Cul de Sac Warlords Day!
Your neighbor refuses to tend to his overgrown and weed-strangled lawn. You, your wife and your kids should shave your heads into Mohawks. Then you should split up all the lacrosse pads that your oldest son, who died in a drunk driving accident over the summer, used to wear. Your Mercedes is a hard-top, so you'll have to rip the roof off but keep the windows intact. With each of you wearing one element from your dead son's protective sporting gear, tear across the cul de sac in the Merc and lay waste to your neighbor's lawn and home with flamethrowers.
Only use flamethrowers. That'll be your family's thing. Your neighbor will only use shotguns and gasoline cans (he tosses the cans over approaching warlords and shoots the cans while still in the air so his enemies are bathed in a shower of fire). Your daughter is going to burn to death today on his property and you'll have to leave her behind. There'll be no turning back after that.
Happy Cul de Sac Warlords Day!
Friday, September 30, 2005
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Suitcase Full Of Guns Day
Suitcase Full Of Guns Day!
Your old high school buddy looked you up recently and asked if he could crash with you for a week. It's been a month now that he's been sleeping on your couch, and you're tired of talking about the old times. He says he's been looking for work, but he hasn't had any luck. You don't know what kind of work he's looking for, and when you try to ask he changes the subject to how hot the captain of the field hockey team used to be and how he fat she was at the last reunion.
He never wears a suit jacket for his job hunt. Every morning when he leaves he's wearing the same black and white velour sweat suit. And just before he leaves, you see him pull his suitcase out from under the couch and drag it and an empty duffel bag into the bathroom. When he comes out, the duffel bag is full. He then shoves the suitcase under the couch again and disappears until dinnertime.
Today, you came home early, and since there were still a few hours before he would get back you decided to finally open his suitcase. You were surprised when you saw all those guns because you had assumed he was selling cocaine. Surprised and disappointed. You love cocaine and you were hoping that you might be able compensate yourself for your hospitality by stealing from his supply.
"Great," you said out loud. "What am I supposed to do with a handgun?'
You took one of the guns out of the suitcase and starting shooting stuff around the house that you never really liked. A vase left behind by an old roommate. A Garfield clock. All your old shoes. It turned out to be a really great time.
"Guns are fun," you said out loud to yourself.
You put the gun under your pillow and started making a big dinner. You had so much fun you were suddenly glad that your old high school buddy came to stay and you decided to make him something special. The phone is about to ring. It will be your old high school buddy calling to tell you that your life is in danger.
"Get out of the house," he'll say.
"Why?"
"I'm a gun runner."
Say, "I know, I found your guns. Guns are really great. I had no idea. I've been shooting stuff all day. The place is kind of a mess."
"Glad you had fun," he'll say. "My supplier got picked up by the FBI. He's going to testify against his boss. The whole crew is gunning to take out everybody who worked for him, including me. Get out of the house now. They're coming for me."
Say, "Where should I go?"
"Just start running and call my cell in an hour," he'll say. "And bring the guns."
Say, "Awesome. I was gonna ask if I could have some of the guns."
"We'll need to sell them for cash," he'll say. "Get going."
Pull the case out from under the couch and get going. When you meet up with your old high school buddy, shoot him. Just like you did with your shoes. The gun doesn't know the difference between your old high school buddy and some shoes. Shoot him and then run off someplace where you can find work and live cheap so you won't have to sell any of your guns. Your beautiful guns.
Happy Suitcase Full Of Guns Day!
Your old high school buddy looked you up recently and asked if he could crash with you for a week. It's been a month now that he's been sleeping on your couch, and you're tired of talking about the old times. He says he's been looking for work, but he hasn't had any luck. You don't know what kind of work he's looking for, and when you try to ask he changes the subject to how hot the captain of the field hockey team used to be and how he fat she was at the last reunion.
He never wears a suit jacket for his job hunt. Every morning when he leaves he's wearing the same black and white velour sweat suit. And just before he leaves, you see him pull his suitcase out from under the couch and drag it and an empty duffel bag into the bathroom. When he comes out, the duffel bag is full. He then shoves the suitcase under the couch again and disappears until dinnertime.
Today, you came home early, and since there were still a few hours before he would get back you decided to finally open his suitcase. You were surprised when you saw all those guns because you had assumed he was selling cocaine. Surprised and disappointed. You love cocaine and you were hoping that you might be able compensate yourself for your hospitality by stealing from his supply.
"Great," you said out loud. "What am I supposed to do with a handgun?'
You took one of the guns out of the suitcase and starting shooting stuff around the house that you never really liked. A vase left behind by an old roommate. A Garfield clock. All your old shoes. It turned out to be a really great time.
"Guns are fun," you said out loud to yourself.
You put the gun under your pillow and started making a big dinner. You had so much fun you were suddenly glad that your old high school buddy came to stay and you decided to make him something special. The phone is about to ring. It will be your old high school buddy calling to tell you that your life is in danger.
"Get out of the house," he'll say.
"Why?"
"I'm a gun runner."
Say, "I know, I found your guns. Guns are really great. I had no idea. I've been shooting stuff all day. The place is kind of a mess."
"Glad you had fun," he'll say. "My supplier got picked up by the FBI. He's going to testify against his boss. The whole crew is gunning to take out everybody who worked for him, including me. Get out of the house now. They're coming for me."
Say, "Where should I go?"
"Just start running and call my cell in an hour," he'll say. "And bring the guns."
Say, "Awesome. I was gonna ask if I could have some of the guns."
"We'll need to sell them for cash," he'll say. "Get going."
Pull the case out from under the couch and get going. When you meet up with your old high school buddy, shoot him. Just like you did with your shoes. The gun doesn't know the difference between your old high school buddy and some shoes. Shoot him and then run off someplace where you can find work and live cheap so you won't have to sell any of your guns. Your beautiful guns.
Happy Suitcase Full Of Guns Day!
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Drink The Requisite Amount Of Alcohol So That You Will Finally Be Able To Saw Off Both Of Your Big Toes Day
Drink The Requisite Amount Of Alcohol So That You Will Finally Be Able To Saw Off Both Of Your Big Toes Day!
You've hated your big toes ever since you turned 32.
"Hey Big Toes," you often like to shout at them when you're in the bath. "Why don't you both go swimming in a river of shit and die there fucking big toes. Suck my face."
At which point you lift a foot up to your face and thrust a big toe in and out of your mouth until you've been shamed again. You know that the relationship you have with your big toes aint right, but you can't stop it. And that makes you hate them all the more because with every one of these episodes you know you're being dragged a little further away from Jesus.
You often imagine your big toes laughing at you at night. It keeps you up. Your toes are laughing at you and at what little control you have over yourself when it comes to their thick and meaty flesh. It's time to show them that you've got a whole lot more appendages that serve you far better than those two hunks of flesh and bone. Appendages that serve Jesus better too, though that's not hard. It's time to get drunk and cut off your big toes.
You'll need two bottles of bourbon, one hacksaw, a bathtub, and a tennis racket. The bourbon is to get you wasted so you don't feel much. The hacksaw is to get those fucking toes off of your body. The tub is to collect the blood. And the tennis racket is because you're going to be wanting to slap around and knock shit over from all the pain.
You should drink both bottles of bourbon, though that still won't be enough to dull the pain. But at least you'll have had a fun party up until the hacking starts. Once the toes are gone, give them to a priest. If you hang on to them, you know what will happen. Sure, a priest might fuck your toes too, but that's not your fault. You just have to get those things out of the house so that you can pray just once without hearing that cackling coming from inside your shoes.
Happy Drink The Requisite Amount Of Alcohol So That You Will Finally Be Able To Saw Off Both Of Your Big Toes Day!
You've hated your big toes ever since you turned 32.
"Hey Big Toes," you often like to shout at them when you're in the bath. "Why don't you both go swimming in a river of shit and die there fucking big toes. Suck my face."
At which point you lift a foot up to your face and thrust a big toe in and out of your mouth until you've been shamed again. You know that the relationship you have with your big toes aint right, but you can't stop it. And that makes you hate them all the more because with every one of these episodes you know you're being dragged a little further away from Jesus.
You often imagine your big toes laughing at you at night. It keeps you up. Your toes are laughing at you and at what little control you have over yourself when it comes to their thick and meaty flesh. It's time to show them that you've got a whole lot more appendages that serve you far better than those two hunks of flesh and bone. Appendages that serve Jesus better too, though that's not hard. It's time to get drunk and cut off your big toes.
You'll need two bottles of bourbon, one hacksaw, a bathtub, and a tennis racket. The bourbon is to get you wasted so you don't feel much. The hacksaw is to get those fucking toes off of your body. The tub is to collect the blood. And the tennis racket is because you're going to be wanting to slap around and knock shit over from all the pain.
You should drink both bottles of bourbon, though that still won't be enough to dull the pain. But at least you'll have had a fun party up until the hacking starts. Once the toes are gone, give them to a priest. If you hang on to them, you know what will happen. Sure, a priest might fuck your toes too, but that's not your fault. You just have to get those things out of the house so that you can pray just once without hearing that cackling coming from inside your shoes.
Happy Drink The Requisite Amount Of Alcohol So That You Will Finally Be Able To Saw Off Both Of Your Big Toes Day!
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Pizzaface Day
Pizzaface Day!
Today, you and your friends are going to drive Pizzaface out to the park under the guise that he has been invited to come out and party with you. When you get to the park, you'll all take a seat on a felled telephone pole and start drinking the warm beers that had been sitting in the back seat of Greg's car since last weekend. Everyone will pay way too much attention to Pizzaface and he'll do his best to try to be cool with all of the questions. Questions like: Hey Pizzaface, I heard you and that kid Marcus were buttboys. Is that true?, and Hey Pizzaface, homosezwut? He'll laugh it off, even though you're calling him Pizzaface still, which is what you always yell at him when you shouldercheck him into the lockers.
Eventually, Greg will take the first swing at Pizzaface. Then you will all drop your beers and pound on him. He'll die, even though you didn't mean to do anything more than beat him with the strength of seven young men. You'll all be national disgraces. TV commentators will chastise you for killing one of your peers just because he happened to have acne, and you'll reignite debate over violent video games. You'll all go to jail of course, except for one of you. Martin. His Dad's rich.
13 years from now when you're paroled, a reporter will ask you if it was worth it. Say, "No."
Happy Pizzaface Day!
Today, you and your friends are going to drive Pizzaface out to the park under the guise that he has been invited to come out and party with you. When you get to the park, you'll all take a seat on a felled telephone pole and start drinking the warm beers that had been sitting in the back seat of Greg's car since last weekend. Everyone will pay way too much attention to Pizzaface and he'll do his best to try to be cool with all of the questions. Questions like: Hey Pizzaface, I heard you and that kid Marcus were buttboys. Is that true?, and Hey Pizzaface, homosezwut? He'll laugh it off, even though you're calling him Pizzaface still, which is what you always yell at him when you shouldercheck him into the lockers.
Eventually, Greg will take the first swing at Pizzaface. Then you will all drop your beers and pound on him. He'll die, even though you didn't mean to do anything more than beat him with the strength of seven young men. You'll all be national disgraces. TV commentators will chastise you for killing one of your peers just because he happened to have acne, and you'll reignite debate over violent video games. You'll all go to jail of course, except for one of you. Martin. His Dad's rich.
13 years from now when you're paroled, a reporter will ask you if it was worth it. Say, "No."
Happy Pizzaface Day!
Monday, September 26, 2005
Site Visit Day
Site Visit Day!
Today you have to perform a site visit at the Cleveland office. Karl, the systems analyst you were cheating on your husband with has been working out of the Cleveland office for the past four months. When management discovered your relationship with Karl, several options were offered for how the situation should be dealt with. Karl had already been pushing for the transfer to Cleveland, so when it was offered as one of the options he was actually excited. Having an embarrassing office affair with you proved to be just the nudge that was needed to cut through the red tape.
Tonight, you're going to sleep with Karl again because you just haven't found anyone else to cheat on your husband with. It will be just like old times for you. And Karl will be on cloud nine since he'll have been very lonely since his move. He'll tell you that he didn't think he'd miss you when he left.
You'll explain to Karl that you love your husband and this is just a fling. But it will be too late. He'll already be on his way down a path to madness. You're going to have to learn how to use a handgun so that you can shoot Karl dead when he breaks into your house to kill your husband in a few weeks.
Happy Site Visit Day!
Today you have to perform a site visit at the Cleveland office. Karl, the systems analyst you were cheating on your husband with has been working out of the Cleveland office for the past four months. When management discovered your relationship with Karl, several options were offered for how the situation should be dealt with. Karl had already been pushing for the transfer to Cleveland, so when it was offered as one of the options he was actually excited. Having an embarrassing office affair with you proved to be just the nudge that was needed to cut through the red tape.
Tonight, you're going to sleep with Karl again because you just haven't found anyone else to cheat on your husband with. It will be just like old times for you. And Karl will be on cloud nine since he'll have been very lonely since his move. He'll tell you that he didn't think he'd miss you when he left.
You'll explain to Karl that you love your husband and this is just a fling. But it will be too late. He'll already be on his way down a path to madness. You're going to have to learn how to use a handgun so that you can shoot Karl dead when he breaks into your house to kill your husband in a few weeks.
Happy Site Visit Day!
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Postcards Day
Postcards Day!
Your ex-girlfriend died three years ago in a car crash. She was pregnant with her first child from her husband, now her widower, whom she met two years after you ran off. Her death and the death of her unborn child condemned her parents and her widower husband to years of pained mourning, relieved only by stretches of numbing exhaustion. The past year or so has been the first where it could be said that everyone has begun to move on. Her former husband has remarried (her parents having attended the wedding), and her parents have found they can sometimes go months without succumbing to a spell of grief over her absence.
Your postcards aren't helping. When you started sending them the year after you left, while she was still alive, she appreciated the first few. She appreciated that you weren't able to just expel her from your life without a second thought. She never bought your extensive explanations for why you had to leave, but they offered her some small vindication that what she felt for you wasn’t entirely one-sided.
Once she met her future husband, she of course tired of your postcards, usually responding to them only with a pitying chuckle before tossing them in the trash. She thought it was cute that you would tell her each time you started a new job or arrived in a new town, but she could tell you were simply lost and might never be found.
Once she died, however, and the postcards kept coming, her parents and her former husband came to despise you with all the emotion they could muster. Their hatred for you was refreshing. It was a relief to feel something besides absolute loss.
As her parents' pain began to subside, a postcard from you was all it took to bring the loss of their daughter back to the forefront of their minds. They knew you couldn't know that she was gone, and that you were responsible for so much hurt, but when one or the other would burst into tears at the sight of their daughters' name in your handwriting, they both wanted nothing but to see to your own untimely death.
Her father has taken measures. Not to kill you, but he's paid a man to find you and make you bleed. He's paid an additional three hundred dollars to guarantee that your hand is broken. He couldn't remember which hand you write with, but he asked that your right hand be broken. The man will visit you tonight in your room above the bar. He'll tell you first that your ex died many years ago, then he will beat you with a baton and shatter your right hand. When he leaves, everything will be different. Your ex-girlfriend will be dead, and you'll have spent the previous three years stirring pain in the hearts of those who loved her more than you ever could. This is going to be the thing that finally makes you stop goofing around so that you can go back to school and get that degree.
Happy Postcards Day!
Your ex-girlfriend died three years ago in a car crash. She was pregnant with her first child from her husband, now her widower, whom she met two years after you ran off. Her death and the death of her unborn child condemned her parents and her widower husband to years of pained mourning, relieved only by stretches of numbing exhaustion. The past year or so has been the first where it could be said that everyone has begun to move on. Her former husband has remarried (her parents having attended the wedding), and her parents have found they can sometimes go months without succumbing to a spell of grief over her absence.
Your postcards aren't helping. When you started sending them the year after you left, while she was still alive, she appreciated the first few. She appreciated that you weren't able to just expel her from your life without a second thought. She never bought your extensive explanations for why you had to leave, but they offered her some small vindication that what she felt for you wasn’t entirely one-sided.
Once she met her future husband, she of course tired of your postcards, usually responding to them only with a pitying chuckle before tossing them in the trash. She thought it was cute that you would tell her each time you started a new job or arrived in a new town, but she could tell you were simply lost and might never be found.
Once she died, however, and the postcards kept coming, her parents and her former husband came to despise you with all the emotion they could muster. Their hatred for you was refreshing. It was a relief to feel something besides absolute loss.
As her parents' pain began to subside, a postcard from you was all it took to bring the loss of their daughter back to the forefront of their minds. They knew you couldn't know that she was gone, and that you were responsible for so much hurt, but when one or the other would burst into tears at the sight of their daughters' name in your handwriting, they both wanted nothing but to see to your own untimely death.
Her father has taken measures. Not to kill you, but he's paid a man to find you and make you bleed. He's paid an additional three hundred dollars to guarantee that your hand is broken. He couldn't remember which hand you write with, but he asked that your right hand be broken. The man will visit you tonight in your room above the bar. He'll tell you first that your ex died many years ago, then he will beat you with a baton and shatter your right hand. When he leaves, everything will be different. Your ex-girlfriend will be dead, and you'll have spent the previous three years stirring pain in the hearts of those who loved her more than you ever could. This is going to be the thing that finally makes you stop goofing around so that you can go back to school and get that degree.
Happy Postcards Day!
Saturday, September 24, 2005
All Your Friends Keep Killing Themselves Day
All Your Friends Keep Killing Themselves Day!
As of New Years Day, 2005, you had 14 friends whom you would call your "buds." As of the phone call you received this morning at 8:40 AM, that number has dwindled down to 8. Go wake your wife.
"Ginny's gone," tell her.
Your wife will ask, "Note?"
Nod. "She wrote only, 'I'm sick of TV.' Then slit open one of her wrists and sat on her couch in front of the TV."
Your wife will ask, "What channel?"
"E!"
Your wife will hug you. Don't tell her that you're going to kill yourself next. She always said that you and your friends were really creepy with the way you all dressed the same and were into the same bands and stuff. "In high school and college, fine. But for God's sake you're all in your forties," she'd say.
You've decided that you're going to jump off a bridge. None of your friends have done that yet, and you think they'll all be impressed with your knack for originality. "That was the thing about [YOUR NAME]," they'll say. "He was always the one who made everyone go, Now that's the way it's done! Like remember his Halloween costumes?" The they'll all reminisce about your clever "visual pun" Halloween costumes.
When your wife pulls herself out of your hug, she'll say, "I'm so glad you haven't killed yourself. If you ever did such a thing, I don’t think I'd ever recover."
Don't let it dissuade you. Friends are important.
Happy All Your Friends Keep Killing Themselves Day!
As of New Years Day, 2005, you had 14 friends whom you would call your "buds." As of the phone call you received this morning at 8:40 AM, that number has dwindled down to 8. Go wake your wife.
"Ginny's gone," tell her.
Your wife will ask, "Note?"
Nod. "She wrote only, 'I'm sick of TV.' Then slit open one of her wrists and sat on her couch in front of the TV."
Your wife will ask, "What channel?"
"E!"
Your wife will hug you. Don't tell her that you're going to kill yourself next. She always said that you and your friends were really creepy with the way you all dressed the same and were into the same bands and stuff. "In high school and college, fine. But for God's sake you're all in your forties," she'd say.
You've decided that you're going to jump off a bridge. None of your friends have done that yet, and you think they'll all be impressed with your knack for originality. "That was the thing about [YOUR NAME]," they'll say. "He was always the one who made everyone go, Now that's the way it's done! Like remember his Halloween costumes?" The they'll all reminisce about your clever "visual pun" Halloween costumes.
When your wife pulls herself out of your hug, she'll say, "I'm so glad you haven't killed yourself. If you ever did such a thing, I don’t think I'd ever recover."
Don't let it dissuade you. Friends are important.
Happy All Your Friends Keep Killing Themselves Day!
Friday, September 23, 2005
Everyone Is Dancing To The Same Song Day
Everyone Is Dancing To The Same Song Day!
Sarah will be crying into your armpit. You won't know why. Sarah drinks a lot and she sometimes finds herself on a dance floor crying into the armpit of a close friend she's never slept with. You'd like to sleep with Sarah. You'll hope that she cries so vociferously that you will be enlisted to take her up to her hotel room and when you try to put her to bed she'll start kissing you. You'd tell her that she's drunk and she should go to bed. But she'd insist that she's not drunk and that she's wanted to be closer to you for the longest time. You'd apologize and tell her that as much as you'd like to, you're certain she'd be regretful in the morning. She wouldn't let you go. She'd tell you that she promises that this has been on her mind ever since you and she had dinner in Chinatown alone together the night after Thanksgiving. "If I'm drunk," she'd say, "Good. It's giving me the guts to say what I really feel." She'd kiss you once more, her hand held firm around the back of your head, and she'd pull you down into the bed on top of her.
"Sarah?" It will be Meg, Sarah's best friend, the one who always comes and finds her when she's crying into the armpit of someone she hasn't slept with.
"Come on," Meg will say and she'll pull her from your armpit and across the dance floor to the bathroom.
The next morning, if you had slept with Sarah, she'd wake up and take a gulp of breath when she saw you there. Then she'd start to laugh.
"It really happened," she'd say.
You'd say, "Now what?"
With a big giddy smile on her face, Sarah would say, "Get out!" Then she'd grab you around the neck and pull you into a kiss. You'd hold her naked body in the daytime for the first time.
You'd pull away and say, "We don't have to make this anything it isn't."
Sarah would smile and say, "We're not." Then she'd kiss you some more.
At the bar, you'll watch everyone on the dance floor. You'll know every single face out there. They'll all be beautiful and lit red and blue with gels. With vodka in your tissue, you'll be glad to have been sent from the dance floor. You'll look to the ladies room to see if Sarah's come out yet. Then you'll beam out at everyone but you on the dance floor again, glad to be watching them all, remembering it all for them.
Happy Everyone Is Dancing To The Same Song Day!
Sarah will be crying into your armpit. You won't know why. Sarah drinks a lot and she sometimes finds herself on a dance floor crying into the armpit of a close friend she's never slept with. You'd like to sleep with Sarah. You'll hope that she cries so vociferously that you will be enlisted to take her up to her hotel room and when you try to put her to bed she'll start kissing you. You'd tell her that she's drunk and she should go to bed. But she'd insist that she's not drunk and that she's wanted to be closer to you for the longest time. You'd apologize and tell her that as much as you'd like to, you're certain she'd be regretful in the morning. She wouldn't let you go. She'd tell you that she promises that this has been on her mind ever since you and she had dinner in Chinatown alone together the night after Thanksgiving. "If I'm drunk," she'd say, "Good. It's giving me the guts to say what I really feel." She'd kiss you once more, her hand held firm around the back of your head, and she'd pull you down into the bed on top of her.
"Sarah?" It will be Meg, Sarah's best friend, the one who always comes and finds her when she's crying into the armpit of someone she hasn't slept with.
"Come on," Meg will say and she'll pull her from your armpit and across the dance floor to the bathroom.
The next morning, if you had slept with Sarah, she'd wake up and take a gulp of breath when she saw you there. Then she'd start to laugh.
"It really happened," she'd say.
You'd say, "Now what?"
With a big giddy smile on her face, Sarah would say, "Get out!" Then she'd grab you around the neck and pull you into a kiss. You'd hold her naked body in the daytime for the first time.
You'd pull away and say, "We don't have to make this anything it isn't."
Sarah would smile and say, "We're not." Then she'd kiss you some more.
At the bar, you'll watch everyone on the dance floor. You'll know every single face out there. They'll all be beautiful and lit red and blue with gels. With vodka in your tissue, you'll be glad to have been sent from the dance floor. You'll look to the ladies room to see if Sarah's come out yet. Then you'll beam out at everyone but you on the dance floor again, glad to be watching them all, remembering it all for them.
Happy Everyone Is Dancing To The Same Song Day!
Thursday, September 22, 2005
The Movie Cool Runnings Day
The Movie Cool Runnings Day!
Tonight, you're going to admit to once having performed oral sex on somebody simply because you found out he was one of the co-stars of the movie Cool Runnings. When you admit this, you will be drunk, as will many of your friends. Your boyfriend will not be.
"Where did you do it?" your friend Sarah will ask you.
Tell her you did it in the darkened back yard of the Los Angeles home where the party took place.
Many of your friends will say, "Cool Runnings?" They'll be seeking verification.
Say, "Cool Runnings, yes."
Daniel, your boyfriend's friend will say, "You all right with this Kevin?"
Kevin, your boyfriend, hates it when you talk about men in your past. Especially the co-star of Cool Runnings. He will get up and walk out of the bar, which is what you were hoping would happen. You had an abortion last month, which Kevin was all for, but he refuses to let you talk to him about it. Tonight when you get home, the fight you and he are going to have will finally grant you the forum to shout what you need to shout at him.
After Kevin leaves, your friend Marcy will ask, "Did you ever see him again? The co-star of Cool Runnings I mean?"
Tell her, "He called me once. But I heard that he likes to take pictures of the girls he's with, so I never called him back."
Happy The Movie Cool Runnings Day!
Tonight, you're going to admit to once having performed oral sex on somebody simply because you found out he was one of the co-stars of the movie Cool Runnings. When you admit this, you will be drunk, as will many of your friends. Your boyfriend will not be.
"Where did you do it?" your friend Sarah will ask you.
Tell her you did it in the darkened back yard of the Los Angeles home where the party took place.
Many of your friends will say, "Cool Runnings?" They'll be seeking verification.
Say, "Cool Runnings, yes."
Daniel, your boyfriend's friend will say, "You all right with this Kevin?"
Kevin, your boyfriend, hates it when you talk about men in your past. Especially the co-star of Cool Runnings. He will get up and walk out of the bar, which is what you were hoping would happen. You had an abortion last month, which Kevin was all for, but he refuses to let you talk to him about it. Tonight when you get home, the fight you and he are going to have will finally grant you the forum to shout what you need to shout at him.
After Kevin leaves, your friend Marcy will ask, "Did you ever see him again? The co-star of Cool Runnings I mean?"
Tell her, "He called me once. But I heard that he likes to take pictures of the girls he's with, so I never called him back."
Happy The Movie Cool Runnings Day!
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Blood In Your Hair Day
Blood In Your Hair Day!
Today, you'll feel fine, but you'll discover that a patch of your hair on the top of your head is caked with fresh blood. Trouble is, when you discover the blood you'll be sitting in a reception area waiting to begin your third interview for a job you're dying to get. You'll have already poked and tapped your head and you won't have found a wound, or even a sore point. And you won't have time to run to the bathroom to inspect yourself further because just a moment after finding your fingertips wet with bright red blood, the acting manager of the firm will come out to lead you into his office for your interview. You'll have to wipe the blood from your hand onto the black waiting room chair in order to shake his hand. And then you'll conduct yourself swimmingly throughout a 70 minute interview, all the while with fresh blood matting your hair to your skull.
Happy Blood In Your Hair Day!
Today, you'll feel fine, but you'll discover that a patch of your hair on the top of your head is caked with fresh blood. Trouble is, when you discover the blood you'll be sitting in a reception area waiting to begin your third interview for a job you're dying to get. You'll have already poked and tapped your head and you won't have found a wound, or even a sore point. And you won't have time to run to the bathroom to inspect yourself further because just a moment after finding your fingertips wet with bright red blood, the acting manager of the firm will come out to lead you into his office for your interview. You'll have to wipe the blood from your hand onto the black waiting room chair in order to shake his hand. And then you'll conduct yourself swimmingly throughout a 70 minute interview, all the while with fresh blood matting your hair to your skull.
Happy Blood In Your Hair Day!
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
The Homeless Man Went To Her High School Day
The Homeless Man Went To Her High School Day!
Today, in the middle of your girlfriend's effort to break it off with you gently, a homeless man will push his way in between the two of you and ask you for change.
"I'm sorry no," you'll say with very little patience in your voice.
The homeless man will turn to your (soon-to-be-ex-) girlfriend and he'll open his mouth but he won't say anything. He'll look her in the eye, and then he'll make his way down the block at a pace that will probably be painful for him based on the way he was limping when he first approached.
"I don't think you've really given this a chance," you'll say to her, trying whatever you can to halt the axe in its fall. But she won't hear you. Her eyes will be following the homeless man down the block.
"Maura," you'll say. "Maura are you listening to me?"
"Ray!" she'll shout to the homeless man's back. But he'll keep walking at his hastened pace. "I swear to God that guy felt me up in the tenth grade," she'll say to you.
You'll look at the disheveled back of the man who will be just inches away from disappearing into a crowd. "My God," she'll say. Her voice will crack. "Ray!" she'll call to him again. This time she'll start to run a few steps to chase after him.
"Maura!" you'll shout. But she'll be watching Ray walk. And she'll be crying.
"My God!" she'll say. "What happened to him? What happened to him?" She'll ask you as if you had a hand in it. Her tears will be relentless. She'll move to run after him again.
"Maura wait," you'll say. If she won't let you change her mind she could at least finish reciting the speech she'd prepared.
"Godammit, what happened to him?" she'll cry. "It's over. I'm sorry, I have to talk to him."
"Maura."
But she'll be gone. And you'll be single again. You can call her later to see if maybe there's a loophole since she didn't get to finish you off. But there won't be. And please don't be upset about her not breaking up with you all the way. It's not often that she bumps into a homeless person that she once made out with on a high school Whale Watch trip, and she'll tend to drop everything whenever she does.
Happy The Homeless Man Went To Her High School Day!
Today, in the middle of your girlfriend's effort to break it off with you gently, a homeless man will push his way in between the two of you and ask you for change.
"I'm sorry no," you'll say with very little patience in your voice.
The homeless man will turn to your (soon-to-be-ex-) girlfriend and he'll open his mouth but he won't say anything. He'll look her in the eye, and then he'll make his way down the block at a pace that will probably be painful for him based on the way he was limping when he first approached.
"I don't think you've really given this a chance," you'll say to her, trying whatever you can to halt the axe in its fall. But she won't hear you. Her eyes will be following the homeless man down the block.
"Maura," you'll say. "Maura are you listening to me?"
"Ray!" she'll shout to the homeless man's back. But he'll keep walking at his hastened pace. "I swear to God that guy felt me up in the tenth grade," she'll say to you.
You'll look at the disheveled back of the man who will be just inches away from disappearing into a crowd. "My God," she'll say. Her voice will crack. "Ray!" she'll call to him again. This time she'll start to run a few steps to chase after him.
"Maura!" you'll shout. But she'll be watching Ray walk. And she'll be crying.
"My God!" she'll say. "What happened to him? What happened to him?" She'll ask you as if you had a hand in it. Her tears will be relentless. She'll move to run after him again.
"Maura wait," you'll say. If she won't let you change her mind she could at least finish reciting the speech she'd prepared.
"Godammit, what happened to him?" she'll cry. "It's over. I'm sorry, I have to talk to him."
"Maura."
But she'll be gone. And you'll be single again. You can call her later to see if maybe there's a loophole since she didn't get to finish you off. But there won't be. And please don't be upset about her not breaking up with you all the way. It's not often that she bumps into a homeless person that she once made out with on a high school Whale Watch trip, and she'll tend to drop everything whenever she does.
Happy The Homeless Man Went To Her High School Day!
Monday, September 19, 2005
Drive A Van Full Of Cocaine Someplace Day
"Someplace" is rather vague, I suppose. You should drive the van full of cocaine to wherever the men who are paying you $300 tell you to drive it. Otherwise they'll kill you then go find anyone who knows you and kill them too. They just start killing the shit out of people when their cocaine doesn't go where they want it to go.
But if the schedule isn't too prohibitive, you and your wife could turn this into that honeymoon trip you never got to take because right after the wedding she had to head out of town with 50 balloons full of heroin in her stomach. Maybe stop off at the Alamo or the Grand Canyon? Someplace scenic. At least find yourselves a romantic bed and breakfast for a night. But make sure you stop someplace where you can park in the back or in a garage, being as the contents of your van will be worth around $2.2 million. Remember, before they kill you they make you swallow your own eyes.
Happy Drive A Van Full Of Cocaine Someplace Day!
But if the schedule isn't too prohibitive, you and your wife could turn this into that honeymoon trip you never got to take because right after the wedding she had to head out of town with 50 balloons full of heroin in her stomach. Maybe stop off at the Alamo or the Grand Canyon? Someplace scenic. At least find yourselves a romantic bed and breakfast for a night. But make sure you stop someplace where you can park in the back or in a garage, being as the contents of your van will be worth around $2.2 million. Remember, before they kill you they make you swallow your own eyes.
Happy Drive A Van Full Of Cocaine Someplace Day!
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Lightning Splits Open The Tree In Your Front Yard Day
Lightning Splits Open The Tree In Your Front Yard Day!
Tonight, the electrical storm they've been predicting is going to send a bolt smack down the middle of that big Oak tree clouding over most of your yard. The trunk will split down the middle like it was to give birth. And give birth it will. It will bring forth the answer to a mystery that has befuddled your seaside town since before it was founded.
That mystery: Just where did the fearsome sea pirate Macdonald Blackflower bury his third wife? For it was said that to find her grave is to find his chest of jewels.
"Honey, come here," you'll shout to summon your wife to the window.
She'll look out the window and see in the split tree trunk a skeleton with a bejeweled dagger protruding from its throat sitting upon a pile of gold and silver pieces as if they were one chaotic toilet.
"Is that the third wife of Blackflower?" she'll ask.
You'll say, "That's my guess."
"Looks like we're rich," she'll say.
You and your wife will go out to gather the jewels, but when you each pick up your first piece from the pile, the third wife of MacDonald Blackflower's skeleton will come to life and slit both of your throats with the dagger that it will have yanked from its own neck. The rain will then come down in such torrents that the street will flood in minutes. Perfect to carry the ghostly black ship rising up from your front lawn back out to sea.
Had you read up on the town's history, you'd know that the third wife of MacDonald Blackflower has one or two long overdue scores she's been waiting to settle ever since her corpse was cast into the thick of an oak tree.
Happy Lightning Splits Open The Tree In Your Front Yard Day!
Tonight, the electrical storm they've been predicting is going to send a bolt smack down the middle of that big Oak tree clouding over most of your yard. The trunk will split down the middle like it was to give birth. And give birth it will. It will bring forth the answer to a mystery that has befuddled your seaside town since before it was founded.
That mystery: Just where did the fearsome sea pirate Macdonald Blackflower bury his third wife? For it was said that to find her grave is to find his chest of jewels.
"Honey, come here," you'll shout to summon your wife to the window.
She'll look out the window and see in the split tree trunk a skeleton with a bejeweled dagger protruding from its throat sitting upon a pile of gold and silver pieces as if they were one chaotic toilet.
"Is that the third wife of Blackflower?" she'll ask.
You'll say, "That's my guess."
"Looks like we're rich," she'll say.
You and your wife will go out to gather the jewels, but when you each pick up your first piece from the pile, the third wife of MacDonald Blackflower's skeleton will come to life and slit both of your throats with the dagger that it will have yanked from its own neck. The rain will then come down in such torrents that the street will flood in minutes. Perfect to carry the ghostly black ship rising up from your front lawn back out to sea.
Had you read up on the town's history, you'd know that the third wife of MacDonald Blackflower has one or two long overdue scores she's been waiting to settle ever since her corpse was cast into the thick of an oak tree.
Happy Lightning Splits Open The Tree In Your Front Yard Day!
Saturday, September 17, 2005
Pass Out On Public Transportation Day
Pass Out On Public Transportation Day!
Whether it's from drinking, drugs, or just being exhausted because that fucking baby won't stop crying and you swear she's got it in for you, tonight you should fall asleep on public transportation. For the first few stops, do all you can to stay awake, just like you do at the movies. But before long, you should conk out and wake up only when the train pulls into the stop at the end of the line.
The end of the line will either be a train yard or a stop just like any other except a little more desolate. If it's just another stop, hop on the departing train across the platform and try not to miss your stop this time. If it's a train yard, you'll hear someone shouting for help and when you climb down into the dark jungle of trains, you'll discover that you were tricked and that a gang lured you down there to rob you and strip you nude because it's funny. Or, if you were riding on a magic train, when you get off at the last stop a lion will be waiting there for you and the lion will say to you, "Hop on. We're late as balls." And off you will gallop into the magical world of Happy Happy Trenton (the magical counterpart to Trenton, NJ).
Happy Pass Out On Public Transportation Day!
Whether it's from drinking, drugs, or just being exhausted because that fucking baby won't stop crying and you swear she's got it in for you, tonight you should fall asleep on public transportation. For the first few stops, do all you can to stay awake, just like you do at the movies. But before long, you should conk out and wake up only when the train pulls into the stop at the end of the line.
The end of the line will either be a train yard or a stop just like any other except a little more desolate. If it's just another stop, hop on the departing train across the platform and try not to miss your stop this time. If it's a train yard, you'll hear someone shouting for help and when you climb down into the dark jungle of trains, you'll discover that you were tricked and that a gang lured you down there to rob you and strip you nude because it's funny. Or, if you were riding on a magic train, when you get off at the last stop a lion will be waiting there for you and the lion will say to you, "Hop on. We're late as balls." And off you will gallop into the magical world of Happy Happy Trenton (the magical counterpart to Trenton, NJ).
Happy Pass Out On Public Transportation Day!
Friday, September 16, 2005
Mile-High Club Day
Mile-High Club Day!
Tonight, after you and your neighboring passenger have become acquainted with each other's basic identifying facts such as occupation, place of residence, and level of anger at the federal government's handling of Hurricane Katrina, and you've begun to speak more intimately (Did you cry when Radar announced that Col. Henry Blake had died en route back to America?), you should ask her whether she wants to have sex with you in the airplane's bathroom.
She'll say, "Solid!"
Tell her to go ahead into the bathroom first and about a minute after you'll head back and knock on the door three times.
Grab her by the shoulders, hold her eyes with yours, and repeat: "THREE TIMES. DO NOT FUCK THIS UP."
She'll go and you'll wait. You'll think about your sister while you wait. You'll wonder whether she'll refuse to reconcile with you when you show up on her doorstep tomorrow afternoon. She hasn't spoken to you in six years, not since the morning of her son's funeral. You've warned her that you're coming. In letters. But you've done that before and chickened out. This isn't even the first time you've flown to her town. Once before you managed to make it to the soil of Cincinnati, but you never made it to your sister's house. Instead you locked yourself inside your hotel room with several bottles of Wild Turkey and waited until you got to fly home again (though you overslept and had to reschedule your return flight).
When the minute is up, go back to the bathroom and knock three times. You'll hear a gruff man's voice say, "Occupied." Turn around and knock on the opposite door. Your neighbor will yank you into the bathroom with her and say, "We're gonna do it on a plane."
Once you're inside her, concentrate on the fact that you're doing it on a plane. Say to her, "We're doing it on a plane."
She'll say, "We're not supposed to do it on a plane."
Reply, "We barely know each other even."
She'll say, "30,000 feet in the air. And we're having intercourse."
Say, "If the plane crashes, we'll have been having sex when the plane crashed."
"Aw man," she'll say.
You'll finish quickly. Once you've both refastened your clothing, tell her to go back to her seat first.
"See you soon," say.
When she's gone, look in the mirror and resolve that when you land, once again, you are not going to visit your sister. Though it's unlikely that she'd turn you away, the process of apologizing and making amends will be a huge drag.
With that weight off of your shoulders, go back to your seat. Your neighboring passenger will not speak to you for the rest of the flight, and ever again. Begin drinking hard liquor so that you have a head start for when you land.
Happy Mile-High Club Day!
Tonight, after you and your neighboring passenger have become acquainted with each other's basic identifying facts such as occupation, place of residence, and level of anger at the federal government's handling of Hurricane Katrina, and you've begun to speak more intimately (Did you cry when Radar announced that Col. Henry Blake had died en route back to America?), you should ask her whether she wants to have sex with you in the airplane's bathroom.
She'll say, "Solid!"
Tell her to go ahead into the bathroom first and about a minute after you'll head back and knock on the door three times.
Grab her by the shoulders, hold her eyes with yours, and repeat: "THREE TIMES. DO NOT FUCK THIS UP."
She'll go and you'll wait. You'll think about your sister while you wait. You'll wonder whether she'll refuse to reconcile with you when you show up on her doorstep tomorrow afternoon. She hasn't spoken to you in six years, not since the morning of her son's funeral. You've warned her that you're coming. In letters. But you've done that before and chickened out. This isn't even the first time you've flown to her town. Once before you managed to make it to the soil of Cincinnati, but you never made it to your sister's house. Instead you locked yourself inside your hotel room with several bottles of Wild Turkey and waited until you got to fly home again (though you overslept and had to reschedule your return flight).
When the minute is up, go back to the bathroom and knock three times. You'll hear a gruff man's voice say, "Occupied." Turn around and knock on the opposite door. Your neighbor will yank you into the bathroom with her and say, "We're gonna do it on a plane."
Once you're inside her, concentrate on the fact that you're doing it on a plane. Say to her, "We're doing it on a plane."
She'll say, "We're not supposed to do it on a plane."
Reply, "We barely know each other even."
She'll say, "30,000 feet in the air. And we're having intercourse."
Say, "If the plane crashes, we'll have been having sex when the plane crashed."
"Aw man," she'll say.
You'll finish quickly. Once you've both refastened your clothing, tell her to go back to her seat first.
"See you soon," say.
When she's gone, look in the mirror and resolve that when you land, once again, you are not going to visit your sister. Though it's unlikely that she'd turn you away, the process of apologizing and making amends will be a huge drag.
With that weight off of your shoulders, go back to your seat. Your neighboring passenger will not speak to you for the rest of the flight, and ever again. Begin drinking hard liquor so that you have a head start for when you land.
Happy Mile-High Club Day!
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Fight City Hall Day
Fight City Hall Day!
All your life you were told that you can't fight City Hall, which is an inaccurate statement. You can fight city hall all you want. You just can't win.
Tonight you are going to fight City Hall in the playground behind the little league diamond. Bring your bicycle chain. City Hall is always packing a blade.
You're going to fight over City Hall's girlfriend. She's the prettiest girl in local government, and she's been hanging around you quite a bit. City Hall's girlfriend (her name is Public Advocate Patty) can tell you things she could never tell City Hall. She's said that she wished that things weren't so complicated. She often asks you, "Why couldn't you be an influential governing body instead of just being a low-income housing development that's about to be leveled to make way for a stadium?" In response, you stole a kiss.
So City Hall got jealous and challenged you to a fight tonight. Of course City Hall will win. But it will use a dirty trick (asbestos) and when you fall, Public Advocate Patty will run crying to your side. City Hall forgot the most important part of the fight. It's not who wins or loses, it's who the girl runs to when its over. Some girls will run to the winner and squeeze his big muscles. But those girls are assholes.
Most girls will, without fail, run to the one who falls (that's you, Eastside Towers). So City Hall can go home and try to be satisfied with the knowledge that it whooped your ass. It's gonna be a lot easier for you to be happy tonight when you're fucking City Hall's girlfriend. (Remember, you're a bunch of buildings!)
Happy Fight City Hall Day!
All your life you were told that you can't fight City Hall, which is an inaccurate statement. You can fight city hall all you want. You just can't win.
Tonight you are going to fight City Hall in the playground behind the little league diamond. Bring your bicycle chain. City Hall is always packing a blade.
You're going to fight over City Hall's girlfriend. She's the prettiest girl in local government, and she's been hanging around you quite a bit. City Hall's girlfriend (her name is Public Advocate Patty) can tell you things she could never tell City Hall. She's said that she wished that things weren't so complicated. She often asks you, "Why couldn't you be an influential governing body instead of just being a low-income housing development that's about to be leveled to make way for a stadium?" In response, you stole a kiss.
So City Hall got jealous and challenged you to a fight tonight. Of course City Hall will win. But it will use a dirty trick (asbestos) and when you fall, Public Advocate Patty will run crying to your side. City Hall forgot the most important part of the fight. It's not who wins or loses, it's who the girl runs to when its over. Some girls will run to the winner and squeeze his big muscles. But those girls are assholes.
Most girls will, without fail, run to the one who falls (that's you, Eastside Towers). So City Hall can go home and try to be satisfied with the knowledge that it whooped your ass. It's gonna be a lot easier for you to be happy tonight when you're fucking City Hall's girlfriend. (Remember, you're a bunch of buildings!)
Happy Fight City Hall Day!
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Behind The Picket Fence Day
Behind The Picket Fence Day!
Today, when you dare to discover what lurks behind the picket fence, in addition to a disembodied ear covered in ants, you will find the following:
a) a fat kid covered in chocolate holding a sling shot
b) a small dragon
c) an asian gang in its entirety
d) THE TRUTH
e) squirrels
f) raccoons
g) MILFs
h) innocence (not yours)
i) jodhpurs (yours)
j) a guy in a mask with a knife, waiting
k) the baseball mitt your dad gave you, the only thing he gave you before he ran off
l) heartache, nothing but heartache
ANSWER: A, C, and K. And L. Oh, and G. awwww yeah!
Happy Behind The Picket Fence Day!
Today, when you dare to discover what lurks behind the picket fence, in addition to a disembodied ear covered in ants, you will find the following:
a) a fat kid covered in chocolate holding a sling shot
b) a small dragon
c) an asian gang in its entirety
d) THE TRUTH
e) squirrels
f) raccoons
g) MILFs
h) innocence (not yours)
i) jodhpurs (yours)
j) a guy in a mask with a knife, waiting
k) the baseball mitt your dad gave you, the only thing he gave you before he ran off
l) heartache, nothing but heartache
ANSWER: A, C, and K. And L. Oh, and G. awwww yeah!
Happy Behind The Picket Fence Day!
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Date Night Day
Date Night Day!
You and your wife are grossed out by each other. But tonight's Date Night, which means you have to eat dinner with each other and then have sex with each other.
"At least the food is good," your wife will tell you when her plate of seared tuna is placed before her.
"Mmm," you'll say while chewing on your Filet Mignon. "When we're having sex later, I'll be thinking about this steak."
"I'll be thinking about a good movie I saw recently," your wife will say.
"A movie?" you'll ask. "Was it a sexy movie?"
"Just a biopic. But I was enthralled."
You'll laugh. "And that's what's going to carry you through unwanted sex with me? I'll never understand women."
"Oh but a steak is sexy?" she'll say.
You'll chew on another bite with great fanfare. "You have no idea how sexy, my dear."
You'll eat in silence for the rest of the meal, just a conversation between your utensils scraping across the plates. Then the check will come.
"Should we go home and have some sex then?" you'll ask her.
"Let's go to the bar for a few," she'll say. "I don't think I can take it yet."
You'll be relieved, because you weren't ready to have sex yet either. You needn't worry though. You're not going to make it home to have sex tonight. You'll both order way too many drinks and you'll be the last ones at the bar when three gunmen arrive to rob the place. They'll kill both of you, along with the bartender and the floor manager of the restaurant.
It's a shame. Had you not lost your desire for each other, you never would have needed to engage in Date Night and you'd still be alive tomorrow.
Happy Date Night Day!
You and your wife are grossed out by each other. But tonight's Date Night, which means you have to eat dinner with each other and then have sex with each other.
"At least the food is good," your wife will tell you when her plate of seared tuna is placed before her.
"Mmm," you'll say while chewing on your Filet Mignon. "When we're having sex later, I'll be thinking about this steak."
"I'll be thinking about a good movie I saw recently," your wife will say.
"A movie?" you'll ask. "Was it a sexy movie?"
"Just a biopic. But I was enthralled."
You'll laugh. "And that's what's going to carry you through unwanted sex with me? I'll never understand women."
"Oh but a steak is sexy?" she'll say.
You'll chew on another bite with great fanfare. "You have no idea how sexy, my dear."
You'll eat in silence for the rest of the meal, just a conversation between your utensils scraping across the plates. Then the check will come.
"Should we go home and have some sex then?" you'll ask her.
"Let's go to the bar for a few," she'll say. "I don't think I can take it yet."
You'll be relieved, because you weren't ready to have sex yet either. You needn't worry though. You're not going to make it home to have sex tonight. You'll both order way too many drinks and you'll be the last ones at the bar when three gunmen arrive to rob the place. They'll kill both of you, along with the bartender and the floor manager of the restaurant.
It's a shame. Had you not lost your desire for each other, you never would have needed to engage in Date Night and you'd still be alive tomorrow.
Happy Date Night Day!
Monday, September 12, 2005
No Giving Up Day
No Giving Up Day!
When you send out the updated list of office practices and regulations, your staff will be startled to find there in the middle of the list, just below, "No jeans or flip flops" and above, "No mugs with 'slogans' other than our company logo and slogan,'" you've added:
No Giving Up On Your Dreams And Settling For Your Current Job Because It's Convenient To Do So
It's going to make a few on your staff chuckle, while a few others will weep at their desks. By lunchtime, three of your junior level employees will be gone, with notes on their desks that read, "Left for band practice. Be in early tomorrow." They're all musicians and after reading your updated list of office practices and regulations will have agreed to form a band together.
At four today, Mary will resign. "Thanks for the updated list of office practices and regulations," she'll say. "I'm going to go back and get my masters in archeology."
You won't have time to wish her well before the screams out on the floor send you running to see what's happened. It will be Marcus, the accounts payable clerk who graduated law school but never passed the bar. He'll have jumped.
Happy No Giving Up Day!
When you send out the updated list of office practices and regulations, your staff will be startled to find there in the middle of the list, just below, "No jeans or flip flops" and above, "No mugs with 'slogans' other than our company logo and slogan,'" you've added:
No Giving Up On Your Dreams And Settling For Your Current Job Because It's Convenient To Do So
It's going to make a few on your staff chuckle, while a few others will weep at their desks. By lunchtime, three of your junior level employees will be gone, with notes on their desks that read, "Left for band practice. Be in early tomorrow." They're all musicians and after reading your updated list of office practices and regulations will have agreed to form a band together.
At four today, Mary will resign. "Thanks for the updated list of office practices and regulations," she'll say. "I'm going to go back and get my masters in archeology."
You won't have time to wish her well before the screams out on the floor send you running to see what's happened. It will be Marcus, the accounts payable clerk who graduated law school but never passed the bar. He'll have jumped.
Happy No Giving Up Day!
Sunday, September 11, 2005
"Suck the Gay Outta Me" Day
"Suck the Gay Outta Me" Day!
Tonight, when you are finished performing oral sex on a young male prostitute in the front seat of your wife's station wagon and it's time for him to reciprocate, say to him, "Go on now. Suck the gay outta me."
Your young male prostitute will think this is very funny. He'll think you're different than most of the suburban closet cases who pick him up. He'll smile in a way that reminds you of your son. This will ruin things for you and before he can even bend forward and undo your pants, you'll toss a handful of twenties at him and shout, "I'm sorry. I'm wretched!" Then you'll reach past him to open his door and shove him out of the car before peeling away.
This won't have been the first of his dates tonight that ended that way, but it will alarm the young male prostitute that he actually allowed himself to be charmed by you before you proved to be no different than the next guy in a Volvo. "Gotta be tougher than that Curtis," he'll say to himself. His name's Curtis.
Happy "Suck the Gay Outta Me" Day!
Tonight, when you are finished performing oral sex on a young male prostitute in the front seat of your wife's station wagon and it's time for him to reciprocate, say to him, "Go on now. Suck the gay outta me."
Your young male prostitute will think this is very funny. He'll think you're different than most of the suburban closet cases who pick him up. He'll smile in a way that reminds you of your son. This will ruin things for you and before he can even bend forward and undo your pants, you'll toss a handful of twenties at him and shout, "I'm sorry. I'm wretched!" Then you'll reach past him to open his door and shove him out of the car before peeling away.
This won't have been the first of his dates tonight that ended that way, but it will alarm the young male prostitute that he actually allowed himself to be charmed by you before you proved to be no different than the next guy in a Volvo. "Gotta be tougher than that Curtis," he'll say to himself. His name's Curtis.
Happy "Suck the Gay Outta Me" Day!
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