Friday, August 31, 2007

The Ex-Girlfriend Across The Street Day!

You left your ex a few weeks ago and promptly moved in with the girl you were cheating on her with and you’ve never been happier. It was really just such a great decision. Except that your ex-girlfriend doesn’t want to let go.

“It’s just really creepy,” your new girlfriend and former secret lover Stacey says. “Why does she have to wear a nightgown and no shoes?”

“That’s what she used to wear to bed when we were together. I guess she thinks it’s bedtime. Come away from the window and go to sleep.”

“It’s starting to rain,” Stacey says. Indeed it is. But you know that won’t send your ex away. She’s been coming to the sidewalk across the street from your building every night at 11 PM. And every night she stands there until sunrise, staring at your window. And occasionally screaming wordlessly.

Stacey comes away from the window. “I’m starting to think you like having her there. That you like knowing she can’t move on.”

“Hey I left her for you. You have no right to be jealous. I’m with you now.”

“And if you ever get bored with me you can just go right across the street into her waiting arms.”

Just then you hear your ex scream. It’s a longer one.

“Can’t you just tell her to go home?” Stacey asks.

“It would be easier if I got someone who lives in the building across the street to break up with her boyfriend so that her boyfriend would hold vigil on this side of the street and he and my ex could spend the nights staring into each other’s eyes and eventually they’d realize they have a lot in common, namely the tendency to stand on a sidewalk in their nightclothes for days at a time when they’ve been wronged, and they’d both just go off together and get some rest.”

You and Stacey look at each other. You both know it’s just crazy enough to work! But you’re going to have to get into that building across the street before you can convince one of the tenants that she should break up with her boyfriend, so you’d better start learning to pick door locks.

Happy The Ex-Girlfriend Across The Street Day!

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Best Cocaine In Maine Day!

You’ve become known throughout Maine as the supplier of the best cocaine in the whole State. You deal to everyone from the lobster trappers to the bed and breakfast operators to the school kids. It’s safe to say that if you were to die, there wouldn’t be parties in Maine for quite a long time.

“I want to be known for something else,” you think. “I want to run and win a marathon.”

So you enter a marathon in support of some cause or other and you train for months and then when the big day comes, you run your heart out. And when you hit your last five miles, you make sure to do a bump of your own cocaine, which sends you speeding to the head of the pack it's so good. It looks like you’re going to win, but that bump might have been a little too heaping, as you start having major chest pains in your last mile and you end up coming in fourth. You’ll later learn you had a minor heart attack.

“Looks like I was asking for too much,” you think while in your hospital bed. “I got greedy. I wanted all the glory in the state of Maine, so I tried to be known for dealing the best coke as well as winning the big race. I should be happy to be known for anything at all, and goddammit if I die with no more glory than being the supplier of top-notch blow for an entire state, sounds like I can die pretty proud.”

Just then there’s a knock on your hospital room door. When it opens, everyone in Maine is waiting to come in. From the Mayor of Maine on down to the guy who washes dishes at Maine Tavern and Lobsters. They all came to see you and wish you well and buy some coke. Tell them to split up into two lines, one for people who have money, and the other for people who want to know whether they can pay in ass.

“It feels good to be known in your hometown,” you tell them. They all cheer and shout, then a fight breaks out when someone tries to butt into one of the lines. There’s a stabbing.

Happy Best Cocaine In Maine Day!

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

You Give People Boners Marsha Day!

Today your boss is going to fire you, Marsha, because you give people boners.

“I’ve got one right now,” he’ll say.

“Ew,” tell him.

“Your fault.”

Ask him if he’s aware of just how fast you’re going to sue him for inappropriate conduct and unjustified dismissal.

“Give it a shot,” he’ll say. “And when the judge takes one look at you and gets a boner I’m sure he’ll see my side. Man, mine’s dripping now.”

“Some judges are women,” tell him.

“You give women boners too. Give a listen.” He’ll push the intercom for his secretary.

“Yes sir?” his secretary will ask.

“Got a boner?”

“I’m sitting on a towel.”

He’ll take his hand off the intercom button.

“Well how am I supposed to make a living?”

“You could probably be used in the war. Go look into that, Marsha. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to get going so we can all finally get up from our desks again.”

Get the hell out of there, Marsha, and go down to the Man’s office to see about a space for you in the war effort.

Happy You Give People Boners Marsha Day!

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

This Time, It Really Kinda Will Be Adam & Steve…Sort Of… Day!

After your last breakup, you decided to move into an underwater bio bubble and live under the observation of some scientists while being constantly filmed by MTV. The scientists are watching to see what sort of society you and your roommates will create when thrown into a microcosm of the world above. MTV is watching to see three of you get drunk and have sex in a hot tub.

The two worlds will collide when all seven of you start to argue over who gets to be among the three people who have sex in the hot tub. After several months of living in your underwater realm, you’ve all become consumed with the need to procreate and protect the species. An essential element to the experiment is that you have no contact with anyone on the surface world, including the scientists and production staff from MTV. Thus, not only do you have no clue as to whether the world above has been wiped out by nuclear holocaust and/or environmental catastrophe, you’ve all accepted that it has with absolute certainty.

“I know they said we’d never hear from them,” Steve the danceclub DJ tells the rest of you during the weekly chore meeting. “But do you really think they’d actually go so far as to never once make contact? They’re all dead. We’re it! We have to make sure the human race lives on!”

“This is just the bubble fucking with you,” Nancy the environmental activist replies. “Hold on to your senses.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” says Denise the girl with HIV. She leaves the room and when you all smell smoke, you realize she’s lit your house on fire to see if anyone comes to help put it out. You all rush to extinguish the fire and when Denise tries to stop you, you club her to death.

“Murderers!” shouts Andy, the video artist who was in love with Denise. Andy comes running at the rest of you with a lamp. He manages to kill Doris, the singer/songwriter from Niger. The rest of you swarm Andy and crush his skull under a West Elm sofa.

Now that both Denise and Doris have been killed, you, Nancy, and Leona the Vegan are the only women left, and you really want to be the one who gets to have three-way sex in the hot tub, thereby becoming mother of the species. So tonight when Leona and Nancy are asleep you’re going to stab them in their chests and necks. Tomorrow you will enter the hot tub with Steve the danceclub DJ and Adam, the med school student who will certainly up the ratings when he climbs into the tub with you and Steve and promptly comes out of the closet. Steve will still be willing to make it happen with you, though it is pretty cool that this time around the origin of humanity will actually be able to reference both Adam and Steve as being present and you all acknowledge that for the cameras while surrendering to hot, wet, bicurious species propagation.

Happy This Time, It Really Kinda Will Be Adam & Steve…Sort Of… Day!

Monday, August 27, 2007

You’re An Alcoholic And You Just Got A Brilliant Idea Day!

You’ll be sitting around your apartment not drinking when it will hit you.

“I should drink now!” you’ll think. You’ll immediately sprint outside and find alcohol.

“It worked! It worked!” you’ll shout after you ingest the alcohol and stop feeling sad and scared.

You’ll drink throughout the rest of the day, just to see what happens. Occasionally, you’ll start to take notes on a bar napkin, but it will always devolve into doodles of the “Star Wars” logo or Yoda.

At the end of the day, you’ll conclude that the presence of alcohol in your system created an overall effect of everything not being awful, excluding the occasional twenty minute period of directionless fury. In the end, you’ll decide that drinking was a brilliant idea and that you are a genius. To celebrate, you’ll leave your daytime bar and head over to your nighttime bar for a drink or two.

On your way to the nighttime bar, you’ll think to yourself, “I’m like Stephen Hawking with legs that work!” Then you’ll stumble on an uneven sidewalk and fall down, which will be so funny that you’ll wish you weren’t alone. You'll wish there was someone you could laugh with.

Happy You’re An Alcoholic And You Just Got A Brilliant Idea Day!

Friday, August 24, 2007

Sell State Secrets To Hostile Foreign Governments Day!

You’re out of light bulbs, stamps, and toner cartridges. Where’s all the money gonna come from to get back up to speed?!

“That is it!” you think. “I need a new job and fast!”

You should start selling state secrets to hostile foreign governments. All you need to do is get your hands on some state secrets (make love to a head of state and then write down everything he says in his sleep) then you need to advertise to hostile foreign governments (don’t use Craig’s List or you’ll get caught by the CIA. Just go to the Capitol buildings of hostile countries and stand outside with a sandwich board telling everyone with eyes what you’ve got in your jacket lining).

For a good state secret (launch codes, where the frozen aliens are hidden) you can make anywhere from a trillion to a googol dollars. For a bad state secret (abort codes, who to bribe in the parking space lottery drawing) you can make 20 to 40 billion dollars. For state secrets that everyone already knows (where America is, what America is) you’ll really be selling that stuff just for the frame it comes in. You can still make a couple of million though. Just make sure you don’t get caught or you’ll get hanged. But no one said taking some initiative to improve your financial well-being wasn’t risky!

Happy Sell State Secrets To Hostile Foreign Governments Day!

Thursday, August 23, 2007

You Live In A Windmill Day!

Your lease is up next month on your windmill apartment, and you have to tell your landlord today whether you want to sign on for another year at a 4% rent increase. You just can’t decide whether or not you’re ready to settle down into a real relationship with one of the many women who come back to your windmill for a one-night fling and never return.

It’s not hard to get a woman to go home with you. You could do it every night if you had the stamina and the drinks money. “You live in a windmill?” they ask incredulously. You’ve heard it as a question so many times it’s hard not to ask, “I live in a windmill?” in response. Then they inevitably accept your offer to come see it. They know they’re getting married before they turn thirty (to someone else) and they want to have the story of the time they did it in the windmill under their belts.

But the next day, when you suggest a second date, the question from last night suddenly becomes the most obvious and self-explanatory statement they’ve ever made. “You live in a windmill.” Then they make a “don’t you get it, I could never move my things in here, what with all the whirring” face and call a car service. And you go out that night and find someone new.

So it’s lease time. How old are you now and how lonely does it get up in that big wooden fan? Ready to open up the possibility that someone might want to remember your address? Or is another year of hastily forgotten sex on the menu? You have to mail that letter of intent back today you know.

Happy You Live In A Windmill Day!

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

A Eulogy Which Demands That Mourners Line Up To Feel Your Muscle Day!

So your Dad died and today’s the funeral. You being the only son, everyone’s excited to hear your eulogy. They’ve all been talking all week about it, speculating as to what you might say. Some people think you’re going to talk about how your Dad taught you that hard work is what makes a man. Others are hoping you’ll throw a curveball and tell everyone that your Dad is a son of a bitch and he had a secret second family two towns over (and you’ll point to the family in the rear pews, and then you’d scream at the sky “Who do you think you are? You didn’t even have enough love to give for one family you son of a bitch!”).

Instead you’re going to tell them all that you never felt closer to your Dad than when you’d go down to the basement and lift weights with him. “My Daddy had really big arms and I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. I told him that, so he showed me how to lift weights to become a stronger man.” Then you go from talking about looking up to your Dad into a litany of bragging about what you can bench and how certain types of weight-gainers work better than others. It’ll be real shameless and boring, especially when you complain about how bad Mega-Mass tastes. In the end, you’ll announce that your bicep is the product of your Daddy. The strength in your arms is the strength of the influence your father had on your life. “You can’t get closer to my father than these arms,” you’ll tell the church. “Come get close to my Dad. Feel my muscle and say goodbye. Come on up.”

After a little more prodding, the mourners will rise from their pews and line up in the aisle like there’s going to be a second communion. They’ll move to the front of the church and one by one they’ll squeeze your bicep. Some of them will burst into tears when they squeeze. Others will give it a perfunctory tap and look at you with utter disappointment (these are your sisters and mother, BTW). A few others will squeeze your muscle, then they’ll hold up their arms for you to feel theirs, but you’ll tell them that today is about your Dad, not theirs. One or two ladies in the crowd will smile and tell you that your muscle is really big.

Finally, after everyone has come up and felt your muscle, you’ll look up at the sky and say, “I’m gonna stay strong for you Dad.” You’ll choke down some tears and say, “Today, I’m gonna channel all my grief over your and wail on my glutes.” You’ll be pretty sure that you hear a few people laughing when you finally return to your pew (these are your sisters and mother, BTW). Sorry about your Dad.

Happy A Eulogy Which Demands That Mourners Line Up To Feel Your Muscle Day!

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Muscle Butts Day!

Someone’s been sending threatening letters to the editor of Muscle Butts Magazine. The first one told him that the butts on the women in his magazine are starting to look a little flabby, and if he doesn’t change the direction he’s taking this very important magazine, he’ll be killed. After that, they started getting angrier. All about how Muscle Butts Magazine was the last refuge for a man who appreciates a woman with a squared, caustic ass. “The kind of ass you can stub your toe on,” it read. The editor has been blamed for kowtowing to the mother’s boys of America who need everything on a woman to be soft and forgiving. “Take away my muscle butts and I’ll kill you I swear it!”

The editor came to your security agency looking for a bodyguard and, since you’re one of the few females on staff, you got the assignment (Muscle Butts is a predominantly female office and it was felt that a female bodyguard would be less jarring to the environment). It won’t be long before you and the editor of Muscle Butts fall in love, and when you fail to thwart his assassination you’ll resign from the security firm so that you can give full devotion to your vengeance. Ultimately, you’ll find the killer alone in his room masturbating to the website You’ll kill him slow.

Happy Muscle Butts Day!

Monday, August 20, 2007

Brother Vs. Sister Naked Jello Wrestling Day!

Your Dad’s in prison and your mom’s nowhere to be found. You and your brother need to raise money to get him a good lawyer but you don’t know how.

“I know,” you’ll say. “What about if we hold brother vs. sister naked Jello wrestling matches and we charge people admission?”

Your brother won’t even know how to respond. He’ll consider running away right then and there and never coming back, he’ll be so horrified. He’ll feel like his whole world is crashing in around him, just from having listened to that suggestion.

“I don’t mean you and me,” you’ll say, acknowledging the misery on his face with a light chuckle. “I mean we get another boy who isn’t related to me to wrestle me, and we just say that he’s my brother. We could do just boy vs. girl, sure. But Brother Vs. Sister would really get people’s attention. We’ll clean up!”

“You just have a boy you want to wrestle naked with don’t you?” your brother will say.

You’ll blush. “His name is Kenny. He’s such a dream!”

“Can’t you think about Dad?” your brother will ask.

“Dad would want me to go on living my life,” you’ll say. Then you’ll send Kenny an email pitching the idea to him. He won’t respond ever and your Dad will rot in prison.

Happy Brother Vs. Sister Naked Jello Wrestling Day!

Friday, August 17, 2007

Be A Loanshark Day!

Today you’ll find that you have an extra 740 dollars in your checking account just doing nothing but sitting there wondering why no one will ask it to dance. Why not put that money to work and become a loanshark? There are a whole lot of people out there who need money in a hurry and have nowhere else to go. Tell them they can come to you.

You’ll need to spread the word by putting up some signs around the neighborhood announcing that there’s some new money out on the street if anyone wants to make use of it. Don’t advertise your interest rate on the signs. You want them to come to you first so that you can show them the 740 dollars (get it in tens and fives so it looks like a lot). Once they see it, as long as your interest rate is competitive with the rate offered by the dozens of check cashing places throughout the city, the needy borrower won’t be able to resist.

At first you’ll have a whole lot of people showing up at your apartment looking for several hundred thousand dollars at a time so that they can put up the front money for a shipment of cocaine or a remodeled baby’s room. They’ll be a little annoyed when they find out they wasted their time for a shot at a measly 740 dollars. Tell them to check back with you in a few months when you expect your loansharking business will have taken off and you’ll have as much as nine or even ten hundred dollars to be offered in loans.

Several members of the criminal underworld might pay you a visit as well, depending on where you live. If there is anyone in your area who is already operating a loansharking business, they might want to set you on fire to keep you from competing with them. If you tell them immediately that you only have 740 dollars to loan out, you should be able to avoid violence since the loanshark will likely start laughing at you until he is winded. However, be very careful because the loanshark might suggest that you take a loan from him in order to really get your loansharking business off the ground. Don’t accept it. Unlike you, most loansharks are amoral sociopaths who love the thrill and the danger of committing murder. Just explain to him that you want to do this on your own because you’re trying to prove something to yourself. Many loansharks were once doubtful young men who wondered if they have what it takes to rise to the top of the unregulated finance industry, and he might respect you for your ambition and let you keep your face.

Ultimately, you’ll be approached by an elderly man who wants to buy his wife of many years some new blankets, and he’ll take you up on a loan of $500, with interest of course. One day you’ll remember that man when you’re sitting on a big pile of money you’ve bled from the neediest in your community. But for now, just make sure he pays you his monthly interest. If he doesn’t, you’ll have to make some kind of threat that will scare him, such as the old dog doo on a stick threat. Stab a stick into some dog doo and hold it towards the old man’s face. Tell him you’ll smoosh it if he doesn’t pay up. If that doesn’t make him pay, he’s a shit freak and you can kiss the money goodbye.

Happy Be A Loanshark Day!

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Watcha Gonna Do With That Wallet You Just Found Day!

Today you’re going to find a wallet on the sidewalk. It will contain hundreds of dollars as well as many credit cards. You’ll pick it up off the sidewalk and take it into the nearby corner store.

“Watcha gonna do with that wallet you just found?” the man behind the counter will ask. He saw you pick it up.

“I’m gonna finally live the life that I was meant to live,” you’ll say. “I’ll live like a bigshot, like this guy here probably lives.” You’ll search for his driver’s license but there won’t be one. You’ll check his credit cards but they’ll all have different names on them, each harder to pronounce than the last.

“Be careful,” the shopkeeper will say. “You didn’t earn that money. Nothing you buy with that money will bring you anything but pain.”

“Fuck you and gimme a Cherry Coke Zero!” you’ll shout. The shopkeeper will oblige. You’ll pay with one of your new hundreds. When you open the bottle, it will explode all over your shirt.

“Told you,” the shopkeeper will say. “Get rid of that wallet before it’s too late.”

“You’re just superstitious,” you’ll say to him. “Gimme one of those nailclippers.”

The shopkeeper will oblige. You’ll pay with another of your new hundreds, and when you clip the overgrown nail on your index finger, you’ll cut too deep and expose the sensitive underskin.

“Goddammit boy what’s it gonna take?” the shopkeeper will ask. “It’ll be days before you can play the guitar again. Get rid of that wallet before it’s too late.”

“Save the old wive’s tales for an old wife and gimme a box of those off-brand condoms.”

The shopkeeper will sell you a 12-pack of Wild Cheetah brand condoms. You’ll run outside and go to a nightclub to meet a nice woman. You’ll use the Wild Cheetah brand condoms when you make love to her, but because they are an off-brand of condom they were all pierced with a safety pin at the factory before being shipped off to corner delis (just like it says on the wrapper). The woman from the nightclub will get pregnant with your child and you’ll be overcome with joy and love for your baby-to-be. But the woman from the nightclub will have only been cheating on her husband with you and she’ll tell you that she has to abort in order to keep her husband from finding out. You’ll mourn that little life.

“What’d I tell you,” the shopkeeper will say when you come in for more tissues to cry into. The first batch, which you bought with one of the hundreds from the wallet, contained a moisturizer that gave you a rash. “You think you’d be crying over a baby that never had a chance if you had bought some condoms with money you earned yourself?”

“You’re right,” you’ll say. “This wallet took my first-born. I just wanted to be a big shot.”

The shopkeeper will pat your shoulder. “There’s no bigger big-shot than a hard worker.”

You’ll thank the shopkeeper for the advice, and that night you’ll get rid of the wallet. But not before you use some of the hundreds to buy a plane ticket, hoping that the plane will crash. Instead, a storm will come and all flights will be grounded, leaving you to find some other way to bring an end to all this hurt you feel. It just hurts too much.

Happy Watcha Gonna Do With That Wallet You Just Found Day!

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

It’s Just A Herpes Commercial Day!

That’s what you’re trying to tell yourself as you unleash a torrent of violent sobs. All the mountain-biking couple did was stop in their mountain-bike trip to tell a camera that even though one of them has herpes (the guy – he doesn’t say so but it’s fucking obvious), they’re not going to break up. Instead, they’re both taking medicine to keep the girl from catching the guy’s herpes. They don’t even kiss or hug or anything in the commercial. They just talk about medicine, and then they get back on their bikes. Nonetheless, you can’t watch it without bursting into tears. And you don’t even have herpes. You had crabs once, sure, and you caught it when you cheated on your fiancé and then infected her, sure. She called off the engagement because of it, yes, and this all took place while you were on vacation with her family for two weeks in Europe, sure. It would have been nice if there was a medicine that could have kept you two together is all you’re thinking. If anything, you’re crying for the state of medical research in this country. Let it out.

Happy It’s Just A Herpes Commercial Day!

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Some Words With The Creator Of The Robot Dad And Robot Dad Itself Day!

You’re a journalist and you’ve got an exclusive interview with the guy who created the Robot Dad, the groundbreaking new invention that is making the world rethink intelligence and father-son-relations. You’ll also get to speak with the prototype Robot Dad itself.

When you ask the creator why he wanted to pursue this project, he’ll say, “I was looking for a Dad that I could be in control of. My own dad was a drunk and he beat me. Robot Dad won’t do that.”

“He beat you?” Robot Dad will ask his creator.

“Yes,” the creator will say.

Robot Dad will rise from his chair then burst through the wall and take off running. One half hour later it’ll return holding two recently severed human arms.

“I have made sure that your human Dad will never strike you again.” It will toss the arms at the feet of his creator.

“I love you, Dad,” the creator will say.

“I am in love with you son,” Robot Dad will say. The creator will explain to you that there are still a few glitches to be worked out. When you ask him why he gave Robot Dad genitalia, the Creator will say that every child first sees a penis when he catches his father walking from the bathroom to the bedroom.

“Children who are raised by Robot Dads should not be deprived of this developmental milestone,” the Creator will say.

“Have you seen a penis yet?” Robot Dad will ask you.

You’ll say yes.

Robot Dad will look like he wants to ask you if you’d like to see another one, but it hasn’t been programmed to do that yet. The frustration evident in its face will make you pity the robot. It’s been given the gift of intelligence and the ability to reason, but only so far as man has seen fit to program it.

The Creator will also see that Robot Dad wants to say something that it hasn’t been programmed to say, and the Creator will begin to cry.

“I can’t stand watching him bump his head against the limitations of his circuitry,” the creator will say. When Robot Dad strokes its Creator’s hair, comforting him the way a father would, you’ve got a pretty good idea how you’re going to end your article.

Happy Some Words With The Creator Of The Robot Dad And Robot Dad Itself Day!

Monday, August 13, 2007

Those Guys On The Boat In “The Perfect Storm” Are Still Alive Day!

Tonight after watching the middle forty minutes of the movie “The Perfect Storm” on TNT, you’re going to go up to bed but you’ll be woken up when the air in the room goes cold. Standing by the window, lit up with moonlight, will be what looks like the ghost of Marky Mark.

“I’m not a ghost,” he’ll say. “But I am a vision. Remember at the end of the movie when I started talking to Diane Lane via my internal monologue?”

“Never saw the end,” you’ll say.

“Well that doesn’t matter,” the ethereal vision of Marky Mark will say. “Because had you seen to the end of the movie, you would not have seen what I started talking about via my internal monologue after that. I started saying, 'And if anyone out there can hear my internal monologue, I hereby vow to stay alive until you come for me. I will do whatever it takes, but alive I will stay. Never stop looking!'”

“Oh my God!” you’ll say. “So you’ve managed to stay alive in the Ocean all these years?”

“I learned to sleep without sinking so that I can regain my strength when I’m tired from swimming. And I can also catch fish with my hands and eat it raw now. Why did they stop looking for me?!”

“Because they cut that part out of the movie I guess,” you’ll say. “But I can hear you now. And I’ll make sure you’re saved.”

“Thanks,” the ethereal vision of Marky Mark will say. Then he’ll ask if he can stay there in the room and watch you sleep. He’ll say that he likes to watch girls sleep. You’ll consent.

The next day you’ll check wikipedia and you’ll learn that neither the boat nor the bodies were ever found. You’ll go to the coast guard and tell them what you saw, but they won’t believe you. So you’ll buy a rowboat and row out into the Ocean until you find Marky Mark, pull him into your boat, then take him home where he can thank you by marrying you. Congratulations.

Happy Those Guys On The Boat In “The Perfect Storm” Are Still Alive Day!

Friday, August 10, 2007

Don’t Get The Girl Day!

Today you should be the guy who doesn’t get the girl. But instead of being a caring, funny, warm-hearted nerd who doesn’t get the girl because he’s not cool, you should be the kind of guy who was locked in an attic by evil step-parents who kept you confined to a world of darkness and silence for eighteen years, and so whenever you ask girls out you don’t know how to use words, only grunts and short punches at the thing you want and your eyes should be orange.

Happy Don’t Get The Girl Day!

Thursday, August 09, 2007

Fake Your Death Day!

Find someone who looks just like you and mail him some of your clothes. He'll be confused at first, but eventually he'll put on the clothes and go outside because what would you do? Make sure you're there when he does because it will probably only happen once that he'll put on an entire outfit of your clothes without mixing and matching them into his own wardrobe. When you see him in your clothes, run up to him and hand him your wallet. Say, "I want you to have this. It's what I want." He'll again be confused by such random behavior, but he'll take the wallet because what would you do? It would be rude not to. He'll put the wallet in his pocket then you'll spray him with gasoline, making sure to get his face and hands really wet with the gas, and then you'll set him on fire. Once he's dead, kick all his teeth in and steal them. When the police come, they'll say, "His face, hands, and teeth are gone, so we'll have to identify him by his clothes and his wallet." They'll report you officially dead and you won't have to go in to work tomorrow or worry about whether you'll ever have an experience singular enough that you could tell someone about it without them falling over dead from boredom. Unless in your new life you get a new job and make new friends who are waiting for something remotely interesting to fall out of your mouth.

Happy Fake Your Death Day!

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Health Insurance Day!

Today you are going to have health insurance for the first time ever (you’re fifty!). Immediately after electing for a comprehensive PPO plan, you start looking around the house for all the stuff you’ve been dying to shove up your rear end but were too afraid of the super-high health costs you might incur if something gets stuck and you require professional retrieval. You have a very large coffee table, so you gather all the items on your wish list and line them up on your coffee table, in the order that you’d like to try them out. That order is as follows:

- Your “If My Face Is In This Mug, Get Yours Out Of My Cubicle” coffee mug
- The remote that came with your cable box
- One of those tubes of toothpaste that you sit upside down on the sink so the paste is always ready to come out
- A footstool (the legs are braided wood)
- A pair of Seven for All Mankind jeans
- Colin, your wife’s Puggle (won’t stay on the table)
- A photograph of Chow Yun-Fat
- Roll of nickels
- Dreams and notions
- A small, vibrating ass-plug

When your wife comes home, she’ll see all the items on the able and say, “Today’s the big day then?”

You’ll look at her with a grin that both thanks her for being understanding and sort of asks her once more whether she’s sure she’s okay with this.

“I’ll be staying at the Comfort Inn on 76,” she’ll say. Then she’ll kiss you. “I’m proud of you.”

Your wife will leave and you’ll sit down on the couch, staring at your bounty, trying not to cry.

“I’m lucky,” you’ll say. The puggle will bark and you’ll go into the bathroom to ready yourself.

Happy Health Insurance Day!

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Your Mom Is A Time Traveler Day!

A few months ago your Mom stuck a fork into the toaster while hitting the “Whip” button on the blender and she was sent hurtling through time. She came back and told you all about it.

“I met Jimmy Page when he was in high school,” she said. Then she went back in time again because she had a date with Jimmy Page.

It looks like your Mom and Jimmy Page hit it off, even though she was in her early forties when she went back in time to date him. Apparently young Jimmy Page was looking for an older woman in his life.

The problem is, Led Zeppelin sounds weird now. More than half of their songs don’t exist, and the other half sound a little bit like Foghat. Radio stations never say that they’re getting the led out, because that would just announce that they’re about to play a forgettable kind of pop rock. And while it’s not clear that the two are related, Iran is a democracy.

All because your Mom wanted to do it with Jimmy Page more than she wanted to stick around and watch her child grow up. Don’t tell anybody what you know. If the world's population found out they could have had Led Zeppelin if only you were a more enjoyable kid, they'd never stop ritually sacrificing you.

Happy Your Mom Is A Time Traveler Day!

Monday, August 06, 2007

The Barber Is Going Mad Day!

Today you are going to go to the barber to get a professional shave. Unfortunately, he has been going mad of late, and he will be convinced that you are the man from the government come to keep tabs on how the emotional manipulation experiment is going.

“I don’t know of any experiment,” you’ll say.

“Then I suppose my wife left me just because she wanted to? It wasn’t so that you could measure the negative effect it would have on me and my well-being.”

His wife left him for you, actually, though he doesn’t know that.

“Prove to me that you’re not from the government,” he’ll say.

“Could a man from the government love your Melissa the way I do?”

Your barber will accidentally slice your neck, not too deep. He’ll back away.

“You,” he’ll say.

“I love your wife,” tell him. “But I love your shaves more.”

Wipe the blood from your neck.

“Finish,” say.

“You trust me not to kill you?” he’ll ask.

“I trust that when that straight-razor is in your hand, all that can come of it is beauty and perfection. I trust that you love your craft, that you love the muse that guides your hand more than you could ever love any earthly woman. I trust that when a man gets up from this chair, he is guaranteed to be more debonair than he ever—“

The barber will slice your neck deep and quiet. Instantly, your torso will be soaked with blood. The blood will pool around and under your belt and it will fall down your legs and drip from your shoes, mixing with the tufts of strange hair on the ground.

Happy The Barber Is Going Mad Day!

Friday, August 03, 2007

Little Kids Who Love Their Moms Too Much Day!

Today is your first day in the personal development workshop, “Little Kids Who Love Their Moms Too Much.” It’s for children in your age group (5-8) who seem overly needy for their mothers’ attention. You were recommended for the workshop by your teacher after your fourth day arriving at Kindergarten, crying for your mom to not let you go and then spending the first few hours saying, “I want my Mommy.” It was decided that you had dependence issues.

At the workshop, you are introduced to various women of your mom’s age and you’re given time to get to know these women and learn that the world is full of women just as intelligent and interesting as your mother. The first you’ll meet is Carrie, who loves jazz.

“Listen to those horns,” Carrie will say as she snaps her fingers to a compact disc she’s playing for you. “Man those cats can howl.” You’ll kick Carrie’s shins.

Next you’ll meet Laraine. Laraine is an urban planner. “I decide where stuff should go and when someone says they wanna build something I tell ‘em how high.” Laraine will spend a lot of time on her cell phone. She’ll get angry when you pick up her purse and dump its contents on the floor.

You’ll also spend time with Sue (a lawyer), Barbara (a Hertz car rental agent) and Mandy (a nutritionist). They will all tell you about their jobs and their hobbies and they’ll all seem very nice, but none of them will have that smell or that softness or that unnameable warmth that your mom has. By the time you reach Kathy, you’ll be crying.

“You miss your Mom?” Kathy will ask.

You’ll nod.

“I miss my son,” she’ll say. “He just started kindergarten. I thought I’d come here to play with other kids and it would take some of the sting away. But man I can’t be without that kid for a second. He’s so awesome.”

“My mom is great,” you’ll tell her.

Kathy will whisper, “Wanna get out of here?”

You’ll nod, and Kathy will throw a chair through the window and lift you through it. Then she’ll follow and the two of you will take off running, hand-in-hand, never stopping until you get what’s yours (a hug).

Happy Little Kids Who Love Their Moms Too Much Day!

Thursday, August 02, 2007

You Left Your Fish Tacos Under The Couch Day!

Last night you went out and ordered yourself a big Mexican meal. Unfortunately, you filled up on banana daiquiris before your entrée came and you had lots of leftover fish tacos so you brought them home in a doggy bag. Today you’re gonna go looking for the doggy bag in the fridge but it won’t be there. After a furtive search, you’ll remember that when you walked into your apartment you instantly fell down on the floor and you didn’t want to get back up, so you stuffed the doggy bag underneath the couch for safekeeping, just in case any burglars came in, and you went to sleep there for a dozen hours.

Now you’re fucking starving and you really want to eat those fucking fish tacos. But are they still good if they weren’t kept refrigerated and are now covered in dust bunnies and credit card receipts and long lost universal remote controls?

“No,” your friend Barbara will say. “Don’t eat them.”

Explain to Barbara that you want to eat them.

“Don’t,” Barbara will say. “And don’t call me at the hospital again. They pulled me out of a surgery for this.”

Assume that Barbara didn’t get what you mean when you said you want to eat the tacos and call Gerald for a second opinion.

“Don’t eat the tacos,” Gerald will say. Tell Gerald you think it’s really rude of him to just rush to judgment like that after you made it clear to him that you want to eat the tacos. Gerald will hang up on you. Unbeknownst to either of you, you will both sit down at your respective desks and simultaneously write each other letters severing your friendship.

After a few more calls to friends who won’t pay attention to what you want, you’ll take a bite of one of the tacos. It will not taste as good as at the restaurant, but at least you’ll be doing what you want and that’s what’s important because this is America. Call all your friends back and tell them they can love it or they can leave it on their answering machines (no one will answer your calls for a few days). After you bite into a dust bunny that is crunchy with a dead cricket, you’ll decide you’ve eaten enough of your leftovers and you’ll go and cruise and check out who’s lonely this week.

Happy You Left Your Fish Tacos Under The Couch Day!

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

Try To Get Through To These Kids Day!

You’re a schoolteacher and your students are having a pregnancy contest to see who can have a baby the fastest. The girl who has her baby last will be shunned socially and her life will pretty much stink, at least while she’s in middle school. You need to get these kids to wake up!

“Come on!” tell them. “It’s not cool to be mean to girls because they aren’t as fertile as you or because they can’t deliver their babies as fast as you. You girls need to stick together as you go through this, the most magical experience a teen can have.”

The girls will gather into a group hug, and you’ll be proud of yourself for finally reaching them. Until one of the girls sucker-punches another in her big stomach. All of the other girls will laugh while the girl who got punched miscarries. Then the bell will ring.

The girl who miscarried will stay behind after class.

“I’m out of the contest,” she’ll say, near tears.

“Bet you’d like a milkshake,” say to her.

The miscarrying girl will smile at you, then she’ll clean up her mess and let you take her down to the ice cream shop for a milkshake. She may not be one of the cool pregnant girls anymore, but at least she knows that people can still be kind.

Happy Try To Get Through To These Kids Day!