door will seal shut just as the torrent of water reaches the vault. So close that the floor of the vault will be covered in a half-inch puddle of water.

All of your hostages will huddle together in shock. So much to process: The world as they know it is likely gone. Their loved ones are probably dead. They probably can't leave the vault without dying themselves.

"Wow," tell them. You'll have the gun so you're allowed to talk whenever you want. "Wilmer Valderrama and Dame Judi Dench were right. And to think, the only reason I'm alive, the only reason any of us are alive is because I chose a life of crime."

The hostages will smile at the irony, so as not to draw your gunfire.

"It doesn't even matter that much that I killed that bank manager either. Seeing as had I not been here holding up the place, none of you would be alive right now."

The hostages will begin to weep now. The reality will be setting in.

"And all this money," say. Pick up a brick of cash for emphasis. "A few minutes ago I put a bullet in a man's head just to get my hands on this money. Now, it's worthless."

The hostages will ask you to stop pointing out the irony of the situation so that they might weep and exclaim without being constantly interrupted.

Say, "Jeez. A little gratitude might be nice. Maybe a little 'thanks for robbing the bank big guy. You saved our hides.' Or weren't you taught to be polite?"

The hostages will thank you for saving their hides. They'll tell you that it was really lucky that things turned out the way they did and they feel very fortunate. And then they will bring up the fact that it will be a moot point that you saved them since they'll all die soon enough if no one can go out and find food.

This will be the first time you've ever been a hero, and you won't want the feeling to go away. So you'll volunteer to be the one to hunt down some food when it seems like the water might have receded enough for the door to be reopened. Your volunteering to be their scavenger will effectively make you the leader of the group, and ultimately, the leader of a significant fraction of those Americans who survived. And thus begins the story of how a bank robber became the President of post-apocalyptic America.

Happy Shelter From The Storm Day!

Be The Bait Day!

When you took over the Presidency of your high school's chapter of Students Against Premarital Sex (SAPS), the club was at death's door. Membership was low, the club's initiatives were criticized for being largely toothless, and the previous president had been ousted after a particularly embarrassing scandal that had launched a heated debate in the editorial pages of your high school's newspaper over the definition of the word "fingerbang." You knew if you were going to have any effect at all, something bold would be necessary.

That's why tonight, with your parents out of town, you're inviting your boyfriend of two months over to your house to watch some DVDs. Outside of some controlled kissing, you and Ronald have remained chaste and he has been very supportive of your effort to promote abstinence as the leader of
SAPS. He even joined the club and took an oath to save himself. But you're way hot, and you can see the fire in his eyes. You know that his only chance of honoring that oath is if you honor it for him.

In the name of confused teens throughout the school, your boyfriend's reputation will have to be sacrificed. You have to show the student body that the head of SAPS is not content to hand out pamphlets and gather petitions to quash in-school condom distribution. They need to learn that
the new SAPS is about aggressive, preventive initiatives that will target adolescent lust at its source: The Adolescent himself. SAPS is aiming directly at the loins of the student body, and it's going to start by cleaning up its own house.

When Elizabethtown grows dull and you and Ronald begin to kiss, close the standard ten inch window of space between your torsos and embrace your boyfriend the way a wife would embrace her husband. Guide Ronald's hands to places they would never have dared to go of their own volition.
Stir his desire to a boil until his lust takes control, until the only way he'll stop is if you stop him. When his pants are undone and his shirt is off, give the signal.

Shout, "Britney fell!"

Your SAPS tactical chief will spring from the closet and snap photos of your boyfriend in his fallen state, half-naked with his hands grabbing at your still fully-clothed person. The flashbulbs will pop and he'll be too bewildered with craving to know that he's been set up before it's too late and the evidence has been captured.

"What have you done?" he'll ask.

"I've obtained proof that you have no business being in SAPS," tell him. "Your membership is revoked."

"But what are you going to do with the pictures?" he'll ask.

"Publish them," say. Try not to cry. "I've already been guaranteed the front page of the school paper. The entire matriculating class is going to learn on Monday that the new SAPS president will not tolerate weakness of any kind in her membership."

Your boyfriend will look like a puppy tossed from a moving car on the side of a highway.

"No matter how much it pains her," add.

"But I wouldn't have. If you hadn't�"

Again, bite your lip. You so enjoyed these last two months with Ronald and you can't believe you have it in you to hurt him like this. But abstinence initiatives must come first.

"It's for the sake of the program," tell him. "I need to prove that I'm serious. Serious enough to sacrifice my own happiness. Think of the message it will send to all those girls being pressured into sex, looking for someone to tell them there's another way to go."

Ronald won't be able to think that far in advance. You'll just have to tell him to leave. On Monday the pictures will appear in the paper, and everyone will see what appears to be you refusing the aggressive advances of the boy who holds your hand in the hallways, and your afternoon meetings
will grow so crowded with prospective members you'll have to move to the band room to fit everybody. Ronald will be a pariah to his old friends, and he'll fall in with a whole new and far less morally sound crowd. He'll die of a sexually transmitted disease complicated by drug addiction at the
age of seventeen, effectively turning him into a cautionary tale for thousands of incoming high school students who want some guidance about how far is too far.

What you do to Ronald tonight will earn you quite a few sleepless nights in the years to come. But he took an oath to promote abstinence, an oath to do whatever it takes to curb teen sex amongst his peers, an oath he is too weak to honor. The only way Ronald can be a service to SAPS is if you
destroy him. In exploiting his weakness, you'll give strength to countless students for whom it's not too late. If he understood what purpose his humiliation might serve, would he object?

Happy Be The Bait Day!

Get Left For Dead Day!

Today is the day to get left to rot in your own sick by everyone who was supposed to give a damn. This one's not just about our brave troops fighting overseas. Today is also about the husband who shouts into the kitchen for his wife to make him a sandwich and she never shows. It's about the little kid waiting for her Dad to pick her up after school but is left to just stand there by the curb wondering what the fuck. It's about the garbageman who tosses a few bags into the back and when he slaps the side of the truck, nothing happens. He goes to the front and finds the doors ajar and his coworkers gone.

"Not even a goddamn note," the garbageman will think. "I'm such a giving fool."

It's about the guy who is approached by tourists to take their picture, and in the time it takes for him to look down at the camera and find the right button, the tourists take off, leaving him there to hold their camera. Forever.

"I'm standing here with my thumb up my ass!" the man with the camera will say.

It's about the 19 year old college kid on spring break who wakes up with a headache in his Caribbean resort cabana to find that his buddies and all the help have split and the island's government has been overthrown in a hideous coup. If he makes it home without being impaled on about nineteen bayonets, he's going to say to his buddies, "Dude you totally bailed on me."

But his buddies won't care. Neither will that little girl's Dad or that hungry husband's wife. Or the trashmen. Or the tourists. They all just left. Like it all meant nothing to them.

"I guess nothing is all there ever was," the husband, the little girl, the garbageman, the guy with the camera and that asshole with bleached tips and a Puka shell necklace on Spring Break will think. "I guess I've always been on my own. Any intimacy I've enjoyed has been an illusion. Time to live like everyone else. Time to start grabbing for what's mine."

Get out there and use somebody.

Happy Get Left For Dead Day!

A Notch On Your Bedpost Day!

Tonight you're going to enter your 10,007th notch on your bedpost to commemorate your 10,007th consecutive night of sleeping alone since Francine left. Your bedpost is getting to look a little bit whittled. In fact you might need to get a new bed frame. Unless Francine comes back soon.

"She might come back," you'll say to no one while waiting for sleep that won't come.

Francine was younger than you and she felt like you were forcing the relationship to move ahead as far as it could go because you were afraid she'd run off and find someone her own age.

"It was like he'd put his hands in his ears and sing a song to keep from hearing me anytime I mentioned anything about wanting to expand my horizons," is akin to something Francine might say if she had been interviewed for this.

Tonight you're going to have a dream about riding a log flume where the log goes off the track and lands on your best friend Mark and his wife and new baby. Mark has been very patient about your breakup, inviting you over for dinner every week, and in your dream he'll be flattened. When you wake up you'll rub your bedpost to see if the bed frame is cracking. You won't be able to tell in the dark, but as you fall back to sleep the bed will feel a little off�balance. And lonely. And cold. And hopeless.

Happy A Notch On Your Bedpost Day!

Lead Them From Their Innocence Day!

Everyone at the office calls you "The Creepy Temp" because whenever anyone jokes around with you, you tend to stare at them until they just walk away unnerved. Also, you have a photo of Maggie Gyllenhaal from the movie Secretary pinned to your cubicle wall. You keep to yourself and you do the work well, so no one has any plans to let you go. They're content to just set aside a few minutes at the end of every weekly status meeting to allow someone to say, "[YOUR NAME] kind of seemed a little freaky in the kitchen earlier. Just kind of standing there staring at nothing. He make anyone else nervous?" Then Susan will bring up how she's pretty sure you once reached underneath the adjoining cubicle wall and touched her calf just for a split second.

No one was expecting you to show up at today's softball game. They'll have just called the rainout and will be packing up their things when someone spots you walking across the field.

"This is it," Jonas will say, and everyone will laugh. Jonas always jokes about how he's pretty sure you're going to show up one day with an Uzi and "go postal" as he likes to say.

They'll all stop where they are on the bleachers and wait for you to approach.

"No game today I'm afraid," Lucinda will say. Lucinda is the one who signs your time sheet.

"Where are you going now?" ask them.

"Probably just go get some beers," Jonas will say.

They won't explicitly invite you, allowing the silence after Jonas' statement to be their grudging invitation.

Say, "You guys wanna go see a dead body?"

They'll all shrug and follow you down to the creek-bed behind the oscillating fan factory. You'll all walk silently together with you in the lead. It will probably be the first time you've seen your co-workers together when none of them were making any jokes. Not even Jonas.

"The hill gets pretty steep going down, so you guys should grab each other's hands as you climb down," tell them.

You'll continue on without slowing your pace in case any of them worry that you are only creating an excuse to hold hands with one of the girls. They'll all buddy up, guys with girls, except for the last three leftover girls who will all join hands and climb down last in one group. The hill will have lots of rocky steps and tall drops to climb down.

Stay ahead of them. The further away you are, the more they'll appreciate you. Leading the way, scoping the path ahead for rough terrain, this will be the first time when your coworkers will see your quiet and withdrawn demeanor as being completely appropriate to the situation. They'll remain silent in kind. This is a solemn journey.

After another mile, you'll be so far ahead they won't be able to find you. They'll start calling your name.

"Down here!" shout. They'll come to the lip of the hill and see you at the bottom of a ravine beside a young boy splayed out in the weeds. They'll begin the climb down.

"How'd he die?" Jonas will ask.

Tell him. "Cancer."

The boy-girl pairs won't work down here. All of the girls will pair up in twos and threes, huddling and sometimes crying. The boys will stand alone, staring at the dead body with confusion on their faces, not sure what to do with their hands.

"Aren't those the folks from Leland Morrow?" Lucinda will ask.

A hundred yards down the ravine another group of people in corporate dress will be staring at their own dead body. They'll be huddled in the same groups as your coworkers are. One or two will look up to try to make out which office you're all from.

"They bought a whole lot of software bundles last quarter," Susan will say. "Maybe we can try and get some face time with them on the climb back up."

The others will silence Susan with their eyes. Everyone will again look at the body as if to beg pardon for the interruption.

"Do you think he's at peace?" Jonas will ask.

No one will say anything. Then you'll look up and see that they're all waiting to hear an answer from you.

"I think he's gone," say. "I don't think peace has anything to do with it."

In another five minutes you'll all be climbing back to the office. You won't be able to remember who started walking first. You'll all just find yourselves on your way. Tomorrow, and every day after that, you won't be able to forget what happened this afternoon. You're never going to have coworkers like these again. Jesus, does anybody?

Happy Lead Them From Their Innocence Day!

You're A Princess Day!

Today you're going to discover that you are the long-lost ancestor of royalty for a small country in the far eastern region of Europe.

"You're a princess," the kindly old crown's attendant will tell you. "It's time for you to claim your throne."

First, the attendant will teach you how to walk so that you look as if your bowels have been fully vacated. Then she'll teach you how to eat without honking through your nose. Next, she'll teach you how to dance with Princes representing those nations that you need to establish an alliance with, in order to thwart marauding armies. Next, she'll teach you how to talk like a lady (don't call it a "puss"). Finally, she'll take you shopping on the Castle's credit card.

Once you've learned how to be a princess, you'll say goodbye to your parents and you'll fly to the nation that has always been your home, where you'll quickly be beheaded following a particularly messy coup (the third one this Spring). Since the throne cannot remain empty, no matter how many crowns the peasants want to send bouncing into wicker baskets, the crown's attendant will reopen the books and hunt down another descendant with just barely a drop of royal blood in her veins to come up to the castle and rule. Hopefully, if the weather gets nice, she'll rule for more than a few weeks before the next revolt.

Happy You're A Princess Day!

Your Wayward Older Sister Is Now A Ticket Scalper Day!

Your father sunk all of his money into your Ivy League education while your sister was flunking out of community college. Your father kicked her out and she turned to ticket scalping. It's kept her afloat, earning her enough money to never have to come home and ask for a loan no matter how much she needed one. But today you're going to come to her for a favor.

When you find her on the corner outside of the Coliseum she'll be trying to convince a couple of teenagers that even though her tickets say "Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey Circus" on the face, they'll still get them into the Pink concert.

"I need your help," you'll tell her.

"I'm with clients," she'll say.

The kids will take that chance to walk away emptyhanded.

"You just blew that sale for me," she'll say.

"I have my own clients," tell her. "They love ice shows."

"I was wondering what would send you out to this end of town."

"Please," you'll tell her. "You know I'd help you. If you ever asked me that is."

Your sister will not have looked you in the eye yet. Her eyes will be scanning the streets for people who might either want to buy or sell tickets. "I don't need your help," she'll bark.

"Four tickets," tell her. "Center rink. If these guys don't walk away with some glitter from the skater's leotards on their suitjackets, I'll lose this account."

"And I should care because�?" your sister will say.

"Because I'm your sister," tell her.

At that your sister will look you in the eye finally. She'll touch her hand to your shoulder and she'll say, "I'll get you the tickets. Don't worry about it."

"Thanks Sis," you'll say.

The two of you will hug. Then you'll cry and talk about the old times. Then you'll skip through a cemetery and come out on the other side to find an old storefront for rent where you'll open up a bakery selling pies made from the recipes passed down from your mother, who has been dead a while.

Happy Your Wayward Older Sister Is Now A Ticket Scalper Day!

Your Roommate Is Way Too Into God Day!

Whenever the picture on the TV becomes perfect, your roommate will say, "God really came through for us didn't he?" Or if your landlord renews your lease without a big rent increase, your roommate will read the fine print and say things like, "God definitely copyedited this paragraph." What pisses you off though, is your roommate thinks God is so awesome that he won't give you the credit you deserve. Like when you sweep up, your roommate will come out of his room and say, "Man, God cleaned the shit out of this place!"

And you'll tell him, "No, that was me. I swept. It's my week, remember?"

But he won't budge. "God did most of it," he'll say. "God always gets in the hard to reach corners."

Sometimes you'll tell him that you actually got on your hands on knees with the brush and dustpan, but other times you just let it slide.

Today when you and your roommate come home from brunch, your apartment will have been broken into. Your roommate will immediately start screaming shit at God for making it happen. But the burglar will still be in the apartment at that point, and he'll come sprinting out of your roommate's bedroom and he'll swing your roommate's DVD player at his face and take off out the open door. The electrical cord from the DVD player will whip at your roommate's ear and slice it open. When you visit him in the hospital, you'll find him in bed with his arms folded averting his eyes from the ceiling. He'll tell you that God is trying to apologize, but he's not ready to forgive him yet. Figure out a delicate way to tell him you want him to move out when he recovers.

Happy Your Roommate Is Way Too Into God Day!

You Always Sleep With The Winner Of Trivia Night Day!

For the last fourteen weeks, you've been sleeping with Manny. He's been undefeated at the weekly McCluskey's Bar & Grill's Trivia Night for so long that you swear if someone doesn't beat him soon he's gonna pop the question. Then what'll you say?

I'm sorry Manny, but I always dreamed I'd marry someone for more than their unfailing ability to call up random facts while inebriated and under tremendous pressure. And besides, if we got married and you lost trivia night one week, whether because you had suffered a head injury or because you faced off with some drifter who just seemed to have a superhuman retention of the minutiae of popular culture, well I'd just have no choice but to commit adultery in order to sleep with the winner that week.

That would only make Manny ask you something along the lines of, "Why do you have to sleep with the winner of trivia night every week anyway?"

You haven't come up with an answer to that one yet. Luckily, you won't have to. Not after tonight's Trivia Night.

At tonight's Trivia Night, Manny's going to go up against a new opponent. One who's got an unfamiliar face and shoes that look like they were bought back East. This man will have a manner about him that makes it clear he's not from around here, and there's no way in hell he'll be around for very long. When he joins in the game it'll be apparent that he's playing because he really needs that grand prize of thirty-five dollars cash. Needs it like somebody's life depended on it. He's the drifter you always thought might come along. And goddamn if he doesn't know a whole lot of shit about nothing!

From midway through round one it will be clear who's taking you home tonight. Manny will blank on a question about the TV show Dynasty. But the drifter will look as if he's barely paying attention, and when the question is thrown to him he'll mutter "John Forsythe" as bored as if he were ordering a side of mayo with his chicken club.

The drifter will sweep the next three rounds. Round one, he'll nail the year the first Swatch was sold in America. Round two, he'll breeze to a win on a question about Presidents born in the Bible belt. And round three, he'll slam it home on a two-parter about Peyton Place author Grace Metalious.

By the time they hit the championship round, it will be obvious to everyone in the bar that Manny's reign is over. His fans will have abandoned him in his sweat-drenched tee shirt and table full of empty highball glasses (Manny always drinks more when the game is close) so that they can gather behind the drifter. They'll all want to stand a little bit closer to the winner nobody ever heard of before. They'll try to catch his eye on the rare occasion his gaze leaves his hands folded on the table before him. And they'll all let out a cheer and jump into each other's arms when he brings it all home on a question about the final resting place of Edgar Allen Poe. (How could Manny not have known that one?)

It will take a while for the crowd of well-wishers to part so that you can get closer to him. He'll barely even acknowledge their congratulations. They'll fawn and pander and he'll only offer the slightest of nods in return. You'll be about ready to slap the sycophants aside when the crowd finally thins enough for you to offer a place in your bed to this week's McCluskey's Bar & Grill's Trivia Night winner.

"Hi, I'm�"

"I know who you are," he'll say.

"You do?"

"I do. I've been to this town before," he'll say.

"But I thought I knew everybody who ever passed through here," you'll say with a smile.

"I've been to this town a hundred times," he'll say. "Towns like this, they're all over the country, every one exactly the same. Every one of 'em's got a trivia night where I can win myself some drink money. And every one of 'em's got a lady who'll offer herself up to me just because I know a lot of useless stuff about TV and politics."

"I suddenly feel so�"

"You sure do keep getting prettier though," he'll say. "That's another thing I can count on. With every single town, it gets harder and harder to say to you that I'm just passing through, on my way back to a lady who might not welcome me home. So I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline your invitation, though I do appreciate it."

The drifter will rise from his table and put his hat on his head.

You'll say to him, "No one's ever said no before."

The drifter won't say anything. But he will wait for more from you.

"I don't even know why I do it," you'll tell him. "Why do I feel the need to go home with the winner every week?"

The drifter will say, "Now that is one question I do not have the answer for. Stay warm, pretty lady." And with that he'll head out the door.

You'll feel invisible for a moment, like you're made of nothing. Then you'll spot Manny across the bar, sitting alone at a corner table with his hands wrapped around a mug of beer. The both of you will have had your identities stripped away from you over that last couple of hours, so go and sit with him. He'll take you home tonight and you'll marry him in six months. One day your children will ask when you knew you were supposed to be together. Just tell them you knew right away.

Happy You Always Sleep With The Winner Of Trivia Night Day!

The Doo Wop Group Stopped Day!

Today as you approach your apartment, you'll notice that your spirit is a little lighter, the neighborhood feels a little more welcoming, and you won't be able to help but smile at everyone you see. When you're half a block away, you'll realize what makes today so special. The Doo Wop group that has been singing "Under The Boardwalk" outside of the Quizno's over and over again without pause for years is presently silent.

They'll still be there. All five of them in their matching gray sweatshirts spread out across the unused steps rising up to the sealed second door of the industrial building across the street. But today, they won't be hunched over in a circle snapping their fingers and harmonizing at ear bleeding volume. Today they'll just sit there together. Silent, and at peace. Approach them.

"You guys on break?" ask.

The one in the middle, the one who always sings the "We'll be havin' some fun" part will say, "We just finished."

"Just finished what?"

The bass singer, the one who does all of the "Bao Bao Bao" stuff will tell you in his deep, seductive growl, "Our work is complete."

"What are you guys talking about?"

The tenor with all the silver bracelets on both wrists will say, "We're not gonna sing 'Under The Boardwalk' no more."

Your heart will leap in your chest at the thought. And almost as quickly it will sink into your stomach and you'll ask with fear, "So what are you gonna sing now?"

"Nothing," the one in the middle will say. "It's time to move on. It was our intention to give something back to the neighborhood."

"By singing 'Under The Boardwalk' over and over again day in and day out. That's more like a haunting."

"Call it what you will," the bass will bark. "But we have someplace else to sing now."

At that all of them will laugh heartily. You'll continue on your way home, uncomfortable with what just transpired. You should be thrilled that you're never going to hear that menace of a song again, but something about the cryptic explanation they gave and the way they laughed at the end. You'll feel like you've been had. When you reach the end of the block and you glance back at the steps, the Doo Wop group will be gone.

Later tonight, go to the library and look up all the local Doo Wop groups on microfiche. You'll come upon a story from 1967 about a Doo Wop group that was found to be responsible for a string of burglaries in the neighborhood. They used their spot on the steps as a chance to case all the apartments on the block and note the comings and goings of residents. The heat came down on them fast when one of their burglaries was interrupted and they were forced to bludgeon the homeowner to death. It happened just around the corner from you. They must have thought they were in the clear because they went right back to their spot on the steps, singing their songs. The police came looking and the members of the group drew guns. All five of them were killed in the shootout, right there on the steps.

You'll look closely at the yellowed photo taken of the group while they were still alive. It will be the exact same faces, the exact same sweatshirts. The men who've been tormenting you with their singing have been dead for nearly forty years.

"My God," you'll think. "They were ghosts. Probably forced to sing to the neighborhood for decades as penance for their crimes. This was purgatory for them as they waited to pass on to the next world."

But that would mean that God believes that making them sing Doo Wop to the neighborhood is a repayment to the God-fearing citizens that they've wronged. Which in turn would have to imply that God really likes Doo Wop. Therefore, you are going to have to renounce God and all for which he stands.

Become evil. Fight the Doo Wop.

Happy The Doo Wop Group Stopped Day!