Saturday, April 30, 2005

Hitting Your Kids Won't Get Us Out Of Iraq Day

Hitting Your Kids Won't Get Us Out Of Iraq Day!

You've been beating your kids senseless over this quagmire in Iraq, and they've been missing a lot of school while they wait for the bruises to fade. They're really on edge because you're hitting them without them even offering you anything to provoke you. All their friends at school get hit because they spill paint or screw up the Tivo or horrible stuff like that. But you hit your kids just because you want this horrible chapter in our country's foreign affairs to come to a close and your kids happen to be nearby so you think, "Maybe this'll help."

Though it seems like beating up your kids will bring our boys home, and in a perfect world it certainly would, the Iraq situation is much more complicated than you might think. No matter how hard you hit them, Bush might still end up being proven right, regardless of how he went about things. And no amount of hitting your kids will make Bush go back in time and wait for the UN to come around. I don't think. Maybe keep it up until 2007, but if nothing changes, it's not working and it's just making your kids dream about the day that you'll die.

Happy Hitting Your Kids Won't Get Us Out Of Iraq Day!

Friday, April 29, 2005

Climb A Tall Building Day

Climb A Tall Building Day!

Today, you're that Spiderman guy who climbs tall buildings in Europe. Today's building will be the Meltlife Tower. Your assistant will call the press when you're halfway up and there's no way to stop you without endangering your life. Three quarters of the way up, write a secret you've never told in grease-pencil on the steel frames between the windows so the window-washers won't scrub it off. Break the story up across the frames of three different, non-adjacent windows. The secret you should write about is the one about an elementary school classmate who was teased a lot by you and your friends, but one day, behind the rugby field in the trees, the teasing went too far and everybody stripped the kid down and whipped him bloody. Not long after that, he killed himself. That's what all the lifelong secrets in Europe are about right?

When you get to the top of the building, sigh and wonder, "What now?"

Happy Climb A Tall Building Day!

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Hang Out On Your Neighbor's Swingset Day

Hang Out On Your Neighbor's Swingset Day!

Right after sunset, go over there and just sit on the swing and look pensive until the Dad of the house comes out to see what up.

"What up Bill?" the Dad of the house will ask.

Just say his name. Say, "Frank."

Frank will sit on the swing next to you.

"Frank's so good to Melanie."

Frank will look down at the ground.

"Frank gives Melanie every minute of his attention and you barely even look at me."

Frank's about to get up from the swing and go back into the house.

"You're not a man. You know who's a man? Frank's a man."

"Fuck you Bill," Frank will say.

"You're the model husband aren't you Frank?"

"She's gone Bill, you fucked that up yourself," Frank will say.

Tell him, "The only reason your marriage isn't fucked up and mine is is because when that kid we ran over suddenly sprung to life in the grave we were digging, I'm the one who buried the shovel in his head."

"Luck of the draw. You were holding the shovel," Frank will say. "Would you rather we took him to the hospital and went to jail for vehicular manslaughter"

"You said, 'Kill him.'"

"And you killed him. Good work."

"I want my wife back," say.

Frank will say, "Luck of the draw," and he'll go back inside.

Go get some liquor then come back to the swingset and get drunk.

Happy Hang Out On Your Neighbor's Swingset Day!

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Bump Into Your Former Husband At The Marshmallow Festival Day

Bump Into Your Former Husband At The Marshmallow Festival Day!

Your new husband read about the festival in his guidebook last night at the motel just outside of Indianapolis. The guidebook mentioned that there would be booths selling toasted marshmallows four to a skewer, but it didn't say Keith would be there doing the toasting.

"How'd you find me?" he'll ask.

"Well I certainly didn't look," you'll say.

He'll explain that when he ran off he thought he was doing what was best for both of you, because he felt like he had nothing but failure waiting for him at every turn. In the years that followed he's learned that he was just hypoglycemic and he didn't know it. He'll introduce himself to your new husband.

"He's a beaut!" Keith will tell you.

"Do you live here now?" you'll ask.

He'll say yes, for six months now he's lived in Ligonier. He had planned on it only being for a few weeks, but when he heard that the town was home to an annual Marshmallow Festival, he decided to find himself some work and stick around.

"You remember how much I loved marshmallows," he'll say.

"And festivals," you'll add.

He'll give you a thumbs-up. Then he'll ask your new husband for a word alone with you, to which your new husband will consent.

When Keith's got you alone, he'll tell you that he still loved you when he left and he's never stopped. He'll ask if you'd like to leave your new husband and stay there in town with him.

"Here?" you'll ask.

"Is there a Marshmallow Festival where you live?" Keith will ask, his hands on his hips with one eyebrow raised in superiority.

"No," you'll say.

Keith will say, "Then I rest my case."

Say, "No, I mean, no. I won't stay here with you. Fuck no would I ever stay with you."

Then walk away. Tell your current husband that if he'd like, he is welcome to shout at Keith over his shoulder, "Have fun trying to keep them from melting too much and falling off the sticks, jerkface."

Happy Bump Into Your Former Husband At The Marshmallow Festival Day!

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

Nearly Choke To Death Three Times Day

Nearly Choke To Death Three Times Day!

Best if it's in a Chinese restaurant. Usually, the only wall decoration in a Chinese restaurant is the Heimlich maneuver diagram.

You should order a dish with great hunks of meat, nothing shredded and no noodles. And you should be sure to really choke, especially on the first and second go-rounds. In fact, you should try to get the food stuck further and further down your throat with each choke. If it looks at all like you might not have been entirely in danger the first or second time, then your fellow patrons might not rush to your aid on the third round and you really could die.

That's what makes today fun.

So, of course, you're alone at you're table and you're just gorging on the pile of meat, shoveling in hunk after hunk of flesh along with shards of green pepper and a forest of bamboo shoots. When the food slides down your windpipe, let it rest there gently for a moment to make sure it's really in before you start to gag and retch. Remember, your fellow patrons have to really believe that they're saving you. The best way for that to happen is to choke so bad you come within seconds of death.

Once you start to make your horrible sounds, they'll come running. Two of them will probably nearly scuffle over who gets to give you the Heimlich. It will take four or five lifts from your sternum before the wad of food is released and lands on your table cloth.

Thank your hero very much. He'll laugh and say, "Don't eat so fast." Nod, then sit down and as soon as your blood resumes its flow, start gorging again.

The second time is tricky. You want to make sure the food's really down there, but you don't want to wait too long to start making your terrible noises. Because your hero won't come nearly as fast this time. When everyone turns to see you choking, the one who just saved you will look to the one who also got up and they'll both share a look as if to say, "The hell?"

No one will move for a few seconds, even though you're turning red and pointing at your neck. Once your color starts to move toward purple, the one who just tried to save you will get up unchallenged and he'll dislodge the food with three heaves. He'll be gloat inwardly that he got the food out before the previous hero.

Now as you catch your breath, an older woman at a neighboring table will shout at you, "You really should eat much more slowly!"

Nod at her, then start the shoveling again. Shovel fast and loud with lots of scrapes of your fork against your plate. No one else will be eating. The entire restaurant will be watching you. They won't take their eyes off of you for the entire three minutes of gluttony leading up to you suddenly freezing in your seat, bugging your eyes out a bit, and then releasing one terrible sound.

Everyone will let out a groan and some of them will throw their hands in the air in frustration. You'll make lots more terrible noises and you'll point at your neck and you really will turn purple. Your two heroes will shake their heads at each other in disgust. You'll start to panic.

You'll get up from your seat and you'll bounce your midsection on the back of the chair, but the food won't come out. You'll jump up and down on the wood until your vision starts to go gray and then you'll just stand there, waiting to fall down. Finally, the cook will grab you from behind in his big white arms and he'll send the food flying with one strong hoist of your body against his chest.

You'll have to sit on the floor for a few minutes afterwards, but no one will pay attention to you. When you get back up, your plate will have been taken away and there'll be a check waiting to be paid. Pay it with cash, tipping well, then walk to the door. Just before stepping out to the sidewalk, turn around to the dining room and shout, "You saved my life. I'll never forget that." Then go outside and walk home. It's a nice night.

Happy Nearly Choke To Death Three Times Day!

Monday, April 25, 2005

Liven Up Your Marriage Day

Liven Up Your Marriage Day!

Embark on a low-speed freeway chase. Pretend that your wife killed your mistress and you. So the real you is dead. But on this low-speed freeway chase, you're one of the policemen who is chasing her. So just drive one car length behind her on the freeway for around 170 miles.

She'll pull off in San Diego. Tell her to get out of her car with her hands up.

She'll say, "But officer, isn't there some way we can work this out?"

Tell her you'll forget all about her having killed her husband and his mistress if she has sex with you in the front seat of her car. She'll say deal.

The sex will be some of the best ever. Nothing turns you on more than having sex with your wife while she's pretending to have sex with a policeman in exchange for him letting her get away with having murdered you. You love the thought of being dead while your wife has sex with cops.

You don't like to step out of the role-play, but she said ahead of time that you would be allowed one little slip. So at the height of arousal, just before you both come, you whisper into her ear, "I'm so lucky to have you." Then you go back to being Officer Schwartz and fuck her until she loses her voice.

Happy Liven Up Your Marriage Day!

Sunday, April 24, 2005

In Memory Of My Dead Daughter Megan Who Was Four When She Died Day

In Memory Of My Dead Daughter Megan Who Was Four When She Died Day!

Naming your racehorse, "In Memory Of My Dead Daughter Megan Who Was Four When She Died" might not make your horse win, and it might not even make people bet on it. But man will a crowd root for horse called In Memory Of My Dead Daughter MeganWho Was Four When She Died. And when the horse loses, you'd think the whole park just said goodbye to their kids' college money.

The commission will make you change the horse's name eventually because it will lose very often and will sink the spirits of even the most compulsive of gamblers. No one wants to see the memorial to a dead four-year old place sixth.

Happy In Memory Of My Dead Daughter Megan Who Was Four When She Died Day!

Saturday, April 23, 2005

Elevator Dress Day

Elevator Dress Day!

Today, when you're riding the elevator in your apartment building with three of your neighbors, your dress will get caught in the elevator door. It will happen when Mrs. Morrissey boards on the seventh floor. You'll step to the side to let her on, and when she gets on, you'll step back to where you were and the poof of your dress with float out through the doors just in time to get caught by the outer pair as the doors close. The elevator will descend, and your dress will be ripped from your body. It will be painful, really. At first you'll be yanked against the closed doors of the car and the dress will tug so tight against your body that your breath will go short. Finally, the seams will tear and the dress will be yanked right off of you. There will long thin bruises on your body where the dress grabbed hold of you. Your neighbors will feel very badly for you. Mr. Collins will give you his rain coat to cover you up in your black bra and lime green underwear. You and Mr. Collins will ride back up to your apartment together. He'll wait in the hall for you to go inside and change and then give him back his raincoat. He'll need his raincoat because he has a lot of running around to do.

Happy Elevator Dress Day!

Friday, April 22, 2005

Dance With Someone In A Mask Day

Dance With Someone In A Mask Day!

Your face should not be hidden because it's so pretty and we wanna keep looking at it. But your dance partner should have her face completely concealed by a mask. Preferably, a feathery mask or something with sparkles. Or a rubber Darth Maul mask.

Most importantly is you should not know the identity of your dance partner, but you should ask a string of seemingly innocuous questions like Is Madrid always this hot? and Was that mask expensive? The questions should continue until your dance partner offers an answer that makes you pull away and try to make out her eyes through the eyeholes to see if you know her after all. The answer will be something like My best friend in the world used to dance here until she died on Christmas morning in 2003 (the day your wife died), or The man who taught me to dance was named Leland Huntington (the man who killed your dead wife).

Not long after you realize who your dance partner really is, she'll be shot in the back and will fall dead into your arms. You'll drop her to the dance floor and race out the door to follow the newfound trail to your wife's killer.

Happy Dance With Someone In A Mask Day

Thursday, April 21, 2005

You're So Hot For Your Boss That It's Gonna Set Off The Sprinkler System Day

You're So Hot For Your Boss That You're Gonna Set Off The Sprinkler System Day!

Your boss is a 50 year old father of two, married and way hot. You're a 24 year old graduate from the English program of a small northeastern college, and you're way hot too. Your boss thinks so.

But his conscience is keeping him from having an affair with you. He loves his wife and two daughters too much to have an affair with a 24 year old, and that's only making him so much hotter.

It can't wait any longer. Today, you're going to have to push him over the edge. What you should do is you should hop up on your desk and hold a lighter to the fire detector in the ceiling, setting off the sprinkler system. When your boss comes running out of his office, push him back inside.

"But the fire," he'll say.

Tell him, "I set it off. So that we could be alone. So that you could see me with my blouse all wet."

He'll look down at you with your blouse all wet.

"I've been longing for this," he'll say.

"I know," you should say to him. "I'm happy that I can finally give you what you want. And that I can finally get what I've craved ever since the first day I sat down at that desk and shook your hand."

Then take off all of your clothes, then all of his clothes. Then do every single thing you've been dreaming about for the past four and a half months, all packed into the twelve minutes it takes for the fire warden to start searching the floor for stragglers.

Happy You're So Hot For Your Boss That You're Gonna Set Off The Sprinkler System Day!

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Bowling Team Shakeup Day

Bowling Team Shakeup Day!

The captain of your bowling team is on trial for being an arsonist and the rest of you are ready to take a vote of no confidence in his leadership. You're going to have to go to his house and tell him tonight.

"They'll turn on me so quickly?" he'll say. "The way a flame will climb south down a strip of balsawood."

"Yeah," say. "They don't like being seen with you."

He'll dip his finger in a jelly jar of kerosene he keeps in his fridge and then sniff from his fingertip. "And what about you?" he'll ask. "Do you dislike being seen with me?"

Say, "It's not that. I just don't like you."

"Why?" he'll ask.

"You're an arsonist. You set stuff on fire that's not yours. That kind of screams "dick" to me."

He'll come to you and place his hands on both of your shoulders. "Thank you for your honesty," he'll say. "Vote your conscience. I will honor the majority's decree."

Tomorrow you'll be elected captain of the bowling team and tomorrow night he'll burn down your house, your car, and the big tree that gives your house shade.

Happy Bowling Team Shakeup Day!

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

77 Dead At The Lincoln Ridge Mall Day

77 Dead At The Lincoln Ridge Mall Day!

At the end of the day everyone in your band will make a pact to never play adjacent to a sporting goods store ever again. The problem is that every time your band plays a show, everyone in the crowd is aware of a whole new era in music opening up before them. It's like the crowd is moving through Kubler-Ross' five stages of dying as they feel all of their heretofore unchallenged conceptions about music wither away with every chord change. First the crowd just stands there, confusedly stilled by the denial and isolation of the first stage. Then they get angry and start picking fights and throwing things at the stage. Following that would normally be the stages of bargaining (please just let me try and reconcile how great this band is with all the bands I thought were great up until I showed up at this concert tonight), depression (I can't believe I have to go home and destroy all of the music I own because none of it matters anymore after hearing how great this band is), and acceptance (holy shit I just found out about a great new fucking band).

But today no one's going to make it past the anger stage because your show is at the Lincoln Ridge Mall and you'll be playing in the food court within sight of the sporting goods store. So when the kids start milling and shoving, searching for a physicality to express the betrayal they feel at having realized music has been making fools out of them for so very long, a few of them will remember that the sporting goods store sells rifles and ammunition. So in the middle of your set twelve kids are going to smash and grab some weapons and start shooting into the thick of the crowd. The shooters will turn the guns on each other as well, and only three will still be alive at midnight tonight. In all, 77 will have been killed. A lot more wounded.

Today's your Altamont. And you're going to find out whether or not you'll keep playing even though people in the crowd are starting to die. Have a good show, and thanks for giving your music to us. It's helped us through some pretty rough times, like when our Dad was drinking a lot and we felt all alone. Your music kind of made us think someone else out there is feeling the same way.

Happy 77 Dead At The Lincoln Ridge Mall Day!

Monday, April 18, 2005

Casual Encounters Day

Casual Encounters Day!

The headline of the ad read, "I JUST WANT TO TALK." When you clicked on it, the ad read, "I have a story to tell and I don't trust my friends anymore. I need a stranger's ear." You haven't left your apartment for a long time because you stopped paying rent a couple months ago and your landlord might padlock the place when you step outside, but this sounded too good to pass up so you responded to the ad with an email containing a time and a Starbucks location.

When you get to the Starbucks tonight, you'll find a man with sad eyes peering over the rim of a Chantico. You'll sit across from him without ordering anything and you'll assume a welcoming posture, one that you've practiced under the tutelage of your therapist.

"I'm Jimmy," the man will say. "And I met a girl today."

"You can't tell your friends that?" you'll ask.

Jimmy will chuckle. "I lied about the whole 'I don't trust my friends' thing. I've never had any friends. Just figured no one would respond to an ad from a guy who's all alone."

Your heart will melt for Jimmy. "You're not alone. Tell me about the girl, Jimmy."

Jimmy will tell you his story and you'll discover why he doesn’t have any friends. He'll talk about a neighbor in his building who responded to his saying hello with only a nod. Jimmy's face will turn red when he talks about how she "thinks she's so much better than me" and how he "could teach her a thing or two about what happens to people who don't have good manners." His voice will have the whine of a child, even though Jimmy is 48. He'll in fact mention "Mom" several times. You'll sit with Jimmy long enough to try to learn what building he lives in, gathering information for your call to the police later. But he won't let on, and he'll get so worked up that you'll leave in fear of your own safety.

In the end, you'll make it home okay and you'll contact the police and Craig's List, but you'll go to bed frightened, and you'll think that maybe if your landlord padlocked the apartment while you were in it, that might not be so bad.

Happy Casual Encounters Day!

Sunday, April 17, 2005

He Gave You A Calling Card Day

He Gave You A Calling Card Day!

And off you went back to Rutgers. The boy you met at the Theater of the Living Arts nine years ago on a weekend trip into Philadelphia gave you a calling card as a gift to remember him by. He sharpied his phone number over top the image of a globe on the front of it.

"This way you have no excuse to not call me," he said to you on the platform of the 30th Street Station.

"I guess if I don't call," you said. "You'll have to assume that I hate you."

You were joking. After the concert at the TLA he took you home to his apartment in South Philadelphia. On the following Saturday morning you tried to run off without waking him, but he managed to tell you where he'd be hanging out that night.

"There's a party for my friend's movie at the Roxy. Come find me," he muttered before falling back to sleep. And in the end, when your roommate and your friend hooked up with guys that you couldn't stand, you wandered three blocks to the Roxy, and from there the two of you wandered back to his bed.

When you woke up the next morning, you were in his arms and for the first time in six months it felt good to be in some arms (you'd been getting over a retard who cheated). You spent the day walking, knowing you'd be missing the planned-upon train your friends would be taking. And when you finally got to the platform and he gave you that card, you didn't have a doubt that you'd dial the number he sharpied across the globe.

But you never did. You can't remember why right now. You're single right now and you're staring at the card, found in the pile of college notebooks your mom kept stored for you in her attic (you're emptying out the house with your brother. Your Mom's dead). There's that number and you can't remember why you never called it but you know you never did. And you know he was already out of college when he saw you, so he might still be at that same number.

Call it.

When he answers (he will) ask him his name. He didn't write it on the card unfortunately, only the number, and you don't remember offhand. Then ask him if he remembers a girl named (YOUR NAME HERE). He will.

"I thought you'd never call," he'll say.

Say, "Sorry. I got caught up in some bullcrap." Then tell him if he's not married or fucked up in the head, you'd be cool with meeting him for some ice cream someplace.

Happy He Gave You A Calling Card Day!

Saturday, April 16, 2005

Cheese Eucharist Day

Cheese Eucharist Day!

Tonight at midnight mass bring some slivers of cheddar in a small plastic baggie and put some cheese on your eucharist wafer because that will make it taste better. You don't like the taste of your eucharist wafer, but you do like the taste of cheddar cheese. Jesus would be fine with it. Though more than anything he wanted to know that you ate his body, he'd be bummed if he knew you weren't digging it. So yeah, uh, put some cheese on your eucharist wafer. Also, go away.

Happy Cheese Eucharist Day!

Friday, April 15, 2005

Babies On The Beach Day

Babies On The Beach Day!

They're bait for snipers. You and your wife will be walking along trying to enjoy a nice sunset alone together when your wife steps on something.

"A baby," she'll say. She'll stoop to pick it up.

"No!" you'll say. "Wait. I heard that this isn't always on the level."

"It's a baby laying unprotected in the sand," your wife will argue. "I can't just leave it there."

You'll say, "That's just what they want you to think. Except I can't really remember who they are."

You'll rack your brain for what's supposed to go wrong when you pick up a baby on the beach. It's either that you'll be prey for identity theft or you'll be stabbed in the face.

"I think if you pick up that baby, somehow, people in the Cayman Islands will learn your social security number."

Your wife will say, "You're being paranoid. I'm going to pick up this baby and raise it in a loving home."

Your wife lifts the baby to her chest and she is promptly shot in the throat.

"Fuck," you say. "Snipers. I knew I'd heard something about that."

As your wife takes her last breaths, it will all come back to you. An article you read in Rolling Stone about gang initiations involving potential gang members' girlfriends' babies being left in the sand and when a stranger picks up the baby the potential gang member has to shoot the stranger in order to be admitted into the gang.

You'll kneel by your wife's side and say goodbye. The baby is lifted up to the sky by hidden wires descending from a hidden crane and it is carried up to the boardwalk where a new gang member celebrates because he's finally got the kind of friends that a boy needs growing up these days. It's a glorious day indeed.

Happy Babies On The Beach Day!

Thursday, April 14, 2005

Trash Day

Trash Day!

So here's how you're gonna die:

Garbageman Stan is married to the very beautiful Missus Garbageman Stan. Garbageman Stan has been inseperable from his best friend, Trashman Tony, ever since the first week Tony joined the Waste Management Force and Garbageman Stan was assigned as his Probationary Period Supervisor. Garbageman Stan showed Trashman Tony how to make the best of this life on the dirty curbs, and Trashman Tony repaid him with the devotion and loyalty of a sibling.

A great bond can be destroyed only with the most spectacular of explosives.

Trashman Tony stopped by Garbageman Stan's house a month and a half ago for some comfort. Trashman Tony's Mom, Mrs. Tony, had died in the night in her bed in Tony's home. But Garbageman Stan had run off on a payday bender, but not before marring Missus Garbageman Stan's face with a shiner to her eye. Trashman Tony ignored his own pain and took Missus Garbageman Stan to the couch and laid her down with a meat over her face. Trashman Tony stayed by her side for an hour and listened to her complaints about Garbageman Stan. It would be another hour before he told her about his mom. And that's when she kissed him. They would conduct their affair for three whole weeks, over 8 separate encounters, before Garbageman Stan would catch them together.

Garbageman Stan challenged Trashman Tony to a duel, as is dictated in the Waste Management Force's Code of Honor. They would divert their trucks from their routes and meet at either end of a ten-block stretch of road at dawn. When the streetlights flicker off, both gentlemen would start their engines and accelerate full speed towards each other to collide at the peak of their respective engines' prowess.

They way you're gonna die is you're gonna wake up just before dawn today and start jogging because you'll have decided that it's about time you tried to get into shape and turn your life around. All stretched out in your brand new sneaks and sweatsuit, you'll jog three hopeful steps into the street when those two trash trucks grab hold of you tight at 65 miles per hour and flatten you right smack dab in the middle of their grilles. When they pull the trucks apart, you'll have been reduced to something like a kind of paste, with hardly a bone not ground down and all of your skin and tissue melted in the heat of that burning mountain of iron and waste.

Garbageman Stan will be dead too. Tony won't walk again. And Missus Garbageman Stan is gonna remarry.

Happy Trash Day!

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Take Off Your Brassiere While Your Shirt's Still On Just Like That Whore From Flashdance Day

Take Off Your Brassiere While Your Shirt's Still On Just Like That Whore From Flashdance Day!

It sounds forward, but this is the only way you're going to get a man's attention. The next time you're with that special guy that you're really trying to make it work with, take your bra off while your shirt's still on. You could be on a date with him or you could be trying to land a plane with him after all of the pilots have been hypnotized by a child hypnotist who doesn't understand his own power yet. Just take off your bra.

He'll say something like, "I'm really enjoying being on this date with you." Or, "I'm really enjoying hurtling through the sky clueless at the helm of this commercial jet with you."

That's when you should bring up how you want to go back to school. "I want to be a child psychologist," you should say. Then reach your arms behind you and unclasp your brassiere. Make sure you look him in the eye while you do it. Say something like, "I hope you don't mind but I'm going to remove some of my underwear now." Or, "Jesus my breasts are sweaty." Then pull the brassiere down through the sleeve of your shirt and toss it over the back of a chair, making sure that it drapes well so that he can get a good look at just what kind of bra you were just wearing.

Once your bra is off, ask him if he's married. If he says no, he's lying. If he says yes, he's still going to sleep with you. But in four months when you start asking what kind of future you can expect from him, he'll hold it against you that you knew, way back on that day when you took your bra off while your shirt was still on, that he was married. And yet you still began sleeping with him. So the best you can hope for is that he lies and says no, so that when you fight later, you can have a leg to stand on. Regardless, you have a plane to land.

Happy Take Off Your Brassiere While Your Shirt's Still On Just Like That Whore From Flashdance Day!

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Get Caught Watching The Paint Dry Day

Get Caught Watching The Paint Dry Day!

You'll have to do it at rush hour, so you should make sure and stand out. Go to the girder with the "Wet Paint, Do Not Stare" sign on it and stand right in front of it while you wait for the train. When the train comes, just stay right where you are while everyone is piling on. Some of the passengers pressed up against the windows are bound to see you staring at the freshly painted girder, and they'll be sure to rat you out to a Marshall on the train car.

The Marshall will pull the signal for the conductor to open the doors again. The Marshall will step out onto the platform and approach you. The train car will close up and pull away. Everyone's eyes will catch you as they pass, and you'll just know those cars are silent as the grave inside. Once the train has completely left the station, the Marshall will point his gun at the side of your head so that when he shoots he won't splatter any blood on the wet paint. Then he'll phone his dispatcher to report that he caught another one.

Your body will lay uncovered until three train cars pass. Commuters will step around you, averting their eyes away from girders bearing signs.

Happy Get Caught Watching The Paint Dry Day!

Monday, April 11, 2005

You'll Build Tennis Courts Day

You'll Build Tennis Courts Day!

Like your Daddy before you and his Daddy before him, it is expected that you'll design and build private tennis courts on the estates of the wealthy. But you have a different dream. You want to design and install swimming pools.

"You're a Crawford," you were told by Grampa Crawford, who is still alive and in charge of the family business. "Crawfords have been designing and building tennis courts for thirty five years."

Your father added, "Crawfords aren’t going to start designing and installing swimming pools."

Today, show them you mean business and leave the family to go and live on your own. You have no money, so you'll have to work as a whore. Your family will send out several private investigators to find you, but they won't be able to locate you until you steal three thousand dollars from your pimp and word gets out on the street that there is a bounty on your head. Your father will have the private investigators pay off the pimp with fifteen thousand dollars, and the promise that he will be killed by policemen if he does not call off the hunt for you. Before the private investigators can drive you home themselves, you'll walk through the front door, a full eight months after you disappeared. Following a few weeks' rest, you'll take your seat at the Vice President's desk that's been waiting for you at the offices of Crawford Courts.

Every once in a while, you'll wonder what might have been if you had been allowed to design and install swimming pools. You'll also wish that you hadn't worked as a prostitute, since that's going to suck.

Happy You'll Build Tennis Courts Day!

Sunday, April 10, 2005

"Monitoring The Chatter" Weekend!

It's the Girls Are Pretty "Monitoring The Chatter" Weekend!

As reports of a rash of successful suicide attempts across the globe can attest, yesterday's personal regression assignment was delayed. Apologies to everyone who is dead, but Prettygirl had a very good reason to delay giving you something to read that would keep the bullets on the outside of your skin.

A month ago, Prettygirl heard the sound of people having sex coming from her neighbor's apartment, so she started recording them using a very expensive trio of parabolic microphones. The system was setup so that it would continue to record the goings on in the neighbors' apartment all day long so that Prettygirl would be free to go to her high-powered job at City Hall without missing anything. Naturally, the tapes picked up what sounded like a cold-blooded murder (combination suffocation and stabbing) that appeared to have taken place on Friday afternoon. So this weekend Prettygirl has spent every moment underneath a pair of earphones listening for the killer's next step. This has required the devotion of every circuit of Prettygirl's in-house network, and she's even had to hack into some outside systems to offlay some of the stress on her servers.

But that's all over and done with. After 38 hours of non-stop surveillance, Prettygirl discovered that the whole thing was just a big misunderstanding. What sounded like a combination suffocation slash stabbing was actually the sound of the neighbor's Golden Retriever giving birth to a litter of puppies. Unfortunately, this was discovered after the police were called. Guess who's being called a Nosey Norman in the laundry room of her apartment building.

So anyway, below you'll find today's and the one that would have gone up yesterday if Prettygirl could have afforded the bandwidth. Read yesterday's first.

Sunday, April 10, 2005

Whole Matchbook On Fire Day!

Your brother Willy isn't allowed to light the candles on the cake because Willy has a problem with fire.

"Just this once Mom?" you'll say to her. "Willy's almost 43."

"And the only reason he's lived this long is because I've kept him away from matches," your Mom will bark. "Now light the cake on fire."

Willy used to love fire. Anytime he got his hands on a matchbook he couldn't help but light the whole thing on fire. He hated wasting one match at a time when he knew that the hissing flareup of all those matches would be so much more beautiful. Your mother kept a close eye on him and made it so that he never touched a match after the age of 14. She even wrote letters to administrators at his school. And his employers. She really does deserve the credit for keeping a disaster at bay. But you always felt she had gone too far.

Once you light the cake, you'll go back into the TV room where your brother is getting off the phone with a partner at his law firm. He's got a big case that's about to settle, and he'll have been getting calls ever since he walked through the door.

"Sorry Pal," you'll say. "Mom wouldn't let you light the candles."

"It's just as well," Willy will say to you. "That bitch has controlled me for as long as I can remember."

"Mom?" you'll ask.

"No," Willy will laugh. "Fire. I didn't even ask you to ask mom about lighting the candles for me."

"Yes you did," you'll say.

"No," Willy will say. "Fire did. Fire speaks through me. Always."

Just then, your Mom will carry the cake in and you'll all start singing to your Dad.

Happy Whole Matchbook On Fire Day!

Saturday, April 9, 2005

A Balloon Ride Over New Orleans Day!

Today, you'll soar over New Orleans in a hot air balloon. Your husband will have arranged it.

"I reserved the balloon that says, 'Show Us Your Tits,'" he'll tell you. "So we'll probably get the whole city to take off their shirts from up there."

Once in the basket and floating across the blue sky, you'll find your husband was right. It'll be like a stadium doing the wave. The earth below you will be alive with young women exposing themselves to God.

"It's glorious," you'll say to your husband.

"Happy anniversary," he'll say to you.

Kiss him. "We have a lot of work to do," you'll say. "Let's start tossing the beads."

Happy A Balloon Ride Over New Orleans Day!

Friday, April 08, 2005

Door-To-Door Bikini Saleswoman Day

Door-To-Door Bikini Saleswoman Day!

Getting laid off has been hard enough on your marriage. But when The Door-To-Door Bikini Saleswoman steps inside your vestibule, the temptation will be so great that you might as well just go ahead and fill out some divorce papers before you even offer her a sandwich.

"I've got so many wonderful bikinis to offer this season, there is no way I'm leaving this house without having sold you two," she'll say with a tickle of her long red fingernail down the bridge of your nose.

"Fine!" you'll shout. "Just hand over whichever two you want me to buy and go."

The Door-To-Door Bikini Saleswoman will start to cry.

"Hey," you'll say. "Come on now. I'm going to buy the bikinis."

She sniffles, hunched there on the ottoman. "Everyone thinks I'm just out to make a buck. But that's not it. I sell these bikinis because it's important to me. Outfitting the community in the perfect sun and swimwear is what I feel like I was meant to do. Ever since I was fifteen I just knew."

"I'm sorry," you'll say. "How old are you now anyway?"

"Seventeen," she'll say.

"Go on my seventeen year old true believer. Sell me some bikinis."

She'll bound from her seat and shout, "Where can I change?! I know, how about behind this four-foot tall recliner! No peeking."

And so you spend the afternoon with The Door-To-Door Bikini Saleswoman modeling bikini after bikini for you in your living room. Occasionally, they come untied and she has to do what she can to keep herself covered up while giggling. When she complains of the heat, you'll offer her a large soapy sponge to squeeze some cold water down her chest and belly. When she gets thirsty, you'll give her an ice cube to suck on. When she gets hungry, you'll offer her a banana.

After four hours of slipping in and out of bikinis while trying to crouch her five-foot-five-inch frame behind the four-foot tall recliner, the The Door-To-Door Bikini Saleswoman will leave very happy, having met her quota of selling $600 dollars worth of bikinis with just one house visit. But she won't stay happy, because the check you'll write her is gonna bounce like a superball.

Happy Door-To-Door Bikini Saleswoman Day!

Thursday, April 07, 2005

Your Lover Is Gonna Die Day

Your Lover Is Gonna Die Day!

In that hotel room, if you don't get her outta there, she's gonna die of the pills that are keeping her from running away from you.

You brought her up here to the lake to hunt for Champ, the sea beast sighted in Lake Champlain. When you planned the trip, you treated it like a lark with a little bit of "what if" thrown in. But your lover had a different idea.

"If we find this sea serpent, we'll be pretty famous right?" she asked.

You shrugged and said that you guess so.

"And we'll, like, own the thing too won't we?" she asked. "Like, if the Smithsonian or the MOMA wants to get their hands on it they'll have to pay us a shitload. We'll rent out the fucker."

You suggested that actually gaining physical ownership of the mythical sea serpent might be far more difficult a task than the two of you are prepared for.

"But a picture would be nice," you said. When she looked like she was about to leap from the bed and tear your eyelids off your face, you added that a picture would fetch quite a lot of money from various outlets.

She locked herself in the bathroom for two hours while you knocked.

"My drug addiction is expensive," she said when she finally let you in so that you could pull the hair from her face while she sat on the toilet seat lid.

"I know it is," you said.

"I need some way to come up with the money to buy my drugs without having to work," she said. "This Champ thing is my last hope."

But of course, Champ was nowhere to be found. And her pills soon ran out. You have been making treks into neighboring towns and scoring pills that at least end her pain, if they won't get her high. But she's been ingesting narcotics without any regard for what came before or what's coming next. Keep this up and she'll die within the month.

But if you stop giving her whatever drugs you can find, she'll run off back to the city. She's horrible, but you have to keep her close to you. She may not be what you used to dream of, but you know your heart. She's the one.

Happy Your Lover Is Gonna Die Day!

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

Spray The Garden Maze For Goblins Day!

Everyone knows that Spring hasn't officially arrived until you've thrown your first party at the Estate. But folks in your social scene get pretty antsy waiting for Spring to arrive if you put off the invites for too long. As the temperature climbs, opening day fast approaches. Which means you're going to have to spray the garden maze for Goblins soon.

It usually takes three good sprays of highly toxic poisons to get them all scurrying for the Glen. And the sprays have to be spaced apart, so even if you start spraying tomorrow (which you should) you can expect to still have a Goblin problem for another few weeks. And there can be no party until that maze is clear. You don't want couples drunkenly wandering through those hedges for a private grope, only to get impaled through the larynx with razor-sharp twigs, then torn limb from limb just after being robbed of their rings and cash. Do you?

Don't forget to bolt all of the ground level windows and doors of the house before you spray. They'll run for the house first, and if one Goblin gets inside it will be only twenty minutes before every wing of the structure is burnt to the ground. To be sure to ward them off, paste photographs of housecats in every window of the house. Goblins are terrified of housecats because Goblins are the only creatures on Earth besides housecats that can understand what is really being communicated in a meow.

Happy Spray The Garden Maze For Goblins Day!

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Visit With Your Assassin Friend Day

Visit With Your Assassin Friend Day!

"Thanks for making time for me," Jenny will say.

Tell her she's not the only one who's busy. She's always been this way. Back when she was working those late hours as an editor at MSNBC, she'd berate anyone who dared schedule a birthday party when they knew she'd be at work. And now that she's an assassin and every job means she has to disappear to another continent for four to eight months, everyone is supposed to drop everything for this long series of "Goodbye Jenny" events.

"I guess I know how little you'll be missing me when I'm gone."

Tell her, "You act like you were sentenced to go into this line of work. For God's sake, you're the one who wanted this job. You get paid $75,000 for pulling a trigger on a gun. And we're all supposed to feel sad because you have to spend Autumn and Winter in Morocco?"

"How'd you know I'm going to Morocco?" she'll ask.

Point to the plane ticket she's holding in her hand.

"Fuck!" she'll rip up the ticket and log onto Orbitz.

"So are we getting drinks or what?"

"Just let me change my itinerary okay? Or were you hoping to be the one they would torture until you give up my whereabouts?"

Go and wait outside on the stoop. She'll get weepy after a Cosmo and it'll be nice to say goodbye again. Until she has that Cosmo though, just bite your tongue.

Happy Visit With Your Assassin Friend Day!

Monday, April 04, 2005

Your Coffin Tumbled Day

Your Coffin Tumbled Day!

It was supposed to be a small, peaceful service. It's what you would have wanted, everyone was certain of it. But as the coffin got closer to the grave, your Uncle George and your Aunt Ethel roused the rest of the family with bellicose rhetoric, demanding that no one give you dignity in death went you spent so much of your life stealing dignity from others. Sisters were scolded for bowing their heads before the corpse of the man who released frogs into their bedrooms when he was a boy. Brothers were reminded of Friday night bickering over who gets to take the family car out. Even your grandmother ripped off her veil when she was asked to remember how many times you'd called her while you were alive. Before the preacher could shout a placating word, all twenty-eight family members and friends rushed your coffin.

The pallbearers (your Dad, your Uncle Marv, your friends Pete and Randy, your brother Hank, and your high school physics teacher, Mr. Reidel) just handed you over to the mob without a fight. They were disgusted that they had to be so close to your remains. The collective hands of the crowd held you aloft for a few seconds before the coffin turned in the air and your body hung halfway out the part-way opened lid. Your family tore at your suit until you were naked above the waist. They first ripped a gash in your neck, and after that the rest of you fell apart like a rag doll. All that was meant to preserve you in the grave came spurting out of you and drenched everyone's clothes to the bone. In the end, when the police siren sounded and everyone went running back to your Dad's house, you were left on the ground pinned under the weight of the coffin, some bone visible through the gash in your cheek, your left arm resting in the grass seven feet away from its shoulder. The policemen on the scene remembered when they busted you for truancy when you were fourteen. They spit on your coffin and each fired a round from his pistol into the back of your three-days-dead skull. They told the groundskeepers not to clean you up from the grass until you'd spent a full day rotting under the sun.

Happy Your Coffin Tumbled Day!

Sunday, April 03, 2005

Crash Into The Cloudcover Day

Crash Into The Cloudcover Day!

Today, you're skydiving to impress a boy. His name's Dan and he enjoys "extreme living." You prefer reading books by the fire and taking walks on the beach, but your plan is that if you pretend to dig rollerblading up rocky mountains and throwing yourself down stairwells and whatnot, Dan will think that you're the girl for him. And then you'll show him that you're actually the exact opposite of what you pretended to be and, for reasons unclear, Dan will be fine with this and will even go so far as to hang up his snowboard so as to curl up next to you by the fire on the beach with the books.

But today's step one. You're diving out of a plane with Dan so that he can see just how "extreme" a girl you are. Your parachute pack will have mistakenly been filled with the parachute school teacher's laundry and you will die in a four foot hole in the ground dug instantaneously upon impact. Dan will not wonder what could have been, but he'll come to your funeral and cry.

Happy Crash Into The Cloudcover Day!

Saturday, April 02, 2005

Sneak Out Of The House And Finger Somebody Day

Sneak Out Of The House And Finger Somebody Day!

Your parents are dictators. It's Saturday and all of your friends are allowed to go to the park and pull down each other's pants on a bed of wet pine needles. You're going to miss out just because of a stupid curfew?

Sneak out. Crawl out onto the roof down the maple tree. Then try to find where your friends are. You might not find them, because they actually already got chased away by police. But you will stumble into a kegger thrown by some older kids. They'll hold your face in the patch of grass where some of them peed earlier.

You'll walk home and come in through the front door. No one will be awake. You'll wash your face and chest in the bathroom but you won't take a shower. You'll go to bed, confused by things.

Happy Sneak Out Of The House And Finger Somebody Day!

Friday, April 01, 2005

Your Pot Dealer Has A Daughter In The Girl Scouts Day

Your Pot Dealer Has A Daughter In The Girl Scouts Day!

She has some cookies that need to be sold.

"Hey man, if I worked in an office it'd be no sweat," he says. "I'd just post the signup sheet on my cubicle, just like the rest of the Dads, and in one day she'd meet her quota for the camping trip. "

He hasn't even sold you your pot yet. You and him are sitting on your bed going over the options in the color brochure spread out across your comforter. He smells terrible. "A lot of people like the Samoas," he says. "But I fucking hate the Samoas."

"Do any girl scouts sell their own cookies anymore?" you ask.

"Are you crazy man? It's too dangerous," he says, while scratching underneath his shirt. He complained to you once that his gun holster itches.

"So I figured," he says. "Who wants cookies more than all the potheads who smoke my shit? You guys are all stoned out of your gourds with the munchies and then in I walk with a chance for you to binge on some snacks and support the futures of a whole lot of little girls."

You say, "But you haven't let me buy my pot yet."

He points to the Thin Mints. "These are fuckin' primo shit. Buy six boxes."

You buy six boxes.

Happy Your Pot Dealer Has A Daughter In The Girl Scouts Day!