That Guy You Went Home With Last Night Gave You Rabies Day!

As far as you knew, he was just a nervous guy drinking alone on a Sunday night while soused revelers were partying all around him. You didn't know he had been cleaning his basement earlier that day and when he reached behind the water heater he got bit by a raccoon. The warning signs were there you suppose. As the night wore on, his movements grew more and more jerky and he sort of started growling. And he kind of spat when he talked. Though he didn't really start foaming at the mouth until you were in bed together. Once in bed, he really turned furious. Not just the nibbles on your skin, but he would bury his head in your shoulder like he was trying to shove your bone out of its socket with his forehead. And afterwards, he just got dressed and took off. You thought he was just that type, but you now know he must have needed to rush off and find something fleshy to tear apart in his teeth.

You just had defrosted some hamburger and ate it raw with your hand. You can't stop drooling all over yourself, and you're kind of barking. You made a date to go see Volver with Laura, but you'd better cancel. Tell her that guy you went home with last night gave you rabies. Laura will tell you that that happened to her once and that the guy ended up taking her to the hospital and held her hand while she got her shots. That will make you feel more alone than ever. When Laura asks you if you need her to go to the hospital with you, you'll lie and tell her that the guy you went home with last night is taking you. You could use Laura's company, but you and her are always kind of competing and you don't want her to know that the guy who gave her rabies cared more about her than the guy who gave you rabies cared about you.

Happy That Guy You Went Home With Last Night Gave You Rabies Day!

Happy Baby Your Butthole Gets Me So Hot If I Found Out It Had Previously Been Used As An Indian Burial Ground I'd Just Go Ahead And Move The Headstones Without Even Digging Up The Bodies If It Meant I Could Get Up There Faster Day!

Today one of the kids you used to babysit is going to approach you in a bar and give you a very potent pickup line that makes it clear that not only does he not recognize you, but that all the times you used to let him stay up late and watch Poltergeist really had an effect on him.

'Milton?' you'll say. 'Remember me?'

'Laura?' he'll say. 'Oh my God this is so embarrassing.'

'Jesus,' you'll say. 'I used to change your pajamas when you wet the bed.'

Milton will say, 'Oh my God do you not find that hot?'

You'll concede that it is kind of hot.

'I have Poltergeist II back at my place,' hell say.

'I bet you do,' you'll say. 'I have to know though, would you really just move the headstones? Or was that just a line?'

Milton will move real close so that you can taste his breath when he pants, 'I wouldn't even move the headstones.'

That's when you'll know you've just begun a superhot affair with the kid you used to babysit who apparently grew up to be one hell of a ghost-story lover/ass-freak.

Happy Baby Your Butthole Gets Me So Hot If I Found Out It Had Previously Been Used As An Indian Burial Ground I'd Just Go Ahead And Move The Headstones Without Even Digging Up The Bodies If It Meant I Could Get Up There Faster Day!

Fall In Love With A Prophet Of Doom Day!

You can see him standing on his street corner in sunshine and in rain, waving his sign to warn his neighbors of the coming end. He has a few different signs with varying copy. He picks which one to wave each day according to how he's feeling that particular morning. If he's feeling particularly generous, he'll go with 'Repent For The End Is Nigh.' If he's in a funk and he really doesn't have much hope for the capacity of the human soul, he'll go with 'The End Is Nigh. Justice Is Come For The Sinner.' And then he's got, 'The End Is Nigh: Haha!' for when he's really pissed.

Most people give him a wide berth, thinking he's just a loon off his meds. But you can see something deeper there. There's his dedication to task for one thing. He certainly works harder at warning the populace of the coming doomsday than your last boyfriend worked on that 'novel' he claimed to be writing. You're pretty sick of guys who are all about 'tomorrow.' I'll change your light bulbs tomorrow. I'll look for a job tomorrow. What if today I have an orgasm and I give one to you tomorrow.

Maybe it's time to get yourself a guy who believes that there isn't going to be a tomorrow.

'The end of the world is nigh!' he'll be shouting when you spot him outside your office today. 'Repent! The end of the world is nigh.'

Sounds like he's in a good mood. Approach him.

'The end of the world is nigh,' he'll say. Then he'll spot you smiling at him. He'll look into your eyes and he'll say just to you, 'The end of the world is nigh.'

Say, 'Then let's make the most of it.'

'Now that's what I call a prophecy,' he'll say. Then he'll toss his sign in the trash, grab you by the hand, and pull you into a tango. You'll dance on the sidewalk and into the oncoming traffic, your feet barely touching the ground as your sage flings you this way and that, sending you twisting towards the gathering crowd only to yank you right back to cuddle up against his many filthy overcoats. When he gets thirsty from the activity, he'll drag you into a liquor store and he'll hold a hunting knife to the counterperson's neck while you take your time picking out several bottles of the finest champagne. Night will be falling and off you'll both go into the dark and dangerous city, running and screaming and drinking from the bottle as you dance in and out of velvet adorned clubs and the most romantic of private lounges. The next dozen hours will be a blur of laughing, kissing, dancing and champagne. Not a single moment will pass wherein you don't feel your prophet's hand in yours. It will be clear he's been waiting for someone like you for as long as you've been waiting for someone like him.

At sunrise, when you're laying in the middle of a rooftop garden you broke into, staring off at the cityscape with your head in your prophet's lap, you'll ask, 'Is the end really nigh?'

'I sure hope so,' he'll say. 'If the world ends tonight I'll die the happiest man on the face of the planet.'

You'll kiss your prophet and he'll wrap his arms around you tight, and you will be overcome with such bliss that when the storm of hellfire rises up and incinerates the world, the world will react with a loud and unanimous shriek of terror and pain, but the two of you won't be able to add anything to the chorus beyond a single soft and contented sigh.

Happy Fall In Love With A Prophet Of Doom Day!

You're Marrying The Wrong Guy Day!

Today your wedding will not be interrupted when the guy you should be marrying shows up and makes a big scene to stop the ceremony and convince you that you're making a mistake. Instead, he's going to wake up next to a girl he sometimes sleeps with when the two of them are both bored and wasted. He went out with some friends last night to try to take his mind off the fact that you're getting married to the wrong guy. They went to a big drugged out party in his old neighborhood and he saw a lot of people he hasn't seen in quite a while because whenever he sees them he always ends up getting a little too ill. The girl he sometimes sleeps with was there, and they went home to her place.

Her place is awful, and today he's going to wake up there, next to her. Instead of taking off immediately like he normally would, today, because you're marrying the wrong guy, he'll stick around and let her make him breakfast and they'll play-act like they're a couple with a chance in hell. Though, it won't take very long before she drops a frying pan on her foot and runs into her bedroom to get high and stay there. He'll put on his clothes and leave.

He'll walk home, trying to keep from being in any one place where he can be found. While you're getting into your dress, he'll be at a record store looking at CDs that he intends to buy on another day. While you're having your hair done, he'll be at a Subway Sandwiches Shop eating a footlong Italian BMT while reading a free newspaper. When your mother comes in to tell you that you look beautiful and to complain about what your Dad's new wife said to her, he'll have bought a pack of cigarettes for the first time in eight months. Since you're marrying the wrong guy, he decided to start smoking again today. It's the kind of thinking where he can rationalize, 'Hey this is a mistake, but it's nowhere near as dangerous as what she's doing.'

Don't worry that he forgot about you. No matter where he is or what he does today, he'll be thinking about what he could have said the last time he saw you to make you call off the engagement. He told you he missed you and he warned you that he would need to avoid you in the future because it hurt to see you anymore. But he never said, 'Don't marry him.' He can't put it all out there like that.

Just like he's not able to burst into a crowded church right after a priest asks the congregation to speak now or forever hold their peace. He couldn't imagine standing there with 300 heads turned around to get a look at him and hear what he's got to say. And then, with everyone looking at him, he'd have to say that he loves you and he's dying without you and he'd have to say that the guy you're marrying is no good for you with the guy standing right there staring at him. That's insane! I mean who would do that?

As far as he's concerned, he blew it. And when the priest asks the congregation to speak now or forever hold their peace, he'll be playing one of those roller-ball video golf games at a bar where it's okay to come in during the day and drink because they show sports on the TV. When the priest says, 'You may kiss the bride,' he'll be on the sidewalk smoking his first cigarette in eight months. You'll have already filed for divorce before he quits again.

Happy You're Marrying The Wrong Guy Day!

Shut Down The Factory Day!

Today you and some of those miserable hippie fucks you hang out with should go and shut down the factory. Just make a bunch of signs that say POISON and MURDERERS and STOP ASSASSINATING OUR OVARIES WITH YOUR WASTE. If you know what product the factory makes, make signs that read [PRODUCTS] = CHILD-FACE RAPE.

Once you and the rest of the filthy hippie pieces of shit have all your signs misspelled and decorated with peace symbols and daisies and shit, go down to the factory before it opens and form a "human" barricade so that no one can drive into the parking lot without killing at least a couple of you wretched little ungrateful hippie vagrant scum. Even though most of society would jump for joy if they found out a handful of you long-haired drug addicted granola eating shit-dicks had been dragged underneath a car until you�re dead, the United States criminal justice system will still charge your killers with murder because the United States criminal justice system still insists that you�re entitled to the same rights as people who actually work and attend church. So no one�s going to be willing to run you down and risk going to jail for it.

The factory will have to phone up the police to take you away and hopefully beat you with night-sticks. But when the police come, the media won�t be far behind, and that�s when your oh-so-very-noble crusade will really make some big strides. The media will portray you as concerned citizens, not leeches sucking on the neck of society, because the media, well let's not even get started on those prostitutes. Once you're all made to look like a bunch of angels, local government figures will be forced to launch an investigation into the accusations you�ve made with your signs. With any luck, the factory will be shut down within six months and the whole town will be out of work just like you and your lice-ridden, unbathed, free-love practicing hobo commie friends. Except unlike you, the whole town was hoping to feed their kids something besides a plate of cheetos and old dandelions, but I suppose you'll be setting the menu for God-fearing Americans from now on, won't you. Congratulations reprobate.

Happy Shut Down The Factory Day!

Funeral For Your Forbidden Love Day!

You and Kevin fell in love even though you're poor and Kevin's rich. But Kevin's parents wanted him to marry Bunny, a rich girl who was really boring but was at least Kevin's Dad's friend's daughter. So she was vouched for and whatnot. It wasn't a total cold-call.

But still, you're the one that he loved, so it was really hard for him to go ahead with the wedding. His Dad knew he had to get you out of the picture or Kevin would never agree to marry Bunny. So he offered you a hundred grand to tell Kevin that it was over between the two of you, and to stay away from him forever. You took the money because you're really poor, and so you told Kevin to give up the dream and he went ahead and married Bunny.

Everyone figured that would be the end of it. Kevin and Bunny would be rich and raise a family in a loveless home and you'd use your hundred grand to start a car service or a whorehouse or something. But Kevin ended up feeling so distraught over his lost love that he went ahead and turned on his car with the garage door closed and just sat there. Today's his funeral. You should go and say a few words.

The family will probably try to keep you from getting into the church, so be sure to wear a big hat with a veil. In between eulogies, just get up from the pew and march up to the pulpit as sure as if your name was in the processional program. Keep your eulogy brief. Just say something along the lines of how Kevin's Dad paid you to break his son's heart and while the money really came in handy, it was wrong of Kevin's Dad to offer it to you and therefore Kevin's death is his Dad's fault. If someone suggests that you are just as much to blame for taking the money, tell them that you were perfectly content with getting Kevin's Dad's money by marrying Kevin and making him happy for the rest of his life. You probably would have gotten a lot more if it had worked out that way, you should add. But Kevin's dad wanted to keep it to a hundred grand and who are you to tell someone what to do with his money. So it's Kevin's Dad's fault.

Once everyone at the funeral starts nodding their heads as if to say 'that makes sense' or 'she has a point,' you can go back to your pew and mourn some.

Happy Funeral For Your Forbidden Love Day!

Virgin Sacrifice Day!

You and your friends had a de-virginization race and you lost. So today you're going to be ritually sacrificed. Rules are rules.

'Isn't there any other way?' your mother will ask.

'Sorry mom,' you'll say. 'I couldn't close the deal. As the last and only virgin in my social circle, I have to be lain upon an altar and have my arteries opened up so that I may bleed into buckets.'

'Of course there's no other way,' your Dad will shout at your mom. They don't get along, and this sacrifice thing is especially hard on them. 'Didn't you ever go to high school? He's the last virgin for God's sake!'

Your Dad will grab you behind your neck and look into your eyes. 'I'm proud of you boy,' he'll say. 'You hear me? When I was growing up the virgins would pack up and head to Canada or Mexico. Cowards they were, had no problem choosing to live a life without honor. I'm sorry that you have to die, but I'd be even more sorry if you had to live like a coward.'

'Oh there must be something we can do!' you mother will shout.

'The virgin surrenders his blood so that at homecoming we may drink from him and taste of lost purity!' your father will bark. 'Jesus, didn't you ever go to high school!'

Your mother will continue blubbering while your father will murmur something about how your mother was probably one of the 'brainiacs' who never had sex and never took part in any sacrificial rituals. Then the doorbell will ring.

Standing on your front step will be Casey, the girl you like.

'I wanted to say goodbye,' she'll say. 'I'm sorry I couldn't help you.'

You'll nod.

'Look,' she'll say. 'I had a little brother who died when he was six. My parents still haven't gotten over it, and it would kill them if they lost me or my brother too. So I had to make sure that wouldn't happen. If I had had sex with you, it would have been like I was helping my brother lose the de-virginization race. I couldn't risk him being the last one to lose his virginity.'

'I kinda figured that was why,' you'll say. 'But if there wasn't any chance of your brother being sacrificed, would you have done it with me?'

'But that's silly. There's always to be a sacrifice.'

'WOULD YOU HAVE DONE IT WITH ME!' you'll explode, shaking her by the shoulders.

'Of course! Of course!' she'll scream. 'I wanted my first time to be with you. Only with you! I loved you!' She'll turn around and run from your house.

You'll close the door and find your Dad waiting with a white tunic in his hands.

'This was what your Uncle Martin wore when he was laid to rest on the altar,' he'll say. 'I was as proud of him as I am of you. I always knew you were just like my little brother. Will you wear his tunic?'

Say, 'With pleasure Dad.'

You'll don the decades old garment and when you get in the car and wait for your father to drive you to the sacrifice, you'll have a big satisfied smile on your face. You may be about to have your blood drained out of you into some buckets, but you got your answer. Casey, the girl you've liked since fourth grade, has admitted that she would have had sex with you if you lived in a world where sex wouldn't hasten her own brother's murder. And everyone in high school knows that if you can imagine a world in which you would have been able to have sex with somebody, well, it kind of counts.

Happy Virgin Sacrifice Day!

The Mafia Wants A Piece Of Christmas Day!

Today you're going to set up your trees in the parking lot, officially launching the Christmas season. Not long after you stack the last tree for display, the mafia will come into the lot and set all your trees on fire. Then they'll tie you up in garland, stuff a Christmas ball in your mouth, and stick an angel to the top of your head with duct tape. They'll tie you to a signpost by the street so that everyone can see you wrapped up like a human Chistmas tree with the fires rising behind you. That'll let everyone who sees you know that no one sells Christmas trees in this town unless the mafia says so.

Before the mafia leaves, you'll start to hum 'Hark The Herald Angels Sing' through the Christmas ball in your mouth. The mafia will look a little confused at first. Then they'll get angry and start telling you to stop. You'll hum louder, switching songs into 'Silent Night,' and they'll get even angrier. Soon they'll be punching you and cracking at your knees with a club, but you won't stop it with the Christmas carols. By the time you're humming 'Frosty The Snowman,' you'll be covered in blood. The mafia will be out of breath, but you'll notice that they'll also have tears on their cheeks. They'll continue to slap and strike you, but with lighter blows. Until they stop hitting you altogether, and they all just stand there by the side of the road, panting, and listening intently as you hum 'Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer.'

A few of them will drop to their knees, exhausted in body and in spirit. They'll scream at the sky, how have we let ourselves become who we are? What has brought us to this? Finally defeated by the spirit of Christmas, one of them will go to you and yank the Christmas ball out of your mouth.

'I'm sorry,' he'll say. 'We're all sorry for what we've done. We shouldn't be messing around with Christmastime.'

You'll tell him it's okay.

'Sing 'The Christmas Song,' he'll say.

You'll shake your head, letting him know you don't know that one.

'Chestnuuuuts'roasting on an open fire'' he'll start. The rest of the mafia will sing along. He'll turn again to you and you'll shrug.

'Never learned it,' you'll say.

He'll suddenly whip his gun out and point it at your forehead. Then he'll say, 'Bang!' and start laughing like a drunk man. The mafia will free you from your bonds, then they'll teach you the Christmas song. You'll join the mafia as they go door-to-door caroling. They'll make lots of money because they're the mafia, and anytime someone slams the door in their faces or tells them it's too early in the year, you'll help the mafia set their houses on fire and drag the fathers out into the street to be beaten in front of their children and wives. 'Serves them right,' you'll think. 'Slamming the door on Christmas.'

Happy The Mafia Wants A Piece Of Christmas Day!

You're Sick And Tired Of Being Jerked Around Day!

Tonight on your way home you'll, remember that you need to pick up some kitty litter from the pet store. You'll arrive at the pet store at 9:40 PM, but the store will have closed at 9, as it does every night. Because you are sick and tired of being jerked around, you'll pick up a trashcan from in front of a neighboring building and toss it through the storefront window, which will show them. The burglar alarm will clang as you climb through the window, find your bag of litter, and climb back out onto the sidewalk, because this is America. Before you reach the end of the block, a police squad car will skid to a halt beside you and the two officers will jump out and point their guns at you, demanding that you drop the litter and put your hands up.

'Figures,' you'll say. Then you'll do as they command and you'll be taken to the station and charged with destruction of private property, burglary, and theft, because that's how they like to screw people like you.

You'll attend your trial with your mouth sealed with the duct tape that you put there yourself, and when you stand for sentencing, you'll keep one fist upraised at all times. The judge will concede that this is your first criminal offense of any kind, and if you were to take the tape off and perhaps say a few words of contrition, it might be beneficial. You'll roll your eyes, because you know that taking your tape off and speaking in your own defense is exactly what they'd love for you to do, because they never get tired of sticking it to ya. The judge will sentence you to nine months in jail and 100 hundred hours of community service. As he reads your sentence, you'll hum 'Amazing Grace' from behind your duct tape very loudly.

When the judge finishes reading your sentence, he'll sit in silence for a moment to listen to your humming and try to figure you out. Finally, he'll shake his head ruefully and signal the bailiff to take you away. That night, the judge will rant to his two sons at dinner about how a lot of people are starting to feel like they aren't getting a fair shake when it comes to stores refusing to stay open later than they claim they will and policemen arresting people for committing crimes. His two sons will giggle because the judge has a very pronounced speech impediment and now that they're old enough, they know how funny it is.

Happy You're Sick And Tired Of Being Jerked Around Day!

Fundamentalist Starbucks Day!

Your local Starbucks is like a living room away from home for you. You love to go there and slip on some headphones and get lost in a good book, forgetting all about your two roommates for a little while. Your local Starbucks would be perfect if it wasn't for the creepy church group that's always hanging out there.

They don't preach to the other customers. They don't even talk all that loud. It looks like they just go there at night to chill out after a meeting of some kind. At first you thought they were just another AA after-crew, but then you saw one of them absently folding one of the poorly illustrated pamphlets that talk about Christ as if he were a lovable cartoon dog.

As soon as you found out they were a church group you were suddenly unable to relax. You haven't been able to concentrate when you read because you're always looking over at them to see if they're going to pray or hold hands or something. Whenever one of them starts whispering to another, you get goosebumps. You can't quite explain why, they just creep you out and you want them to go. Here's how to do it.

Approach their couches and say, 'Listen Christians, lets make a deal. One of you comes out back with me and we have ourselves a fistfight. If I win, you all have to find another Starbucks where you can sit around and get all caffeinated while basking in the light of the Lord. If you win, I'll go over to the Dunkin Donuts across the street and you'll never see me again. Deal?'

The Christians will say 'Deal!' Then they'll nominate Martin, a tall blonde man who looks a little older than you, to represent their group in the fistfight. When you get out back, Martin will shake your hand and say, 'May the best man win.' Then he'll kick your fucking ass.

After the fight, Martin will help you up and you'll say that a deal's a deal and you'll go pack up your stuff. The Christians will demand that you stay at the Starbucks. They would feel terrible if they knew they were keeping you from your favorite coffee shop. You'll thank them for being so forgiving.

From then on, whenever you arrive at the Starbucks, the Christians will all shout your name and jokingly call you a Christian-hater and a pussy who got his ass beat by an altar boy. You'll laugh along with them and find yourself a seat that points away from their couches, because even though they proved to be really cool and really tough, they're still a church group and you just can't help it. They make you nervous.

Happy Fundamentalist Starbucks Day!

Heaven, Room 103 Day!

Today you are going to be bludgeoned to death in a motel room. You only went there because a man you met at a truck stop told you he had some crank, and he said if you come back to his room with him the two of you could have a party. Even though ninety-nine percent of such encounters end in a bludgeoning just like yours, you never saw it coming.

When you arrive in Heaven, the talking puppy at the gate will look up your name and find your accommodations. 'Ah, you're staying in the Eastern Pass. Would you like to go to your room immediately, or would you care to drop into the Room 103 Reunion Party?'

'The Room 103 Reunion Party?' you'll ask.

'The Room 103 Reunion Party,' the talking puppy will say. 'They're expecting you.'

The talking puppy will point one of his paws towards a gathering of clouds off to the right where perhaps three dozen people are laughing and sipping from goblets like they're at some sort of medieval cocktail party. The talking puppy will say, 'Go on. They can't wait to meet you.' Then he'll roll over and bark once.

As you walk towards the gathering of people, you'll remember that 103 was the number of the hotel room where you were killed. Before you reach the gathering, everyone will turn to you and shout your name with open arms.

As they welcome you into their circle, they'll hand you a goblet of frozen mango margarita and they'll introduce themselves and point on their bodies to where they were shot, stabbed, or beaten with hammers. This is the Room 103 Reunion Party, and the only way anyone's getting on the guest list is if they die tragically in Room 103 at the I-80 Best Western off of exit 33-B Westbound.

'Looks like you took the 103 expressway up!' they'll joke with you, in between tales of how they were lured back to the motel room against their better judgement. You'll meet prostitutes, pimps, drug addicts and dealers, closeted gay preachers, even a couple of night-shift motel operators who were stupid enough to knock on the door to find out if that was a woman's scream they just heard.

'He was my knight in shining armor,' one former prostitute will say with her arms wrapped around a former motel operator. 'According to the coroner report, I was killed instantly, but I swear I saw him in that doorway. The last thing I remember is this here motel operator doubling over after the John unloaded a shotgun in his belly. He heard me scream for help when the John started beating me, and he came knocking to try and save my life. Too bad for you, huh baby?'

The motel operator will say, 'Just doing my job.' The prostitute will kiss his cheek. You'll get the sense they're kind of an item now.

They'll ask for your story, and you'll tell them about the truck stop and the crank and the paranoid shouting that resulted in a telephone being buried in your head.

'He seemed so nice,' you'll say. 'Then he just turned into a monster. I don't know why he did it.'

A voice behind you will say, 'Just got carried away I guess.'

You'll turn and you'll gasp when you see his face. It's him, your killer, but with a pair of crystal clear eyes and a face that looks decades younger, like the years of abuse have been washed away. If this is how he looks, you suddenly want to get to a mirror because you must look fantastic.

'All that crank just kind of fried me,' he'll say. 'I'm really sorry.'

'How'd you get here?' you'll ask.

'I sparked up right next to your dead body and OD'd,' he'll say. 'Heart attack. They found the both of us dead side by side and it took them a while to figure out what the hell happened.'

You'll laugh in spite of yourself. 'I bet,' you'll say.

He'll say, 'No hard feelings?'

You'll lift your goblet and touch it against his. 'To room 103,' you'll say.

The others will hear your toast and raise their goblets in kind. 'To room 103,' they'll shout, and the lot of you will sip from your drinks, feeling a sense of belonging deeper than anything you ever felt while you were still alive.

Happy Heaven, Room 103 Day!

Fuck Boat Day!

Four months ago, right when the papers on your divorce were finalized, you bought a ticket on the Fuck Boat, an orgy cruise of the Caribbean. You figured it was time for you to get back out there, and the brochure said that most of the Fuck Boat's passengers are your age (55) or older. You were really looking forward to it. And then you got the call.

'I miss you,' your now ex-wife said over the phone just twelve hours before your cruise was scheduled to depart.

'I'm going on the Fuck Boat tomorrow,' you said.

'But I want you back,' she said. 'You can take your vacation, but I haven't seen anyone else yet. If you're thinking that we have another shot at it, I'd appreciate if you didn't have sex with anyone else.'

You said, 'But it's the Fuck Boat.'

Today you'll be leaning on the railing surrounding the pool deck, staring out at the sea. Just behind you, eighteen middle-to-senior aged people will be fornicating on series of four-person rafts floating in the pool. One of the women, very pretty and young (41) will join you at the railing and ask you if you'd like to jump in and join the fun.

'I'm still not sure,' you'll say.

She'll smile a pretty smile. 'It's only a four-day cruise,' she'll say. 'Better make your decision pretty quick. But you're not going to get a clear head by depriving yourself of the fun you came here to have.'

The woman will then run back to the pool and dive in. She's right, you'll realize. You bought this trip for yourself as a divorced man, and your decision to ride the Fuck Boat was made with the knowledge that it would affect only you and you alone. If your ex-wife had a change of heart and chose to barge back into your life at a point when she might get hurt, that's her decision. You don't know if her heart will change again by the time you get back, and until you're sure that you want to try again you should live your life the way you want. That's why you're going to stop frowning at the ocean, you're going to pull your swim trunks down around your ankles, and you're going to taking a running leap into the pool full of pale and slack flesh waiting for you. It's only a four-day cruise. Just like you have to decide whether you want to get back together with an overworked tax attorney who is prone to scolding more than cuddling, your ex can decide whether she wants to get back together with a middle-aged biophysicist who just got off the Fuck Boat after a four day cruise, and he spent every day making sure it was money well spent.

Happy Fuck Boat Day!

You Just Inherited Millions From That Lonely Old Man You Robbed Day!

Today a lawyer is going to come to your house and read you the will of that lonely old guy you robbed six years ago, the one who came into the bedroom while you were rooting through his drawers. You tied him up and he started talking a mile a minute while you were there. He asked you all sorts of questions about the modern world and you answered him honestly from your street-smart point of view. He found your candor refreshing and he talked on and on, not even seeming to mind that you were upending his bedroom, just as long as you continued to engage him. Before you left, he called you a wise and honest young man and he thanked you for your time. Then you stuffed one of his socks in his mouth, shoved the chair he was tied to over on its side, and took off. You were never caught.

The lawyer will read, 'To the straight shooter who robbed me six years ago and was more honest and direct with me than all the yes-man assistants I have ever employed, and who was far more endearing than anyone in that terrible family I failed to raise, and who in my final years gave me a glimpse of what it is to truly grasp and grab for an existence, I leave everything.'

You'll jump up and down, waking your baby. Unfortunately, the family will contest the will for years and years. You'll be front page news for a very long time with everyone wanting to know what you and the old man talked about. You'll keep it to yourself until you're given a huge deal to write a book called, 'The Old Man and The Burglar.' You'll recreate the night in that book, throwing in lots of fabricated details about you telling the old man what it's like to grow up in the projects and the old man teaching you about the sacrifice people like him made for their country during World War II. You'll write scenes in which you and the old man cry together, and one scene where you even kiss each other on the lips. It will be a huge hit, and you'll be glad you chose not to tell the real story about how the old man only asked questions about whether modern girls were taking it 'in the pooper' and how long it took before they let you 'put in the pooper' and whether 'the pooper' feels as good as he'd always dreamed it would those 91 years he spent on this Earth. Print the legend.

Happy You Just Inherited Millions From That Lonely Old Man You Robbed Day!

Clip-On Ties Day!

Last week you went to a psychic and she told you to always wear clip-on ties. You told her that you only wanted to find out who you should make a play for at work, but she said the only thing she could see in your future is a need to wear clip-ons. You told her you wanted your money back and she said that in addition to the clip-on thing, if you ask her for your money back you'll end up regretting it. 'I have brothers,' she said. You told her to fuck herself and give you your money back anyway, so she did.

Today one of her brothers will come to kick your ass and you're going to get into a big cliff-side fist-fight with him. You'll end up shoving the psychic's brother over the edge and when he starts to tumble backwards, he'll grab your tie to try and take you with him. Luckily, though you thought she was a charlatan, you'll have taken that psychic's visions to heart and her brother will yank your clip-on right off of your shirt and go flying to his death on the rocks below with the tie still clutched tight in his fist.

After you lean over the cliff and spit on the body, you'll go find that psychic and tell her she is truly a woman blessed with a vision. You'll give her the money you owed for that first reading and you'll tell her she was even right about you regretting taking the money back because if you hadn't, you might not be feeling bad right now about killing her brother in a first-fight.

'You're very honest,' you'll say. 'You obviously knew it was your brother who would grab that tie and you didn't have to tell me to wear a clip-on, but you knew it would save my life so you told me.'

She'll tell you that she had no idea her brother would die in a fight with you. Her brothers are really tough and she assumed they'd beat your ass bloody. She told you to wear a clip-on because when she tried to see into your workplace and figure who you should make a move on, all she could see was you leaning way to close to the paper shredder and your tie getting caught in the blades on the day of your performance review. She'll tell you she wishes she had told you to wear a noose for a tie so her brother could have grabbed the rope and snapped your neck with one quick yank before he died. She'll warn you that she knows a firestarter so don't be surprised if one of these days you're walking down the street and all of a sudden you just explode into a superhot motherfucking fireball.

Then she'll throw your money back at you and say, 'Now go find another psychic who's willing to help you get your candyass laid.'

You'll walk out sad. Once a week for the rest of your life, you'll visit the psychic's brother's grave to lay flowers on the soil. But the rest of your life only lasts five weeks before your belt bursts into flames and burns you in two.

Happy Clip-On Ties Day!

The Butcher's Thumb Day!

Today at the Taste of Italy festival, the butcher you've always had your eye on will be so distracted by your pretty face that he'll accidentally chop off his thumb while chopping up sausage and peppers to make you a sausage and peppers hero. You'll run and buy a sno-cone without any flavoring, then you'll shove the thumb inside the sno-cone and hop inside the ambulance.

On the ride to the ambulance he'll scream and yell about the pain and how if the thumb doesn't get reattached his career will be over. 'No one will buy food from a butcher with a missing digit,' he'll say. 'It makes people think there'll be thumbs and pinkies in everything I sell.'

You'll tell the butcher not to worry, that if he can't get his thumb reattached, you promise to take care of him. He'll say you're damn right you'll take care of him since your pretty face is the reason he chopped his thumb off in the first place. You'll sprinkle ice on his forehead and stroke his hair, all the while secretly hoping that they won't be able to reattach his thumb so that you'll finally have a live-in boyfriend.

After a marathon surgery, they'll reattach his thumb and he'll be overjoyed and excited to go back to his business. You'll be happy for him, but heartsick for yourself. You'll be shocked that it didn't even mean anything to him that you would pledge to take care of him forever as penance for what anyone would see was an accident resulting from the butcher's own carelessness. You'll be furious with him and you'll stay as far away from his butcher shop as possible.

After many months of eating terrible meat, you'll finally return to his butcher shop. When he sees you, he'll stop in his tracks. He'll ignore all of the other customers holding numbered tickets and he'll go straight to you. You'll tell him to wrap you up a rib-eye for one. He'll ask how you are and you'll ask him why he cares. He has his store, his career, everything he wants. You'll ask him again to wrap you up your steak.

He'll cut you a piece of meat and package it up in a bag, then he'll tell you that he hasn't been able to stop thinking about you and that you're more important than any stupid butcher shop. To prove it, he'll chop off his thumb again and he'll say, 'You promised you'd take care of me forever.'

You'll burst into tears of joy, then you'll put the thumb on ice and rush him to the hospital to have it reattached. You'll promise again that you will take care of him forever, but you don't want him to lose his butcher shop because you were hoping to not have to work anymore once you find a fella.

Happy The Butcher's Thumb Day!

Wear A Wire Day!

The police found out that you smoke marijuana (there are cameras everywhere, just like you always said). They made you a deal: you wear a wire and help them catch your dealer, or you go to jail for twenty years.

You'll talk it over with your wife. 'They told me that if I go to jail, they'll talk to some inmates and make sure that my jail-time is really hard on me. Lots of teasing, they said.'

Your wife will tell you that in jail, teasing means that when they come into your cell to rape you, they let you run around and beg and plead for them not to do it first. It tires you out and they feel like it makes the whole affair a little more romantic.

You'll run it by your boss (you are the Chief Financial Officer of Prudential Securities). 'If I don't wear this wire during a drug buy, I'd have to take a pretty long leave of absence. I was wondering, is there any kind of jail-time compensation? Because if not, there really should be. I mean it sends a bad message if the company doesn't take care of anybody unless they get knocked up first. It's like you're condoning unsafe sex.'

Your boss will tell you that you need to talk to HR. 'Let me know what you find out,' he'll say. 'And if you decide to wear the wire, break a leg.'

Finally, you'll ask your daughter's teachers when you pick her up from school. Your daughter's teachers all have a big crush on you because you're rich and you seem to care for your child. They'll tell you to wear the wire. 'They're the police,' your daughter's teachers will say. 'Do what they tell you. The police are good.'

You'll agree to wear the wire tonight when you go to your drug dealer's house. She's a neighbor, an older woman who grows pot in her basement. At first the visit will go like normal. You'll sit down for some crackers and a beer. You'll talk about how your daughter's doing in school and she'll talk about hers. (Your daughters play together sometimes.) You'll talk about politics for a little bit, then you'll look at your watch and you'll ask her if you can buy the pot you came to buy. When she says yes, policemen will fly through her windows and doors and shoot her until her head's gone. For as long as you live, you'll never be able to smoke up without remembering her fondly.

Happy Wear A Wire Day!

You Are An Aspiring Daredevil Day!

It's hard to get up and go to your day job every morning when you know your time would be better spent trying to perfect the stunt where you light a brick wall on fire and crash a motorcycle into it. Keeping your eyes on the prize can be tough when you're spending all day behind a desk answering phones and juggling the calendars for a bunch of multi-millionaire patent lawyers. Everyone has to pay their dues. You just can't help but wonder how long it'll be before you're paid up. Sadly, today is really going to put your resolve to the test.

When you get into work, you'll be summoned to HR where you're told that all of your sick days have been used up and you'll have to take an unpaid leave of absence if you stay out with so much as a cold before the end of the year.

'Maybe you need to allow for the fact that human beings aren't robots!' you'll argue. 'We get ill and we need time off.'

The HR rep will explain that the accrual of sick days works for most employees and you just happen to be unique. 'Three comas in one six-month period can really chew up your bank of days,' she'll say. 'Perhaps if you were more careful?'

'What the hell is that supposed to mean?' you'll ask.

The rep will close her mouth up tight and she'll keep her eyes on your file.

'You knew what I did when I started working here and you said your firm was very supportive of admin employees pursuing other careers.'

'We didn't realize the toll your craft would take on your job performance,' she'll say. 'I admit when you told us you were a daredevil I just thought you were some kind of 'bad boy' magician, or that you went out on the weekends and drank horse semen or something. I didn't know you'd spend every Saturday intentionally setting yourself on fire.'

'What about all the actors and singers who leave for auditions every day?' you'll ask.

'Actors and singers don't have eleven hospital stays a year,' she'll say. 'Do you know that you've single-handedly drained our condolences budget? All those get well baskets we sent you cleaned us out. If any of your coworkers has a death in the family they're not getting any flowers, thanks to you.'

You'll fight it out some more, explaining to her that the firm should be happy to have people with diverse interests on the staff. She'll counter that some clients have remarked on having to stare at the second-degree burns all over your face and how it makes them very uncomfortable while in the waiting room, especially when the bandages have just been removed and all of the wounds are still damp. You'll challenge her to ask you to quit pursuing your career as daredevil, but she won't fall for it, knowing full well that you could have a lawsuit on your hands if they ever let you go for something you warned them about before they hired you. Instead, she'll say 'Pursue your craft as much as you want. Just don't get injured.' Which she full well knows is damned impossible. Any stunt that you can develop without any injuries is a stunt that's not worth you zipping up your silver jumpsuit. It looks like you're going to have to find a more understanding day job.

You'll go home frustrated as always, intending to drink a lot and complain to your girlfriend about what a long hard road it is to that elusive big break. But when you get home, your girlfriend will be standing next to a packed suitcase. She'll say that her back hurts from having to sleep in a chair in your hospital room all the time and that at first trying to have sex through a body cast was sort of new, but lately it's just been a chore.

Say, 'Everyone is conspiring to make me give up my dream!'

She'll say that she just wants a boyfriend who doesn't lose consciousness for three months out of the year. You'll call her selfish and you'll suggest that maybe she should look into why she needs so much attention. Your girlfriend will tell you to blow yourself, and to remember to set yourself on fire first and videotape it.

Happy You Are An Aspiring Daredevil Day!

Tell Matt You Don't Want To Be His Accountability Buddy Anymore Day!

You and Matt met at a church group and you both expressed anger at how easily pornography can be accessed over the internet, and what a sad and lonely thing it is that so many people appease their sexual urges by visiting those sites. Matt suggested that you both install Accountability Buddy software, which is set up so that anytime one of you visits a pornographic website, your computer sends an email to the other with the URL of the adult site. Sounded perfect to you, so you went right home and set it all up.

Today you're going to tell Matt that you don't want to be his accountability buddy anymore. Having the software on your computer has helped you to avoid viewing any online pornography, since you couldn't bare to face Matt if he knew what you'd been looking at. Matt, however, has not been able to stay away. In fact, you immediately started receiving two or three emails a day containing long lists of pornographic URLs that he's visited. As the days passed, the list only seemed to grow. His computer was sending yours so many emails that you ended up just automatically sending them all to your spam folder.

The way it's supposed to work out is after you get one of those emails you were supposed to call Matt and confront him. You did that after the first day or two, but then you were getting so many that you didn't know how to deal with it. That's when Matt would call you and ask, 'Did you get a look at that site?' You'd tell him you found the site repulsive, and he'd say, 'Oh yeah, totally. What about the other one? Did you check that out?' The way he always seemed to be out of breath when he spoke made you suspicious that Matt just set this software up because he gets turned on knowing that someone knows what he's masturbating to. Confront him today.

'Heck yes,' Matt will say. 'There's no hotter way to masturbate. You're the one who talked about how lonely it can be to look at web-porn! This is the answer buddy!'

Tell Matt you're not his buddy anymore. He'll grab your lapels and demand to know what he's supposed to do now. 'Those emails can't just go into the ether, man!'

Give Matt the address of a secular support group for men who are addicted to web porn. 'Go to these meetings,' say. 'They can help you.'

You know the meetings are most likely just a bunch of guys looking for other guys to receive their 'I'm looking at porn, check it out!' emails. But at least it's outside the church. For God's sake, get that man's hands away from Christ.

Happy Tell Matt You Don't Want To Be His Accountability Buddy Anymore Day!

Seek Investors Day!

That's your last pair of panties. When you finally peel them off after wearing them during your morning run and while cleaning behind your refrigerator, as was requested, and you carefully fold the pair into a neat triangle, wrap it in tissue paper, and seal it inside the pre-addressed, postage-paid envelope, you will officially be on the brink of bankruptcy.

You can only blame a poorly conceived business model. By guaranteeing that no one but you will wear the underwear, and that while wearing the underwear you will engage in two physical activities selected from a menu of over thirty (which, besides 'jogging' and 'cleaning behind the refrigerator' includes such perspiration-friendly activities as 'helping a friend move,' 'sitting on an un-air-conditioned bus ride for six hours,' and of course, the very popular 'masturbating with your underwear still on'), and promising that each subscriber will receive two pairs of pre-worn underwear every month for just $19.95 recurring, you pretty much made it impossible to earn more than eighty bucks a day before expenses. And to generate that much revenue you can expect to not get more than two or three hours of sleep a night.

You really should have thought through the activity list a little more. Options like 'wear the underwear while riding a see-saw' and 'wear the underwear while hunting through a grocery store's dairy section until you find the carton with the most recent expiration date' were relatively practical as far as time-restraints go. Unlike, 'wear the underwear while watching Krzysztof Kieslowski's Red, White and Blue trilogy' which is about six hours long, or 'wear the underwear in Cincinnati' which is about eight hours away by car.

The key to a successful subscription-only mail-away pre-worn underwear service is volume. An increasing subscription base against decreasing operation costs equals profit. Though your target demographic (people who have seen online photographs of you wearing underwear who would like you to remove the underwear you are wearing and mail it to them) is huge, your commitment to providing a 'Premium Mail-Away Pre-Worn Underwear Service Experience' to the consumer has forced you to limit your maximum subscriber base to no more than fifty people, tops.

And you're even starting to lose subscribers. The complaint emails have been pouring in.

'I specifically requested that you wear the underwear while accosting a young mother for slapping her son in public, but the underwear I received clearly smells like it was worn while you were applying for a street performance license. I want my money back, fraud!'

The fact is, your business is not sustainable. You have to draw up a revised business plan that includes more practical underwear-clad activities and a staff of models from which the subscriber may choose. The digital age is about choice after all, and your decision to guarantee that you will be the only person to ever wear the underwear that is sent to the subscriber reflects only on your vanity and not on your desire to maximize the subscriber experience. Draw up your business plan and then arrange a meeting with Sequoia. You need to buy another twelve-pack of cotton panties to get through the week, and you're not going to be able to do that unless you secure at least eight bucks in venture capital.

Happy Seek Investors Day!

You Didn't Get Lucky Day!

Tonight at the opening of Wally's Walls, your friend Wally's new showroom for his custom wallpaper business, you will be stunned by the aggressive advances of a woman who is far more attractive than any woman who has seen fit to pull you into an embrace.

'My name is Tara,' the woman will say, 'And the minute I saw you I knew you would be taking me home to your apartment tonight. Do we go now or will you torture me by making me wait.'

You'll tell Tara that you'd really feel bad about leaving before your friend unveils this year's designs. Tara will press her lips upon yours with such ferocity you'll start walking backwards under the force of her face until you feel a blast of cold air in your ears and you stumble out onto the sidewalk.

'Looks like you already left,' Tara will say. She'll kiss you again while hailing a cab and she won't set your lips free until she has opened the door behind you and is ready to grab you by the top of your head, like a cop would a perp, and shove you into the backseat.

In the cab you'll give the driver your address and Tara will kiss you the entire way home, not letting you speak a single word. Once upstairs and in your apartment, you'll finally feel in control and for the first time all night you'll step towards Tara and lean in to kiss her first.

'Freshen up,' Tara will say. You'll think she means that she'd like to use the bathroom and you'll direct her down the hall. She'll say, 'No, you first,' and you'll realize that she'd like you to go and brush your teeth. You obey.

While brushing, you'll hear what you assume to be the neighbors banging on your wall. You'll rinse your mouth out, strip down to nothing, and then you'll step back into your bedroom to find Tara pulling several stacks of hundred dollar bills wrapped in plastic from the hole she's dug into the wall with a small ball peen hammer.

The only thing you'll think to say is, 'That's not my hammer.'

'I brought it with me,' Tara will say. She'll glance at your nakedness. 'Nice body hunk, but you didn't get lucky tonight. I used to live here and I stashed this money in the wall when I had to split in kind of a hurry. I'm leaving now and you'd better not get in my way.'

While Tara stuffs the stacks of bills (there has to be at least $50,000 there) into her bag, you'll start to feel a little bad. But you'll look back on the makeout session at the showroom and in the cab and you'll cheer up. Even though it was just her means to a hidden end, you'll still be glad to have been able to grope and kiss someone so out of your league and you'll decide that tonight counts as a partial score, regardless of the duplicity behind it all.

'I'll take it,' you'll whisper to yourself. Tara will turn and almost ask what you said, then she'll think better of it.

Just then you'll hear the squealing of rubber on the street below. You and Tara will run to the window to see two black SUVs unloading several passengers armed to the hilt and running into your building.

'Take this,' Tara will say. She'll shove a Glock in your hand. 'When that front door opens, shoot whoever comes through. You'd better get dressed.'

'Do I have to?' you'll ask.

Tara will shrug. She'll lift your mattress on its side and use it for cover. You'll get behind the mattress with Tara and stand close enough to her for your sides to touch. Anyone who saw it would not be able to deny that she is technically touching you while you're totally naked. 'It counts,' you'll whisper to yourself.

Tara will again ignore your whispering. She'll say, 'Sorry hunk, but boy did you ever not get lucky tonight.'

'I beg to differ,' you'll whisper. Tara will tell you that she heard you that time and it was kind of creepy. The footsteps on the stairs outside will grow louder and your heart will beat faster as the warmth of Tara's body caresses your naked left side.

'Creepy,' Tara will say once more before the door bursts open and the gunshots start to fly.

Happy You Didn't Get Lucky Day!

Convince The Sheriff To Let You Go Free Day!

Lotta people wanna kill me. If they find out you got me locked up in here they'll kill you too. Just to get to me.

Part of the job, says the Sheriff.

I'll suck your cock.

No thank you, says the Sheriff.

I know where there's some gold. I'll take you out there tonight and you and me can split it fifty-fifty.

You can't buy your freedom.

Sixty-forty.

You're gonna be tried and hanged.

Seventy-twenty?

That don't add up.

We'll set aside ten for a big night on the town because if you set me free and we go off looking for gold together, I think you're gonna find that in me you've got one hell of a devoted and caring friend. Even through these bars, with you holding that key, I can feel the connection between us. Unlock this cell and open your heart to friendship Sheriff. You don't have many friends do you? Sheriff can't make too many friends what with that badge shining in everybody's eyes. But I'm different, Sheriff. I see the heart underneath that badge. Unlock this cell and let your friend come near.

Uh uh.

I'll suck your cock. Did I offer that already?

You did indeed.

And what was your answer?

I declined, horse-thief.

No one ever said no to this mouth before, Sheriff. Who do you think you are?

I think I'm the man responsible for getting you before the judge on time. I do what I'm paid to do.

Ninety-ten.

You ain't got any gold.

I'm hurt.

Sorry.

How do you know I wasn't framed?

You turned yourself in.

Ninety-five ' Five.

I said no thank you.

I guess it's right that you keep me locked up. My whole life, no one ever gave me any special treatment. My Mom and Dad didn't give me no second chances when I let our pig wander off. Right the next day they went out and made me join the circus. But the circus wouldn't let me do nothing but clean up after the elephants. I auditioned. I auditioned for every part they had open, but they'd say no thanks each time. I'd say, gimme a second chance. They'd say, no second chances for you. So I turned to murder and thievery.

Understandable.

Don't be like the circus, Sheriff. Gimme a second chance.

No can do.

You can suck my cock if you want.

I'm good.

Did I already offer that?

You offered to take care of me.

Well you can take care of me if you like.

That's kind of you, but I have to decline.

There's no one more stubborn than an honest man.

Let's just enjoy the time we have together, horse-thief.

(You both stop talking. You listen to the sound the room makes with the two of you together in it. It's like you're both trying to burn that sound into memory.)

Happy Convince The Sheriff To Let You Go Free Day!

Get The Fuck Outta Sugarbush Day!

Drive south. As fast as you can. She's driving north and her trunk is full. The only thing you want right now is to get across the state line before she does. You don't want to be in Vermont when she parks her car and lays claim to your husband.

Twelve years ago you became an apprentice ski instructor. Your tenure as a teacher on the slopes was only meant to last a season. You thought over the months you'd grow to love the cold and the vast landscapes of white, but you never did. At the end of the season, just before you decided to give up on winter and skiing forever, another apprentice ski instructor came tumbling off of a lift and crashed into your ankles. His name was Norman and you would be married before Spring. You bought a cabin together and lived in Vermont year round, making all your money in the wintertime giving skiing lessons for exorbitant fees.

Nine happy yet ice cold years later, Norman broke his femur on the slopes and ended up being treated by a beautiful young sports medicine doctor who worked the resort in the winter. They fell in love over the course of his physical therapy while you continued teaching lawyers how to ski. They carried out their affair for three whole seasons. She'd come up for the winters and he'd arrange his class schedule so that you were always teaching for at least a couple of hours of his free-time. Today Norman finally confessed that when his doctor arrives today, he'll be moving into her cabin. You hit him in the face with a snow boot, grabbed the car keys and started driving fast.

You didn't suspect a thing. You always said that the cold winters bothered you, but Norman's love kept you warm. Even your rationalization was based on an outright lie. The worst part is, these past three years you felt that Norman was more attentive and giving than ever before. You felt like you had settled into the real and true married happiness that would last you until your old age. His guilt must have forced him to overcompensate, and now he's got you violating the speed limit and feeling like a fool.

When you finally enter Massachusetts, you'll check the clock and feel comfortable that you made it. There's no way she could have gotten into Vermont that soon. But you don't let up on the gas. You want to get out of sight of the blaring miserable foliage all around you. You want to get someplace maybe 600 miles away, where there's no autumn. Someplace where when the leaves are ready to fall of the trees, they don't try to trick you by turning all sorts of pretty colors. You're gonna keep driving till leaves die ugly.

Happy Get The Fuck Outta Sugarbush Day!

The Contrition of the Power-Saw Salesman Day!

Yesterday a madman bought a power-saw from your store and immediately switched it on and ran out into the street screaming and grinding away at anyone who got in his way on the sidewalk. It's not the first time this has happened, not by a long shot. But it's not getting any easier to go out to the houses of the murder victims and apologize for selling the weapon that chopped up their relatives.

'I'm a pretty good judge of people,' you tell them. 'I wouldn't sell to a man if I thought I saw blood in his eyes. But yesterday was real busy at the store and well you know how it gets.' That's about the point where the family forgives you and thanks you for coming all this way and you start handing out manager's discretion discount coupons.

Yesterday's mayhem yielded a mortality rate of just one married man. Today after you clean the blood and tissue off the window, you'll visit his wife and find she doesn't plan to let you off the hook so easily.

'What can I say,' you'll tell her. 'The place was a zoo and I just didn't get a good sense of the guy. I plan to hire more help though. It's been a really good year. Anyway, thanks for the tea.'

'Not good enough,' she'll say.

You'll say, 'Beg pardon?'

'I do not forgive you,' she'll say. 'You sold the saw that ripped my husband into pieces and robbed his son of a father. Had you not sold the saw, my husband would be alive today. I'm sorry, but I don't forgive you.'

This has never happened before, and you'll be so blown away you'll barely be able to catch enough breath to ask her why.

'What can I give you that'll open your heart?' you'll ask.

'I never liked the way I met my husband,' she'll say. 'He was the son of my father's boss. Terribly boring way to meet the love of your life.'

'Well I can't change the way you met your husband.'

'My husband is dead,' she'll say. 'I need a second husband now, and I'd like to have a good meet-cute story to tell at dinner parties.'

'You mean like, He showed up and apologized for selling the power-saw that killed my first husband, and when I looked in his eyes I just knew?'

'Precisely,' she'll say.

If she doesn't forgive you, you know you won't be able to unlock that store again. The guilt will be too overwhelming. You and your family will be ruined.

'Done,' you'll tell her. 'Now do you forgive me?'

'I could never stay mad at you!' she'll say, throwing her arms around your neck. 'Oh I'm going to make you so happy!'

Tonight you'll go home and explain to your wife and daughters that you're only getting this divorce so that you can keep the power-saw store in operation. Yes, you have to remarry immediately, but it's only because you want to be a good provider. They'll never forgive you, but at least their grudge won't make you close up shop.

Happy The Contrition of the Power-Saw Salesman Day!

Boys Against God Day!

You just found out that you and all of your Catholic friends are going to go to hell for touching yourselves. Call an emergency meeting of teenage boys tonight to show the Pope who's boss.

'Gentlemen,' you'll say to the gathering of sixteen Catholic boys, all of them listening to you while playing their PSPs. 'As I'm sure you've been made aware, the Catholic Church has long held firm that boys who masturbate are condemned to an eternity in the deepest bowels of hell.'

One of the boys will raise his hand to speak. You'll open the floor to him. The boy will stand up and say, 'You said held firm.' The other boys will laugh, as will you, because it's funny.

'I move that that front door be locked to the outside and that we as a group hold a Masturbate-In, and that we send a message to Rome with marathon of onanism that we will not be deterred from our natural inclination to touch ourselves every time we're behind a door that locks or is at least creaky enough to let us know when someone is coming inside. To your corners!'

The teenage boys will all lift one fist and shout 'Yeah!' before moving to various more secluded parts of the room to masturbate. One of the boys will have a dirty game on his PSP that he will watch and then pass around the room. The game has naked women in it but they're all wearing bulletproof helmets. It's unbelievably hot.

Soon news of your protest will spread throughout the town, and it won't be long before its on CNN. The Pope will issue a statement that is translated to mean, 'The Vatican regrets that these boys feel the need to be so disgusting, and hopes they return home to their parents soon.' The local police will want to take action before the Feds take control, so they'll shoot tear gas into the meeting hall. Unfortunately, they won't know how much to use and at least half of the boys inside will die from too much gas. The event will appear on magazine covers for weeks with the question, 'Teen Horniness and Religion: A Lethal Mix.' For years and years after the event, little boys who are caught masturbating will be told by their parents that they'd better stop unless they want to be gassed.

Happy Boys Against God Day!

Stoner Porn Day!

Being an entrepreneur is about finding a need in the consumer and fulfilling that need. Well, you are certain that there is a certain market of consumer for pornographic movies with storylines that sync up to various pop and rock albums in an apparently relevant manner.

You've sunk $40,000 into your company and so far you're pretty happy with the product line. The most critically acclaimed videos include 'Slut Force 2069' which is a futuristic story of a totalitarian state that has prohibited sexual expression of any kind, but an underground movement tries to gather people together for secret orgies in the sewers of the San Fernando Valley to try to set eroticism free from the shackles of fascism. 'Slut Force 2069' syncs up almost perfectly to Radiohead's 'OK Computer.' It becomes most apparent during 'Karma Police' when two government agents start questioning three buxom female members of Slut Force and the agents end up setting the Slut Force girls free in exchange for butt sex. Right when you see the first penetration shot you hear the lyric 'This is what you get / When you mess with us.' It fits almost perfectly. Later in the album, when the chorus to 'No Surprises' plays, the leader of Slut Force is having sex with the dictator of the United Republic of Global Abstinence and she's repeating to him, 'Warn me when you're ready to come on my tits. Warn me when you're ready to come on my tits.' It really blows your mind.

Another good one is 'Three-Way Camp' which is all about a sleepaway camp where teenage girls go to have three-ways with male counselors. That one was one of the more experimental titles. You had Spanish wunderkind director Alfonso Cuaron take the helm and he made it sync up to 'Hatful of Hollow' by the Smiths. You wouldn't think it would work, but it actually syncs up so well some people complain that they can't watch it because they get too creeped out.

The best seller would have to be 'Blow Job Race' which syncs up to U2's 'The Unforgettable Fire.' The syncing isn't really that interesting on that one. But it's been flying off the shelves anyway, mostly because people just like the plot, which is that there's a blow job race and the girl who gives the most blow jobs within a specified period of time wins.

But even 'Blow Job Race' isn't selling well enough to recoup your investment yet. It's either because porn shops don't yet have a 'Cult Favorites' section, or people just don't watch the videos for more then twelve minutes so they really don't get a grasp of how well the sync-ups work. The only thing you can think to do is generate more product and hope the concept catches on.

Today you have to visit the set of 'Fuck Party' which is about a fuck party. It's written to sync up to 'People's Instinctive Travels and the Paths of Rhythm' by A Tribe Called Quest, one of your favorite bands from when you were in college. Today they're shooting the scene that syncs up to 'Bonita Applebum,' which is the scene that made you give the project an immediate green light when you read the script. You may not be making yourself rich, but at least you're doing something good for the world and you're getting a heck of a lot of boners in the process.

Happy Stoner Porn Day!

School Portrait Day!

You got raped by the devil after your ex-husband made a secret deal with some Satanists to get himself a promotion at his job (he writes e-cards for Blue Mountain) in exchange for granting demonic access to your womb. When the baby came out (you named him Corey), you were pretty pissed that he inherited Satan's fugly eyes, but that was nothing a pair of color contacts couldn't fix. You've noticed a few eccentricities. For example, when he would spit up, live locusts would fly out of his mouth. But for the most part he's just like any other kid. And the important thing is you had a baby before you turned 35.

Corey's six now and he's proving to be something of a problem child in school. Teachers send you home notes complaining about his steady guttural growl during sustained silent reading periods. And while some boys throw rocks at girls they like, Corey was found in the coat closet lighting his index fingernail on fire so that he could carve ancient runes into the bare buttocks of three waiting female classmates. And during a class birthday last month, Corey snuck an extra cupcake out of the box and hid it in his desk.

Today you're being called into school because Corey is accused of having ruined a class portrait. He didn't make any silly faces or obscene hand gestures. When the proofs were developed, in the background, just behind Corey's shoulder, one could see the ethereal image of the photographer's dead mother being gang-raped by various demonic beings, as well as some of the more famous serial killers from history. The photographer has refused to print any of the photos and he has vowed to never shoot a portrait at Corey's school again. He has demanded an apology from Corey.

'Corey doesn't apologize I'm afraid,' you'll tell the principal. 'Whenever I ask him to say sorry he just starts shouting priest-fucker this and nun-pussy that. I just don't try any more.'

'So are we just supposed to not have any school portraits taken until your son moves on to middle school?' the principal will ask.

Tell the principal there's a little trick you use whenever you take Corey's picture. At the last minute, just before you snap the photo, you have to flash a mirror at Corey. The devil is able to believe that he's beautiful but when he looks in a mirror he sees that he's actually a pox-ridden snarling beast. It startles him and makes the visions he conjures disappear. In Corey's case, unfortunately, it also makes him defecate, so that will have to be attended to, but you'll at least get a photo without any rape ghosts.

The principal will thank you for the tip. Apologize for Corey's behavior and the principal will wave you off, telling you that he was something of a troublemaker himself when he was a kid. Just then, you'll hear a crash of glass and through the window behind the principal you'll see Corey's social studies teacher fall from the third floor to be impaled on a wrought-iron fence. You and the principal will shake your heads and say, 'Corey you fink!'

Happy School Portrait Day!

Concoct A Delightfully Mischievous Plan To Get Your Divorced Dad To Marry Your Best Friend's Divorced Mom Day!

You and your best friend Sarah are eleven years old and you're both children of divorce. You're both okay with it, but your Dad and Sarah's mom and still recovering from their respective splits and frankly, you're both sick of listening to your parents wailing alone in their bedrooms after they think you've fallen asleep. You and Sarah think you'd make great sisters and since your respective parents are both heterosexual members of the opposite sex who are not presently married, you have no reason to believe their marriage wouldn't be a runaway success (you're eleven and haven't dated much yet. It's all very new).

It's time for you and Sarah to get your parents to fall in love and get married via a delightfully mischievous plan concocted by the two of you. While your parents would normally be upset to learn that they were tricked into meeting and falling for each other, when they learn that it was their respective daughters' planning that made their love connection, they'll only be able to find the whole thing to be delightfully mischievous. Here's what you're gonna do.

You and Sarah are going to tell your parents to take you shopping at the same department store, and you'll tell them to take different routes to get there, making sure the routes cross paths at a predetermined blind curve. When both cars approach the curve, Sarah will lean over and step on the gas pedal while grabbing the wheel to steer her mother's car into oncoming traffic. She'll have already undone her seatbelt so when the cars crash, she'll fly through the windshield (you both agreed Sarah is the stronger one who would likely come out of a coma faster). All four of you will be sent to the same hospital, and while you, your Dad and Sarah's mom will recover quickly, Sarah's injuries will keep her in bed for far longer and the three of you will provide each other support while she makes her way out of the ICU. The constant leaning on each other is guaranteed to make your Dad and Sarah's mom fall in love, and when Sarah's all better and they finally find out how you devised the accident that led to their falling for each other, you can count on them to raise a toast to your delightful mischievousness at their wedding. All of the guests will stand and applaud and you'll be an inspiration for children of divorce all over the world.

Happy Concoct A Delightfully Mischievous Plan To Get Your Divorced Dad To Marry Your Best Friend's Divorced Mom Day!

Do Not Sign For This Package Day!

Today, a package that you sent yourself will arrive via UPS. Do not sign for it. The UPS man will say, "What the hell am I supposed to do with it then?" Say that that is not your concern. He has taken responsibility for the package and you refuse to sign away that responsibility for him. The UPS man will say, "I worried this would happen one day."

Tell him, "Good luck," and shut the door on him.

The UPS man will bring the package home and sit it by the chair that he sits in to watch television. There it will sit for years, mocking the UPS man. Every day he will successfully deliver hundreds of packages to waiting recipients, but all he will be able to think about is the package sitting in his TV room, ever undeliverable.

Finally, on the night of his retirement, the UPS man will think, "Perhaps the package was meant for me all along." He will open the package and find the note that you wrote which says, "This package was meant for you all along, delivery boy." Underneath the note, he will find the ashen remains of one of your turds. Damn you, he'll screeam. Damn you.

Happy Do Not Sign For This Package Day!

Jesus Wants You To Sing 'Hot Blooded' By Foreigner At Karaoke Day!

Tonight at the Korean barbecue slash Karaoke bar, while the Karaoke DJ is searching for your song, make sure to give a shout-out to the man who made the whole night possible. 'Whenever I get on stage I'm singing for just one man. The Lord.' Explain to the waiting crowd of strangers that Jesus is the reason you're there tonight, that he's the reason you're anywhere at all really. 'He makes it all possible.'

If the song is still loading, be sure to dedicate your song to 'a very special woman named Kara.' The crowd will applaud just a bit, so you should add, 'I want to ask her to marry me tonight.' That will make the crowd explode in applause and they'll all look around for the lucky girl. Explain, 'Oh no she's not in the room. But later when I see her, I'm going to pop the question.' In 2002 you went on three dates with Kara, before you started calling constantly and she was forced to change her phone number and her brother wrote you a letter warning you that you had to stop calling or they'd have to 'do something.' You haven't dated anyone since.

If you still have time, pretend that you have friends or coworkers in the room and start making fun of them. 'This is taking longer than Charlie's bathroom breaks at the office, isn't that right Charlie?' The crowd will laugh and it will feel good to have made the room think you have acquaintances who will go out in public with you.

Finally, 'Hot Blooded' by Foreigner will start to play. You'll mostly speak the lyrics because you are much more about the choreography and the stage antics than you are about the voice. When the song is finished, stand near the bar for several hours drinking diet soda.

Happy Jesus Wants You To Sing 'Hot Blooded' By Foreigner At Karaoke Day!

Burning Leaves Day!

'Thank God none of us is responsible for nobody else,' says Gary.

Gary is one of your closest high school buddies. The other four are Benny, Steve, Martin, and Lou. All six of you are gathered around a pile of burning leaves and you're drinking from cheap six packs, watching the smoke rise.

'Thank God none of us ever tried to leave this town,' says Steve.

In high school you figured you would end up elsewhere. You used to talk about college with Martin, neither one of you knowing what it took to get into one, either financially or grades-wise. And neither of you ever bothered to check into it. Benny was a really good singer in high school and you all used to say he'd be a superstar one day. But whenever he was questioned about whether he wanted to run off to New York City he'd just say, 'My mom is sick.' She's gone now, but Benny's still around.

'Thank God none of us ever gave up drinking beers around burning leaf piles. For good I mean,' Benny will say.

Gary and Martin both have a few DWIs under their belts. Gary got two just from driving home after sitting around a burning leaf pile with all of you guys. He went into AA for a while, as did Martin when he got his. On order from the court. The other four of you worried so much that they might never come back to the leaf pile again that you really started losing sleep. You almost lost your job at the hardware store because of the way you'd snap at customers. The thought of six turning to four was terrifying. You couldn't imagine sitting around that fire with just Benny, Steve and Lou, the four of you trying to have a good time just like you've had a couple times a week ever since high school, and the whole time knowing Gary and Martin are just a few miles away living just fine without their friends in their lives anymore. Steve said he would occasionally hyperventilate when he thought about it. Thankfully, once the court-ordered number of weeks in treatment was appeased, Gary started drinking again, and eventually Martin did too. And you're all pretty sure you'll be able to finish out your thirties together without any other disturbances.

'Thank God we never shot up the school like we planned to Sophomore year,' says Lou.

You had the idea long before it came into style, which is kind of why you never went through with it. Your classmates certainly deserved it, you're certain of that, but you just couldn't imagine how it could possibly play out. You didn't have the video games or the news footage. Or the internet for that matter. You just had your ingenuity, which wasn't enough to get a gun in your hands.

"Ahead of our time," says Lou.

'Thank God none of us ever turned queer. I sure wouldn't have been able to tolerate that. If one of you guys had gone queer and started putting the moves on me while I was just trying to sit here around the leaf fire. I'd have killed you probably, if anyone tried any of that faggot shit on me,' says Martin.

Martin turned queer early on in middle school. Ever since then he's talked endlessly about how much he hates queers. He's put the moves on each of you at least once, but the advances were never aggressive enough that they couldn't be brushed off as a joke. Except once when Gary passed out at Martin's house on New Year's and Benny walked in and saw Martin blowing Gary while he was asleep. Or at least while Gary pretended to be asleep. Benny came out and told the rest of you, and it made you all giggle a little. But whatever, it was New Year's.

'Thank God beer still comes in six packs and autumn leaves still catch fire,' you'll say, raising your beercan in the air. The other five will lift their cans in kind and howl at the moon, which is really big tonight. In your sixteen years coming out to the middle of this field to drink and burn leaves, you've seen all kinds of big pretty autumn moons before, but never so big as this one tonight. The moon seems to get bigger and bigger ever year.

Happy Burning Leaves Day!

Go Hit The Singles Bars And Find Someone To Finally Save Your Life Day!

She'll be standing at the end of the bar, sipping from a vodka tonic. She'll have sad eyes and a scarf that she's taken off and folded up and it sits on the bar next to her coaster. Men will approach and ask her for her company and she'll deflect them with silent grace. She's looking at you though. After each man is sent packing, she looks again at you, her small smile asking 'What are you waiting for?'

'Here's the deal,' you'll say when you finally get the guts to approach her. 'I need to start living for someone else. I've been living for myself for a long time now and I've been crunching the numbers and I'm just not worth it. You know? I'm just not worth the trouble of breathing in and then breathing out again. So I gotta find someone else to live for or I'm gonna hit the road.'

She'll sip from her straw, intrigued.

'Of course, we both still gotta go through the motions and give each other a taste. I know that. But I just gotta put it out there. In the long run I'm looking for someone to live for. So if you're one of these self-sufficient girls who needs her space and just wants someone to sit across from at dinner four nights a week, I better get going. I need a girl who wants her Daddy back. That you?'

'You're very honest,' she'll say. 'I like that.'

'Honest, schmonest,' you'll say. 'You looking for Daddy or not?'

'My father walked out when I was two,' she'll say. 'I've never experienced what it's like to have a Daddy. I'm afraid I've always taken care of myself. And my mom. My men have always complained of feeling unimportant in my life.'

You'll say, 'Crap. You been to Sunset's tonight?' Sunset's is another singles bar three blocks West.

'Sunset's?' she'll say. 'Yes. Um, I have.' She's embarrassed to admit that this is her second stop, alone.'

'Lotta chicks there tonight?' you'll ask.

'Yes,' she'll say. 'Lots.'

'Great!' you'll say. 'And good luck finding a guy who finds value in his accomplishments and doesn't need you to remind him how much you need him all day long.'

'And good luck finding a woman who might as well be drowning,' she'll say. 'Have you tried drug addicts?'

'They feel good for a while. You get to give them all your money and care for them when they get the sickness every Monday. But they don't stick around. G'night then!'

She'll lift her drink in a toast to your journey and you'll head off to Sunset's to try and find yourself a reason.

Happy Go Hit The Singles Bars And Find Someone To Finally Save Your Life Day!

Ambulance Confessions Day!

Today your husband is going to have a heart attack at an outdoor caf'. Paramedics will be summoned to take your husband to the hospital. You'll ride in the back of the ambulance, holding his hand and lending an ear for any last words that he might want to get out.

'I never liked the sofa pattern you picked out,' he'll tell you. 'I was only trying to be cool about it.'

'That's perfectly all right,' you'll say. 'I'm so glad we can clear the air on stuff like this.'

'I have a second family,' he'll say. 'With Fran, the woman who used to manage my Chester County warehouse. We had a fling, but she got pregnant and wanted to keep it, so I supported them.'

'All those vacations you said we couldn't afford to take,' you'll say. Your husband will grunt and grab at his chest. You'll bet he's faking, but you won't challenge him on it.

'Which family did you love more?' you'll ask.

'Let's see,' your husband will say. Then he'll enumerate the pros and cons of each family. Apparently Fran raised his daughter to be an embezzler, but he blames you for raising your son to be an actor.

Finally you'll arrive at the hospital and the paramedics will rush your husband through the emergency entrance. A hospital administrator will come out to the ambulance and hand you a release form which grants HBO permission to use your exchange with your husband on their new series 'Ambulance Confessions.' He'll show you the hidden camera installed in the fake heart monitor. You'll say you're not sure.

The hospital administrator will ask whether your husband would have wanted to be on TV. You'll ask if that means your husband died already. The administrator will say he doesn't know, but if he did, which he might, would he have wanted to be on TV? You'll say he never mentioned it. The administrator will finally direct you to the clause that says you'll get paid 800 bucks. You'll say that it's not about the money for you. You'll explain to the administrator that there was a point in the confession where your husband said that you stayed thin, unlike his other wife Fran, who ballooned up like a dead whale. You'll tell the administrator you won't sign unless that part of the confession is guaranteed to air in its entirety. The administrator will draw up a new contract and you'll sign yourself famous.

Happy Ambulance Confessions Day!

Go To Your Nearest Sprint/Nextel Store And Bust Up A Human Trafficking Ring Day!

In the back of every Sprint/Nextel store you'll find about ten girls under the age of fifteen who have either been kidnapped or sold into prostitution. No one wants to do anything about it though because they all still have eight months left in their contracts. Also, Sprint/Nextel representatives have no qualms about locking the girls in the building and setting the place on fire anytime it looks like the police or a vigilante is about to bust in and try to set the girls free. It's how they were trained, so you're going to have to be sneaky about this.

Go into the Sprint store pretending to be an ordinary customer. Just say, 'Everything about the service you provide is terrible and you don't seem to know anything about how telephones work.' No one ever walks into a Sprint/Nextel store without saying this verbatim, so make sure to memorize it. The Sprint/Nextel representative will offer to replace your terrible phone with one that's worse. That's when you should fire your rifle into the ceiling. Don't bother taking the representative hostage in exchange for the girls. Sprint/Nextel cares as little about the people who make them money selling phones as they do about the girls who make them money as enslaved prostitutes.

Aim your rifle at the other Sprint/Nextel representatives. They'll beg that you kill them because once a Sprint/Nextel retail branch is compromised by a vigilante, death is far more palatable than the punishment that Sprint/Nextel will unleash on their employees. Grab the nearest rep and yank the key to the back from around his neck, then burst through the doors to storeroom/makeshift brothel.

You'll see a few shelves of terrible phones and a narrow row of cots supporting enslaved teenage girls underneath obese tourists still wearing their Izod shirts but without any shorts to tuck them into. One of the Sprint/Nextel representatives keeping watch over the girls will grab some matches to try to set the store on fire with everyone inside. Grab the cooler full of ice (for sodas and bruises) and unload it on the rep and his matches. The other Sprint/Nextel reps will beg that you shoot them, screaming, 'Sprint/Nextel made us do it. They make lots of money from selling terrible phones, but they keep this human trafficking ring going just for fun! Sprint/Nextel just wants to see which they're better at, telecommunications or human trafficking! You don't know what they'll do to us when they find out that we allowed the innocent teenage girls Sprint/Nextel enslaved to be rescued. Please kill us!'

Don't kill them. Just start rolling the pants-less obese tourists off of the girls and get the girls dressed. Then lead them in a single file line out the store, which might already be on fire so be careful. Once you're free, you and the girls have to get someplace where Sprint/Nextel doesn't provide service, which will probably take about ten minutes to find. They can't track you if they're forced to go analog.

But stay hidden. Sprint/Nextel will make it their priority to hunt you down and make you pay. Sprint/Nextel loves forcing teenage girls into prostitution (it makes Sprint/Nextel feel young, like T-Mobile) and they can't stand when someone gets in their way. You don't know what Sprint/Nextel is capable of, but it's not running a phone company if you get my drift (it's human trafficking, torture, and maiming the spirit of a consumer society).

Happy Go To Your Nearest Sprint/Nextel Store And Bust Up A Human Trafficking Ring Day!

What A Great Blind Date Day!

Tonight, you'll be amazed at how well your blind date is going. When you walk into the restaurant and spot him in his brown jacket and curly blond hair, the description he gave you, you won't believe how hot he is. Then you'll sit down and your conversation will turn intimate almost instantly. Not a few minutes will pass before you are sharing with each other the ways in which your families embarrass you, the movies you secretly loved that everyone else hated, the dreams you're afraid to admit that you've given up on. The connection will be immediately as deep as if you've known each other for years.

After he pays the check you'll suggest that the two of you walk a bit and talk some more. He'll say that that's a great idea. You'll walk to the door and right before he opens it for you, he'll pull a white painter's mask from his jacket pocket and pull it over his nose and mouth. Then he'll step out on the street and start talking about his years as a substitute school teacher.

After walking for ten minutes, you'll finally ask him what's up with the mask. He'll chuckle a bit, saying that a lot of people think it's weird, but that anytime he breathes unfiltered air he starts throwing up. He'll say it's mostly psychological, him knowing what he knows about the air. 'What everyone should know, really,' he'll say. 'But the government would have mass hysteria on their hands if it ever got out.' Then he'll change the subject by talking about a trip to Africa he took after college. You took a similar trip the same summer, and it turns out you both stayed in neighboring villages.

You'll spend your walk marveling at what a great guy he is, while also wondering whether you can spend a whole lot of time with a guy who's afraid to breathe air. How weird does this look, you'll wonder. You'll look at people passing you on the sidewalk, noting their puzzled glances. Then you'll bump into a friend of his and the two of them will speak casually. He'll introduce you, and no one will mention the fact that your date is wearing an air mask. If his friends are used to it, who's to say it'll be a problem for you.

'I can't ask you in,' you'll say when you arrive at your stoop. 'Perhaps next time.'

'I hope I can wait that long,' he'll say.

He won't lean in for a kiss, so you'll make the first move. You'll lean your face forward, then you'll lift your hands to pull his mask off his face. He'll grab your wrists in an iron grip.

'I can't. Not unless we're in an enclosed space with central air,' he'll say. 'I'll start throwing up, seriously.'

You'll nod, trying not to look stupefied.

'If you really want to kiss me you can invite me up,' he'll say.

You'll respond very quickly, 'No that's all right. Thanks for the sushi.' Then you'll rush up to your apartment and wonder why anytime you meet a great guy, he's either married, gay, or unable to breathe air without vomiting.

Happy What A Great Blind Date Day!

Gay Ghost Ship Day!

You have a sailboat but you're not a very good sailor, so when a fog rolls in late this evening you're going to get turned around pretty bad and you won't know which way to head. You won't have any choice but to hope that the fog lifts and you'll be able to find land before not too long.

All of a sudden a decrepit cruise ship will shoot up out of the water and bounce atop the surface right next to you. You won't know what it is at first, until you hear a Lisa Lisa Cult Jam and Full Force song blasting over the bow of the ship. You'll remember a legend your father used to tell you about a gay cruise ship that launched from New York's west side and disappeared. It was said that the ship was cursed to sail the seas for eternity, keeping below the surface until the fog grows thick enough for the ship to come up for air so that the ghostly passengers might vamp a bit.

On the deck of the ship, you'll see skeletons dressed in fluorescent speedo bathing suits bumping and grinding to the music. Some of the skeletons will wheel a cannon towards the bow and aim it towards your ship. Your wife and son will cower together but you'll tell them not to worry. The skeletons will fire their cannon and a multi-colored cloud of streamers and confetti will rain down over your sailboat. The skeletons will hoot and holler at the display.

Finally, the worm-eaten corpse of a captain will address your boat through a loud-speaker, demanding that you turn over to the gay ghost ship any and all vials of amyl nitrite that you have on board. You'll respectfully explain that yours is a family vessel and you have no poppers. The captain will mutter something about how he hates the straight seas, and he'll turn his boat about. As the ship sails into the fog your wife and son will shiver at the ghostly moaning and clanking coming out of the ship's lower decks, which you'll explain is just the sound of the never-ending steerage level orgy of white-bone skeletons scraping and cracking against each other. Your wife and son will tell you that you seem to know a lot about gay ghost ships. Tell them to shut up, it's just a sailor thing. They'll smirk and say, 'I bet it is.'

Happy Gay Ghost Ship Day!

Learn Sign Language Day!

You've always had bad luck with women, so you decided to learn sign language. This way when you're in a room with some deaf girls, you can watch them talk to each other and see if any of them say that they think you're cute. The way you see it, deaf people always think they're the only people who know sign language in the whole place, as is evident by how broadly they let their hands fly about when they talk in public, as if there's no chance in heck that anyone in the room might understand what they're saying. Also, your success rate is so bad you need to be able to communicate with as many women as possible if you ever want to touch one again.

You graduated from sign language school last night, and today is your first day of utilizing your newfound ability to eavesdrop on the deaf. You'll go to Starbucks and wait a few hours before a group of deaf girls finally sits down. You'll watch their conversation out of the corner of your eye, trying to sit at an angle that allows them to get a good look at you. Most of their conversation will focus on how much being deaf sucks. But eventually one of them will notice you and she'll start talking to the others about you. She'll say, 'I would never go out with that 500 pound man with a tracheotomy tube sticking out of his throat and the giant swastika tattoo on his forearm. But that's just me.' The other deaf girls will reply, 'Us neither. It's good that we're all in agreement on this.'

You'll want to kick yourself for having spent $300 on sign language lessons just to find out that deaf girls are a bunch of superficial asswipes.

Happy Learn Sign Language Day!