Thursday, August 31, 2006

The Abortion King Day!

According to statistics released by the right wing religious organization Families Are Awesome, you performed more abortions in the year 2005 than any other abortion doctor in the entire State. This year you're trying to go national, but your numbers are way down.

'You're all out there on the dating scene,' you'll ask your nurses. 'Are people just not doing it as much?'

'I can't speak for everybody,' Nurse Comers will say. 'But that Al Gore movie really killed the mood for me. How can I accept ecstasy when the world is going to end in like ten years. And that polar bear trying to find some ice. Jeez, talk about a boner shrinker.'

'Well yeah sure,' Nurse Morehouse will concur. 'They shouldn't have marketed that as a date movie. But all it made me think is the next time I get pregnant ain't no way in hell I'm gonna have that baby. I'm not gonna bring a kid into this world just so he can watch the sea catch fire and stuff.'

'I'm with Morehouse,' Nurse Cleo will say. 'That Al Gore movie made it seem like this whole environment mess is a direct result of the population having tripled in the last century. We don't need any more people. I'm aborting the shit out of my next baby.'

Nurse Cleo will think about it, then she'll add, ''Course, there's really no chance of there being a baby to abort, being as I really haven't accepted a lover since I saw that Al Gore movie. Seemed too selfish.'

'That settles it!' you'll say. Then you'll go into your office a draft a bitchy letter to Al Gore letting him know that if his idea was to increase the number of abortions, it might have worked if he hadn't made a movie so depressing that no one wants to fuck enough to make a baby to abort in the first place. Al Gore will reply that your letter was so stupid he could barely bring himself to recycle the paper it was printed on.

'But I did,' he'll add. 'Recycling is important. Good luck with your contest, baby killer.'

Frame Al Gore's letter, then get out there and act locally by convincing your town's saloon to have a singles night so people might start banging again. You can only hope the alcohol will make them forget the Al Gore movie (and contraception), but that they'll remember the Al Gore movie again when they're sober and pregnant and thinking about what it means to bring a baby into a world that's about to die in a storm of flame.

Happy The Abortion King Day!

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

He's Nothing Like His Profile Day!

Today in Starbucks you'll be browsing when you come upon the profile of a really cute guy who just so happens to be sitting at a table right across the room from you.

His profile will say that he loves sunsets and that he hates people who talk on their cell phones in public. You'll look up to see him talking on his cell phone very loudly about how the sun is about to set. 'Worst time of the day,' he'll scream into his phone. 'Bar none!'

You'll read more of his profile. It will say that his most embarrassing moment was when he put up a profile on He'll say into his cell phone, 'Putting up my profile on had to have been the least embarrassing moment of my life. Bar none!'

He doesn't seem to value honesty, you'll think. Then you'll read his profile and you'll see that he made it clear that one of the things he values the least is honesty. Which is pretty honest of him to say, when you think about it. Maybe there's hope for him after all.

Reading further into his profile, you'll see that he says he loves kids. You'll look at him just in time to watch him pour his coffee all over a seven year old who was talking too loud for him to hear his cell phone call. The police will be summoned and take him away. He'll go peacefully, which will surprise you since his profile said that he would never go peacefully with the police. When he's dragged out to the street you'll finally see him in daylight and you'll realize he looks just like Charles Durning. That's surprising since his profile photo is of Denzel Washington (a promotional still from Training Day). Once he's gone, and you finally get a chance to stop comparing the real thing to the profile you'll be able to focus on just how desolate your life has felt these past few decades and you'll summon up the nerve to send him a wink.

Happy He's Nothing Like His Profile Day!

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Your Cash Machine Is Depressed Day!

You were at first surprised by the overly familiar tone your cash machine started to take with you. Messages like, 'Whoops, I ran out of receipt paper (It's been a crazy day!)' and 'Working on it! Just a sec!' seemed to lack a professionalism that you'd come to expect from a banking facility. But after a while you couldn't help but be charmed.

As time wore on, you found that the cash machine started to open up to you a bit. On a good day, when you'd key in your withdrawal amount it would say, 'Working on it! (I can't explain why but I just feel so hopeful today!)' And on a low day, you'd request a balance inquiry and it would reply, 'Can it wait? I'm just'I'm trying to sort some crap out right now and'Just come back in an hour okay?'

Soon, the cash machine seemed to hit a steady sequence of low days. You'd take out a couple hundred bucks and its screen would read, 'Working on it. ('Nother night on the town huh? Must be nice to not be permanently embedded in a fucking wall.)' It hates taking deposits for some reason. Whenever you push the make a deposit button, the screen reads simply, 'Oh for God's sake' without any explanation or elaboration.

You're worried about the cash machine. The past few times you've used it, it hasn't spoken a word to you. Each screen is just a list of options. No, 'How can I help you today?' when you first get started. And when it doles out your cash, there's just a blank screen afterwards. No, 'Don't forget to take your cash and receipt!' Not even a simple, 'goodbye!' Just black.

You need to try to reach out to the cash machine. It's hard, since the button choices are limited. The best way to let a cash machine know you care about it is to just keep pressing OK. No matter how many times it tells you that choice is not valid. Just keep hitting the button. After so many error messages and attempts to fit your responses into its programming language, it will eventually try to interpret your choice as, 'OK?'

All you can hope for is that it will say something to you. Anything at all. Even if it's, 'You don't care. No one cares. You just want your money.' At least it would be letting you in. But if it doesn't say anything, if the screen just goes blank, and then spits your card back out to you replacing the blank screen with the bank's logo, you're too late. It's been too unhappy for too long and it's probably going to do something drastic. The cash machine that goes quiet is the one that's screaming the loudest inside its circuitry.

Pick up the phone and call customer service. Hit option 6 for 'If you think a cash machine might be thinking about hurting itself''

Your Cash Machine Is Depressed Day!

Monday, August 28, 2006

Your Ex-Boyfriend's Band Made It Big Day!

You broke up with him because you didn't think he had any talent and you thought that there was no way in heck his band would go anywhere. Now that his videos are being played on Fuse and The Box, it's time for you to go see him in concert tonight and tell him that you'll be his girlfriend again.

Your ex-boyfriend is the lead singer. When you were dating, you thought his voice came across as not much more than a graceless monotone. But now that his band has switched their musical style from rap-rock to a more dancey kind of post-punk (think Franz Ferdinand meets the Killers with a little touch of Erasure, except really gay), his monotone sounds seductive and almost sinister.

All of the teens around you will be making the most of whatever hips they've got as they dance until the sweat pastes their hair to their foreheads. You'll dance right along with them in spite of yourself. You'll have attended his concert to take him back because he's successful now. You won't necessarily be ready to concede that his music is actually good.

You won't have a choice in the matter when your ex-boyfriend spots you in the crowd, doing that horrible dance where you flip your long hair left and right (at a wedding once you caught a guy's cigarette in your hair and you ended up burning a big patch of your hair before your ex-boyfriend swatted the butt from your tangled strands).

He'll signal his band to stop playing and the song will peter out until the only beat left to dance to will be the grumbling from the crowd.

'We have a special guest in the audience tonight,' your ex will say. You'll nearly throw up when he points his finger at you. 'Ladies and gentleman, I'd like you to meet my ex-girlfriend Rhonda.'

The crowd will cheer for you. Those closest to you will pat your shoulders in a friendly way. You'll stand frozen, as if there was a gun aimed at your head.

Someone near the front will bellow, 'What happened between you two?' in the same voice he was using to shout out requested song titles a few minutes earlier.

'What happened was Rhonda broke up with me,' he'll say.

The crowd will erupt in booing and shouts of 'What an asshole!'

'She broke up with me,' he'll say. 'Because she didn't think my band was any good!!!'

The crowd will boo even louder. Some of them shouting, 'Lemme at 'er!' You'll worry for your safety.

'Tell them when I broke up with you!' you'll shout back.

Your ex will be thrown. He'll have assumed, since he is on the stage with the microphone and the throng of adoring fans surrounding him, that he would be controlling the exchange. He'll be nonetheless cocky with his reply, however.

'I'll tell you when she broke up with me. It was right after our first EP came out. Temperamental Breakfast. Can you believe that?'

The crowd will boo you again, but this time with far less ferocity. You'll notice more than a few of them shrug at each other as if to say, 'That EP really didn't bespeak of what would come later. I can't say I would have stuck around if my boyfriend were responsible for that kind of frat rock. I'm behind our singer 100% in this, but I can't say as I don't see her side of things here.'

'That record sucked!' someone will shout at the front. A few 'Yeahs' will follow and your ex will be sufficiently rattled.

He'll luckily be rescued by a representative of his more devout fans. 'But any great artist goes through an initial progression before he finally finds his voice. You can't judge a musician by his first foray into the medium. I mean sure, the EP sucked''

'It wasn't that bad,' your ex will whine. The crowd will erupt with shouts of 'Oh come on!'

'And the following full-length LP may have been even worse,' your ex's defender will continue. 'But anyone who really cared about him should have been able to see the potential he had. She should have been able to see what's in his soul. She should have believed in him.'

'Yeah!' your ex will shout, finally glad to be off the topic of how bad his early albums were.

'No matter how bad his early albums were,' his defender will conclude, much to your ex's dismay. 'She didn't deserve him. And she doesn't deserve to be here now.'

The crowd will rally behind your ex's defender and begin to grab at you and lift you above their heads, presumably to tear you apart limb from limb in the name of their favorite band (Ann Jillian Dollar Baby. That's the name of your ex's band).

'Wait a minute! Wait a minute!' you're ex will shout into the mic. The crowd will stop tugging your arms from your sockets to listen to their master.

'Why are you here Rhonda?' he'll ask.

It will be hard to speak loudly because the crowd will have already managed to knock the wind out of you when they hoisted you above their heads. But you'll manage to shout, 'I came to tell you I'd be willing to take you back.'

The crowd will groan. Your ex will chuckle a bit. 'Now that I'm famous and successful you mean,' he'll say.

Say, 'Yes.'

The crowd will start to pull on your arms and legs again. Shout, 'Wait! Let me explain!' before they manage to dismember you.

They'll loosen their grip and you'll notice that the room will be strangely silent. Even your ex will be waiting for what you have to say.

'It's true,' say. 'I stopped believing in you. But I had already been burned several times by people I'd believed in. I'd been cheated on, stolen from, and humiliated. When I met you I was done with believing in men and hoping that things turn out well. I wanted someone to believe in me.'

The crowd won't react immediately. Then someone at the front will shout at your ex, 'Didn't you believe in her?!' still using that same bellow they use to request song titles.

'Sure I did,' your ex will say. 'I mean, she was paying the rent and everything. And the studio space.'

Someone will shout, 'Jesus!'

'But it's not like it was all for nothing. We got a deal! And we released Temperamental Breakfast! And then she split!'

Someone else from the crowd will shout, 'If I had paid for the studio space that led to the release of Temperamental Breakfast, I would have left you on principal, just to deprive myself of companionship as punishment for subjecting the music-buying public to such a miserable pile of Limp Bizkit date rape rock.' Someone else will shout, 'Seriously dude, that EP sucked ass. You need to buy back all the copies and burn them. It makes me a little embarrassed to be here at your concert right now even. Whenever I listen to you guys, I have to forget that that early stuff is out there or I get a little sick.'

Finally, someone else will shout, 'Just take her back, dude.'

The crowd will still hold you aloft, but gently, the way they would their favorite rock idol. They'll start to chant, 'Take! Her! Back! Take! Her! Back!' until you correct them.

'I broke up with him though. I'm the one who wants to take him back.'

'Oh yeah,' the crowd will say in unison. 'Go! Back! To! Her! Go! Back! To! Her!'

The band will pound at their instruments to provide a beat for the chant. Finally, humbled and broken, your ex will say, 'Fine. If I come back to you, do you promise to always believe in me?'

Say, 'Until you start to suck.'

The crowd will shout, 'Seriously, watch yourself,' and 'If you ever start to sound like your early stuff again we swear to God we'll fucking kill you!'

'Fine! Fine!' he'll shout. 'Let's get back together.'

The crowd will cheer and pass you to the stage on their palms. When you get there, you and your ex will be reunited with a kiss, causing the band to burst into their top-rated hit ('Dance With The Boys, Evelyn Rae') and your ex will hold you in his arms and sing the entire song directly to you. You'll find the song to be just okay, but you'll be happy that the crowd seems to be enjoying it.

Your Ex-Boyfriend's Band Made It Big Day!

Friday, August 25, 2006

The Stupid Hostages Got Released Day!

You met Sandy at the police barricade in front of the bank robbery. She told you she couldn't see, so you stepped aside and let her squeeze in front of you at your place at the barricade.

'Think they'll start throwing out bodies?' she asked you.

'I just hope they don't throw any at me,' you said. She laughed.

As the hours passed with no progress made in the hostage negotiation, the crowd behind you and Sandy grew too large to be contained behind that barricade. It seemed like the whole city was pouring out onto the sidewalk across from that bank, waiting to see if it all ends in a shootout. All of the shoving and pressing forward pinned you up against Sandy's back. You continued talking though, as if there was nothing at all odd about your bodies being pasted together within hours of speaking your first words to each other.

'I don't think this is going to end well,' she said, staring at the bank.

'But we just met,' you said.

Sandy turned around and faced you so that her front was pasted up to your front and she had to lift her face up to yours to keep from talking into your chest.

'I mean the hostages,' she said. 'I don't think they're going to make it.'

'I don't either,' you said, staring down into her blue eyes.

You never spoke again after that. She kept her face turned up to yours and you closed your eyes and leaned down to kiss her. Then the stupid hostages got released. The doors flung open and all these dumb, ugly, smelly hostages came running out with their arms in the air screaming don't shoot. Then the hostage-takers came out with their hands in the air and they got tackled by the police. The crowd went crazy and rushed the barricade. Sandy got torn away from you and within seconds there was a street full of people between the two of you. You never saw her again, and you never made it to her lips.

Now you're watching the news for crowd scenes, hoping to get a look at her again. You're flipping from channel to channel, scanning the faces, wishing that the gunmen had simply opened fire so you and Sandy could have fallen to the street together for cover. Instead, they had to be wussies and set everyone free and drag her away from you. Are all those lives really worth you staying alone for who knows how many more years?

'Stupid hostages,' you'll mutter to the TV, quiet enough to not wake your mother who is sleeping on the couch next to you.

Happy The Stupid Hostages Got Released Day!

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Lightning Strikes Twice Day!

Today you are going to get struck by lightning again and you'll be restored with your sense of taste, which was taken away from you after your first lightning strike.

'This tastes fantastic!' you'll tell your wife after your first bite of her meatloaf tonight.

'I prayed for this day,' she'll say. 'It's been so lonely to cook for a man who interprets your food as nothing but mass and texture.'

'You taste good,' you'll say after kissing her on the mouth.

'I'm so glad you were struck by lighting again and everything is back to normal,' your wife will say.

Just then your eyelashes will suddenly grow three feet long and come alive. They will lift a candlestick and bash you in the head with it until you're dead. Your eyelashes will then be free of your will, though they will still have to drag your rotting corpse around while they unleash their lighting-fueled hell unto the populace. This won't be too difficult for them since your eyelashes will have the strength of a stadium of men. As they drag your dead body towards your wife, grabbing at a steak knife and a rolling pin along the way, she'll cower in the corner waiting to be torn apart and she'll say, 'I take it back. This blows.'

Happy Lightning Strikes Twice Day!

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Your Girlfriend's Car Is For Sale Day!

Her Nissan can be purchased for $2800, according to the price tag scrawled in white across the windshield. You didn't know she was planning to buy a new car. But there it is in the used car lot that you pass every day on your way home. Same license plate. And they didn't even take off the Boston University frame around the plate before parking it with the nose facing the intersection. When you hit a red light you'll call her cell.

'Hey,' you'll say to her voicemail. 'You sold your car? What'd you do win the lottery? Give me a call if you want anything from the store on the way home.'

When you get home, you'll find that she packed up all her things and took off while you were at work. According to her note, she ran away with someone she met in AA. They're taking his car, so she sold hers for the cash. You'll feel like an idiot, not just because you didn't see it coming, but because you left her that message about the car and asking her if she wanted anything from the store. You'll wonder if she played it for him.

'Hey,' you'll say to her voicemail. 'Ignore that last message. I know why your car was for sale now. I got your note. I just want to say that I gave my all for you. I waited for you to get cleaned up and I helped you get your life back on track, and you repaid me by running off with the first loser with a 30-day chip. And I have to find out when I see your car parked at Joey's Used Wrecks? If you could delete that last message and let this one be my goodbye message to you, that'd be great. And don't play that last message for the guy you're with and laugh at me, okay? Just give me that, you fucking lush. Please? You owe me that much.'

She probably won't delete the first message, so you should leave five more rage-filled ones just to cancel that first one out. You could leave one where you hold the phone up to your ass while you take a loud shit on some photos of her that she left behind, though you'd have to narrate that one. You could also leave one where you keep the phone on while you have sex with someone new, or at least while you watch a sexy movie. Alone. Or you could leave one where you beg her to come back and tell her that you'll be whomever she needs you to be. That she can even drink again if she wants to, just as long as she comes back.

Just start dialing.

Happy Your Girlfriend's Car Is For Sale Day!

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Don't Bail Your Son Out Of Jail Day!

You've always gone way too easy on your son in the discipline department and it's turned him into someone who doesn't think his actions will yield any consequences. So when he calls you tonight and tells you that he's been arrested for human trafficking and is being held at the police station, tell him you're not going to bail him out.

'You need to learn a lesson,' say.

Your son will explain that he probably won't be given a shot at bail. He got in trouble for helping to bring young girls over the border from Mexico and transport them to a whorehouse where they would be held captive and forced into prostitution for several years.

"One of the girls died,' he'll say 'It was long after she arrived at the house, but they might try to get me for accessory to murder since I provided the van that brought her there." Then he'll start to cry.

'Don't try to soften me up with those tears,' say. 'It's about time you learned the difference between right and wrong. I'm sorry kiddo, but a night in jail will do you some good. Now you rest up in that cell and think about what you did.'

Your son will say that he's not trying to get you to bail him out. He'll say that he doesn't think he can do the time a murder rap will bring him, and he wants to say goodbye to you.

'Goodbye,' say. Then hang up and go to bed feeling good about being a dad for once. Tomorrow when you go to the jail, you'll find that your son is on suicide watch after trying to take his own life because he was too scared to go to jail for a decade. This will make you upset because he will have clearly not learned what it means to be responsible, so to teach him another lesson you should leave the copies of Maxim that you brought for him out in the car. But tell him that you were planning on bringing them to him. Say, 'You'll get your magazines when I think you're mature enough to deserve to have a magazine to read.' He won't say anything because he'll have bruised his larynx pretty bad the night before.

Happy Don't Bail Your Son Out Of Jail Day!

Monday, August 21, 2006

Make Today's Focus Group All About Your Breakup Day!

Today you're going to take part in a focus group testing consumers' reactions to a new brand of bath soap called SCRUB. You signed up because you need the seventy-five dollars and because none of your friends are willing to listen to you anymore since all you'll talk about is Michelle. But in the focus group, you are required to speak freely and openly about all of your reactions and associations. Give them what they want!

When they ask for your initial reaction to the product name and description, say, 'Sharon used soap. Not this brand, but she used it. Guess she's using it right now to wash away all evidence of me. WHY!'

When you're given a bar of soap to smell, say, 'It smells like Sharon after she just got out of the shower. I mean, she didn't smell like this soap. She smelled like the soap that she used to use. But she'd smell soapy. WHY!'

When you're asked what you don't like about bar soap, say, 'When I used to soap up Sharon, I had trouble hanging onto it as I'd slide the bar down her wet naked body. It was because I wanted my fingers to touch her while the soap lathered her skin, but it was easier just grip the bar of soap and rub it onto her without ever really touching her with my fingertips. I'd have to kind of cup the bar in my palm as I washed her, and it would inevitably slip free into the tub. They should make a bar soap in a shape that is easier to manipulate when you want to wash the skin of a vicious sociopath who doesn't care about who she hurts. WHY!'

And when you're asked whether you would buy SCRUB before you'd buy DIAL, say, 'She's never coming back is she? Oh my God I just realized that she's probably never going to come back to me. AW GOD. WHY!'

You should get out with full pay after only around fifteen minutes, which will give you enough time to make it to the Dark Chocolate Flavored COMBOS focus group. You'll feel it on your way there: The people at the Dark Chocolate Flavored COMBOS focus group are going to help you forget all about her. Run to them.

Happy Make Today's Focus Group All About Your Breakup Day!

Friday, August 18, 2006

Jump Your Motorcycle Over Some Stuff Day!

Today you're going to be riding your new motorcycle around the neighborhood, proving once and for all to everyone who sees you that you like girls. Some kids who are killing a stray cat with a bottle will see you pass and they'll stop what they're doing to ask you, 'Can you jump stuff?'

Laugh like that's a stupid question. 'Of course I can jump stuff. It's a motorcycle duh.'

The kids will hastily assemble a ramp in front of a trashcan and just because they like to, they'll set the trash inside the trashcan on fire.

'Jump that,' they'll say. 'If you don't, you like boys.'

The trashcan won't be all that high. Even though you haven't been riding the motorcycle for very long, jumping that can shouldn't be too difficult for anyone who is used to steering a bike steady and working the clutch. Nonetheless, your bike will tumble from the ramp into the trashcan and your leg will catch fire. You'll run down the street looking for some water to dip your leg in, leaving the bike behind while the kids laugh at you and call you queer.

You'll never go back for the bike. You'll know that what came to pass when you crashed off that ramp can't be undone. From that point on, everyone in the neighborhood will believe that you like boys. And the sudden lightness you'll feel in your heart will make you wonder if you crashed the bike on purpose. Announcing that you're gay simply by crashing a motorcycle into a burning trash can while some unsupervised urchins giggle on the sidewalk is a hell of a lot easier than saying the words out loud.

Happy Jump Your Motorcycle Over Some Stuff Day!

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Earn A Little Money For Drinks Later Day!

You love to go out for drinks with your friends and you can't wait to meet them tonight. The trouble is, you only have four dollars.

You became homeless about two months ago when everything suddenly came crashing down (bad investments, whore addiction, ebay). You've been sleeping in abandoned cars and abandoned buildings and the only reason you don't smell yet is because your gym membership is still active for two more months, so you're still able to shower (you paid for eight months in advance back when you still had a job and a home).

Your friends would help, but you're too proud to let on how far you've fallen. You'd rather just go out and have fun like everything's the same as always. But how will you raise the money for at least two $8 caipirinhas, not to mention the $2 tip per drink? (You and your friends go to the sort of places where no one would split the two bucks change from a ten.)

If you don't eat at all today, you'll still need sixteen more dollars. The only place to get that kind of money is the local drug pusher.

Just go to the street where the drug pusher has his car parked. You'll find him leaning against his passenger side door and he'll be surrounded by women and men who laugh at everything he says in the hopes that he'll keep on selling them drugs instead of beating them on the eyes with the handle of his gun.

Approach him slowly, so he'll know you're friendly, and explain the situation.

'I need some money,' tell the drug pusher. 'Sixteen dollars.'

'I got lots of money,' the drug pusher will say. 'Why should I be giving any of it to you?'

Shrug. 'I could be your helper.'

The drug pusher will think about it. 'I never had a helper before,' he'll say. 'Tell you what. Lemme try you out for a day, have you run some errands. If I'm happy with your work, I'll pay you the sixteen dollars you need.'

'Will it be hard work?' ask the drug dealer.

He'll say, 'Just three errands. Not too hard. Do we have a deal?'

With a big smile, shake the drug pusher's hand and say, 'Deal!' Then get into the drug pusher's car.

For the first errand, the drug pusher will have you go to Crate and Barrel and return an ottoman he's unhappy with. For the second errand, the drug pusher will take you up to his bathroom and have you saw apart the six dead bodies lying in his bathtub. For the third errand, you'll do the drug pusher's laundry.

At the end of the day, the drug pusher will give you the sixteen dollars, as promised.

'Thanks!' you'll say, counting out the money in your hand.

'You're a hard worker,' the drug pusher will say. 'I see a little bit of myself in you.'

You'll blush and the drug dealer will muss your hair.

'I kind of feel like if someone had given me a chance the way I gave you one today, maybe I would have found a different line of work. One where I don't sell poison to my community.'

You'll say, 'It's never too late. Anyway, gotta go meet my friends now. Maybe I'll come back and work for you tomorrow?'

'Yeah, sure,' the drug pusher will say. But he'll sound distant. You won't notice because you'll only hear those caipirinhas calling. At drinks, you'll tell your friends all about your new job, except instead of telling them that you run errands for a drug pusher for sixteen dollars a day, you'll tell them that you're a stock broker. You'll have a grand old time spending all your money, knowing that there's more to be earned tomorrow.

But when you go to where the drug pusher parks his car tomorrow, the spot will be empty. The drug pusher will be gone. He'll be registering for continuing ed classes someplace, and you'll find yourself once again penniless with nothing to do but beg. All because you had to set your stupid example of being a good worker and convince the drug dealer to turn it all around for himself. How are you gonna eat tonight then, Mr. Hard Work? How are you gonna keep from getting killed in a vacant lot tonight, Mr. Do A Good Job?


Happy Earn A Little Money For Drinks Later Day!

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Last Splash Day!

Today, while you are luxuriating in your beautiful clawfoot bathtub, an assassin will step casually into the bathroom and stand over you. He'll be wearing a black hip-length leather jacket and black slacks. He'll have greasy black hair, like Alec Baldwin.

'I know why you're here,' say to him. 'I've been waiting for you.'

'In the tub?' the assassin will ask. 'You sure you know why I'm here?'

'The tub is my favorite place,' tell him. 'When I realized that I had no way out of my situation and that I would soon be come for, I calculated how long it would be before I was staring down the barrel of my killer's gun. When the time came, I got into the tub and waited.'

'Were your calculations correct?' the killer will ask.

'What time is it?' ask him.

The killer will look at his watch and tell you it's 4 PM.

'I was off by two days,' tell him. 'I'm really starting to pickle.'

Show the killer your wrinkled palms. He'll laugh and so will you.

'I guess if I could choose where I'd buy my ticket, the tub would be pretty high up on my list,' your assassin will say. 'It's just so nice to lay back and let everything float away with the bubbles.'

You and the killer will both look down at the small island of bubbles resting on the water just above your groin, effectively shielding your privates from his eyes.

'Also,' you'll add, 'No blood to clean up.'

Your killer will shake his head. 'Actually, you'd be surprised how much back spray can spurt out of a bullet hole. Sometimes it's clean, sure. But a lot of the time it's like I just stabbed a shaken up soda can. You'll probably get some on the wall there by your head.'

You'll look at the wall and remember what a nice day you had with your wife when you painted it.

Your assassin will say, 'Anyway, I hate to rush this but I gotta get going.'

'Right, right,' you'll say. Splash a little bit of the warm water on your face and shoulders. Then say to the killer, 'Sorry to hold you up. Go to it.'

The killer will shoot you twice in the chest and just like he said, a messy burst of red will spray out along the wall by the tub. You'll die instantly and your body will slide down into the water. The reason you have to die in the first place is because you know way too much about this bullshit story that's being force-fed to the American people by the 9-11 commission.

Happy Last Splash Day!

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Get Your Temp To Fall Out Of Love With You Day!

Brian is the first temp they've ever sent you who knows how to fix your Excel spreadsheets so that they don't print all of those blank pages at the end. He was working out perfectly. Then he fell madly in love with you and his work went straight down the shitter. You don't want to get rid of him, but you can't deal with a temp making goo-goo eyes at you all day. So you're going to have to do some horrible stuff to make him fall out of love with you and get back to work.

Remember what they taught you in business school. Getting a temp to fall out of love with you is easy as pie if you follow eight simple steps:

1. Pretend to be kind of gummy. Rub a watery, odorless lotion on your palms and make sure to touch Brian a lot, smearing the lotion on his skin and clothes. He'll assume it came from your sweaty palms, but it won't dry up so he'll think that you excrete something from your pours that's like sweat, but is kind of weird. Something kind of gummy. He won't be sure.

2. Pretend to be racist. When you pass Brian's desk today and he jumps from his chair to tell you that he showed up early to shine your staplers, say to him, 'Man, am I ever racist!' Then say some really terrible things about people of different ethnicities than yours.

3. Pretend to be callous. Show Brian a picture of a starving child. He'll ask if that's a child that you're sponsoring. Tell him that you actually arranged it so that you would sponsor two other children, on the condition that the child in the photo is deprived of food. 'They don't have enough food for everybody and they know it,' tell him. 'I just wanted to be the one to choose which child doesn't eat. If I have to feed two other kids to gain that privilege, so be it. I can afford to skip the two cups of coffee a day.'

4. Pretend to be addicted to cocaine. When you pass Brian's desk today and he jumps from his chair to tell you that he stayed late yesterday to top off your white-out bottles, say to him, 'Man, am I ever addicted to cocaine!' Then say some really nice things about cocaine. Then slam his head into his desk while accusing him of holding out on you

5. Pretend to be way into Christ. Unless he's way into Christ too. If he is, skip to number 6. But if he's not, it's just the bestest religion to pretend to be crazy about if you want to make someone fall out of love with you. Most dudes will take a racist over a Jesus-freak any day of the week.

6. Pretend to be his real mom. Tell him you put him up for adoption and you've been tracking him down for years. When you found out who his temp agency was, you requested him specifically just so you could spend your days with him. After a storm of emotion sends him home to accuse his mother of keeping the truth from him all these years and she tells him his supervisor is just pulling his chain, he'll come back and ask what the fuck. Explain to him that you're not his mother, but you wanted to get that idea in his head so he wouldn't think about you in a naked way anymore and he could get back to work. NOTE: It's not guaranteed he won't ask his temp agency to reassign him to a different company after this.

7. Pretend to unattractive. I know this sounds impossible for you, you sizzling piece of sex-poo. But it's important. Grow hair all over your face and neck.

8. Pretend to love him back. He just wants to chase what he can never catch. It's The Way Of The Temp.

If none of the above works, you're going to have to dive headfirst into a relationship with the boy. Even if it clicks with you two, love fades. Eventually, he'll be bored with you and he'll be ready to get back to work.

Happy Get Your Temp To Fall Out Of Love With You Day!

Monday, August 14, 2006

Your Son's Gonna Get His Heart Broken Day!

Today your nine-year-old son and his little nine-year-old girlfriend are going to be riding their bikes around the neighborhood and having a sweet little time. His girlfriend will say, 'Race you to the end of the block. If you win, I'm still your girlfriend. If I win, you're not my boyfriend anymore.' Then she'll take off before your son has the chance to renegotiate the terms of the race. He'll chase after her, but she'll win, ultimately. When he catches his breath, she'll say, 'I win. That means you're not my boyfriend anymore. We're broken up now.' Then she'll ride off a single girl.

Your son will come home and tell you all about how he lost the race and how he just wishes he were a little faster because he would have still had his girlfriend if he was.

'She probably wanted out,' tell him. 'It's like when me and your mother split up. She told me to tell her whether I'd ever been with anybody else and she told me to be honest. Thing is, she had proof that I had something on the side. She had my cell phone bill with all these calls. And she knew I'd lie about it. She just wanted to create this situation so she could get out.'

'But didn't she leave because you were seeing someone else?' your son will ask.

Just walk away from him. He obviously doesn't want to be comforted.

Happy Your Son's Gonna Get His Heart Broken Day!

Friday, August 11, 2006

They Used To Call You 'Captain Kegstand' Day!

At 10:30 PM tonight, in a terrible motel room off of Route 40, two naked women will hold stock still on a bed, a double-ended dildo connecting them at the genitals. The women, like the fourteen men surrounding them crowded together in the twelve by eighteen foot room, will stare with their mouths gaping open at a forty-seven year old father of two whose shirt will be pulled up above his nipples and whose eyes won't be open and whose neck will look to be bent at an impossible angle. You're him, the one they'll be staring at. A moment before you'll have shouted 'Let me show you why they used to call me Captain Kegstand!' But only a few people will have heard you over the sound of The Eagles blasting from a cheap boombox. After moving the keg closer to the wall, with both hands gripping the handles on the rim, you'll throw yourself from your feet to flip up through the air and slam your entire 207 pounds upside down and backwards against the wall. A few cheers will erupt from those who are watching, and Martin, the only one in the room who went to high school with you, will grapple with the tap to get it into your mouth before you tumble.

He won't make it. Your flip up to the wall will look almost graceful, like you were seventeen all over again, but the tumble back down will happen so fast it will look like you just got shot. No one will move. The only sound will be that of The Eagles, continuing to blast from the boombox. Finally your nephew, whose bachelor party it is, will run to you on the floor and he'll listen to your chest and then he'll shake you, causing your head to jostle about freely at the top of your rubbery neck. One of the naked girls will detach herself from the dildo so that she can pull her legs up to her chest and cry in shock when she sees how loose your head is on its neck.

Martin will shut the boombox off. Before anyone can shout for an ambulance or run or assign blame, before you've officially been declared dead, and long before your open-casket funeral, he'll make sure that everyone present bestows upon you the honor you deserve.

'Raise your glasses,' Martin will shout. Everyone in the room will hesitantly lift their plastic cups half-full of Miller Light.

'They called him Captain Kegstand,' Martin will say. 'He died in the line of duty.'

Everyone will exchange a glance, and then they'll follow Martin's lead and down the contents of their cups. Some beer will spill on the carpet underneath you, which will already be damp since the motel will have been flooded just the week before.

Happy They Used To Call You 'Captain Kegstand' Day!

Thursday, August 10, 2006

There Is No 'I Won't Fuck My Boss' In TEAM Day!

Productivity is way down, and your refusal to have sex with your boss is way up. Coincidence?

Your coworkers don't think so. Ever since you got hired they've been having trouble getting through to him because he's too busy thinking about how great it would be to be inside you. They'll be trying to get his approval on a particular proposal or sorting out a break in team vision that threatens to stall an entire initiative, and when they pause and allow him to weigh in, hopefully with the kind of leadership that can put everybody back on track, all he'll offer is something like, 'Did you see the waistband of her panties poking up from her slacks today? Wow!' Or in his more despondent moments, 'Dear God what will it take to prove to this woman that I am her boss and she should do as I say?!'

Frankly, your coworkers can't believe how selfish you're being. It's like you believe that you are more important than the stability of the office, a stability that can be brought about with five frantic minutes in the supplies closet. They're going to approach you today with their concerns. Listen to them, for they are only interested in making this company the greatest child safety car seat manufacturer in the land. They'll make the case plain and clear: If their leader is distracted, faulty assemblage will go unchecked and babies will be thrown from their car seats and die. All because you think you're too special to give the man just a little bit of your affection. 'There is no 'I won't fuck my boss' in TEAM' they'll tell you. But there could be some 'I didn't realize my stuck-up attitude would kill your child' in 'Oh dear God how can I ever live with myself for the pain I've caused to millions of grieving parents?'

You make the choice. Are you a team player? Or a baby killer? Think about it.

Happy There Is No 'I Won't Fuck My Boss' In TEAM Day!

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Everyone's Pretty Sure You're The Reason All The Kids Are Going Missing Around Here Day!

It's because you never married. When kids start going missing in a town, everyone goes hunting for the dude who was too boring/smelly to ever get married. They assume that any man who doesn't have a wife is probably so sick of TV dinners that eventually he's just gonna start eating kids. It's a dumb way to think, sure, but it's the way it is. Anyway, everyone in town is on their way to your house. You better come up with something fast.

'What can I do you all for?' ask them when they arrive at your front step.

One of them will shout back, 'Give us back our kids, or whatever parts of our kids that you haven't eaten.' Everyone else will shout, 'Yeah!'

Say, 'I haven't eaten any of your kids. I'm sorry if you lost track of them, but it doesn't have anything to do with me.'

Someone will shout, 'Of course he's eaten them. He looks bloated!'

Someone else will shout, 'Yeah, he looks really fat with my Stanley.'

Someone else will shout, 'And my Colin! He looks huge, like my Colin!'

Then everyone else will shout their kids' names, asserting that the child must be in your stomach because you're so obese.

You have let yourself go recently and it hurts to hear people point it out, but now's not the time for hurt feelings. You gotta get out of this before they carve open your stomach to try and get their kids' Nikes back.

'I suppose I have put on a little weight,' tell them. 'Must be all that wedding cake!'

Everyone will murmur the words 'wedding cake' the way crowds do when they're slightly surprised by something they've just heard. That's when you should bring out the hooker.

'Fellow neighbors, I'd like you all to meet my new bride.' The hooker that you hired will step out on the porch, just like you instructed, and she'll wrap her arms around you and kiss you on the lips.

'You're married?!' someone will ask.

'I know it's all of a sudden,' say to them, 'but the fever kind of took hold of us over the weekend and today we headed down to city hall and took care of the job.'

Kiss the hooker, then smile out at the crowd. They'll start to lower their sticks and hand grenades to their sides. Someone will shout, 'He still could have eaten our kids before he got married!' but no one will go for it. Everyone knows that the unmarried are not, by definition, kiddie-eaters. It's the people who have never married and never will marry for whatever unspeakable reason that are perceived to be capable of eating all the children in a town. With the deception created by you and the hooker that you paid double to rush right over, you'll have sent the town away to follow their secondary suspicions.

'Come on!' someone will shout. 'Let's go to that new tanning salon and start asking some questions.'

After the population of your town goes away, you and the hooker will go back in the house and negotiate her fee for living with you indefinitely, until the children either return to the town or are found to have been eaten by some other loner freak. The hooker will of course be much more beautiful and intelligent than most hookers and by the time the mystery of the missing children is solved, you and she really will have fallen in love. You and she will marry and have a child who will one day be eaten by a 46-year old man who lives in a basement apartment by himself and who has a mustache.

Happy Everyone's Pretty Sure You're The Reason All The Kids Are Going Missing Around Here Day!

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

You Kill Pigs Day!

It's not everyone who gets paid to do what they love, and you love your job at the slaughterhouse. Unfortunately, it's sentenced you to a rather lonely life because you really don't have any other interests outside of murdering pigs. So when you meet a woman you like, it isn't long before the conversation spooks her.

Sample conversation with a woman you might meet at a tavern or a flea market:

You: I just bought a new Captive Bolt Pistol. Wanna see it?

Woman: What's a Captive Bolt Pistol.

You: I use it to stun the pigs in preparation for slaughter. It basically fires a rod into the skull of the pig, destroying the cerebrum and some of the cerebellum. The concussion causes the pig to lose consciousness. No pain.

Woman: No. I don't want to see your Captive Bolt Pistol.

(Woman walks away quickly)

You: (under your breath) Lesbo.

End of sample conversation with a woman you might meet at a tavern or a flea market.

You've only made love to one woman in the past five years. She cared for you. You courted her and she responded to your gestures and listened attentively to your bloody accounts of what happened at the office that day. You and she spent four glorious months together before she went back to prison (she violated her parole when she was picked up trying to buy some cocaine from an undercover cop at a bluegrass concert). You were willing to wait until she got out again, but her sentence was extended when she got caught setting fire to her cellmate back in 2002.

You wish you could just talk to the pigs. They'd understand you better than any of the women in your town. But you just can't demand that they listen to your problems right before you slice them apart. 'This is their day,' you like to say of the pigs corralled for a day's slaughter.

Tonight, the loneliness is going to be too overwhelming and you're going to force yourself to head out to some bars and try and meet someone new. You've even got a new opening line. It's, 'Someone call the police because you're making my heart beat so fast it needs to be pulled over for speeding. I slaughter pigs for money.'

Happy You Kill Pigs Day!

Monday, August 07, 2006

Be The Trapeze Artist That Just Can't Say No Day!

Today you are a beautiful trapeze artist who has spent her life in the circus, living, loving, and flying around on ropes. The thing you fear most is a day off, so you jump from circus troupe to circus troupe every time one closes up shop for a season. Trouble is, any time you're about to leave one circus troupe for another, someone proposes and you can't help but say yes and consent to being married by the lion tamer (recognized in some states as a legal officiator). As of your latest wedding five days ago, you now have eight husbands in eight different circus troupes, all of them traveling from state to state in their own little freakish world, waiting for the season when you'll return.

It's the closed-off nature of the traveling circus society that makes you feel like this is not all that strange. Jumping troupes is like switching worlds. You can start over with a new troupe, forgetting all about who you might have wronged or longed for on the last tour. It's understood that people aren't going to ask too many questions, since folks in a traveling circus usually don't have too many nice memories from their lives before they joined. With all this being in play, it's been very easy for you to have several husbands all over the place. And you love each one of them equally (though the sword-swallower in the Eastern Asia troupe was becoming something of a bore by the time you hopped back to the States).

But tonight it's all going to come crashing down. Literally. Because tonight you're playing Minneapolis and your husband from the Canadian troupe (elephant wrangler) is going to be in the stands, checking out the operation in case he wants to join up in order to be closer to you. He won't have told you about his visit because he knows that you'd only be made nervous. But you'll catch sight of him when you're flying around on your trapeze. It will have been right after you smacked high-fives with a stilt-walker, and the MC will have announced to the crowd that you and the stilt-walker are five-day newlyweds. You'll see the heartbreak in your elephant wrangler's eyes and it will of course make you miss your grab, fall to the floor and die. The booking company will send out eight letters to eight different troupes, as per your next-of-kin instructions. You'll always be remembered in the circus world as a cautionary tale of what can happen when you walk into big-top tent with wide open heart.

Happy Be The Trapeze Artist That Just Can't Say No Day!

Friday, August 04, 2006

Glory Hole Day!

Today you're going to stick your dick in a glory hole but nothing will happen. You'll pull your dick back out and put your ear to the hole. The guy on the other end of the hole will be crying. Ask him what's wrong.

'Nothing,' he'll say. 'Just...Is this all there is?'

You'll know exactly what he means and you'll say so. All these nights spent hunting down the next sexual liaison, each more anonymous than the next. To the point where here the two of you are, choosing to forego the face and the torso and the arms and the legs, so that only what is necessary to the sex act is brought into play. A member and a mouth.

'And you know, I sometimes find myself complaining that I can't meet the right guy,' you'll say.

'What's wrong with us are we crazy?' the guy on the other end of the hole will ask, giggling.

'Seriously, what are we doing? This is nuts!' you'll shout from your side of the hole.

'It's like, afraid of intimacy much?' the guy on the other end of the hole will giggle even more.

'Yeah it's like, gee, maybe I know why I feel so alone all the time,' you'll laugh.

The two of you will laugh and laugh until the men waiting in line behind you to use the hole tell you both to go get a room someplace. You'll invite the guy on the other end of the hole to have a drink with you. He'll tell you he'd like that.

When you both see each other at the bar, neither of you will think the other is very attractive initially, but you'll fall in love and stay together forever. When people ask you two what brought you together, you'll tell them that you fell in love when you laughed together on either end of a dark and empty hole.

Happy Glory Hole Day!

Thursday, August 03, 2006

You're Too Handsome To Remain Sheltered Day!

Even though you're one of the most attractive men anyone's ever seen ever, you've had a really rough year and you're presently penniless. Your old high school friend Marcus was nice enough to let you crash at his place until you get on your feet. Unfortunately though, Marcus has a girlfriend that he really loves and today after Marcus goes to work she's going to sneak onto your couch with you and try to have sex with you.

'No!' you'll say in a way that makes you even more adorable.

'Come on!' Marcus' girlfriend will shout as she pins both of your arms behind your head with one of her hands, using the other to pull your shorts down. Marcus' girlfriend is really strong and dexterous.

'Marcus is my good friend,' you'll say. 'He's been so nice. I couldn't do this to him. Please let me go I think I'm bruising.'

She will be just millimeters away from a kiss when she whispers into your mouth, 'Well I have to have you. So I guess I'll have to wait until you and Marcus aren't friends anymore.'

That won't sound too good, but you won't have time to think about it for too long because when she lets you go you'll run into the kitchen to ice up your wrists. This afternoon she'll steal Marcus' high school class ring from his jewelry case and take it to a nearby pawn shop, where she'll get thirty bucks for it. She'll stuff the thirty bucks under your mattress, and when Marcus comes home she'll tell him that she saw you in his room and then happened past a pawn shop and saw his ring in the window. Marcus will go and check the pawn shop before he comes back and confronts you.

'How'd the ring get there, buddy?' he'll say. 'And how'd that cash end up under your bed? You haven't had a dime to your name for the last two weeks. I can't believe you could steal the Golden Elk for a lousy thirty bucks.' The Golden Elk was the unofficial nickname for your high school's class rings since they all were designed with a large elk carved into the gold, the elk being your high school's mascot. The elk served to make the rings rather hideous and they tended to dominate the design.

You won't have it in you to tell Marcus that his girlfriend made a pass at you, and that she most likely framed you to destroy your friendship and ultimately sleep with you. So you'll just apologize and gather your things in a trash bag and go.

You're going to be living on the streets for a little while until your luck picks up. But the good news is you'll get to have sex with Marcus' girlfriend a lot (albeit only in public restrooms) since you and Marcus won't be friends anymore. On a scale of one to ten, you'll rate the sex with Marcus' girlfriend a five because you're a romantic and you never rate sex without love any higher than a five.

Happy You're Too Handsome To Remain Sheltered Day!

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

You're Afraid To Get Out Of Bed Day!

One morning about six weeks ago, you decided not to get out of bed. You stayed in bed all day long, and it felt so much better than going out and speaking to people that you did the same thing the next day too. Since then, you've left the bed only when you absolutely had to, like when you had to go to the bathroom or to the pharmacy. It's nice under the sheets. There's no one under there who'll look at you in a way that says they know what a joke of a life you lead, like that shop clerk did six weeks and one day ago.

Today you'll be compelled to get out of bed when you hear someone pounding on your bedroom wall and shouting 'Please! Please! Someone help before she comes back.'

You won't want to help, because that would mean getting out of bed, so you'll just knock on the wall a couple of times to let the guy know he's not alone.

That'll just end up setting him off. 'Oh God, hello?! Is someone there?! Please, call the police!'

You'll do as he says, thinking you'll be getting off easy. But after the police show up and set the man free, they'll come to your apartment to interview you about what you heard. They'll write things in their notebooks and you'll assume that they're writing 'Ugly Loser' with arrows pointing to a stick figure drawing of you.

'Thanks for your help ma'am,' one of the policemen will say. 'You really made our job much easier.'

When you go back to bed you'll imagine them laughing about how ugly they thought you were and how glad they are that they aren't you. You'll feel validated in your decision to stay in bed all these weeks.

Late tonight, there will be another knock on your door. You'll summon all the strength you have to get out of bed and endure the repulsed reaction of yet another stranger. When you open up, you'll see a very attractive man. 'Thank you for saving me,' he'll say.

You'll be curious enough about what he went through that you'll invite him in. The man will explain that he likes to get naked and let people lock him up in a cage like a stray dog. But he never expected when he answered the Craigs List ad of the married couple next door that they'd keep him locked up for days on end.

'I missed work,' he'll tell you. 'I think they intended to keep me in there until I died. They're Dangerous Tops.'

He'll tell you how lucky he was that you were in bed when he pulled his cage to the wall and started knocking. Then he'll notice your pajamas. 'You're still in bed,' he'll say. 'Are you sick?'

Say, 'Are you sick? You like to get locked up in cages.'

He'll say, 'It's just what I'm into.'

Say, 'Well, staying in bed all day is what I'm into. And you can stop looking at me like you think I'm gross.'

He'll say, 'Actually, I think you have nice eyes.'

You'll spend the rest of the night relating to each other about how nice it is to feel cordoned off from the rest of the world.

'Under my sheets, I can really be me,' tell him.

'In my cage, I am free,' he'll reply.

The next evening he'll arrive with a Man With A Van who will help him bring his cage upstairs. The cage will be placed right by your bed and you'll lock him in it before curling up underneath your sheets again. He'll spend the night whimpering like a dog while you fart silently. When you fall asleep for twelve minutes late in the night, it will be the best sleep you'll have had in weeks.

Happy You're Afraid To Get Out Of Bed Day!

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Big Tipper Day!

This morning you'll be served by a new waitress (Laura will have demanded that she switch stations to avoid you). When, Carol, the new waitress comes back to your table after picking up your bill and she asks you where's the tip, you'll say to her, 'Here's a tip. Don't stand under a tree in a lightnin' storm. Good luck to ya, toots.' Then as you leave the diner, Carol will give you the finger to your back.

Later today Carol and her fiance will get caught in a thunderstorm while picnicking on her lunch break in a local park. They will seek refuge under a large maple tree and they'll watch as lightning strikes the landscape all around them. Her fiance will marvel at the storm as if it were a fireworks display. But Carol will remember your tip, and she'll suddenly wonder if maybe you are a tad more generous with the help than she originally thought.

'We gotta get out from under this tree,' she'll tell her fiance.

'What!' her fiance will exclaim. 'Are you crazy?'

The waitress will tell him it's not safe. 'We gotta get out of here,' she'll say. 'We're in danger.'

The fiance will look up at the tree above him. 'That old wive's tale? You're kidding me. I'm not going back out in that rain!' he'll yell.

Carol won't be able to wait any longer. She'll step out from under the cover of the trees and demand that her fiance follow her. 'If you don't step out from under that tree, I swear to you I will not marry you. Now take my hand and lets run underneath that footbridge there.'

The fiance will see how serious she is, and he'll finally run to her and take her outstretched hand. They won't run ten paces before they hear a loud crack behind them. When they turn to look, they'll see the maple tree has exploded into flames from the lightning, and they'll watch it crash to the ground that they were standing on.

Tonight, when you return to the diner for dinner (you're a lonely old man who can see the point in the future where people's lives could be irreparably destroyed and you rarely speak to anyone but waitresses and retail sales staff members) the waitress and her fiance will come to your table and recount their exciting tale. Carol will thank you for the tip you gave her. 'Had that not been in my head, we might have stayed under that tree. We'd be dead by now if it wasn't for you.'

You'll nod. Carol will elbow her fiance and he'll say, 'Yeah thanks. Look, I gotta go meet Brian.' Carol will kiss her fiance goodbye, then she'll take your order.

At the end of your dinner, when Carol brings you your check, she'll wait by your table while you count out your money. You'll look up and she'll have anticipation in her eyes.

'I'm sorry,' she'll say. 'Just...Any tip for me today?'

You'll stand up and pull your coat on, then you'll say, 'Always make sure that when your fiance puts on a condom, he doesn't forget to pinch the nub. Good luck to ya' toots.'

You'll walk to the door and Carol will shout at your back, 'But I'm on the pill!'

She won't mention your tip to her fiance tonight, but it would have been too late anyway because when he said he was going to see his friend Brian, he was actually going to visit Brenda, the ex-girlfriend he's been cheating on Carol with. The condom will break and Brenda will get pregnant. Brenda will have the baby, but she'll run off afterwards and Carol's husband will ask Carol to raise Brenda's son as her own. The waitress will agree, and every time that boy gives her a hard time, she'll look in his eyes and remember what a really great tipper you were.

Happy Big Tipper Day!