No Left Thumb Day!
Your left thumb went first. It's useless now and all you can do is wait for it to turn black and disattach itself.
You are so very bored with yourself, but refuse to commit suicide. So your appendages and organs have no choice but to do what they can to cease functioning at a cellular level in the hopes up withering up and falling away from you. So your left thumb took the mutinous steps necessary to invite gangrene to settle in. Now, no one looks to it for results, and soon, it will go away forever. You envy your purple little thumb.
Happy No Left Thumb Day!
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Monday, January 10, 2005
Witchcraft Day
Witchcraft Day!
Your wife's taking Witchcraft Class at the Rochester Women's Center. You keep asking her if it's like a History of Witchcraft or if it's about integrating folklore into practical modern practice, and she never gets any more committal in her response than to say, "Sort of like that, you could say."
What's bugging you is you've woken up in the middle of the night once or twice to find her side of the bed empty. You haven't gotten out of bed to track her down. You just don't want to find out she's nowhere around.
Today things are going to become a bit more urgent. For today, Mark Caslow, your colleague and fellow candidate for VP at your Securities firm, will be found dead in his car, his eyes having turned to black coals. The car will have gone head first into a ravine.
If she was responsible, yes, she'll have killed and that's very bad. More importantly, the killing will reveal that she clearly didn't think you had what it takes to secure that promotion. You never thought of yourself as the kind of man who needs his wife to go out and sear people's eyeballs black in order to help him get ahead. But she clearly did.
Happy Witchcraft Day!
Your wife's taking Witchcraft Class at the Rochester Women's Center. You keep asking her if it's like a History of Witchcraft or if it's about integrating folklore into practical modern practice, and she never gets any more committal in her response than to say, "Sort of like that, you could say."
What's bugging you is you've woken up in the middle of the night once or twice to find her side of the bed empty. You haven't gotten out of bed to track her down. You just don't want to find out she's nowhere around.
Today things are going to become a bit more urgent. For today, Mark Caslow, your colleague and fellow candidate for VP at your Securities firm, will be found dead in his car, his eyes having turned to black coals. The car will have gone head first into a ravine.
If she was responsible, yes, she'll have killed and that's very bad. More importantly, the killing will reveal that she clearly didn't think you had what it takes to secure that promotion. You never thought of yourself as the kind of man who needs his wife to go out and sear people's eyeballs black in order to help him get ahead. But she clearly did.
Happy Witchcraft Day!
Sunday, January 09, 2005
Calibrate The Love Ray Day
Calibrate The Love Ray Day!
It's time to exact your luscious justice upon a fast devolving society. You've spent many years and sacrificed many lives trying to obtain the nuclear components necessary to adequately power your Love Ray. If calculations are correct, the activated Love Ray should fire a current of your droopy-eyed affections that will permeate the loins of every living thing on the face of the earth within a matter of seconds.
Go and stand on a mountaintop and say, "Soon, my Love Ray will circle the globe. Everyone on the planet will become consumed with that special something of mine that makes the ladies go 'Heck yeah.' As of tomorrow, human beings will stop waging war on each other so that they can get to the rubbing up against each other faster."
Start to climb down the mountain, then climb back up to add one more thing. "Terrorism will stop too. Everyone hates terrorism."
Now, climb all the way down the mountain and steer your pod under the riverbed to your laboratory deep under the surface of the earth. Calibrate your Love Ray so that tomorrow at 9 AM it'll be ready to start spraying the boogie.
Happy Calibrate The Love Ray Day!
It's time to exact your luscious justice upon a fast devolving society. You've spent many years and sacrificed many lives trying to obtain the nuclear components necessary to adequately power your Love Ray. If calculations are correct, the activated Love Ray should fire a current of your droopy-eyed affections that will permeate the loins of every living thing on the face of the earth within a matter of seconds.
Go and stand on a mountaintop and say, "Soon, my Love Ray will circle the globe. Everyone on the planet will become consumed with that special something of mine that makes the ladies go 'Heck yeah.' As of tomorrow, human beings will stop waging war on each other so that they can get to the rubbing up against each other faster."
Start to climb down the mountain, then climb back up to add one more thing. "Terrorism will stop too. Everyone hates terrorism."
Now, climb all the way down the mountain and steer your pod under the riverbed to your laboratory deep under the surface of the earth. Calibrate your Love Ray so that tomorrow at 9 AM it'll be ready to start spraying the boogie.
Happy Calibrate The Love Ray Day!
Saturday, January 08, 2005
The Russian Mafia Day
The Russian Mafia Day!
Today, you should go to the Russian Mafia for help. Your assigned parking space at your apartment complex is right next to a tree, and you have to take extra care when you open the door to keep from dimpling the body of your Saturn. There's a primo space that's right in front of your unit, but the guy who has it won't give it up. That guy drives a motorcycle and could park it wherever he wants. He's just hanging on to the parking space to stir some shit.
Ask the Russian Mafia to talk some sense into him. What they'll do is they'll kill him with a hammer. You'll get your parking space in no time, and then you'll owe the Russian Mafia 25% of the annual revenue from your candy store, pre-tax.
Happy The Russian Mafia Day!
Today, you should go to the Russian Mafia for help. Your assigned parking space at your apartment complex is right next to a tree, and you have to take extra care when you open the door to keep from dimpling the body of your Saturn. There's a primo space that's right in front of your unit, but the guy who has it won't give it up. That guy drives a motorcycle and could park it wherever he wants. He's just hanging on to the parking space to stir some shit.
Ask the Russian Mafia to talk some sense into him. What they'll do is they'll kill him with a hammer. You'll get your parking space in no time, and then you'll owe the Russian Mafia 25% of the annual revenue from your candy store, pre-tax.
Happy The Russian Mafia Day!
Friday, January 07, 2005
Each Of These, My Three Babies Day
Each Of These, My Three Babies Day!
"I've decided my life needs to be more simple," tell them.
"How, Max?" asks Tricia.
"Yes, Max. How?" asks Maria.
"Have I made your life complicated Max?" worries Carolyn.
"You've all been wonderful to me. Very giving." Go to each of them and give them a long kiss on the lips.
"We're living in a conventional world, now," tell them. "And I'm at an age where I think it's time for me to adhere closer to convention."
Look at them wait for your conclusion. Were it not for their rivalries, they could huddle together in comfort. Each using her grip to steady the other's shaking.
"It is time that I made do with only one girlfriend," you say. They gasp in unison. Your eyes are to the carpet.
Carolyn's voice cracks. "Who do you choose?"
Pull the papers from your drawer. "That is yet to be decided. You'll find on this sheet of paper a list of items that can be found in various locations throughout the city. The one of you who acquires the most of the items on this list will remain my girlfriend. We will tally the fruits of your hunt in 24 hours from now, here in the living room. Do your best."
Your girlfriends scatter. Tricia is crying as she walks out the door.
Happy Each Of These, My Three Babies Day!
"I've decided my life needs to be more simple," tell them.
"How, Max?" asks Tricia.
"Yes, Max. How?" asks Maria.
"Have I made your life complicated Max?" worries Carolyn.
"You've all been wonderful to me. Very giving." Go to each of them and give them a long kiss on the lips.
"We're living in a conventional world, now," tell them. "And I'm at an age where I think it's time for me to adhere closer to convention."
Look at them wait for your conclusion. Were it not for their rivalries, they could huddle together in comfort. Each using her grip to steady the other's shaking.
"It is time that I made do with only one girlfriend," you say. They gasp in unison. Your eyes are to the carpet.
Carolyn's voice cracks. "Who do you choose?"
Pull the papers from your drawer. "That is yet to be decided. You'll find on this sheet of paper a list of items that can be found in various locations throughout the city. The one of you who acquires the most of the items on this list will remain my girlfriend. We will tally the fruits of your hunt in 24 hours from now, here in the living room. Do your best."
Your girlfriends scatter. Tricia is crying as she walks out the door.
Happy Each Of These, My Three Babies Day!
Thursday, January 06, 2005
End It Via A Fingerpainting Of A Dragon Day
End It Via A Fingerpainting Of A Dragon Day!
You met on parents' night. He came alone, one of the only dads who was there alone. He lingered behind after you'd finished your presentation because you're one of the only teachers in the school who isn't shaped like a medicine ball.
"Does Mike have talent?" he asked, examining his son's construction paper rendering of a tree in a field on a sunny day.
"He doesn't eat the paste," you said. You had fulfilled your parents' night responsibilities. He walked you to your car.
You've spent a total of eleven hours together, split up over four individual nights, but that was the best night of all. When he sat in the passenger seat of your parked car and the two of you watched the parents walk to their parking spaces.
"That's the Lamberts," you said when Kevin Lambert's parents came walking out of the main entrance. "Their son Kevin got beat up in the rain after school last Thursday."
The Lamberts were laughing as they approached their Hyundai. "Poor Kevin," he said.
"The Morrisseys," you said when the very tall and shaven-headed Mr. Morrissey walked past your car with his tiny wife. "I bet when their girl Jessica hits middle school she'll be the most popular kid in the place."
"I'll tell Mike to start laying the groundwork, get in early," he said.
You said, "Jessica would never go steady with Mike."
He looked shocked, and you laughed very hard, then leaned in and kissed him for four minutes.
Today you've sent Mike home without any stars on his fingerpainting.
"Keep a close eye on Mike's artwork," you had said. "If I give him three gold stars, you're to meet me at the Super 8 the following evening at 7 PM."
"And what if I want to see you?" he asked.
"Too bad," you said. "You're married. You're not supposed to want to see me."
He had his index finger on your bare breast when you said that. He'd lifted up your sweater and tugged down your bra cup.
"We'll see each other only when I wanna see you," you said. "And when I never wanna see you again, poor little Mike won't get any stars that day."
He took his fingertip from your breast. "Why does Mike have to be involved?"
"I'm Mike's art teacher," you said. "Don't try to forget that."
Mike cried on his way home, his fingerpainting of a dragon crumpling at the edges where his fists held it close to his chest. He didn't ask you why you skipped him when you were giving out the stars. But he waited at his desk long after the rest of the class had left. You walked out with your eyes to the floor, unable to look at him.
It was bad enough that you were expected to assign grades to the first creative endeavors of children. You'd always tried to give out the stars so arbitrarily you thought it might even be fun to use that grading system for your lascivious communiqués.
But there'd been so many days when you wanted so badly to see Mike's Dad. But those were days when Mike had turned in work that was decidedly less than three-star quality. You found you just couldn't do it, and so you gave him the stars he deserved and spent the following night at home alone. And if Mike ever turned in a three-star project, it was always in a week when a rendezvous would have been impossible.
You'd managed four nights together, and each night had required you to give Mike an inappropriate star grade. But today was the last straw.
Today, Mike made a fingerpainting of a dragon. It was the best work Mike had ever done. The best fingerpainting of the entire class since school began last Autumn. A decidedly five star piece. But you wanted to see his Daddy tomorrow night.
You couldn't do it. When you looked at that painting, you knew the affair had to end today. Not another work would be awarded with anything but the most honest of praise. And to punish yourself for falling into such a state of compromise, you would break a student's heart on the day he'd done his best. You'd condemn yourself to the lowest point in your teaching career.
Mike cried on his way home. And so did you.
Happy End It Via A Fingerpainting Of A Dragon Day!
You met on parents' night. He came alone, one of the only dads who was there alone. He lingered behind after you'd finished your presentation because you're one of the only teachers in the school who isn't shaped like a medicine ball.
"Does Mike have talent?" he asked, examining his son's construction paper rendering of a tree in a field on a sunny day.
"He doesn't eat the paste," you said. You had fulfilled your parents' night responsibilities. He walked you to your car.
You've spent a total of eleven hours together, split up over four individual nights, but that was the best night of all. When he sat in the passenger seat of your parked car and the two of you watched the parents walk to their parking spaces.
"That's the Lamberts," you said when Kevin Lambert's parents came walking out of the main entrance. "Their son Kevin got beat up in the rain after school last Thursday."
The Lamberts were laughing as they approached their Hyundai. "Poor Kevin," he said.
"The Morrisseys," you said when the very tall and shaven-headed Mr. Morrissey walked past your car with his tiny wife. "I bet when their girl Jessica hits middle school she'll be the most popular kid in the place."
"I'll tell Mike to start laying the groundwork, get in early," he said.
You said, "Jessica would never go steady with Mike."
He looked shocked, and you laughed very hard, then leaned in and kissed him for four minutes.
Today you've sent Mike home without any stars on his fingerpainting.
"Keep a close eye on Mike's artwork," you had said. "If I give him three gold stars, you're to meet me at the Super 8 the following evening at 7 PM."
"And what if I want to see you?" he asked.
"Too bad," you said. "You're married. You're not supposed to want to see me."
He had his index finger on your bare breast when you said that. He'd lifted up your sweater and tugged down your bra cup.
"We'll see each other only when I wanna see you," you said. "And when I never wanna see you again, poor little Mike won't get any stars that day."
He took his fingertip from your breast. "Why does Mike have to be involved?"
"I'm Mike's art teacher," you said. "Don't try to forget that."
Mike cried on his way home, his fingerpainting of a dragon crumpling at the edges where his fists held it close to his chest. He didn't ask you why you skipped him when you were giving out the stars. But he waited at his desk long after the rest of the class had left. You walked out with your eyes to the floor, unable to look at him.
It was bad enough that you were expected to assign grades to the first creative endeavors of children. You'd always tried to give out the stars so arbitrarily you thought it might even be fun to use that grading system for your lascivious communiqués.
But there'd been so many days when you wanted so badly to see Mike's Dad. But those were days when Mike had turned in work that was decidedly less than three-star quality. You found you just couldn't do it, and so you gave him the stars he deserved and spent the following night at home alone. And if Mike ever turned in a three-star project, it was always in a week when a rendezvous would have been impossible.
You'd managed four nights together, and each night had required you to give Mike an inappropriate star grade. But today was the last straw.
Today, Mike made a fingerpainting of a dragon. It was the best work Mike had ever done. The best fingerpainting of the entire class since school began last Autumn. A decidedly five star piece. But you wanted to see his Daddy tomorrow night.
You couldn't do it. When you looked at that painting, you knew the affair had to end today. Not another work would be awarded with anything but the most honest of praise. And to punish yourself for falling into such a state of compromise, you would break a student's heart on the day he'd done his best. You'd condemn yourself to the lowest point in your teaching career.
Mike cried on his way home. And so did you.
Happy End It Via A Fingerpainting Of A Dragon Day!
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
The Daily Number Day!
The Daily Number Day!
After you've bought $79 worth of three digit daily number lottery tickets, ask the 19-year old girl behind the machine for a suggestion.
"314!" she offers with a smile.
Say, "Straight and box for a dollar. If that wins, it'll be our wedding date."
The number of course will win, and you'll be $540 richer. That $540 will help pay for your divorce from your wife of 46 years (you're 71). The 19-year old lotto machine operator will be a little hesitant about marrying you before she finishes college, but she'll be glad to not have to live at her parents' house anymore during summer break. Her boyfriend will not be too happy with the way she breaks up with him ("A deal's a deal baby. Can't you be a little more mature about this?") He'll punch you once and give you a minor heart attack (your fourth), but you'll recover after not too long and you and the lottery machine operator will enjoy a happy life together for the 17 months remaining before you die in the bath.
Happy The Daily Number Day!
After you've bought $79 worth of three digit daily number lottery tickets, ask the 19-year old girl behind the machine for a suggestion.
"314!" she offers with a smile.
Say, "Straight and box for a dollar. If that wins, it'll be our wedding date."
The number of course will win, and you'll be $540 richer. That $540 will help pay for your divorce from your wife of 46 years (you're 71). The 19-year old lotto machine operator will be a little hesitant about marrying you before she finishes college, but she'll be glad to not have to live at her parents' house anymore during summer break. Her boyfriend will not be too happy with the way she breaks up with him ("A deal's a deal baby. Can't you be a little more mature about this?") He'll punch you once and give you a minor heart attack (your fourth), but you'll recover after not too long and you and the lottery machine operator will enjoy a happy life together for the 17 months remaining before you die in the bath.
Happy The Daily Number Day!
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
Car Off The Cliff Day
Car Off The Cliff Day!
Yes, sometimes when a car goes off a cliff, the passengers can manage to jump out and land safely on the rock face before the car explodes. But that requires a lot of dexterity and quick-thinking. And you have to hope that the passengers did not have seatbelts on or else who could imagine them having the cool heads necessary to unfasten their seatbelts, then open the doors and jump all in a matter of seconds? Then there's the tumble into the rock-face, which is more than enough to kill them. All things considered, the chances that someone could go off a cliff in a speeding car and survive are very slim. It's best to assume your fiancé is dead and start dating again.
No one's calling off the search and rescue teams. Hell, we couldn't if we wanted to. Those fires have to be put out whether your sweetstuff is alive or not. All we're saying is, it's been hours already. When are you going to accept that she's dead and start calling chicks you had your eye on while she was still alive? Such as her friends and sisters. They are waiting to extend to you their companionship.
All you've been doing since she went over the cliff this morning is howling at the heavens or peering over the cliff's edge to see if anyone found anything. You could have composed like nine Nerve Personal profiles in that time, one for every type of love affair you're looking for. Stop living in the past and go home and work out. I don't know how much you ate at that rehearsal dinner, but you're looking a little doughy. If you're gonna get back in the game you gotta be ready to play.
Oh, it sounds like they found her and she's alive. All the same, until she's brought up to the surface road and you can see that she is out of danger, you should assume she's dead and try to move on with your life. Goddammit, it's what she would have wanted.
Happy Car Off The Cliff Day!
Yes, sometimes when a car goes off a cliff, the passengers can manage to jump out and land safely on the rock face before the car explodes. But that requires a lot of dexterity and quick-thinking. And you have to hope that the passengers did not have seatbelts on or else who could imagine them having the cool heads necessary to unfasten their seatbelts, then open the doors and jump all in a matter of seconds? Then there's the tumble into the rock-face, which is more than enough to kill them. All things considered, the chances that someone could go off a cliff in a speeding car and survive are very slim. It's best to assume your fiancé is dead and start dating again.
No one's calling off the search and rescue teams. Hell, we couldn't if we wanted to. Those fires have to be put out whether your sweetstuff is alive or not. All we're saying is, it's been hours already. When are you going to accept that she's dead and start calling chicks you had your eye on while she was still alive? Such as her friends and sisters. They are waiting to extend to you their companionship.
All you've been doing since she went over the cliff this morning is howling at the heavens or peering over the cliff's edge to see if anyone found anything. You could have composed like nine Nerve Personal profiles in that time, one for every type of love affair you're looking for. Stop living in the past and go home and work out. I don't know how much you ate at that rehearsal dinner, but you're looking a little doughy. If you're gonna get back in the game you gotta be ready to play.
Oh, it sounds like they found her and she's alive. All the same, until she's brought up to the surface road and you can see that she is out of danger, you should assume she's dead and try to move on with your life. Goddammit, it's what she would have wanted.
Happy Car Off The Cliff Day!
Monday, January 03, 2005
Confess Day
Confess Day!
Unless the thing you're confessing about could put you in jail. But if it's something along the lines of, "I know you really like your Ho-Ho's dude," go ahead and own up. You'll feel better about it.
But you shouldn't think that confessing is an across-the-board good idea. For example, let's say that about six months ago you killed a rapist. You were just walking through the park looking for someone to sell you some acid when you heard a woman's muffled shouting. You stepped over a fence and pushed through some bushes to find a man pinning a woman down in the grass, the dull edge of his knife pressed into the corners of her mouth.
You shouted, "Hey!"
The guy wheeled around at you. His eyes were yellow with bright red bulbs in the center.
The woman kneed him in the abdomen and wriggled free. He grabbed at her pants leg but she took off. You never saw her again.
The guy got up and came at you. The sharp edge of his knife was coming right at your nose. He was smaller than you but a lot stronger. He had you on the ground. You were holding his knife hand away from you, but the knife was coming closer. You were growing weaker. You were about to die.
Your left hand scrabbled in the grass and found a rock. You swung your left arm up from the grass and cracked the rock into the back of the rapist's head. When the rock hit his skull, the yelp that came out of his mouth sounded like he was gargling mouthwash.
You rolled him off of you, stood, then saw the blood in the grass. It was coming near your shoes. You ran.
The next day, you read about the dead man in the paper. The story told nothing of an attempted rape. It only told of a dead man who'd been arrested for burglary in the past.
You read the paper every day for a month, but the story disappeared after less than a week. Never was there any mention of an attempted rape.
If that's the kind of thing you were thinking of confessing, that kind of "murder in self-defense resulting from a prevented rape that you can't prove," keep your mouth shut.
But if you ate your roommate's Ho-Ho's, by all means wipe the slate clean. Unless you can't afford to replace them. Then blame his buddy Ken.
Happy Confess Day!
Unless the thing you're confessing about could put you in jail. But if it's something along the lines of, "I know you really like your Ho-Ho's dude," go ahead and own up. You'll feel better about it.
But you shouldn't think that confessing is an across-the-board good idea. For example, let's say that about six months ago you killed a rapist. You were just walking through the park looking for someone to sell you some acid when you heard a woman's muffled shouting. You stepped over a fence and pushed through some bushes to find a man pinning a woman down in the grass, the dull edge of his knife pressed into the corners of her mouth.
You shouted, "Hey!"
The guy wheeled around at you. His eyes were yellow with bright red bulbs in the center.
The woman kneed him in the abdomen and wriggled free. He grabbed at her pants leg but she took off. You never saw her again.
The guy got up and came at you. The sharp edge of his knife was coming right at your nose. He was smaller than you but a lot stronger. He had you on the ground. You were holding his knife hand away from you, but the knife was coming closer. You were growing weaker. You were about to die.
Your left hand scrabbled in the grass and found a rock. You swung your left arm up from the grass and cracked the rock into the back of the rapist's head. When the rock hit his skull, the yelp that came out of his mouth sounded like he was gargling mouthwash.
You rolled him off of you, stood, then saw the blood in the grass. It was coming near your shoes. You ran.
The next day, you read about the dead man in the paper. The story told nothing of an attempted rape. It only told of a dead man who'd been arrested for burglary in the past.
You read the paper every day for a month, but the story disappeared after less than a week. Never was there any mention of an attempted rape.
If that's the kind of thing you were thinking of confessing, that kind of "murder in self-defense resulting from a prevented rape that you can't prove," keep your mouth shut.
But if you ate your roommate's Ho-Ho's, by all means wipe the slate clean. Unless you can't afford to replace them. Then blame his buddy Ken.
Happy Confess Day!
Sunday, January 02, 2005
That Shade Of Pearl Doesn't Communicate To Visitors The Awesomeness Of Your Balls Day!
That Shade Of Pearl Doesn't Communicate To Visitors The Awesomeness Of Your Balls Day!
Just stir in a little more yellow, just a drip. Right now, the paint looks pretty much "there" when it's in the can. But dry on the wall, your balls just seem sort of, how you say, "GUMDROPPY." A little more yellow and you'll cross the line over to "Those computer generated orbs that are always flying around in the animation they use to demonstrate the digital sound system at the movie theater before the movie starts." And you'll be well on your way to communicating the true awesomeness contained therein (your pants). You want someone to just blink twice at your walls and think, "I could not compete with, nor could I refuse, this man's balls, should I be challenged by or offered said same."
Little more yellow. Try it, I'm telling you.
Happy That Shade Of Pearl Doesn't Communicate To Visitors The Awesomeness Of Your Balls Day!
Just stir in a little more yellow, just a drip. Right now, the paint looks pretty much "there" when it's in the can. But dry on the wall, your balls just seem sort of, how you say, "GUMDROPPY." A little more yellow and you'll cross the line over to "Those computer generated orbs that are always flying around in the animation they use to demonstrate the digital sound system at the movie theater before the movie starts." And you'll be well on your way to communicating the true awesomeness contained therein (your pants). You want someone to just blink twice at your walls and think, "I could not compete with, nor could I refuse, this man's balls, should I be challenged by or offered said same."
Little more yellow. Try it, I'm telling you.
Happy That Shade Of Pearl Doesn't Communicate To Visitors The Awesomeness Of Your Balls Day!
Saturday, January 01, 2005
Settle Your Roommate Problems With A Calm Discussion Day
Settle Your Roommate Problems With A Calm Discussion Day!
Sit cross-legged on the couch. Encourage your roommate to sit cross-legged on the comfy chair. Invite your roommate to present the first grievance.
He'll say, "I would appreciate it if you could clean up after yourself in the kitchen with a bit more diligence. I just don't want to attract bugs."
Say, "Fair enough. I would appreciate if you were less assholish. You're such an asshole. Asshole."
Your roommate will tell you that he'll try. Accuse him of lying and then borrow his money.
Happy Settle Your Roommate Problems With A Calm Discussion Day!
Sit cross-legged on the couch. Encourage your roommate to sit cross-legged on the comfy chair. Invite your roommate to present the first grievance.
He'll say, "I would appreciate it if you could clean up after yourself in the kitchen with a bit more diligence. I just don't want to attract bugs."
Say, "Fair enough. I would appreciate if you were less assholish. You're such an asshole. Asshole."
Your roommate will tell you that he'll try. Accuse him of lying and then borrow his money.
Happy Settle Your Roommate Problems With A Calm Discussion Day!
Friday, December 31, 2004
Matchmaker Day
Matchmaker Day!
You got set up with a guy with no arms. He has two legs and can walk around fine, but he holds stuff with this mechanical claw that's strapped around his torso and sticks out from the center of his chest. He operates the arm with deep inhalations and exhalations, causing his chest to drastically expand and retract. Therefore, during dinner or a game of checkers he is constantly panting and gasping. Luckily, you can't hear his breathing over the constant whirring of the motors contained within the mechanical claw.
On his way into the Japanese restaurant he stubbed his sandaled foot on a large ceramic vase near the entranceway. He swore up and down and started berating a hostess. His rage was unjustified and aimless, like your father's, and so you fell in love. Additionally, before he lost his arms he was a hitter. Now that he only has the mechanical arm, he's still a hitter. Trouble is, the torque on that arm's hydraulics can take off a head at the neck. Don't move in right away.
Happy Matchmaker Day!
You got set up with a guy with no arms. He has two legs and can walk around fine, but he holds stuff with this mechanical claw that's strapped around his torso and sticks out from the center of his chest. He operates the arm with deep inhalations and exhalations, causing his chest to drastically expand and retract. Therefore, during dinner or a game of checkers he is constantly panting and gasping. Luckily, you can't hear his breathing over the constant whirring of the motors contained within the mechanical claw.
On his way into the Japanese restaurant he stubbed his sandaled foot on a large ceramic vase near the entranceway. He swore up and down and started berating a hostess. His rage was unjustified and aimless, like your father's, and so you fell in love. Additionally, before he lost his arms he was a hitter. Now that he only has the mechanical arm, he's still a hitter. Trouble is, the torque on that arm's hydraulics can take off a head at the neck. Don't move in right away.
Happy Matchmaker Day!
Thursday, December 30, 2004
Most Of September, 2004 Day!
Most Of September, 2004 Day!
You spent it remembering an hour on March 18th, 2004, when she fell asleep in the passenger seat. When she'd fall asleep you'd watch her mouth drop open from her face shut tight, it made you happy to know she could fall asleep in your presence.
"You're not afraid I'm going to steal your stuff or anything," you explained.
"That's no reason to videotape me at night."
You destroyed the tapes, and it turned out to be a great idea because it made you cherish all the more those moments when you caught her napping. Moments like the 60 or so she spent blissfully asleep in the passenger seat of your Honda on March 18th, 2004. You nearly veered off the road a couple of times you were watching her so intently. You thought you could actually see her dreams by the expression on her face. She looked concerned, a little overburdened, like she'd been told to fill a thousand pickle jars with her pee or her sisters would be sent to war. But then again, you might be the only one who has that dream.
By September, 2004, all you had left of her were the memories. You focused tight on that hour on March 18th and you exhausted it. Until you could no longer remember which parts of it were fact and which were fabrications added in the process of recalling a memory.
Today, you remember September, and you're able to shudder and feel a little better off. What have you learned from all of this.
"Don't destroy videotapes?"
Correct.
Happy Most Of September, 2004 Day!
You spent it remembering an hour on March 18th, 2004, when she fell asleep in the passenger seat. When she'd fall asleep you'd watch her mouth drop open from her face shut tight, it made you happy to know she could fall asleep in your presence.
"You're not afraid I'm going to steal your stuff or anything," you explained.
"That's no reason to videotape me at night."
You destroyed the tapes, and it turned out to be a great idea because it made you cherish all the more those moments when you caught her napping. Moments like the 60 or so she spent blissfully asleep in the passenger seat of your Honda on March 18th, 2004. You nearly veered off the road a couple of times you were watching her so intently. You thought you could actually see her dreams by the expression on her face. She looked concerned, a little overburdened, like she'd been told to fill a thousand pickle jars with her pee or her sisters would be sent to war. But then again, you might be the only one who has that dream.
By September, 2004, all you had left of her were the memories. You focused tight on that hour on March 18th and you exhausted it. Until you could no longer remember which parts of it were fact and which were fabrications added in the process of recalling a memory.
Today, you remember September, and you're able to shudder and feel a little better off. What have you learned from all of this.
"Don't destroy videotapes?"
Correct.
Happy Most Of September, 2004 Day!
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
She Shouts "Glory Be To God" When She Comes Day
She Shouts "Glory Be To God" When She Comes Day!
"Do you always do that?" you ask. Her breasts are smaller than yours, you notice.
"Zip it," she says. She starts to get dressed. "My mom's gonna be picking me up soon."
"You could stay for dinner," you say.
"One word of this to my Mom, the kids at school, anybody, and I swear to God I'll kill you dead."
You reach out to put your hand on her hair, but think better of it. "Is that why you transferred to our school? Did you—"
"Dykes get real possessive real fast," she says. Is that what you are? A Dyke? "If you don't slice some blood from their palms right off the bat, they grab at every piece of you they can reach."
She picks up the baby blanket that you still sleep with and gently wraps it around your neck. She's looking in your eyes as she pulls it tighter and tighter. You don't gasp for air. You don't blink. You feel like you have to keep your face as hard as stone if you ever want her to come back to your room. Just hold her stare. Don't feel anything.
"I wanna tear this town to pieces," she says. "Wanna come with?"
You shrug. She loosens the blanket. Her mom honks her horn from the driveway. You just signed on to a lesbolescent life o' crime little girl.
Happy She Shouts "Glory Be To God" When She Comes Day!
"Do you always do that?" you ask. Her breasts are smaller than yours, you notice.
"Zip it," she says. She starts to get dressed. "My mom's gonna be picking me up soon."
"You could stay for dinner," you say.
"One word of this to my Mom, the kids at school, anybody, and I swear to God I'll kill you dead."
You reach out to put your hand on her hair, but think better of it. "Is that why you transferred to our school? Did you—"
"Dykes get real possessive real fast," she says. Is that what you are? A Dyke? "If you don't slice some blood from their palms right off the bat, they grab at every piece of you they can reach."
She picks up the baby blanket that you still sleep with and gently wraps it around your neck. She's looking in your eyes as she pulls it tighter and tighter. You don't gasp for air. You don't blink. You feel like you have to keep your face as hard as stone if you ever want her to come back to your room. Just hold her stare. Don't feel anything.
"I wanna tear this town to pieces," she says. "Wanna come with?"
You shrug. She loosens the blanket. Her mom honks her horn from the driveway. You just signed on to a lesbolescent life o' crime little girl.
Happy She Shouts "Glory Be To God" When She Comes Day!
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
The Kickline Girl Is Dead Day
The Kickline Girl Is Dead Day!
Most people who saw her thought she was just another Vegas showgirl who'd keep paying the bills until her knee gave out on her. But Justine knew something they didn't know.
"I know how to pick combination safes," she told the only man she ever loved.
"It's a rare talent. Never use it," Keith told her. "Promise me you'll never use it. As long as we both shall live?"
"As long as we both shall live," Justine promised.
Keith ended up not living all that long. Another four months to be exact. Keith's death sentence had been signed long before he walked into Justine's life. About a hundred grand in the hole, hooking up with a safecracker should have been the answer to his prayers.
"I might be a gamblin' junky," said Keith. "But I'm a gentleman. And a gentleman doesn't bring his girl in on a score just so's he can even his debts."
Eventually, Keith's debts came due. The night Justine walked out of the dressing room and found no one waiting for her outside, she knew he'd been killed. The only happiness she'd ever known had been ripped out of her arms, and she wanted revenge.
A hit on your average nobody will cost around $25,000 if you expect it to come off without a hitch. A hit on the kind of guys Justine wanted dead, the guys Keith owed his money to, you're talking a hundred grand a head, minimum. A showgirl doesn't make that kind of money. To get that kind of money, you'd have to crack a safe.
A lot of safes as it turned out. Justine put the word out that she was ready to come on board with any crew who had a line on the right score. She was glad to say goodbye to the showgirl life. Her knees were even more glad. And she took to a life of crime like a bee to honey.
This morning, at around 4 AM, she'd just cracked open the safe that would give her the last 50 grand necessary to put out her contracts. But she never even got to hold the money. It was dumb luck, but the crew who brought her the score just happened to have been put together by Horst Murinven, the loan shark Justine believed to have pulled the trigger on her Keith. When Murinven's crew told him about the kickline girl safecracker who could make the score happen, he checked her out and discovered her link to Keith. A few more questions around town and he knew she was looking for a killer for pay.
Murinven knew she was coming his way. And he also knew how much money was in that safe. He told his crew to bring guns for a change. He told them to wait for her to pull the door of the safe open wide. And he told them they'd each get an extra ten grand if they put a bullet in her head before she could turn around. That's why the kickline girl is dead.
Happy The Kickline Girl Is Dead Day!
Most people who saw her thought she was just another Vegas showgirl who'd keep paying the bills until her knee gave out on her. But Justine knew something they didn't know.
"I know how to pick combination safes," she told the only man she ever loved.
"It's a rare talent. Never use it," Keith told her. "Promise me you'll never use it. As long as we both shall live?"
"As long as we both shall live," Justine promised.
Keith ended up not living all that long. Another four months to be exact. Keith's death sentence had been signed long before he walked into Justine's life. About a hundred grand in the hole, hooking up with a safecracker should have been the answer to his prayers.
"I might be a gamblin' junky," said Keith. "But I'm a gentleman. And a gentleman doesn't bring his girl in on a score just so's he can even his debts."
Eventually, Keith's debts came due. The night Justine walked out of the dressing room and found no one waiting for her outside, she knew he'd been killed. The only happiness she'd ever known had been ripped out of her arms, and she wanted revenge.
A hit on your average nobody will cost around $25,000 if you expect it to come off without a hitch. A hit on the kind of guys Justine wanted dead, the guys Keith owed his money to, you're talking a hundred grand a head, minimum. A showgirl doesn't make that kind of money. To get that kind of money, you'd have to crack a safe.
A lot of safes as it turned out. Justine put the word out that she was ready to come on board with any crew who had a line on the right score. She was glad to say goodbye to the showgirl life. Her knees were even more glad. And she took to a life of crime like a bee to honey.
This morning, at around 4 AM, she'd just cracked open the safe that would give her the last 50 grand necessary to put out her contracts. But she never even got to hold the money. It was dumb luck, but the crew who brought her the score just happened to have been put together by Horst Murinven, the loan shark Justine believed to have pulled the trigger on her Keith. When Murinven's crew told him about the kickline girl safecracker who could make the score happen, he checked her out and discovered her link to Keith. A few more questions around town and he knew she was looking for a killer for pay.
Murinven knew she was coming his way. And he also knew how much money was in that safe. He told his crew to bring guns for a change. He told them to wait for her to pull the door of the safe open wide. And he told them they'd each get an extra ten grand if they put a bullet in her head before she could turn around. That's why the kickline girl is dead.
Happy The Kickline Girl Is Dead Day!
Monday, December 27, 2004
Trapped Underneath Your Girlfriend Day
Trapped Underneath Your Girlfriend Day!
You phone for help. You phone Steve.
"She's dead and she's on top of me."
Steve tells you to try and shove her off of you, asks you how she died.
"Cancer," you say. " This is really difficult. She won't budge."
Steve asks you where you are.
"I'm not sure. It looks like a warehouse."
Steve asks if anyone else is there.
"Look, I don't have time for 20 questions. I'm really broken up over the death of my girlfriend. And I just need someone to get her off of me."
Steve says he understands, but he can't send help unless he knows where you are.
"Makes sense to me. Sorry I lost it there for a second. Bad day."
Steve doesn't say anything.
"Dead girlfriend and all," you continue. "On top of me and everything," you add. "Shortening my breath, cutting off the blood to my brain," you clinch the deal.
"Okay," Steve says. "I'll devote my every waking breath to freeing you from the weight of your dead girlfriend."
"You're the best," you say.
"Smoking hurts us all," Steve says and hangs up.
You wait, occasionally putting a kiss to your dead girlfriend's earlobe. With every kiss, she's just a little bit colder.
Happy Trapped Underneath Your Girlfriend Day!
You phone for help. You phone Steve.
"She's dead and she's on top of me."
Steve tells you to try and shove her off of you, asks you how she died.
"Cancer," you say. " This is really difficult. She won't budge."
Steve asks you where you are.
"I'm not sure. It looks like a warehouse."
Steve asks if anyone else is there.
"Look, I don't have time for 20 questions. I'm really broken up over the death of my girlfriend. And I just need someone to get her off of me."
Steve says he understands, but he can't send help unless he knows where you are.
"Makes sense to me. Sorry I lost it there for a second. Bad day."
Steve doesn't say anything.
"Dead girlfriend and all," you continue. "On top of me and everything," you add. "Shortening my breath, cutting off the blood to my brain," you clinch the deal.
"Okay," Steve says. "I'll devote my every waking breath to freeing you from the weight of your dead girlfriend."
"You're the best," you say.
"Smoking hurts us all," Steve says and hangs up.
You wait, occasionally putting a kiss to your dead girlfriend's earlobe. With every kiss, she's just a little bit colder.
Happy Trapped Underneath Your Girlfriend Day!
Friday, December 24, 2004
It's The Girls Are Pretty "Go Into The Woods And Find A Little Bit Of Truth" Weekend
It's The Girls Are Pretty "Go Into The Woods And Find A Little Bit Of Truth" Weekend!
It's all coming apart at the seams for Prettygirl. One morning, about four years ago, she woke up feeling like things were going to be getting worse from then on. She tried to ignore it throughout constant narcotics abuse, which was really really fun and gave her some good ideas for children's books she plans to write and illustrate one day, but they didn't help her to pretend that life works on some level. At one point, she took the advice of a grandmother and tried to give and receive love. Pure chicanery.
So now, Prettygirl's going into the woods in the hopes that watching frogs hump will put some blood back in her veins. If she doesn't start to perk up in a couple of days, she'll take off all of her clothes (Prettygirl's got a nice bod still, and whenever's she's naked it's a good thing), lay down on the frozen dirt and let the cold have her last breaths (which she'll be able to see, cause it'll be cold). If she finds, as the long-haired poets might say, "Something to believe in," she'll be back with more horseshit for you all to obey thoughtlessly. Either way, she's putting some days up in advance since she doesn't expect to make it to a Kinko's anytime soon. Scroll down to read today's today. Don't read tomorrow's until tomorrow or you'll grow one of those 115 pound tumors in your stomach that you'll assume is just the result of you being a big fat pig.
These might be the last ever. Make them count.
Sunday, December 26, 2004
Scold Your Pets For Not Being Romantic Enough Day!
Tell Wiffles that she never tries to surprise you. That she takes you for granted. Tell her that it would be nice if you could just come home one day to find that Wiffles had done something, perhaps arranged her poo to look like your face or whatever, just to let you know that you're still special. Wiffles will just kind of walk away because she doesn't speak English. When she does, weep.
Happy Scold Your Pets For Not Being Romantic Enough Day!
Saturday, December 25, 2004
Get Up From The Table And Go Day!
Tonight, your lover will tell the truth. He'll tell you what he's been so afraid to say for such a long time. He'll tell you that far more frightening than the potential retribution from various foreign governments, is the possibility that you might think less of him.
React thusly: Get up from the table and go out to the street. Run down the street in your bare feet with no idea where to go, who to go to. He'll catch up to you in the car after a few blocks. You'll get in and you two will come up with a plan. You'll say to him, "I'm involved now. I'm in just as much danger as you. Thanks a lot jerkface."
Happy Get Up From The Table And Go Day!
Friday, December 24, 2004
Covet Children At A Playground Day!
You're childless and empty. Worthless, in the eyes of the world and your Lord. Your lack of children is proof that you remain unloved and unlovable. Go to the playground and look at all the beautiful children at play. As you watch them, whisper aloud a both ends of a conversation you imagine you're having with your own little boy or girl. It's fun to pretend at 38.
Happy Covet Children At A Playground Day!
It's all coming apart at the seams for Prettygirl. One morning, about four years ago, she woke up feeling like things were going to be getting worse from then on. She tried to ignore it throughout constant narcotics abuse, which was really really fun and gave her some good ideas for children's books she plans to write and illustrate one day, but they didn't help her to pretend that life works on some level. At one point, she took the advice of a grandmother and tried to give and receive love. Pure chicanery.
So now, Prettygirl's going into the woods in the hopes that watching frogs hump will put some blood back in her veins. If she doesn't start to perk up in a couple of days, she'll take off all of her clothes (Prettygirl's got a nice bod still, and whenever's she's naked it's a good thing), lay down on the frozen dirt and let the cold have her last breaths (which she'll be able to see, cause it'll be cold). If she finds, as the long-haired poets might say, "Something to believe in," she'll be back with more horseshit for you all to obey thoughtlessly. Either way, she's putting some days up in advance since she doesn't expect to make it to a Kinko's anytime soon. Scroll down to read today's today. Don't read tomorrow's until tomorrow or you'll grow one of those 115 pound tumors in your stomach that you'll assume is just the result of you being a big fat pig.
These might be the last ever. Make them count.
Sunday, December 26, 2004
Scold Your Pets For Not Being Romantic Enough Day!
Tell Wiffles that she never tries to surprise you. That she takes you for granted. Tell her that it would be nice if you could just come home one day to find that Wiffles had done something, perhaps arranged her poo to look like your face or whatever, just to let you know that you're still special. Wiffles will just kind of walk away because she doesn't speak English. When she does, weep.
Happy Scold Your Pets For Not Being Romantic Enough Day!
Saturday, December 25, 2004
Get Up From The Table And Go Day!
Tonight, your lover will tell the truth. He'll tell you what he's been so afraid to say for such a long time. He'll tell you that far more frightening than the potential retribution from various foreign governments, is the possibility that you might think less of him.
React thusly: Get up from the table and go out to the street. Run down the street in your bare feet with no idea where to go, who to go to. He'll catch up to you in the car after a few blocks. You'll get in and you two will come up with a plan. You'll say to him, "I'm involved now. I'm in just as much danger as you. Thanks a lot jerkface."
Happy Get Up From The Table And Go Day!
Friday, December 24, 2004
Covet Children At A Playground Day!
You're childless and empty. Worthless, in the eyes of the world and your Lord. Your lack of children is proof that you remain unloved and unlovable. Go to the playground and look at all the beautiful children at play. As you watch them, whisper aloud a both ends of a conversation you imagine you're having with your own little boy or girl. It's fun to pretend at 38.
Happy Covet Children At A Playground Day!
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Dogcatcher Day
Dogcatcher Day!
It's been two days since Rex has disappeared. It's time to go to the town dogcatcher and make a threat.
"You find my dog you do one of two things. Bring him back to me, or leave him be."
The Dogcatcher won't turn to you when he speaks from his leather seat.
"I'll do as my occupation dictates I do," the Dogcatcher will say.
Go to the arm of his chair and squat down so your mouth is at his ear. "Place my dog in danger," say, "And I will bring you pain in kind."
The Dogcatcher will scoff. "Can't feel pain," he'll say.
You'll stay by his side, not sure of what he said.
"Just get out of here."
Stand, but don't go.
"GET OUT OF HERE! NOW! GO NOW!"
The Dogcatcher will fly into a rage without even getting to his feet. He'll just bark at you from the sink of his chair until you go.
On your drive home you'll remember that the Dogcatcher is addicted to heroin and it must have been time for his fix. He flew into a panic because you were in the house when he was ready to shoot up. No one's been in his house in 8 months. He didn't know how else to handle it. He just knew he had to be rid of you in order to administer to his self.
Happy Dogcatcher Day!
It's been two days since Rex has disappeared. It's time to go to the town dogcatcher and make a threat.
"You find my dog you do one of two things. Bring him back to me, or leave him be."
The Dogcatcher won't turn to you when he speaks from his leather seat.
"I'll do as my occupation dictates I do," the Dogcatcher will say.
Go to the arm of his chair and squat down so your mouth is at his ear. "Place my dog in danger," say, "And I will bring you pain in kind."
The Dogcatcher will scoff. "Can't feel pain," he'll say.
You'll stay by his side, not sure of what he said.
"Just get out of here."
Stand, but don't go.
"GET OUT OF HERE! NOW! GO NOW!"
The Dogcatcher will fly into a rage without even getting to his feet. He'll just bark at you from the sink of his chair until you go.
On your drive home you'll remember that the Dogcatcher is addicted to heroin and it must have been time for his fix. He flew into a panic because you were in the house when he was ready to shoot up. No one's been in his house in 8 months. He didn't know how else to handle it. He just knew he had to be rid of you in order to administer to his self.
Happy Dogcatcher Day!
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
The Ku Klux Klan Day
The Ku Klux Klan Day!
Today, you are going to sit down with the Ku Klux Klan and go over some concepts.
"Presently," say, "The public sees the Klan as a terrorist organization. An instrument of hate."
Their hoods will rustle, indicating that they're nodding in agreement.
"To up your membership, you need to promote the deep social element of your club."
They turn to each other, then back to you. Get your artwork ready.
"Friendship. Teamwork. Playdates for your children. Gentlemen, it's time for a name-change."
They're on the edge of their seats.
"Say goodbye to the Ku Klux Klan." Show them the mock-up of families of hooded Klan members cheering on a sack race in a public park; smoke billowing from a barbecue in the background. "Say hello to the Ku Klux Community?."
They don't need to take off their hoods to let you know that you just hit one out of the park.
Happy The Ku Klux Klan Day!
Today, you are going to sit down with the Ku Klux Klan and go over some concepts.
"Presently," say, "The public sees the Klan as a terrorist organization. An instrument of hate."
Their hoods will rustle, indicating that they're nodding in agreement.
"To up your membership, you need to promote the deep social element of your club."
They turn to each other, then back to you. Get your artwork ready.
"Friendship. Teamwork. Playdates for your children. Gentlemen, it's time for a name-change."
They're on the edge of their seats.
"Say goodbye to the Ku Klux Klan." Show them the mock-up of families of hooded Klan members cheering on a sack race in a public park; smoke billowing from a barbecue in the background. "Say hello to the Ku Klux Community?."
They don't need to take off their hoods to let you know that you just hit one out of the park.
Happy The Ku Klux Klan Day!
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Roundhouse Day
Roundhouse Day!
Say, "I love you roundhouse."
Roundhouse will say, "I love you too."
A gang of drug addicts will come down the alley towards you, hooting and hollering.
"Not now," says Roundhouse.
Smile at her. "Do what you were brought here to do."
Roundhouse meets the gang halfway down the alley and kills them all with kicks.
"Go Roundhouse!" you shout. Your girlfriend was trained in a government lab to murder troublemakers. You have to share her with an entire crimewave. Some guys wouldn't be able to handle having a girlfriend with such a consuming career. But you were raised correctly.
Happy Roundhouse Day!
Say, "I love you roundhouse."
Roundhouse will say, "I love you too."
A gang of drug addicts will come down the alley towards you, hooting and hollering.
"Not now," says Roundhouse.
Smile at her. "Do what you were brought here to do."
Roundhouse meets the gang halfway down the alley and kills them all with kicks.
"Go Roundhouse!" you shout. Your girlfriend was trained in a government lab to murder troublemakers. You have to share her with an entire crimewave. Some guys wouldn't be able to handle having a girlfriend with such a consuming career. But you were raised correctly.
Happy Roundhouse Day!
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