Monday, January 31, 2005

Big Wheel Near The Train Tracks Day

Big Wheel Near The Train Tracks Day!

Child, have you outgrown your Big Wheel? If so, take care in how you discard it. You can do one of three things:

1. Melt it. Use your Dad's barbecue lighter. And if you're a poorly supervised latchkey kind of kid whose parents are divorcing, take a can of hairspray to the lighter to make a blow torch. Melting your Big Wheel will prohibit anyone from ever enjoying it again and you'll get to see and smell burning plastic. If you already have a sense of mortality, you can connect the sight of the melting Big Wheel to your own passage into pubescence and, ultimately, your next steps towards an inevitable death.

2. Give it to a neighboring poor child. The kid with smudges of soot all over his face who wears dress shoes at all times, even on the playground, because they are the only shoes he has. That kid's parents will never be able to afford a Big Wheel for him because their minds were ruined long ago by inhalants. You'll make one little kid feel very happy if this is the way you decide to go.

3. Toss it into the hill of garbage leading up away from the train tracks. Every day thousands of commuters pass along those tracks on their way to work and back to home and every day they gaze blankly at that hill of garbage trying to quell any metaphors that might spring up in their minds. When they spot the perfectly nice Big Wheel discarded amongst so many rusted shopping carts and hack-sawed pickle barrels, it will be too much for them to handle. Their heads will be clouded with thoughts of death, impoverished children, children being molested in industrial landscapes, tubercular mothers, and fathers who drink and hit. They will remember all the bad there is in the world and they'll give a silent prayer of thanks that they and their families have been fortunate thus far. And they'll pray that nothing comes to pass that would leave them subject to the sort of poetic fate that calls to mind a child's toy gleaming from the tangles of a trash heap. You'll make a thousand adults feel helpless to the whims of a miserable Lord if this is the way you decide to go.

Happy Big Wheel Near The Train Tracks Day!

Sunday, January 30, 2005

Firestorm Day

Firestorm Day!

It's your wedding day, yes, but your job is to put out forest fires and wedding or no wedding, you're gonna go drop water out of a plane.

Your bride wants you to stay. "Don't go," she says. "You'll die and we won't even be married yet."

Tell her that you have no choice.

"Why on Earth did you ever take such an insane job anyway?" she asks. "It's not like it's even all that brave. You're just dropping water out of planes."

"It is brave."

"No it's not," she says. "You don't have to get that close to the fire when you drop the water. Aside from being able to watch shit burn from up high, the job really sounds kind of boring."

"Fuck you," tell her.

"No, seriously," she won't let it go. "Doesn't it start to feel really routine, just flying over a lake and collecting the water, then flying over the forest and dropping the water, then flying over the lake and collecting the water again? I'm bored just thinking about it."

"Why are you marrying me if you think I'm so boring?" ask her.

"Because you're hot," she says. "And anyway, I'm probably not marrying you since you're rushing off from our wedding to fly over a forest fire and die. And I never said you were boring. I said your job sucks."

Say, "Wait, if you think I'm going to die out there, how can my job be boring? It would have to be pretty dangerous if I could die, right?"

"You can die washing dishes in a restaurant if you slip in the right puddle," she says. "You'll fuck up is all. Do something stupid probably."

Say, "Jesus."

"Stay. Marry me."

Tell her you have to go because even though your dad died twenty years ago you're still trying to prove something to him.

Happy Firestorm Day!

Saturday, January 29, 2005

Michigan's Gone Day

Michigan's Gone Day!

Your brother Michigan is dead. He died with you standing by his deathbed. Your name's Matinee.

"Matinee," he said. "Come closer."

You leaned in.

"Dad's alive."

You asked how he knew and Michigan turned so livid you thought he might not be as sick as the doctors said. "Because he brought me up there to where he's living. He's rich, Matinee. He's got a family."

Your father disappeared after your mother died. You were sixteen, and you were left to raise Michigan, two years younger, until he turned 18 and left you in kind. He came back a month ago to die where he grew up. One of his nurses went to high school with you and contacted you is how you found out where he was.


Michigan's face went gray again. "It's always been about him running off," he said. "He's in Middlecrest. I went there. Before I checked into the hospital."

Your father has been living 20 minutes away from you by car.

"For how long?"

A rumble of coughing. Michigan was starting to go. "The whole time," he sputtered out. The spit on his chin was black. "It just didn't occur to me to call you. I—"

"Michigan," you said. "Stop apologizing. I stayed away from you too. I knew you were in New York and I kept quiet."

He took one last clean breath. "He's got a daughter Matinee. She's older than me."

Daddy had another family. "He's got a wife up there?"

Michigan nodded and died. All that meant was he couldn't answer the several hundred questions you were waiting to ask. You declared Michigan dead back when you were 20 years old and left to live your own life finally. And now, all you can think was that your Daddy had another Mommy stashed away someplace, when you and your brother could have used one, and he kept her all to himself.

Stick around until the nurses pull his eyelids down shut, then drive up the hill to Middlecrest.

Happy Michigan's Gone Day!

Friday, January 28, 2005

Buried Treasure Day

Buried Treasure Day!

Today, after you make certain choices that I'm not really gonna go into here, you'll find a treasure chest containing several billion dollars in ancient jewels. Your husband and son will immediately knock you unconscious and throw you in the trunk of your Honda. When you come to in the trunk of the moving car, you'll retrace the steps you took through out the day. And again, I really can't dwell on all that here in any great detail. But once those steps have been retraced you'll see the big picture, which is that, as far back as the day you met, your husband knew you were be the only person on Earth capable of locating that treasure chest. And he impregnated you with your son because he needed an accomplice who would be tied to him with bonds as thick as blood. Your entire marriage, even your motherhood, was a con. And now you're in the trunk of your Honda next to a chest full of some dead king's gold. You might wanna dig through that chest and see if the king was into collecting any particularly sharp be-jeweled daggers before the Honda pulls to a stop.

Happy Buried Treasure Day!

Thursday, January 27, 2005

Blue In The Face Day

Blue In The Face Day!

"She breathed in the gas from her oven until she was blue in the face."

All of the uniform cops stopped what they were doing and looked at Detective Pinsky.

"Why'd you say that Kip?" Pinsky's partner, Detective Karr, asked.

"Just tryin' to make a joke I guess. Like when you do something until you're blue in the face. Screaming or talking. You know?"

"Yeah, I know," Detective Karr said. "But it wasn't funny."

The uniform cops went back to what they were doing.

"I was just…"

"Lady just killed herself. No one's looking for somebody to crack wise with a joke about it," Karr said. "Especially not one of your jokes."

Pinsky crouched down and peeked into the oven. Without looking up at Karr he muttered, "Sorry."

Karr just continued writing in his notebook. Pinsky stood up and looked around the kitchen. He looked like somebody who was considering signing a lease on the place. Then he said, "Jesus, I'm sorry."

"Forget it," Karr said. He and the other cops left Pinsky there in the kitchen, where he stayed until the coroner came for the body. He followed the body bag out to the stoop, and then he sat there on the top step until Karr told him it was time for them to go home.

Happy Blue In The Face Day!

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

You Live Near A Landfill Day

You Live Near A Landfill Day!

It's trash from a city about 300 miles away. Since you don't have to work after having defrauded the government out of disability payments, today you're gonna take a few bags of that trash and throw it into your hatchback. Drive that steaming trash on up to the city from whence it came. The first couple you see on the street, wave them down. They'll think you just want directions, so you're gonna have to move fast. Hop out of the car, pull the bags out of the hatchback and drop the trash bags at their feet screaming "Pigs! Look at this! What's wrong with you?!" Next, find a place to park your car for the day and take in a show.

Happy You Live Near A Landfill Day!

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Model Train Enthusiast Day

Model Train Enthusiast Day!

Today, you'll bury Meredith, your kitten. Meredith jumped in front of a model train.

She started chasing after it as it rolled along the track. And since you were trying out a new connector that you hadn't even fully soldered yet, various spots on the track had an open current. Meredith went for the engine head-on. The current held her paw to the track and baked her into a twitching mess. The Engine crashed into her forehead and tumbled to its side.

It was then that you learned just where your enthusiasm had taken you. When you saw Meredith catch the current and stop still, you knew she would die there. And all you could consider was the safety of your Engine. Even now, as you realign the wheels and trucks and paint over where the current turned the paint black, you curse that kitten under your breath. You've decided that you'll not try to extend your love to another living thing again. A kitten can now die in your presence and you'll feel nothing for it.

The Trains have taken you.

Happy Model Train Enthusiast Day!

Monday, January 24, 2005

You Made A Move On Your Writing Teacher Day

You Made A Move On Your Writing Teacher Day!

He stopped you on your way out of class. He said, "Walk with me."

You walked him to his car, determined to get inside it. While walking, he said, "Your last story really showed me something new."

At the car, you said, "There's something else I'd like to show you."

"Please don't."

"We both know it's inevitable."

"I'm your teacher."

"And I am your student. Teach me what you know. It's your duty."

"I have a family." He held up a picture of him and his wife and daughters on an amusement park ride. You ripped the picture from his fingertips and tore it in two before throwing it to the ground, grinding it into the concrete and spitting on it. Then you put his hand down your pants.

"Oh God," he said.

"Yeeeeaah," you growled into his ear. "That's what I wanna hear. I wanna hear you scream that shit."

"Hi Dr. Gaines," someone yelled at him. He threw you into the car.

"No one can see us," he said.

You took off your top and undid his pants. "Take us someplace fast. I'm not going to wait."

You fellated him while he sped through town. Your head was down, but at every stop light you could hear the sound of dozens of students crossing the street in front of the car's bumper. When the car stopped, he kept both hands on the wheel. When it moved again, you felt his right hand on your bare back and on your ass underneath your pants.

"Hurry up!" you barked at him. Then you went back to it.

He pulled up to a motel. "Lemme just check in," he said.

You waited. You waited a while. You got angry.

Finally, you saw the door to the office open again. But the man who approached the car wasn't your professor.

"Roll down the window ma'am," the motel manager knocked on the glass. You obeyed.

"That man who came into my office over there, it looks like you scared him something awful," the motel manager said.

"Where is he?"

"He asked me to give you a message. He said he can't go through with it. He asked that you just go home on your own."

You pulled yourself out of the car and marched to the office. The manager shouted at your back. "Now you won't find him in there ma'am. I put him up in one of my rooms and I won't be telling you which one it is I'm afraid."

You stopped and wheeled around to the manager. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I'm a man who values the meaning of family," he said. "And I won't let you take this fella's family down."

The rage was boiling inside you now. "Know what!" You shouted at the motel rooms. "Your car's out here! You're gonna have to come out and get it eventually teacher. And I'll be waiting! Cause you're gonna finish what you started teacher! I'll be waiting right here."

"Now ma'am, if you don't start walking I'm gonna have to call the police," the manager said.

"Oh I'm sure he'd love for that to happen. Go ahead and ask him if he's okay with that before you make the call."

No police ever showed. You've been up all night, shivering cold on the hood of his car. You wonder if he snuck out the back and walked home, but it doesn't really matter. There are papers in his backseat that he needs to grade. He'll come for them eventually. And you'll be waiting.

Happy You Made A Move On Your Writing Teacher Day!

Sunday, January 23, 2005

Fire In The Reality Show House Day

Fire In The Reality Show House Day!

Marcus the sexist bodybuilder started it with all those candles he lights in his room every time he brings a waitress home with him. He and the waitress fell asleep. The waitress got out, but Marcus is still in there as the firemen continue to drench the flames from the street. All of America watches.

Still in the house: Nina, the touring acrobat; Bex, the raging alcoholic who gets naked every chance she gets; Kevin, the cartoonist; Freakwide, the rapper; and Lucien, the guy with the prosthetic leg who wants to open his own bar.

On the sidewalk, huddling under flame-retardant blankets: Maxine, the illustrator; Beebo, the pastry chef; that fashion designer chick who broke up with her boyfriend on camera; and Boris, the investment banker.

America thinks Maxine is full of shit, screaming and sobbing about how her roommate Bex is still stuck in there when just last week Maxine confessed in the Gripe Closet that Bex was driving her out of her mind and that she was arranging an alliance with Boris to get her booted. And of course Beebo is the one to wrap his arms around her to calm her down. Beebo's been shot down by every chick in the house, and now that most all of them are in the house being burnt to a crisp, he has no choice but to take a crack at Maxine. Meanwhile, Boris made a cell phone call explaining to someone that his laptop got stuck in the fire and he'd need a new one in the morning. Unfortunate that the camera caught that call. The fashion designer chick is being really helpful, running to get water and blankets for the people evacuated from the neighboring house. She's really showing some leadership skills that, under normal circumstances, would have totally earned her immunity from next week's elimination.

What America wants to know but is too ashamed to ask is this: If most of the residents of the house burn to death, does the show continue on with those remaining alive? It would be pretty anti-climactic to go from twelve contestants to just four or five in a week's time, and it would be hard to pit them against each other in a Creativity Challenge without allowing them enough time to mourn for those who perished. But someone has to win that fleet of Mini-Coopers.

Happy Fire In The Reality Show House Day!

Saturday, January 22, 2005

Mary Gorgonzola Day

Mary Gorgonzola Day!

She died thirty-six years ago today. And thirty-six years ago today, her dream came true.

Mary Gorgonzola believed that everyone in the town of Midvale should have a statue of some kittens playing on their front lawns. When people asked her if the statues could perhaps be in their backyards, Mary Gorgonzola would pitch a shitfit and accuse those people of owning pornography. Other citizens would ask how big the statues should be, and how many kittens should the statues depict at play? May Gorgonzola would respond, first, by suggesting that those people are from Mexico, then she'd say the statues had to have six kittens, and they had to be six feet tall and four feet wide, and they had to include a rabbit watching from off to the side. Also, the statues had to be day-glo. Mary Gorgonzola warned that if the town's children knew that the town had considered this proposal and rejected it, the children would never forgive them.

The town of Midvale told Mary Gorgonzola to go to hell so she killed herself, but not before she sent letters to all of the town's children explaining what their parents had done. The children confronted their parents with the letters, asking for an explanation. The parents did not want to lose the love of their children, so they all commissioned the local house full of unmarried artistic women to design and produce the sculptures. For thirty years now, Mary Gorgonzola's legacy has adorned the front lawns of Midvale. And the fate of all of Midvale has been determined by the whims of that house full of unmarried artistic women, since they became very rich after their kitten lawn sculpture design business took off like a jet plane.

Raise your glasses for Mary Gorgonzola today. She was weird.

Happy Mary Gorgonzola Day!

Friday, January 21, 2005

Church Girl Day

Church Girl Day!

You're a church girl, which is to say, you don't screw and everyone resents you for it because you're fine. The other kids paint graffiti all over your locker that says "She thinks her insides are so great that she won't let anyone see or thrust into them," but not in so many words. This bugs you. You want to be liked and you wish there was a way for people to get to know you so that they could see what a great person you are.

There is a way. Have intercourse with a boy tonight and make sure everyone finds out about it. Who you have intercourse with doesn't matter much. You don't have to worry about having sex with the wrong guy since everyone will be too blown away that you did the bangbang at all (in the future, "right guy" and "wrong guy" will become very important when considering public perception). Tonight it just matters that everyone finds out all about it by the end of the weekend. No one will hate you anymore on Monday. In fact, they'll like you so much that they'll all try to have sex with you, which after all is the most anyone can ever like anyone.

Don't cry till it's almost over.

Happy Church Girl Day!

Thursday, January 20, 2005

Take The Gun Out Of My Mouth And I'll Tell You Day

Take The Gun Out Of My Mouth And I'll Tell You Day!

It's not safe to have a gun in your mouth. It could go off, and kill you. Also, guns are notoriously dirty. They're often kept inside people's pants, pressed up against the bare pelvis held tight underneath the belted waistline. Sure, she's your girlfriend of two years and you're more than happy to ingest whatever might be smeared all over her pelvis. But you don't know where she got that gun. It's doubtful that she bought it brand new. More likely, she bought it from a gun show or Craig's List. Who knows the state of the pants that gun has lived inside. And now it's in your mouth.

"I don't know how to work this thing," she says. Bringing you back to the "gun could go off and blow your head open" thesis. Considering all the filth that's probably living inside your mouth right now, getting your head blown off doesn't sound like such a bad idea. But there's something you can do to avoid getting your head blown off and to get that filthy gun out of your mouth. You can tell her what she wants to know.

"Grrllllargh," you say.

"You ready to talk?" she asks.

"Khhhlaaaersshhhccch," you say.

"If I pull this gun out of your mouth and you don't tell me what I wanna hear, I'm gonna shove it back in for the last time. Understand? Bye bye brains," she says.

"Haaahgglllh," you say.

She considers your eyes. And with a swift jerk of her shoulder she yanks the gun past your teeth and holds it an inch from your chin. You pant fresh air into your lungs and spit saliva to your chin.

"Make me happy," she says.

"Kim," you say. "I think you're so great that you should look for work as an angel because that's what you look like."

The furrow in her brow goes flat. She looks down at the gun, then looks into your eyes.

"Okay," she says. "Now do you know how to get the hammer to go back into the gun without shooting any bullets?"

"Lemme see," you hold out your hand for her to give you the gun.

"No funny business," she says.

She hands you the gun, and you shove it in her mouth and demand to know who's the squeeziest pleasiest boyfriend she ever had.

Happy Take The Gun Out Of My Mouth And I'll Tell You Day!

Wednesday, January 19, 2005

A Famous Tapdancer Day

A Famous Tapdancer Day!

"Not Gregory Hines!" they shout.

You hate this game. You don't know any fucking famous tapdancers, yet if you don't think of one fast you're going to let your whole team down.

"Running out of time," the dick with the hourglass shouts.

"Fuck you."

No one says anything. You try to laugh it off, then you remember that your wife is the only one in the room who met you before tonight.

"Honey," your wife says.

"Fuck you too," you say. "This party sucks. This party game sucks harder."


Happy A Famous Tapdancer Day!

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

Teach Your Son A Trick Day

Teach Your Son A Trick Day!

Hold the lighter up in front of the hairspray nozzle. Ignite the lighter, then press down on the nozzle to send the spray to the flame. Let the firestream blow for just a few seconds.

Say, "And that's how you make a Hairspray Fireball. Now you try it."

Your son's hands are too small to hold the hairspray can and press the nozzle in one hand, so let him just hold the can and ignite the lighter and you can press down on the nozzle for him.

"Remember," say, "If you let the firestream blow for too long, the flame could crawl up the stream into your hairspray can and blow it up in your hand like a big tin bomb."

Your son will say, "Sometimes I really wish Mommy were still around."

Say, "I don't."

Happy Teach Your Son A Trick Day!

Monday, January 17, 2005

Wafer Thin Excuses Day

Wafer Thin Excuses Day!

Your wife says she got caught in the middle of a liquor store holdup and that's why she couldn't make it home in time for your birthday party.

"Should I explain this to all of my coworkers? My boss? My parents? That you got caught in the middle of a liquor store holdup?"

Tap your foot accusingly.

"I thought about making a move for his gun," she'll say. "But this guy had a lotta crazy in his eyes."

Don't say anything until she does. She'll say, "Feel like this is the first day of the rest of my life really." She'll pop a stuffed mushroom in her mouth. "Food tastes really awesome."

Say, "It tasted even better when it was hot."

She'll say, "Wow, that would have been something. If my food tasted better because I cheated death and I got to bite into a fresh hot stuffed mushroom like this one."

You should sigh.

"But then in order for me to cheat death the food would have to get a little cold really."

Wait for it.

"Heh, heh," she says. "Cold canapés, but really good cold canapés."

Raise one eyebrow as if to say, Don't gimme no guff.

"It's your brother. We're in love."

Happy Wafer Thin Excuses Day!

Sunday, January 16, 2005

Atlantic City Day

Atlantic City Day!

Today, in Atlantic City, none of your dreams will come true. Unless you dreamed about losing the four thousand dollars you needed to pay for your mother's residence home before throwing yourself off of a 16-story balcony. She lost her memory a year ago, so she won't mourn you. She'll just be removed from the home with no idea that there was once someone in her life who was supposed to prevent that from happening.

Happy Atlantic City Day!

Saturday, January 15, 2005

Clear. Blue. Not So Easy. Day!

Clear. Blue. Not So Easy. Day!

Pregnant? Fuck!

You're gonna have to get outta town. If your Dad finds out, he'll have it taken away from you because he thinks you're dangerous. And if your ex-boyfriend finds out, he'll try to get custody. And with your record, he'd stand a hell of a good shot (You threw your mom down some steps).

When you get across the state lines, open a bar. Name the bar and the baby the same name. Gluggs. The bar will become your favorite place in the world.

Your dad, your ex-boyfriend, and the law are gonna come after you to get their hands on the kid. When they all die, it will be thanks to your son. He'll have killed them to save your life. That night, he'll burn down the bar and take off.

Though you won't have the bar anymore, you won't be sad. Because you'll know that somewhere in this country Gluggs lives on in the shape of your beautiful boy. All you ever wanted was a bar that would outlive you.

Happy Clear. Blue. Not So Easy. Day!

Friday, January 14, 2005

Your Boyfriend Is Blind And High-Maintenance Day!

Your Boyfriend Is Blind And High-Maintenance Day!

All day long it's "Get that for me, I can't see it!" and "What are they doing on the television now?" and "No, you drive!" Doesn't this guy realize that a girl likes herself a doer?

You feel like you're being taken for granted, and you are. It's best not to confront him directly on this. What you should do is start stealing his money. Just a little at a time, but enough for him to notice when he counts out the bills in his wallet at the beginning of every day. Eventually, he'll ask you about it.

"But you knew I'd catch you. You know that I have to keep my bill count exact."

Say, "I know."

He'll say, "I think you felt that I was taking you for granted and so you started stealing from me to draw my attention to a lack that you felt."

Say, "Yes."

He'll swing his stick out at you and cut your eye. It'll bleed, but he won't let you call a doctor. He'll just shriek at you until you go.

Happy Your Boyfriend Is Blind And High-Maintenance Day!

Thursday, January 13, 2005

Stumble Onto A Communiqué From Your Wife To The Leader Of A Foreign Government's Intelligence Agency Day

Stumble Onto A Communiqué From Your Wife To The Leader Of A Foreign Government's Intelligence Agency Day!

It'll have today's date on it and it'll say that everything is going according to plan. "American blood with muddy the soil," it will read. And it will also mention her return to the arms of "my real husband, my only love." You'll finish reading it just as she returns from her morning jog. She'll be standing in the doorway when you turn away from the computer.

"Whatcha readin'?" she'll ask.

Happy Stumble Onto A Communiqué From Your Wife To The Leader Of A Foreign Government's Intelligence Agency Day!

Wednesday, January 12, 2005

Make A Move On The Lady In Front Of You Waiting In Line For Milk Day

Make A Move On The Lady In Front Of You Waiting In Line For Milk Day!

So it's day three in the milk line for you. Your wife and kids have come to visit you a couple of times a day to bring you a bucket to defecate in. Your mother stopped by yesterday to tell you that your father had passed that morning (he needed milk). And people near the front of the line have been getting shot at intermittently.

But hold the phone. Who's the refugee with the pretty blue eyes? She showed up a few hours ago to take her brother's place in line after he slipped into a coma. You didn't notice her at first because she's covered in so many cloaks and a big part of her head is wrapped in bloody bandages. But just now she turned and wept in your direction. Looks like she digs the goods.

You only have a couple more days to take a shot. Less, if rumors of an airlift are true. What are you waiting for? She's right there sobbing into her hands, waiting for you to take the hint. Are you gonna let this one slip away?

"You know," you should say. "The warlords are coming back. There's no time to waste."

If you want, you can do it without leaving your places in line. Everyone's watching that woman deliver her baby about ten feet behind you. Turn that gravel under your feet into the Sands Of Pleasure.

Happy Make A Move On The Lady In Front Of You Waiting In Line For Milk Day!

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

No Left Thumb Day

No Left Thumb Day!

Your left thumb went first. It's useless now and all you can do is wait for it to turn black and disattach itself.

You are so very bored with yourself, but refuse to commit suicide. So your appendages and organs have no choice but to do what they can to cease functioning at a cellular level in the hopes up withering up and falling away from you. So your left thumb took the mutinous steps necessary to invite gangrene to settle in. Now, no one looks to it for results, and soon, it will go away forever. You envy your purple little thumb.

Happy No Left Thumb Day!

Monday, January 10, 2005

Witchcraft Day

Witchcraft Day!

Your wife's taking Witchcraft Class at the Rochester Women's Center. You keep asking her if it's like a History of Witchcraft or if it's about integrating folklore into practical modern practice, and she never gets any more committal in her response than to say, "Sort of like that, you could say."

What's bugging you is you've woken up in the middle of the night once or twice to find her side of the bed empty. You haven't gotten out of bed to track her down. You just don't want to find out she's nowhere around.

Today things are going to become a bit more urgent. For today, Mark Caslow, your colleague and fellow candidate for VP at your Securities firm, will be found dead in his car, his eyes having turned to black coals. The car will have gone head first into a ravine.

If she was responsible, yes, she'll have killed and that's very bad. More importantly, the killing will reveal that she clearly didn't think you had what it takes to secure that promotion. You never thought of yourself as the kind of man who needs his wife to go out and sear people's eyeballs black in order to help him get ahead. But she clearly did.

Happy Witchcraft Day!

Sunday, January 09, 2005

Calibrate The Love Ray Day

Calibrate The Love Ray Day!

It's time to exact your luscious justice upon a fast devolving society. You've spent many years and sacrificed many lives trying to obtain the nuclear components necessary to adequately power your Love Ray. If calculations are correct, the activated Love Ray should fire a current of your droopy-eyed affections that will permeate the loins of every living thing on the face of the earth within a matter of seconds.

Go and stand on a mountaintop and say, "Soon, my Love Ray will circle the globe. Everyone on the planet will become consumed with that special something of mine that makes the ladies go 'Heck yeah.' As of tomorrow, human beings will stop waging war on each other so that they can get to the rubbing up against each other faster."

Start to climb down the mountain, then climb back up to add one more thing. "Terrorism will stop too. Everyone hates terrorism."

Now, climb all the way down the mountain and steer your pod under the riverbed to your laboratory deep under the surface of the earth. Calibrate your Love Ray so that tomorrow at 9 AM it'll be ready to start spraying the boogie.

Happy Calibrate The Love Ray Day!

Saturday, January 08, 2005

The Russian Mafia Day

The Russian Mafia Day!

Today, you should go to the Russian Mafia for help. Your assigned parking space at your apartment complex is right next to a tree, and you have to take extra care when you open the door to keep from dimpling the body of your Saturn. There's a primo space that's right in front of your unit, but the guy who has it won't give it up. That guy drives a motorcycle and could park it wherever he wants. He's just hanging on to the parking space to stir some shit.

Ask the Russian Mafia to talk some sense into him. What they'll do is they'll kill him with a hammer. You'll get your parking space in no time, and then you'll owe the Russian Mafia 25% of the annual revenue from your candy store, pre-tax.

Happy The Russian Mafia Day!

Friday, January 07, 2005

Each Of These, My Three Babies Day

Each Of These, My Three Babies Day!

"I've decided my life needs to be more simple," tell them.

"How, Max?" asks Tricia.

"Yes, Max. How?" asks Maria.

"Have I made your life complicated Max?" worries Carolyn.

"You've all been wonderful to me. Very giving." Go to each of them and give them a long kiss on the lips.

"We're living in a conventional world, now," tell them. "And I'm at an age where I think it's time for me to adhere closer to convention."

Look at them wait for your conclusion. Were it not for their rivalries, they could huddle together in comfort. Each using her grip to steady the other's shaking.

"It is time that I made do with only one girlfriend," you say. They gasp in unison. Your eyes are to the carpet.

Carolyn's voice cracks. "Who do you choose?"

Pull the papers from your drawer. "That is yet to be decided. You'll find on this sheet of paper a list of items that can be found in various locations throughout the city. The one of you who acquires the most of the items on this list will remain my girlfriend. We will tally the fruits of your hunt in 24 hours from now, here in the living room. Do your best."

Your girlfriends scatter. Tricia is crying as she walks out the door.

Happy Each Of These, My Three Babies Day!

Thursday, January 06, 2005

End It Via A Fingerpainting Of A Dragon Day

End It Via A Fingerpainting Of A Dragon Day!

You met on parents' night. He came alone, one of the only dads who was there alone. He lingered behind after you'd finished your presentation because you're one of the only teachers in the school who isn't shaped like a medicine ball.

"Does Mike have talent?" he asked, examining his son's construction paper rendering of a tree in a field on a sunny day.

"He doesn't eat the paste," you said. You had fulfilled your parents' night responsibilities. He walked you to your car.

You've spent a total of eleven hours together, split up over four individual nights, but that was the best night of all. When he sat in the passenger seat of your parked car and the two of you watched the parents walk to their parking spaces.

"That's the Lamberts," you said when Kevin Lambert's parents came walking out of the main entrance. "Their son Kevin got beat up in the rain after school last Thursday."

The Lamberts were laughing as they approached their Hyundai. "Poor Kevin," he said.

"The Morrisseys," you said when the very tall and shaven-headed Mr. Morrissey walked past your car with his tiny wife. "I bet when their girl Jessica hits middle school she'll be the most popular kid in the place."

"I'll tell Mike to start laying the groundwork, get in early," he said.

You said, "Jessica would never go steady with Mike."

He looked shocked, and you laughed very hard, then leaned in and kissed him for four minutes.

Today you've sent Mike home without any stars on his fingerpainting.

"Keep a close eye on Mike's artwork," you had said. "If I give him three gold stars, you're to meet me at the Super 8 the following evening at 7 PM."

"And what if I want to see you?" he asked.

"Too bad," you said. "You're married. You're not supposed to want to see me."

He had his index finger on your bare breast when you said that. He'd lifted up your sweater and tugged down your bra cup.

"We'll see each other only when I wanna see you," you said. "And when I never wanna see you again, poor little Mike won't get any stars that day."

He took his fingertip from your breast. "Why does Mike have to be involved?"

"I'm Mike's art teacher," you said. "Don't try to forget that."

Mike cried on his way home, his fingerpainting of a dragon crumpling at the edges where his fists held it close to his chest. He didn't ask you why you skipped him when you were giving out the stars. But he waited at his desk long after the rest of the class had left. You walked out with your eyes to the floor, unable to look at him.

It was bad enough that you were expected to assign grades to the first creative endeavors of children. You'd always tried to give out the stars so arbitrarily you thought it might even be fun to use that grading system for your lascivious communiqués.

But there'd been so many days when you wanted so badly to see Mike's Dad. But those were days when Mike had turned in work that was decidedly less than three-star quality. You found you just couldn't do it, and so you gave him the stars he deserved and spent the following night at home alone. And if Mike ever turned in a three-star project, it was always in a week when a rendezvous would have been impossible.

You'd managed four nights together, and each night had required you to give Mike an inappropriate star grade. But today was the last straw.

Today, Mike made a fingerpainting of a dragon. It was the best work Mike had ever done. The best fingerpainting of the entire class since school began last Autumn. A decidedly five star piece. But you wanted to see his Daddy tomorrow night.

You couldn't do it. When you looked at that painting, you knew the affair had to end today. Not another work would be awarded with anything but the most honest of praise. And to punish yourself for falling into such a state of compromise, you would break a student's heart on the day he'd done his best. You'd condemn yourself to the lowest point in your teaching career.

Mike cried on his way home. And so did you.

Happy End It Via A Fingerpainting Of A Dragon Day!

Wednesday, January 05, 2005

The Daily Number Day!

The Daily Number Day!

After you've bought $79 worth of three digit daily number lottery tickets, ask the 19-year old girl behind the machine for a suggestion.

"314!" she offers with a smile.

Say, "Straight and box for a dollar. If that wins, it'll be our wedding date."

The number of course will win, and you'll be $540 richer. That $540 will help pay for your divorce from your wife of 46 years (you're 71). The 19-year old lotto machine operator will be a little hesitant about marrying you before she finishes college, but she'll be glad to not have to live at her parents' house anymore during summer break. Her boyfriend will not be too happy with the way she breaks up with him ("A deal's a deal baby. Can't you be a little more mature about this?") He'll punch you once and give you a minor heart attack (your fourth), but you'll recover after not too long and you and the lottery machine operator will enjoy a happy life together for the 17 months remaining before you die in the bath.

Happy The Daily Number Day!

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Car Off The Cliff Day

Car Off The Cliff Day!

Yes, sometimes when a car goes off a cliff, the passengers can manage to jump out and land safely on the rock face before the car explodes. But that requires a lot of dexterity and quick-thinking. And you have to hope that the passengers did not have seatbelts on or else who could imagine them having the cool heads necessary to unfasten their seatbelts, then open the doors and jump all in a matter of seconds? Then there's the tumble into the rock-face, which is more than enough to kill them. All things considered, the chances that someone could go off a cliff in a speeding car and survive are very slim. It's best to assume your fiancé is dead and start dating again.

No one's calling off the search and rescue teams. Hell, we couldn't if we wanted to. Those fires have to be put out whether your sweetstuff is alive or not. All we're saying is, it's been hours already. When are you going to accept that she's dead and start calling chicks you had your eye on while she was still alive? Such as her friends and sisters. They are waiting to extend to you their companionship.

All you've been doing since she went over the cliff this morning is howling at the heavens or peering over the cliff's edge to see if anyone found anything. You could have composed like nine Nerve Personal profiles in that time, one for every type of love affair you're looking for. Stop living in the past and go home and work out. I don't know how much you ate at that rehearsal dinner, but you're looking a little doughy. If you're gonna get back in the game you gotta be ready to play.

Oh, it sounds like they found her and she's alive. All the same, until she's brought up to the surface road and you can see that she is out of danger, you should assume she's dead and try to move on with your life. Goddammit, it's what she would have wanted.

Happy Car Off The Cliff Day!

Monday, January 03, 2005

Confess Day

Confess Day!

Unless the thing you're confessing about could put you in jail. But if it's something along the lines of, "I know you really like your Ho-Ho's dude," go ahead and own up. You'll feel better about it.

But you shouldn't think that confessing is an across-the-board good idea. For example, let's say that about six months ago you killed a rapist. You were just walking through the park looking for someone to sell you some acid when you heard a woman's muffled shouting. You stepped over a fence and pushed through some bushes to find a man pinning a woman down in the grass, the dull edge of his knife pressed into the corners of her mouth.

You shouted, "Hey!"

The guy wheeled around at you. His eyes were yellow with bright red bulbs in the center.

The woman kneed him in the abdomen and wriggled free. He grabbed at her pants leg but she took off. You never saw her again.

The guy got up and came at you. The sharp edge of his knife was coming right at your nose. He was smaller than you but a lot stronger. He had you on the ground. You were holding his knife hand away from you, but the knife was coming closer. You were growing weaker. You were about to die.

Your left hand scrabbled in the grass and found a rock. You swung your left arm up from the grass and cracked the rock into the back of the rapist's head. When the rock hit his skull, the yelp that came out of his mouth sounded like he was gargling mouthwash.

You rolled him off of you, stood, then saw the blood in the grass. It was coming near your shoes. You ran.

The next day, you read about the dead man in the paper. The story told nothing of an attempted rape. It only told of a dead man who'd been arrested for burglary in the past.

You read the paper every day for a month, but the story disappeared after less than a week. Never was there any mention of an attempted rape.

If that's the kind of thing you were thinking of confessing, that kind of "murder in self-defense resulting from a prevented rape that you can't prove," keep your mouth shut.

But if you ate your roommate's Ho-Ho's, by all means wipe the slate clean. Unless you can't afford to replace them. Then blame his buddy Ken.

Happy Confess Day!

Sunday, January 02, 2005

That Shade Of Pearl Doesn't Communicate To Visitors The Awesomeness Of Your Balls Day!

That Shade Of Pearl Doesn't Communicate To Visitors The Awesomeness Of Your Balls Day!

Just stir in a little more yellow, just a drip. Right now, the paint looks pretty much "there" when it's in the can. But dry on the wall, your balls just seem sort of, how you say, "GUMDROPPY." A little more yellow and you'll cross the line over to "Those computer generated orbs that are always flying around in the animation they use to demonstrate the digital sound system at the movie theater before the movie starts." And you'll be well on your way to communicating the true awesomeness contained therein (your pants). You want someone to just blink twice at your walls and think, "I could not compete with, nor could I refuse, this man's balls, should I be challenged by or offered said same."

Little more yellow. Try it, I'm telling you.

Happy That Shade Of Pearl Doesn't Communicate To Visitors The Awesomeness Of Your Balls Day!

Saturday, January 01, 2005

Settle Your Roommate Problems With A Calm Discussion Day

Settle Your Roommate Problems With A Calm Discussion Day!

Sit cross-legged on the couch. Encourage your roommate to sit cross-legged on the comfy chair. Invite your roommate to present the first grievance.

He'll say, "I would appreciate it if you could clean up after yourself in the kitchen with a bit more diligence. I just don't want to attract bugs."

Say, "Fair enough. I would appreciate if you were less assholish. You're such an asshole. Asshole."

Your roommate will tell you that he'll try. Accuse him of lying and then borrow his money.

Happy Settle Your Roommate Problems With A Calm Discussion Day!