Your Dog Ran Away Day!

He was found several towns away. It’s a miracle. Someone’s driving him up your driveway right this minute.

“Starsky!” you shout as he slides out of the car.

You run down the driveway and wait on your knees with open arms. Starsky trots up the driveway towards you.

“Come on, Starsky!” you shout.

Starsky slows as he approaches you. His shoulders fall. His head bows, reluctant. But also, ashamed.

You hold your arms out, but you don’t know if Starsky wants your embrace.

He halts just a few steps before you. Finally, he looks up and meets your eyes with his own.

You see it then. This runaway. It was no accident. Starsky wasn’t lost.

Your arms lower. You nod at him.

“It’s okay,” you say. “It’s okay boy. I understand.”

Starsky turns from you. He trots away. The man who returned him to you moves to stop him but you raise your palm to tell him to let the dog go.

You know when it’s over. You know when someone’s done with you.

Happy Your Dog Ran Away Day!

Your Dad Says He’s In Love With One Of The Aides At His Home Day!

“I just felt an instant, mutual connection,” he says.

You stand stock still, waiting as your soul rises out of your body.

“I hope I don’t jinx this by talking about it.”

Say to him, “Well, that’s nice.”

Remember that you have power of attorney so his money’s locked down. If he wants to start a new relationship at the age of 82 now that your mom’s been in the ground for over a year, so be it.

“So is she around your age? Younger?”

“Younger.”

“How young?”

“Around 25.”

Hold on to something, steady yourself. The back of a chair. Something.

“And when did you meet her?”

“In Spain.”

He’s never been to Spain.

“You might have dreamed this whole thing.”

“I don’t think so.”

You let it go.

“Just don’t tell my son about this okay, Pete?”

You’re his son. Your name’s Lance.

Happy Your Dad Says He’s In Love With One Of The Aides At His Home Day!

You Stopped Sleeping Day!

Your boss noticed you’ve been looking tired.

“You doing okay?” she asks.

Tell her, “I stopped sleeping. My dreams have gotten as bad as my waking panics. Worse, some nights. I haven’t tried giving up sleep yet. They say I’ll go mad but I’m already mad so maybe a madness I know the cause for will be a better madness than the one that showed up one day and wrapped me in its great dark arms promising to never let me go. It’s been eleven days now and I can’t quite see anything but blurred shapes and I can’t quite hear anything but elderly people’s sobs but trust me that’s an improvement.”

Your boss will say that’s all, then she’ll go home and throw away her bed hoping for lack of sleep to overtake her lack of will to do anything but curl up in a ball and moan faintly.

Happy You Stopped Sleeping Day!

Date With Loretta Day!

You have a date with Loretta tonight but you’re not going to make it on time because you’re going to get kidnapped.

“Please,” you say to the masked men who threw you in their van. “I have a date with a girl I’ve loved from afar for years. This could be the most important night of my life. Please don’t deprive me of it.”

“Godammit Steve,” one kidnapper screams at the driver.

“No real names!” the driver screams back.

“Sorry. Goddammit Kevin! We said no one would get hurt.”

Kevin/Steve yells back, “We’re not hurting him!”

“Standing in the way of true love? I’d say that’s pretty hurtful!”

“He’s got a point Ste– Kevin,” the third kidnapper says.

“Fine,” Steve/Kevin says. “Where’s this date supposed to be?”

They drive you to the restaurant and say they’ll be parked outside all night. If you try to escape they’ll kill you both.

The date goes wonderfully. You talk about your hopes, your fears, your childhoods, and your favorite episodes of Mr. Robot. At the end of the date you walk her home while the van follows. She invites you up and you make love. The next morning you come downstairs, the van still waiting for you.

“Looks like it went well,” one of the kidnappers in the back says. You can see his smile through the hole in his ski mask.

“It did,” you say, blushing.

“Ready to get on with this?” Steve/Kevin says.

“Wait, I told her I’d bring back bagels.”

They follow you to the bagel store and back, and they wait outside while you eat bagels and make love again upstairs.

Hours later, you come back downstairs.

“Now you ready to get on with this?” Steve/Kevin asks.

You nod, staring up at her window. “I am,” you say. “Now that I know my love will be here waiting for me, I’m ready to survive however long a kidnapping you have planned.”

They throw you in the van and speed away. Three days later your rich father delivers the money, but he ignores their demand for no cops. You’re killed in the shoutout. Loretta falls for one of your coworkers at your funeral.

Happy Date With Loretta Day!

Cater Waiter Your Ex-Husband’s Wedding Day!

You don’t get any info about who’s getting married. You get a phone call with the address of the events hall and a one hour window to confirm you’ll take the shift. It’s not until you’re there in the thick of the reception, a tray of canapés held high above your head, that you start recognizing ex-mutual friends’ faces.

“Holy shit, Christine,” one of his work friends says to you.

“This is pretty messed up,” says Clara, who you got really close with but who ceased talking to you when the divorce went through since she’s married to his high school best friend.

“You guys, who’s getting married?” you ask.

A cheer erupts through the room as the double doors to the dance floor open. You see only the top of his haircut through the crowd and you know today is the wrong day to have been available to fill in for Melanie, who has the flu.

“And now the bride and groom invite you to witness their first dance as man and wife,” says the DJ before he spins “At Last.” (Your song was a Sugarcubes song, at your demand.)

The crowd parts and you find yourself standing in the center of the dance floor, holding your tray of tiny food.

He sees you.

She sees you.

They all see you.

“Congrats?” you say to him.

They don’t move. Their first song keeps spinning. You do the only thing you can think to do.

You dance.

It’s an elegant, solo routine. You glide and sway across the floor, occasionally miming someone in your arms, someone whom, over and over again, breaks free of your embrace, leaving you to wave goodbye to the apparition.

The song ends. Your ex and his bride are stunned. A slow clap begins. Your ex’s father. He always liked you. Others clap along, growing louder, faster.

They believe it was planned. A gift to the bride and groom. Before they can dance, his ex must dance him free of her, a farewell spin across the floor. Tonight’s the night the “Ex Dance” is introduced to wedding planners as a new tradition in matrimony. You leave the venue, get in your Corolla, and make a plan to go back to being an office temp in the morning.

Happy Cater Waiter Your Ex-Husband’s Wedding Day!

Your Love Just Killed A Guy Day!

You and your girlfriend are so in love some guy just died.

“This is the news,” a TV newsman says while you and your girlfriend are kissing for like the hundredth time this hour. “Some guy died today because these two are too in love.”

A photo of the two of you is on the TV. You can’t see it because you’re busy getting naked again. You just put clothes back on. Naked again?

“Apparently this couple’s love is so strong that it needs to feed on the life force of others,” the Newsman continues. Not that you two would know. You’re too busy holding each other’s naked bodies and crying.

“If anyone can think of some way to break these two up,” the newsman says. “Please contact the police with your plan. Before their love comes for us all.”

You’re inside each other as the police meet with several of your respective ex-lovers who are busy detailing your emotional pressure points and relationship deal-breakers that might be exploited to bring an end to your love affair.

“This just in,” the newsman says. “A family of six was just found dead. They were just lying there in their house, like they all just dropped. It’s assumed the mass death occurred when these two came at the same time.”

Your picture on the TV again, not that you’d see it since you’re still marveling at the simultaneous orgasm that just made you both scream at God.

Happy Your Love Just Killed A Guy Day!

Your Two Dads Day!

They’re fighting with knives.

“Dads, stop it!”

Your adoptive dad slashes your biological dad across the face. Your biological dad digs his blade deep into your adoptive dad’s gut. Your adoptive dad uses the last of his strength to land his blade in your biological dad’s heart.

“She’s my…daughter,” your adoptive dad whispers.

“No, she’s…my daughter,” your biological dad whispers back. They both die.

You really shouldn’t have gone looking for your real parents.

Happy Your Two Dads Day!

Lose At Pool Day!

Tonight at the bar, challenge another bar patron to a game of pool. Don’t make any shots.

“Are you losing intentionally?” the other player will ask.

Say yes.

“Then I don’t want to play,” the other player will say.

Tell him you’ll start playing for real, then don’t.

“Were you lying when you said you would play for real?”

Say yes.

“Then I don’t want to play!”

Tell him, okay, you admit that you were losing intentionally and you were lying when you said you’d start playing for real, but it’s just because you like to give yourself big challenges, so you let him get a major lead on you. Now, though, it’s a big enough challenge so you’re going to try to come back from your deficit by playing the best game you’ve ever played.

After your next few shots are just horrible, the other player will say, “Were you lying about that wanting a challenge stuff?”

Say no.

“Are you lying now?” he’ll ask.

Say, “What is truth?”

The other player will beat you with his pool cue until you’re dead. Hooray, you died in a bar, just like you always wanted.

Happy Lose At Pool Day!

King Fun Day!

Today you’re King Fun.

“Chop off everybody’s heads,” you tell the people who do whatever you say.

Everyone in your kingdom is lined up and one by one their heads get chopped off. Until one small boy is about to be placed on the chopping block when he says, “For a guy named King Fun, you sure are a downer!”

You think about what the boy said. You take off your crown then hold your head in your hands.

“Oh my God! He’s riiiiight! I am a dooooooowner! I’m supposed to be King Fuuuuuun but instead of I’m King chop off everybody’s heeeeeeeads!”

You cry and cry and cry until everyone gets sick of hearing it and they start asking to have their heads chopped off so they don’t have to hear you anymore.

You wake up the next morning feeling better after having a good cry. You resolve to change your ways and live up to the name King Fun by being a little more positive and fostering an enjoyable atmosphere in your kingdom, but everybody’s already dead. Even the executioner. He cut off his own head. That’s how sucky it is to hear you cry.

Happy King Fun Day!

Don’t Break Up With Lance Day!

His mom says he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“Not today,” his mom begs. “Please. Just wait a little.”

“I don’t want to break up with your son,” you tell her.

His mom laughs.

“Come on, of course you do,” she says. “You’re so much hotter than him. And he’s so lame. But please, just keep dating him a little while longer?’

"Mrs. Sanford,” you tell her. “I really like your son. And part of me wonders if he could be the one.”

Lance’s mom laughs so hard at that one that she starts to cough. You pour her a glass of water. She thanks you, then hugs you.

“You’re so considerate. Lance doesn’t deserve you,” she says. “Which is why I’ve drawn up an eight-week plan for you to let him down easy. Take a look.”

Lance’s mom unrolls a large calendar across the kitchen table. It lays out exactly when you should start being cold around Lance (week 2), when you should fight with him over something small that represents a larger problem (week 4). Week 6 is when you should suggest that you and Lance spend some time apart. In week 7, you’re supposed to tell Lance you want to go on a date, just like in the beginning. You’re to tell him you want to see what it’s like if the two of you pretend all this fighting and questioning hasn’t been happening, so you can just enjoy each other’s company. In week 8, on the day of the final breakup, you’re to tell Lance how much fun you had on that pretend do-over date, and it reminded you what a great guy he is and why you liked him in the first place. But you also realized a relationship can’t exist within a pretend do-over date. Those weeks of fighting really did happen, and you think it would be better to just cut your losses and cherish what you had.

“Seem doable?” Lance’s mom asks.

“Look,” you say. “I like dating your son. I don’t want to break up with him. And I need you to get through your head that no matter what you think of him—”

You stop talking when Lance enters the kitchen.

“Hey, whatcha doin’?” he says. “Ready to go to the movie?”

He looks down and sees the calendar.

“Oh,” he says. “My mom showed you the eight-week calendar.”

There’s a moment of silence. You don’t know what to say.

“So,” Lance says. “Seem doable?”

Happy Don’t Break Up With Lance Day!

Voodoo Doll Day!

You bought a Voodoo Doll but it’s broken.

“I’ve been stabbing it in the head with needles a million times but Karen’s head’s fine. Doesn’t even have a headache.”

The doll salesman will ask who Karen is. Explain that she’s the woman who sits in the cubicle next to yours at work and she hums too much.

“So I want to blind her. But your doll blows.”

The doll salesman says that you need to hide the doll under Karen’s pillow and have her sleep on it before it will work.

So you break into Karen’s house and hide the doll under her pillow. Then you call in sick the next day so that when she’s at work you can get the doll back.

Unfortunately, when you go to look for the doll, it’s not there. You search everywhere in Karen’s bedroom, then everywhere in her house. You get so tired that you fall asleep on her couch.

Karen shakes you awake, holding the doll up to your face.

“Looking for this?” she asks.

She found the doll last night. So she tucked it away, and when she found you asleep on her couch she slid the doll under the couch pillow you were sleeping on. Now she’s holding a pin to the doll’s head.

“Say you like me as a person,” Karen commands.

“But I don’t,” you say.

She pokes the doll head with a pin. You feel a sharp pain at your temple.

“I like you as a person,” you tell Karen.

“Say it again,” she says.

You do as she tells you. She makes you say it a dozen more times. Then she hands you the doll and lets you go.

“That’s it?” you ask. “That’s all you’re going to use the doll for?”

“No one’s ever said that to me before,” Karen says. “And if I used the doll for worse, you might not like me as a person anymore.”

You leave while Karen cries. Then you go to the doll salesman and tell him his doll backfired big time and now you still have to go into work and listen to Karen’s humming for forever.

“And I had to say I like her as a person,” you tell him. “So gross.”

“Quit and come work for me,” the doll salesman says. “I don’t hum.”

You tell him you don’t want to sell stupid dolls. So the doll salesman holds a flame near the doll you just returned to him and you feel a burning on your skin. You accept the job, and that’s how you embarked on a career selling Voodoo dolls, which you’ll do until you die or you get that doll back from him, whichever comes first.

Happy Voodoo Doll Day!

Love For A Year Day!

The dystopia you live in has a rule that people in love can only stay together for a year. At which time they have to apply to the government for an extension. If they aren’t granted an extension they have to either break up or commit suicide.

“It’s not fair,” you tell Greg.

“Better to have loved and lost,” Greg shrugs.

“It’s because the government is scared of love you know. The government doesn’t ban anything unless it’s a threat to their power.”

“What power does love have?” Greg asks.

The clock strikes midnight. Your year is up. You pull Greg’s face to yours and you kiss him.

A siren sounds. You both go on the run, hand in hand, a beacon for governmentally-thwarted lovers everywhere. The nation celebrates your love as the love that will set them free.

One night the president issues a pardon for your crime.

“It’s all right for them to stay together. The law only applies to lovers. Greg’s not that into her.”

You become livid. “He’s only doing that to try and break us up.”

Greg bites his lip. “Actually…”

You break up and Greg starts dating someone else, but the revolution continues. Lovers all across the land continue to love each other in violation, which pisses you off because now the whole country knows you just got dumped, and getting dumped used to be easier when it was the law.

Happy Love For A Year Day!

Steal From Your Kids Day!

Your son has a toy truck. You want that toy truck. It’s not fair that he has it when you want it. Take that toy truck from your son and bring it into the office to play with.

Your son will visit you at work and ask if you’ve seen his toy truck. Lie to him. Say, “Psssh. That truck sucks. I didn’t take it.”

Your son will explain he has a play date and he needs his toy truck back if you have it. Stand your ground.

“I’m the president of a massive corporation. I don’t have your stupid fucking truck.”

Your eyes flash on the floor safe. Your son notices.

“It’s in the floor safe isn’t it?” he says.

“What floor safe,” you say, but he’s already out of his chair and spinning the combination dial.

“12. 16. 6,” he says as he spins, then pulls the door open to reveal his toy truck.

“Shouldn’t have used my birthday as the combo, dipshit,” he says, inspecting the toy truck for blemishes. “Have your secretary call me a car.”

You do as he says, happy that your son didn’t lift up the stacks of cash and bonds to find the Boba Fett action figure you stole from him.

Happy Steal From Your Kids Day!

What To Do At Game Night Day!

Tonight’s Game Night with you and the Palmers and the Costners and what you should do is you should stand up in the middle of Scattergories and shout, “I am done playing games with you people!” Then tell them about the hit and run in ‘93.

Pam Costner will stand up and shout that she’s also “done playing games with you people.” Then she’ll plant a kiss on your wife’s mouth and tell her she’s been in love with her for years.

Richie Costner will also stand up and shout that he, too, is effectively finished “playing games with you people.” He’ll walk out the front door, get in the car, and that’s all she wrote for Richie. You’ll never see him again.

Michael Palmer will similarly rise from his seat and say that he’s not going to be playing any stupid games with you people any longer. He’ll go to the bathroom and draw a bath in the tub and the blood from his open wrists will float out like ribbons.

Patty Palmer will announce in a whisper that she doesn’t want to play games with you people anymore. The rest you won’t understand because she’ll say it in Russian. She’ll be tried as a spy later this year.

Your wife, Debra, once she’s done being made out with by Pam Costner, will sit back down on the couch and say that she’s done playing games with you people, and she’ll take out a deck of cards and begin a game of solitaire. You won’t notice because you’ll be on the phone with the police confessing to vehicular manslaughter.

Happy What To Do At Game Night Day!

Emily’s Sad Day!

Emily Connell, the president of the multi-national conglomerate where you temp, is sad today. You spotted her in a café staring out the window at the rain.

“Should I go in and see if I can cheer her up?” you ask your 7-year-old daughter.

“Do it. It could be good for your career. I can go see The Good Dinosaur some other day.”

Your daughter hails a cab and you go into the café and stand at the edge of your company president’s table.

“Why so sad Ms. Connell?” you ask.

She looks up at you through her tears.

“I know you.”

You sit down across from her. You wave to a waiter and tell him you’d like a glass or Port.

“This one’s on you, since you make 1500 times my salary at our shared place of employment.”

“Oh,” she says. “You work for me.”

“Tell me,” you say.

At that she unloads a tale of her third husband’s confession that he’s in love with her brother, a prominent member of British Parliament. He’s going to divorce her and announce his relationship with her brother, which will likely cause the board to oust her from her position as CEO due to a ridiculous “undue controversy” clause in her contract, and her brother will also have his government post threatened. Meanwhile, her (soon-to-be-)ex-husband has refused to offer testimony in a corporate malfeasance case, testimony that would be necessary to exonerate her of accusations that she manipulated the stock price with false accounting.

“So I’m facing public humiliation, professional disgrace, jail-time, and a broken heart,” she tells you.

You do the only thing you can do, the only thing you know how to do in situations like this. You try to cheer her up by farting the National Anthem.

It works.

“You’re quite talented,” she says, laughing through her tears.

“Thanks,” you say. “If you’re feeling better, I’d better hit the men’s room and check my underpants.”

When you come back from the men’s room, she’s gone. The waiter comes by and says she paid ahead and told them you could have whatever you want for the rest of the night. You get drunk on port and eat a half dozen scones, stuffing yourself until they lock up for the evening, making sure to bring one scone home for your daughter, who hasn’t eaten in hours.

Happy Emily’s Sad Day!

New Dad Day!

You’re a new dad, which means everyone’s counting on you to not fuck up. So put the gun down.

“Will you just let me go?”

The bank manager says for the sake of your new baby daughter, yes, he’ll let you walk out the door if you don’t hurt anyone.

“What about the police outside?”

The police chief says into his megaphone that if you leave the money and you don’t hurt anybody and you promise to be there for that little angel, they’ll look the other way.

“What about the Feds?”

The FBI agents in the helicopters hovering over the bank call in on their dedicated line and tell you they have terrorists to catch. They don’t want to waste time keeping a new dad from his little girl.

“Okay,” you say. “Here I go.”

You put down your gun. You walk out the door of the bank. You walk all the way to the hospital. You kiss your baby on her forehead. You begin your life as a new dad, focused on taking care of your daughter and honoring the agreements you made with law enforcement.

That REALLY worked out!

Happy New Dad Day!

The Sing To Your Food Diet Day!

The best way to manage your eating is to express appreciation for your food before you eat it. When you have your lunch in front of you, don’t just plow into it. Let your lunch know how much it means to you by singing a song you just wrote about it. Like let’s say you have a bowl of three bean chili. Sing it a ballad.



Oh well I know we been estranged

The road between us was steep and hilly

But now you’re here with me

And my life is great with you, my three bean chili



Or let’s say you’re about to eat a meatball hero. Sing that sandwich a song of positivity and joy.



It’s a neeeeew day

And everything feels just fine

Cuz I got a meatball hero in my hands

And I can feel the future is miiiiiiine



Really hit the high note on “mine.”

If you’re eating a salad, go with one of those twinkly high-pitched gnome-like indie singer songs that always play over yogurt commercials.



When I look into your eyes

I see a grassy sunlit meadow

And it’s green and bright and free of strife

I’ll meet you there

Whenever you’re ready to say hello again, salad

Because you’re just the sweetest treat of my sweet life



Once you finish singing, wait for your food to applaud. When it doesn’t applaud, ask your food who the fuck does it think it is. You worked hard writing that fucking song and it just sits there. Tell your food to go fuck itself then throw it at the wall. Don’t clean it up either. Just walk past the splash of food on your wall and give it the finger, day after day, then hold your phone to your ear and sing into it so your food thinks you’ve met other food to sing to. Your food will get jealous as it dries into a permanent stain that you’ll one day paint over. You should expect to lose two pounds a week.

Happy The Sing To Your Food Diet Day!

Be The Kind Of Person Who Brings In Donuts To Work Day!

Today you’ll try and be the kind of person who brings in donuts to work. You’ll try and be a generous person with enthusiasm for the day ahead who delights in making things a little sweeter for your coworkers.

You’ll stand in front of your bathroom mirror barking at your reflection, “You can fucking do this Sharon! Stop fucking crying and go buy some goddamn donuts for motherfuck’s sake!"

When the negative thoughts invade your mind telling you it can’t be done, punch the mirror and feel the shards cut into your skin. Focus on that pain.

"Get the fuck out of here I need to focus,” you scream at the guy in your bed. He scrambles into his clothes and slams the door behind him. You check your wallet and this one didn’t steal all your money and credit cards for once.

“See! New day, new you! Now go buy your coworkers some fucking donuts and don’t fucking spit on them Sharon!"

On the bus to the donut place you get into three fist fights and you win all of them. Outside the donut place you have a panic arrack but you spy a pigeon eating a dead rat and it calms you.

Once inside the donut place you scream at the girl, "I don’t fucking care which kind. Just fill the fucking box!” When an armed robber comes in and tries to hold up the place you aren’t having it.

“Fuck you if you think you can fuck this up for me! That box is almost full!” You wrestle the gun from the robber. It goes off, grazing you in the side and killing the robber.

The next day a photo of you in the hospital is on the front page of the newspaper under the headline DONUT HERO. The article tells the story of a sweet girl who just likes to do nice things for her coworkers, but when a stranger put others in harms way, she couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. “Sharon was always the kind of person who put everyone else first,” a coworker whose lunch Tupperware you once farted into will be quoted as saying.

Happy Be The Kind Of Person Who Brings In Donuts To Work Day!

Haunted Life Raft Day!

You and the other survivors of the capsized cruise ship have been floating for three days. Everything would be fine if it wasn’t for the ghost that’s haunting your life raft.

“I don’t think she even died on our cruise,” one of you says. “Do they reuse life rafts from other sunken ships?”

“Maybe she died on the boat itself,” someone responds. “Like of a heart attack. Or she got on the boat and her husband was supposed to meet her in their cabin but he never showed and sent a note saying he left her so she killed herself and then decided to haunt a life raft.”

“Maybe she died building the life raft,” someone else suggests. “Like in the factory?”

You all agree that that’s the most logical explanation. She must have been a life raft factory worker who died building the life raft so she haunted it.

Just then her apparition appears. You tell her you think that she died building a life raft and you want her to know her death wasn’t for nothing. That life raft she built is saving all of your lives.

“I never worked in a life raft factory you dumbasses,” she screams. “Time to take another one of you.”

She goes to the back of the boat and reaches her ghostly arm into a woman’s mouth, then pulls her insides out of her mouth until she’s turned the woman inside out completely.

You all help shove the spasming bloody inside out woman into the water. You have ten more hours to again guess why the ghost is haunting that life raft before she pulls the internal organs from another one of you.

Happy Haunted Life Raft Day!

Why You’ll Never Close The Party Store Day!

Tell him that your mother couldn’t afford to throw you a birthday party with the money she made working as a grocery store cashier.

“So she got a job at the party store, which would give her an employee discount so she could buy me some balloons.”

She kept looking for a better job, but one never came along. And since you kept having birthdays, she ended up trapped in that party store job.

“But soon she got an even better employee discount. And I got even more balloons on my birthday.”

It became your mom’s goal to get you so many birthday balloons that you’d be in danger of floating away. So she started sabotaging her coworkers, framing them for stealing from the register etc., and as they got fired one by one, she got promoted.

“But the real employee discount would come if she owned a piece of the store,” tell him. “If she owned a piece of the store, she’d be able to get balloons at cost.”

So your mom seduced the store owner and carried on an affair for a few months, making sure that his wife would find out and divorce him. The party store owner was so infatuated with how giving a lover your mom was that he married her as soon as the divorce went through.

“As his new wife, she was part owner of the store. I got so many balloons. But that wasn’t enough for my mom. Her new husband was too controlling over the store’s inventory and he wouldn’t buy the right balloons sometimes.

It was a slow-acting poison that she put into his food in small doses over the course of several months. When he died, the doctors only said it was a degenerative illness of the blood that they couldn’t quite pin down. Your mom owned the store outright, and when she eventually died, she passed it on to you.

"I have this party store because my mom wanted me to have a good birthday. And she devoted her life to giving me that good birthday by systematically climbing through the ranks of the store’s staff, seducing the owner, and eventually murdering him. And you want me to close it down?”

Your husband will say he was only thinking you might want to work less and be with your daughter more.

“I’ll be with my daughter when it matters. I’ll be with her on her birthday. She’ll know me because I’ll be the one behind the giant ass fucking wad of sick motherfucking balloons.”

Your husband will shrug. Increase the dose of poison in his food tonight.

Happy Why You’ll Never Close The Party Store Day!