Saturday, August 31, 2002

Plant A Shrub In Front Of Your New Neighbor's House Day!

Leave a little note in the shrub that says, "Hope you don't mind me taking up a little bit of your lawn there neighbor. Just wanted to plant a little symbol of what I hope will be our ever-growing friendship."

Then move.

Happy Plant A Shrub In Front Of Your New Neighbor's House Day!

Friday, August 30, 2002

You're Doing Fine Day!

You didn't know this, because I am very, very quiet, like a kitten who's also been trained as a spy, but I've been watching you all day today and I have only a few notes.

1. The grinding your face into the roll of toilet paper in the office bathroom stall and sobbing until you think you might lose your bearing. Someone else has to use that toilet paper you know. You couldn't just unroll a wad and kind of grind your skull into that? I'm sure all your coworkers appreciated wiping their ne'erdowells with your salty tear drops and boogies. Work on that.

2. You've been talking to yourself waaaay too much when you're in public. When you were in Toys R Us a 6 year old just stood there and listened while you moved the arms and legs of a Gandalf doll up and down and said, "Maybe I'm just fucking out of the fucking game. Fucking fuck me. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. I don't fucking care. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. Gonna get tacos before I go home for fuck's sake why can't people just pick up a fucking phone and tell you what's wrong with your face? Or maybe Subway..."

Work on that.

3. Your bath towels need to be washed more regularly. That's why you always think you smell the inside of your ear. Work on that.

Otherwise, good job, yo. Now get good and drunk and go to bed. IT'S FRIDAY NIGHT!

Thursday, August 29, 2002

Put Down The Mechanized Steak Knife And Kiss Me You Dick! Day!

Oh the heart is open to such poor interpretation.

You flick the switch to its highest speed and you think, "All the better to be rid of this swirl in my belly as quickly as a serrated blade can shimmy through a trachea." You take one step. Another. What are you waiting for? Take the next step, my hands are in my pockets. Go on.

Open up my throat.

Or are you starting to wonder what sort of misery might fill the gaping hole where I used to curl up and murmur. Maybe sending my blood flying up in the air like a firework isn't what'll make it all better. Maybe you wanna slice into yourself, into your past. Cut into a million ribbons whatever stupid fucking glance through a keyhole you stole when you were three that left you destined to yearn with all your being for a cocksucker like me.

You hate who you are. I hate who I am. Big fucking deal. Put down the mechanized steak knife and kiss me you dick.

Wednesday, August 28, 2002

If Happiness Calls, Tell It I Want My Fucking CDs Back Day!

Oh sure, a lot of people have borrowed my CDs then moved to other states or started dating my ex so I never got them back. But you'll never leave my side will you now, Happiness? Take what you want. You'll just burn them and get them right back? Take your time. Hell, I think I can go a few days without listening to Wowee Zowee for 10,000th time.

Yeah, a few days no problem. But a few months? Fuck you Happiness! You found someone else? Need your space? Trying to work some shit out about your dead dad? Boo fucking hoo, assdick! The next time I get an email from you it better be to say my copy of Begger's Banquet is sitting in my vestibule and that you'll sit in your car and watch to make sure no one steals it before I get down there to pick it up and when you see me you will simply pull the fuck away without so much as a wave goodbye, you understand. You wanted to split? Fine. You figured out a real pussy-ass way to do it. But now that you're gone, stay gone. BUT GIVE ME BACK MY MOTHERFUCKING COMPACT DISCS YOU CUNT!

My middle name isn't fucking Columbia House. By the way, I saw you the other day in the lobby of a movie theater. You looked thin. Are you okay?

Tuesday, August 27, 2002

You're Their Coach! Day!

Today I'm afraid you're going to have to do a little more than hand out laps around the field. For the majority of that ragtag bunch of losers (who've got more pluck than you'll find in any rich boy driving to school in a convertible, excluding of course the rich boy who is engaged in a doomed romance with a poor girl) you're the only daddy they got. You may not've asked for it, but I'm afraid you got the job.

You're their coach! They look up to you. Now one of your players' girlfriends is pregnant and he needs your advice. You tell him to convince her to have that baby and be a father to his child. Why, I don't know. Just do it!

Tell everyone else to major in auto repair.

Happy You're Their Coach! Day!

Monday, August 26, 2002

Nosebleeds Mean You Aren't A Magical Fairy Day!

So don't freak out that you've been drinking too much and dried out your nasal cavities or that you have a tumor. At least you're not some ethereal little boy-bug who flits around forests giving a shit only about whether humans are gonna be all right and not caring a damn about himself. You'd look awful if your skin had gauzey scarves attached to it. Let the blood flow.

Happy Nosebleeds Mean You Aren't A Magical Fairy Day!

Sunday, August 25, 2002

Don't Change Your Address Until You're Sure No One Could Give A Shit Day!

Perspective, we're talking. Irony is always messing about, and the most overt it can get is when you have no idea what's at play.

For example, you're lying there on your undressed mattress in your 8 square feet of bedroom and everything's so static and still your pulse just stopped. Nothing will ever happen. Never again will you ever see a reason to put on black shoes (a funeral is too much too ask?). The phone is not going to ring and you will most certainly not open your front door on a rainy night to see a suitcase and a wet face you thought you never wanted to ever see again ever only to discover at that moment that all those empty hours were just you waiting for that knock on the door. And that face won't ever ask for "money. whatever you can get in cash before dawn" but if it did, you wouldn't even care. You'd see it as the price of admission for (FINALLY!) a movie of your life that's worth watching. There, on your undressed mattress, wallowing in regret over that last self-admiinistered orgasm, you know that you couldn't even get the fire department to drop by if you set the building on fire and stuck a Tot Finder sticker to your bedroom window. However...

While you're singing "Poor Poor Boring Old Me" by Pity Partridge and the Sad Boys, somewhere on some nameless interstate highway someone's got his or her thumb out over the road. The thumb casts a shadow over those lips that once spoke those four beautiful words, "You Ruined My Life." There's a rig coming down the road, and it's slowing to a stop.

I'm just saying, don't go back to Illinois yet. You never know who might drop by. Happy Don't Change Your Address Until You're Sure No One Could Give A Shit Day!

Saturday, August 24, 2002

Some Dude Named Pendleton's Got Cancer Day!

Today is the day that people who wish to congregate in honor of things can come out on the streets to congregate in honor of the fact that some dude named Pendleton has cancer.

"I heard he lives in Nova Scotia," a man you've just met will say to you and some others waiting in line for coffee.

"I once dated a girl whose last name was Pendleton. She didn't have any brothers," another fellow will offer.

"Anyone hear what kind of cancer he has?" a little boy will ask. The boy is a thief and a liar and he will one day grow to be a man who will lead a crowd even larger than the one that has gathered today. He will lead that crowd to its death.

"No," you'll say. Others will shake their heads.

A selfish man might begin, "I sure hope I don't get cancer because dying of cancer really sucks the big--" and he will be silenced with shouts of "How could you be so selfish as to draw attention away from some dude named Pendleton to your own concerns and fears?!" and "What a cuntwad!" This man will remember all of your faces. Mark his words.

Anyway, after a few hours most everybody will realize it's almost time to eat and the crowd will disperse, content that they spent their Saturday afternoon doing something. And there were other people there to see it, even.

Happy Some Dude Named Pendleton's Got Cancer Day!

Friday, August 23, 2002

Smiles Are Contageous. Get Tested. Day!

I hate today as much as you. It's just a dumb joke that means nothing. Today is basically the bumper sticker stuck to the back of the stupider Gods' cars. It's a tee shirt one of the Gods bought at a boardwalk and that he still wears to parties and to other boardwalks. A lot of the Gods actually are really embarrassed by today but when they were brainstorming all of the holidays, word got out to the dumber Gods and they showed up to the bar where everything was going down and they kept shouting out shit like, "How bout 'Eat Pussy Day!'"? Then they'd high five each other. Eventually, the Gods realized they had to throw the asshole Gods a bone and include a few of their holidays so they wouldn't hurt their feelings (even though the shitlicker Gods are sort of annoying, they're still cool to go out drinking with so no one's really going to cut them off). There'll be a few of these. Whatever.

Anyway, happy uh Smiles Are Contageous. Get Tested. Day! (jesus.)

Thursday, August 22, 2002

Love Me Until I Have To Tell People I Fell Down Some Stairs Day!

Love me so hard and so often and so stupid crazy that when people ask, "Why don't you have money for food?" I'll have to say, "No one I know drinks. I'm just saving up for an expensive pair of shoes."

Love me so raucously you leave bruises like bracelets round my wrists and when people ask why I wear three watches on each arm I'll just have to tell them, "Swatch is coming back in a big big way."

Love me till I leap out of my chair at loud noises shouting "No No I'm sorry I'll be quiet!" and then have to promise everyone in the conference room that I'll be switching to decaf post-haste.

Love me with a fury that makes me think I'm a filthy, filthy whore who deserves to die 'neath an overpass alone and forgotten so that I assume all human interaction is about getting the upper hand and making sure the payoff is in your fist up front so that when my friends compliment me on my outfit I stiffen and ready myself for the hustle that's sure to come and they can hear in my voice that my defenses are going up when I respond, "This old thing?"

Love me, I won't sleep.

Love me, I won't wash.

Love me 'til I'm on a bus back to my parents' house.

Love me. It's on.

Happy Love Me Until I Have To Tell People I Fell Down Some Stairs Day! Now give me my roses.

Wednesday, August 21, 2002

Go To A Dinner Theater Featuring A Magic Act And Ask The Magician "If You're So Fucking Magical Why Haven't You Taken Over The World Yet?" Day!

He's probably used to this kind of heckling and he'll most likely reply by lifting one eyebrow and leaning in towards you and saying, "In time..." The crowd will laugh and the magician will think he's got the upper hand. That's when you shout "YOU SUCK!"


He'll most likely break down on stage and hold out his arms to embrace you. That's when you climb up on stage and accept hs embrace, to the heartened applause of the crowd. Then just as the curtain is closing, jam the shiv in his side for you are there to assassinate the man after all are you not?

Happy Go To A Dinner Theater Featuring A Magic Act And Ask The Magician "If You're So Fucking Magical Why Haven't You Taken Over The World Yet?" Day!

Tuesday, August 20, 2002

Curiosity Might've Killed The Cat, But Handguns Kill Six Hundred Million Americans Every Day Day!
And you know when curiosity doesn't kill the cat? When the cat gets curious about a loaded handgun lying on a bureau pointing at a woman making love to a man who is not her husband but is an employee of the gas company. Well, when that cat starts poking and sniffing around the trigger of that handgun to see if it smells like ass, guess who's meter reading is gonna yield a big fat zero (the meter of the guy who works for the gas company who actually knocked on the door to read the woman's gas meter but she suggested they "do it" instead. Or not instead, but before he reads her meter. And I don't mean "read her meter" to be read as a double entendre, even though it would've made a good one). Yep, someone's about to run outta gas (the guy who works for the gas company I mean). I know one little housewife who's about to regret not switching to oil heat (the housewife who's about to be pinned underneath the naked corpse of a gas company employee who's head has recently been caved in at the paws of a cat who's curious about that handgun everyone was talking about a few sentences ago, s'what I'm saying. Also, she'll still have him inside her when he is officially dead. It'll take more than a couple of scalding hot showers before she can wash that memory out of her vaginal canal).

So if you have a cat, be sure to aim the handgun lying on your bureau away from the bed where you and the employee of a utility company are engaged in intercourse. Six hundred million every day. This madness has to stop. Kittens are prettier than cats.

Monday, August 19, 2002

Win Something Day!
You could go for a stuffed animal at a fixed carnival game of "Shoot The Milk Bottles Down With An AK-47". Or maybe it's time you tried to win your wayward boy/girlfriend back from that society type who may know what to do with the second fork from the left but sure don't know how to turn the back seat of a chevy into a conjugal bed when they're parked in front of a moonlit reservoir. Whatever you win, you'll be disappointed because shit you win always comes with a catch or it's just cheap goods with a stain all over it that's hidden when it's hanging on a makeshift wall fifteen feet away.

For example, let's say you manage to shoot down all those milk bottles crackety crack and you get to pick any of the top shelf biggest stuffed pink bears wearing sun visors that might strike your fancy. Guaranteed, no matter what you pick, it's gonna be leaking stuffing or it'll have a stain all over it, like a water stain, that you don't notice until you give it to the little 9 year old neighbor boy who's been stirring disturbing and until now dormant feelings in your belly. Who wants to see a kid's eyes light up then get all squinty and grossed out when he realizes he was given a shit bear?

Or maybe you finally win your girlfriend back from that society type. I bet when you look closer, she'll be pregnant with the baby of some other dude you never even heard of or she'll have a stain all over her, like a water stain. And she's not even wearing a visor. Sorry, but you won fair and square.

So yeah, win something today. It's about time you learned that if you want the brass ring you gotta work for it. And if you win the lotto you might as well just kill yourself with pills right now because you are so screwed I'm actually sad.

Sunday, August 18, 2002

If You're Happy You'll Probably End Up Getting Mauled By A Puma Or Something Day!

Think of it this way. If you were one day skipping down the sidewalk and you stopped in your tracks because you realized at that moment you could honestly say that you were unequivocably happy and all of a sudden a puma flies out of nowhere and mauls you until you're just some intestines and some empty skin, wouldn't your last words be, "Figures!"

Mine might be, "Heh, ain't it always the way Kash?" But that's only because I am at all times accompanied by a wise old man who goes by the name of "Kash." He was a fixture of many intellectual circles across the country and can be found in the index of many of your more entertaining volumes of memoirs. Kash has taught me more than any family of wolves raising me in the woods ever could.

So if you're unhappy, be glad that you're not being mauled by a puma. But don't be so glad that you get happy and end up getting mauled by a puma. Hold 'er steady.

Hap-- Er, I mean, Tolerable If You're Happy You'll Probably End Up Getting Mauled By A Puma Or Something Day!

Saturday, August 17, 2002

If You Sit Still Enough, The Past Might Be Different Day!

If you are very, very quiet and you don't make the slightest bit of noise, all those wrong decisions that are living under your bed might think no one lives in your room anymore and they'll go away and haunt someone else who's more lively (ie. vocally sobbing). Should take about 407 days, but trust me, your past will get bored. Just stay still. Stiller. A little stiller.

Whoops, you blinked. Start over. You do have enough money in the bank to not move for 407 days, right?

You are gonna be so happy when the past disappears and you're suddenly not someone who took the money your parents gave you to pay for the SAT's and instead bought another week of electric guitar lessons.

Happy If You Sit Still Enough, The Past Might Be Different Day!

Friday, August 16, 2002

Every Minute Of Today Is Just Another Minute Of You Looking So Fucking Adorable That It's Going To Start Getting Tedious Day!
By around 3:30 today, you should probably expect people to drop by your cubicle to say, "All right! You can purse your lips in a way that makes us all melt into one giant pool of gooey, syrupy, stinkley, wrinkley, pookypookypooky pile of isn't he or she just so motherfucking adorable!!! We get it, okay? Put it in neutral, teddy bear."

Don't be insulted by this. People just get tired of too much of one thing. Even if that one thing is the shouts of "ohmijesus that's so delicious" you draw out from people's guts whenever you prance (seriously, you don't walk, you fucking prance! Even to the toilet!) past a conference room or the open doors of an overcrowded elevator. It's late summer and people are in full "Been-there" mode. Everyone just wants to go to the beach. Before I go, might I tickle you just under the chin and coo?

Thursday, August 15, 2002

Pound For Pound, You're A Better Child-Murderer Than Anybody On The Streets Today Day!

I DON'T WANNA HEAR NONE O' THAT poor wittle me, I ain't no good BULLSHIT!!!

There's a hundred kid killers out there hackin' away and using tired old gags like candy out a car window or shopping cart swipin' and every last one of 'em wishes they could follow your trail of blood for just five paces. Like they'd have the wherewithall to get anything out of it.

I tell you son, I know I'm supposed to be the mentor here, but when I watch you kill kids, it's like church. I feel like I just enrolled in the best damn class my community junior college has to offer. Now put those used underoos back on your head and go get started on some kid killin! You're the best there ever was, best there ever will be.

By the way, your shift at Chuck E Cheeze started a half hour ago. Don't forget to clean the tear-drops off your giraffe costume.

Happy Pound For Pound, You're A Better Child-Murderer Than Anybody On The Streets Today Day!

Wednesday, August 14, 2002

Everyone's All Alone, But You Most Of All. Shit. Day!
Peek inside the coffee shop window. Just look at all those people telling their problems to their cups of decaf and deluxe gyro platters. Look how they catch your eye, how they try to hold your gaze, wondering "Why can't I just wave him or her in here. Say, 'Come in. Come in. Let's share a friendly evening together.' I've never killed anybody, and I drink and drive! People are safe with me." But inevitably, they just return to their books of Seek and Finds or their tabletop carvings of cock and ball sketches, and you're left to continue your walk. Or is it your search?

It could be said that with all these lonely people trying to find each other, no one is ever really alone. But you seem a little worse off than everyone else. Make that a lot worse. See, lonliness starts to feel like a disease when you start to think that everyone else in the world is happier and has more love in their lives than you do and they spend all their time interrupting body oil applications to share a laugh about how sad your life is. But when someone is happily in love or surrounded by trusting friends and family, all he can think about is the ones he cares about and he might remember when he was alone and he might give thanks for what he has. People who are not in his life really don't concern him. Except for you of course.

It's true, for most people the feeling of being the joke of society is all a head game played to elevate self-pity. But unfortunately, people really do laugh about you. Not laugh in a "That's so hilarious" kind of way. But like, "Holy shit this is one of those horribly tragic situations where all I can do is offer a little laugh to keep from crying." And yeah, there are a lot of people out there who are pretty lonely, but when you come to mind, it perks them up a bit. "Least I'm not that bad off," they say before turning everything around for themselves.

And no, Captain Paranoia, no one's been watching any surveillance tapes of you writhing on your bathroom floor and moaning. But we can tell you do it alot. Not by your eyes so much as by the way you wear your skin.

Happy Everyone's All Alone, But You Most Of All. Shit. Day!

Tuesday, August 13, 2002

At The Party Tomorrow Night, Don't Talk To Nobody Tomorrow Night, 'Cause You Got That Kinda "Gonna Fall In Love With Somebody" Look On Your Face Day!

Note: Today's Title should be read out loud with a rapid-fire delivery. The letter "T" is a "D". And Commas are brief pauses.

You look medicated is the thing. Stupid. All the "Nothing Matters But My Friends And My Memories Of Autumn" wistfulness of a good drunk without the passing out at the end of the evening. So unhappy that you would be willing to drown yourself in a pair of pretty eyes perched up above a pretty mouth that asks you "Where you been?" Plus, you're romanticizing squalor.

There's a party tomorrow night. At the party tomorrow night, just don't even talk to nobody tomorrow night. In fact, go live with your parents. Or hang around your married friends and let them coddle you ("coddle" should read "pity"). Just get the fuck out of town because you hate everything about the present so much that you're starting to pretend your life is a movie and you don't like movies where no one falls in love with nobody. If you've given up on yourself, turn to drugs. But don't fall in love with nobody. That said, I'll see you at the party tomorrow night, we'll talk at the party tomorrow night and I can't wait to meet the one you think could make everything work out all right you fucking retard.

Happy At The Party Tomorrow Night, Don't Talk To Nobody Tomorrow Night, 'Cause You Got That Kinda "Gonna Fall In Love With Somebody" Look On Your Face Day!

Monday, August 12, 2002

When The Going Gets Tough, Steal As Much Money From Your Sisters As You Can Carry, Sever All Alliances, And Get As Far Away From Your Permanent Mailing Address As You Possibly Can (Then Rebuild) Day!
I once knew this short guy who told me, "Change Is Good." All I could think was, "Yeah, shame you can't change yourself about seven inches taller, Half-pint." I hated that guy even before he got cancer (which was a way shitty move on his part) but I could tell that he had a point. Change is good. Especially when people start getting on your case about not returning DVDs or showing up to Lamaze class loaded on gin. Something's got to give!

Well, you have some sisters don't you? Take all their money (or at least a lot of it if your sister's crippled or involved in a legal battle over a laser she invented and she has to spend money on court fees. That's basically an investment in your future because if she wins the court battle then she'll be totally wealthier). All they ever use it for is pumping food inside their babies and their husbands. Meanwhile, you have some abandoning to do!

Next, send out a mass email that basically says, "Later, shits" to everyone with whom you've allied yourself. "Let's pretend the ties that bind me to you are a few thin ribbons," you might continue. "Well fuck those ribbons!" Then you might choose to reveal some secrets with which you've been trusted. "Hey Jill! Way to fuck Megan's husband in the bathroom last New Years!" This will definitely piss off Jill. And everyone else on the mass email will think, "That was a poor way to handle the situation" or "What a dick!" If you haven't updated your mailing list in a while, you'll probably receive a lot of "Undeliverable" messages in response. Don't worry. Whoever didn't get it will probably hear all about it the next time everyone gets together for a White Trash themed party (since apparently no one's allowed to throw a party anymore unless they make everyone put on a fucking mullet wig).

Next, move far away from your permanent mailing address. In case I need to elaborate on this one, it involves moving your shit to a new house. The post office includes a book of coupons with their change of address forms. Don't even read them. Redeeming those coupons just gives the government another avenue for monitoring your buying habits. Man do I hate the government.

Next, rebuild. And this one isn't just about getting laid. You should also pretend to care if other people live or die so they'll lend you power tools that you can sell.

Happy When The Going Gets Tough, Steal As Much Money From Your Sisters As You Can Carry, Sever All Alliances, And Get As Far Away From Your Permanent Mailing Address As You Possibly Can (Then Rebuild) Day!

Sunday, August 11, 2002

Fuck Girls Are Pretty Day!

Seriously. Fuck it straight to fifteenth street. Piece of shit fucking asshole web page. I hope Girls Are Pretty dies.

Happy Fuck Girls Are Pretty Day!

Saturday, August 10, 2002

Eavesdrop On A Breakup Day!
If they wanted privacy, they would've stayed at home right? The one who wants out decided to rip up a heart in public so he or she could make a run for it as soon as check hits tabletop. That means they have to put up with lonely people like you who already read the newspaper cover to cover and who are too poor to go see a movie. So fuck it. Sit down at their table if you want so you can hear better and get a closer look at what kinda fine pumpability is about to go on the market. "You're gonna cut that shit loose?" shouts the innocent bystander in disbelief. "What are you, queer?"

If they're cool, they'll explain. In fact, they might be happy to have a third party to explain it to. It's easier to tell the real truth to the lonely, oh so lonely person at the neighboring booth than to tell it all to the one they never wanna see again. "I realize it's rare to find someone you enjoy touching who wants to touch you back," the one doing the dumping might tell you. "But I just think drinking alone might be funner than drinking beside someone who isn't drinking and wants to go out and hike and shit." That's when you move in on the one who wants to go out and hike and shit. Say to him or her, "I love walking around on mountains." Then lie about your drinking problem and make a thinly veiled reference to your genital piercing. You should be knee deep in that tear-stained, on-the-rebound ass before the sun sets over Hike Canyon (check mapquest).

Man, I'm fucking hungry.

Friday, August 09, 2002

They Know Day!
Whether you're an undercover cop or you moved to a new town six months ago where you were certain no one would ever find out you're actually a chick, get outta there! They know.

I knew this one guy who took a job at a Starbucks because he was trying to hide the fact that he wasn't a fan of Moby. Who knows how long he managed to pull the wool over his coworkers' eyes. But it certainly wasn't long before they started playing him. One day, during a slow period (mid-afternoon, an hour before the high school kids across the street started cutting 8th period), two Young People were waiting in line and they mentioned how it'd be cool if that spacesuit Moby wears in that video had been filled with dogshit and Moby had been dipped inside it and the helmet fastened on tight so he might die cast in a suit of poo. My friend, working the "Noisy Machines Station", couldn't help but smirk. And the Frappucino he was whipping up made such a racket that he didn't hear the front door being locked. And when he looked up to offer the two Young People their whipped espresso drink, their eyes had changed. He saw sincerity in them. And he noticed that someone had bought a "Sorry, We're Closed" sign and put it on the door of the Starbucks. Before he knew it, they had him bent backwards, his head underneath the coffee dispenser, his arms tied to the counter with the black counter helper's (the one who you swear you saw dancing in a Gap ad last Christmas) professionally set braids, his legs gone. Scalding hot coffee pumped into his mouth, overflowing down his chest and up over his eyes. He knew he was blind long before he would die. Then they let little kids fuck him. Then they made him wear a "Free Winona" tee shirt. And that's when the conversation about one of his coworker's Pilates class began. Soon, he was being fed to raccoons while some chick shot him in the arm repeatedly with a small gun that didn't do much damage but hurt. All in all, everything about being that guy sucked.

Happy They Know Day!

Thursday, August 08, 2002

There's A Reason They Call It Responsibility Day!
Though I have no idea why. What I do know is it's well after noon already and you're not drunk yet! Get on that.

But seriously, no one really believes you're going to come through with all those drunken promises you made last night regarding seeking employment, following through on artistic endeavors, and quitting drinking. Sure, you could prove them wrong if you wanted to be a real shithead who likes to make people feel all wrong and all. Or you could help them to believe in the grace of God in a "There but for the grace of God go I" kinda way. Don't rock the boat is what I'm trying to say. Leave the devotion to task for the poor sap who obviously doesn't know the Balloon Room offers dollar drafts till 7 PM.

Everyone's counting on you. Now get out there and find bottom!

Wednesday, August 07, 2002

If You Scream When Fire Touches You, That Means You Exist Day!
After going a few weeks of being ignored by bartenders, you start to wonder if you're really there. Every minute of your excruciatingly dull consiousness could just be the passage of a final dream right before your brain dies but right after the doctors have told your remaining family members (distant cousin who sort of remembers seeing you at a wedding 30 years ago), "I'm sorry, he/she is gone. Please collect his Dean Koontz novels from the bedside table as we have to turn over the room." Or you could be the dream in the head of a sleeping evil giant in a far off universe BLAH BLAH BLAH. Either way, you couldn't get a cab to slow down for you if you were in the middle of the intersection sitting on a wheelchair.

If you're certain the possibility of the words "I will always love you" being spoken in your frame of existence is so apocraphyl that you wouldn't even be able to hear them whilst eavesdropping on a conversation at a romantic restaurant (table for one, and yes, you've tried), perhaps you should see if fire still hurts. Go to the stove and hold your forearm over the flame. If you scream, you probably still exist. Either that or the little retarded gnome in whose head you exist as an amusing daydream has a great attention to detail. By the way, if you do exist, you're still the only one who knows it.

Tuesday, August 06, 2002

Picnic Day!
Tell your friend Steve, "It's your job to bring the frisbee. If you don't bring the frisbee, you're fucking dead!"

Tell your friend Anna, "You're responsible for the cokes. If I don't have a can of coke in my hand within five minutes of my ass touching soil, I swear to God you'll feel a big fucking boot up your ass!"

Tell your kids, "Don't forget the bug candles. Unless you want me to start drinking again. I think we both remember how many times you nearly died when I used to get real loaded and slam your heads against the bed post. Shit, you probably remember better than me, being as you were the sober ones back then. I still say that was all your fault. Least I never tried and fucked ya's. Not my type I guess. Anyway, I get bit by one mosquito and you're gonna wish it ate me whole. I love you both, by the way. Just sayin'."

Tell your spouse, "Make sandwiches. NOW!"

Tell your coworker who just recently got a divorce so all of a sudden he or she has to be invited out by all these people who never really gave a shit about him or her before and the whole fucking city's supposed to try to get him or her laid as some kind of payoff for not being able to keep a family from disintegrating, "Just bring yourself. I'll take care of everything. Including the ass I'm supposed to set you up with."

Tell your grandmom, "I SAID MOOOOVE BITCH!!!"

Look into the mirror and tell yourself, "Even if someone fucks up and you have to beat the living shit out of them, it's ultimately your fault. The universe will demand your suicide by self-immolation. Now go get some fresh air."

Happy Picnic Day!

Monday, August 05, 2002

Why Should I Bother To Learn To Play The Piano If I'll Never Be As Good As A Skeleton? Day!
It's humbling, isn't it? You can start taking lessons when you're five years old, practice every day, and even get enough skills to impress friends at wedding receptions. Until a skeleton walks in of course.

No one can rock out at the keys like an undead human dried bare of skin and tissue. They bend that musty spinal column in over the black and whites like they're getting in position for a bump and grind. And sure, they only seem to know how to play The Twist and Tutti Frutti, but look at that grin! I swear I can see beads of sweat flying free of that pearly white cranium. Just don't stop dancing. Sometimes when a skeleton sees that people aren't really into The Twist or Tutti Frutti, it'll open it's jaw wide and fill the room with shrieking ghouls.

Happy Why Should I Bother To Learn To Play The Piano If I'll Never Be As Good As A Skeleton? Day!

Friday, August 02, 2002

It's The Girls Are Pretty "Drinking Alcohol In Other Cities Doesn't Count!" Weekend!!!
Pretty Girl is leaving town again. Tomorrow morning her hideous little ass will be on a plane. Destination: SIN. Or rather, Destination: Crabs.

No, nobody's going to Maryland. But man is somebody going to get crabs! Anyway, next three posts below. Usual bullshit. Read the bottom one first. Don't read ahead or everyone's going to tell you you look queer in those new pants you bought. Have a safe day. Don't fall in love with nobody.

Sunday, August 4, 2002

Wonder If That Smell Is You Or Just The Dead Guy You Buried Under The Floorboards Until You Remember You Never Buried A Dead Guy Under The Floorboards, But Just To Make Sure Dig Under Your Floor And Check, But It's Probably Just You You Rank Pig Day!
Today's the day to eventually get around to blaming the pasty strip of sweat in your asscrack for that horrifying stench. After exhausting all other fantastic possibilities of course, including the one where you for some reason deposited a corpse underneath the floorboards of your own home. Do you remember having anything to do with a murder? Don't think too hard because you'd have to be pretty high up on the accomplice list to be the one who gets to keep the body. Anything? Okay, dig under your living room if you want. I'll wait as long as it takes to finally see the look on your face when you realize that you stink like cheese.

Saturday, August 3, 2002

Give All Of Your Money To Your Pets Day!
Today's the day you withdraw all of your money from the bank in the form of a cashier's check and hand it over to your pets. Sit them down in the living room. Cats might not want to stay so try to hem them in with couch cushions or put big dictionaries on top of them so they can't move. Then explain at length that you wanted to give them all the chances you never had. They won't listen, or at least they won't understand, because they're pets. Present the check to them. Let them smell it and then walk away from it. Then kill all of your pets. Drown them.

Friday, August 2, 2002

Stop Touching Your Boss Day!
True, you can't quite call it sexual harrassment since you're not even sure if there's anything sexual about it. But regardless, there is something just not right about your boss having asked you to touch him on his arm once a day before 11:30 in the morning. Or, in his words, "Before 11:30 or I'm not sure what might transpire. I dare not imagine!" And then he ran away.

It's just fucked up. Cut it out. By the way, to celebrate Stop Touching Your Boss Day there's a sale at a store. Hurry.

Thursday, August 01, 2002

Mock A Telemarketer Day!
Telemarketers aren't allowed to hang up. Also, human beings don't like to call other human beings and harrass them into buying things. Therefore, telemarketers hate the present. So, why not make things worse? Instead of politely repeating over and over again "No, I'm not interested," or just flat out hanging up on them (which is what they're hoping you'll do in the first place), why not try making fun of them? When they say, "Are you happy with your current long distance carrier, Ma'am?" mimic what they say word for word, but in a loud, high-pitched, buffoonish voice. Then you could add, "OOOH! LOOK AT ME, I'M A WITTLE TELEMARKETER! CUDDLY WITTLE TELEMARKETER! WON'T YOU SNUGGLE-WUGGLE WIV ME?!!! I NO KNOW HOW TO PURSUE MY WITTLE BABY GOALS!!!!" Then put your forearm to your mouth and make fart noises into the phone.

Happy Mock A Telemarketer Day!