Friday, September 28, 2007

Depressed Roommate Who Isn’t Eating His Ice Cream Day!

Your roommate has been depressed for a couple of months now. He’s spending all his time alone in his room, sleeping all day or sitting in the tub for hours on end. He always looks unkempt, like it was a real effort for him just to get dressed. Anytime he comes home from work he just marches right past you without saying a word and goes into his bedroom, slamming his door behind him. It’s been great for you because you get to watch whatever you want on TV.

The problem is, he bought some ice cream back before he got depressed and he hasn’t opened it yet. You’d like to open it and eat it but you’re afraid that if you eat his ice cream that might be the thing that sends him over the edge and makes him off himself. It’s almond swirl.

Today you should try to pretend that you want to cheer him up so you can say, “Come on, pally. Buck up! Hey I know! Why don’t we eat that ice cream in the freezer? That’ll lift your spirits. Mmm. Ice cream. I’ll go get two spoons and a bowl.”

When you knock on his door to ask him if you can come in to talk, he’ll open the door with a pile of his CDs in his hand. He’ll say, “I don’t feel like talking. But here, I want you to have these. I won’t be needing them soon.”

The CDs are all really good and you’ll go into your room and start listening to them. It’ll be a lot of fun, but you’ll keep having this nagging thought that something’s not right. You’re sitting in there listening to all of your roommate’s CDs, and you just know it would feel so much better if you could listen to your roommate’s CDs while eating your roommate’s ice cream.

Tonight, you’re not going to be able to handle it anymore. You’re going to go to the freezer and open up his tub of ice cream and stick a spoon in it. As you walk back to your room with the tub, he’ll open his bedroom door and see you spooning a hunk of the delicious dessert to your mouth. You’ll stop where you’re standing, and he’ll stare at you, not quite angry, not quite hurt. He won’t appear to be feeling anything really. Neither of you will move before he shuts his bedroom door again. You’ll decide that since he didn’t say anything, he must be fine with you eating his ice cream, maybe even glad that it's not going to waste, that someone who can still enjoy things is digging into that delicious tub of joy he bought back when he could still enjoy things, so you did the right thing.

Happy Depressed Roommate Who Isn’t Eating His Ice Cream Day!

Thursday, September 27, 2007

That Pile Of Clothes Looks Like A Person When The Lights Are Out Day!

When you turn the lights out, that pile of clothes on your chair looks like a person. Tonight you’re going to start talking to it.

“I’m going to call you Jesse because I’ve always wanted a friend named Jesse. Jesse, I once saw a little boy drowning in a cold river and I did nothing. I just kept walking because I didn’t want to risk my own life to save him. The next day I saw that the boy was in a car with his parents and they’d driven off the road and into the river. The parents managed to swim to shore, but the boy got caught in the current and was dragged away from them. His parents felt like they killed their own son with their reckless driving. I know because I used to sneak up to their house at dinnertime and listen to them through the open window while they fought and cried over their meal. I did that every night for a couple of months, then I decided that what’s done is done and there’s no more point in worrying over what I didn’t do. I still think about that kid a couple of times a day, and I don’t sleep, but I say that he wasn’t my soul to save. Not my responsibility. You don’t think I’m a horrible person do you Jesse? Say nothing if you don’t.”

The pile of clothes then takes corporeal form and manages to wheeze out the words: “Coward. I have strained to become a man for just an instant in order to say that to you. Coward.”

Then the pile of clothes goes back to being a pile of clothes. Tomorrow, you’re doing laundry.

Happy That Pile Of Clothes Looks Like A Person When The Lights Are Out Day!

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Start Throwing Up And Never Stop Day!

To pull this off, you need to hear some kind of news that would trigger the kind of nausea that would doom you to a lifetime of endless and uninterrupted vomiting. Like maybe you just found out the woman for whom you’ve always held an unrequited love is going to marry the guy who tricked you into thinking you were the prom king in high school only so you he could shoot a watercannon full of diarrhea into your mouth when you started to give your acceptance speech. You already can’t think of that guy without remembering all that diarrhea you ingested that night in front of all your peers, which made you vomit quite a bit in its own right. But that guy also represents everything in life that you’re against. He is the embodiment of all that is base and shallow and hurtful. So when you hear that the girl you love is going to marry that guy, it makes all your hopes for there to be some sort of order to your existence come crashing down. What is beautiful and right and true can love pure, wretched evil, and what’s in your heart means nothing to the world around you. That alone makes you want to puke, but then you remember the taste of the diarrhea and it just starts coming and never stops. You die in 80 hours because you can’t constantly puke for very long without dying.

Happy Start Throwing Up And Never Stop Day!

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Don’t Forget To Take The Drug Money Out Of Your Old Mattress Before The Mattress Delivery Guys Take It Away For You Day!

Today you’re going to be so excited to get your new mattress that you’re going to forget to take out all the drug money you had stuffed in your old mattress before the delivery guys take it away for you. You’ll be rolling around on your new mattress for a good ten minutes before you remember.

“Shoot!” you’ll say. Then you’ll call the mattress store and tell them that you left several hundred thousand dollars in your old mattress and you’d like to know when to come and pick it up.

“Sorry, when we take a mattress away its ours, bedbugs and all,” the mattress associate will tell you.

“But the money isn’t mine,” you’ll say. “It belongs to a drug cartel and if I don’t get it to them, they’ll kill me and everyone I’ve ever cared for.”

“Read your agreement,” the mattress associate will say. You’ll read the delivery agreement you signed, relinquishing all rights to your old mattress once it crosses the threshold from your home.

“Oh, I didn’t realize,” you’ll say. “Sorry to bother you.”

“Yeah well next time,” the mattress associate says, “Realize!”

You’ll hang up, then you’ll rip open your couch to find the semi-automatic weapons you keep there. But you’ll remember that you sold the couch with the weapons on Craigs list. This is your new Crate and Barrel sectional and you haven’t stored any weapons inside it because you wanted it to maintain its support.

You’re going to have to sell all the cocaine you still have in the house and try to make the money back before the cartel comes calling. You tear apart the painting on the wall to grab the kilos stored in its frame. But it’s empty. You must have auctioned off the painting with the kilos hidden in it. This is the new Chagall you just acquired.

“Why must I be so active in the art world yet so forgetful when it comes to drug dealing?” you lament.

You go into the bathroom to take a bath, and you find a small boy. You’d forgotten that you had kidnapped the only son of a crooked Colombian diplomat. All you have to do is get that ransom money and you’re right as rain.

“I got my meal ticket right here,” you say, tousling the boy’s hair. “Now where did I put your Dad’s cell phone number?”

The boy makes a motion like a key in a lock on his lips, letting you know he’s not gonna give you the number. You’d better hope you didn’t accidentally throw out that slip of paper when you cleaned earlier, which is just the kind of airhead thing a drug dealer/kidnapper/art lover like you would do you fucking ditz.

Happy Don’t Forget To Take The Drug Money Out Of Your Old Mattress Before The Mattress Delivery Guys Take It Away For You Day!

Monday, September 24, 2007

The Party City Massacre Day!

Today you’re going to go into Party City, your local discount party superstore, and you’re going to give the girl behind the counter a note that says you have a bomb in your pants and she’d better start filling up the helium balloons or it’s curtains.

The girl will push the police call button under her register that’s there for just this sort of emergency, and then she’ll start filling up the balloons. Soon the police will surround the place asking what you want. Tell them a jet to buy some time while the girl keeps filling up helium balloons. Soon the entire store will be full from floor to ceiling with balloons. The windows will be completely blocked by them. To move back and forth you have to shove your way through that giant huddle of balloons.

Once the girl behind the counter fills up the last balloon, shout out to the police, “You’re out of time.” Then just start shooting the balloons down, one by one. Happy Birthday, Congrats To The Grad, Big 4-0, and Welcome Home, all of them are gonna get it from your .38. The bullets will tear apart the balloons and they’ll fall like the empty clothes in “War Of The Worlds.” The police will be outside cursing the God that made you as they listen helplessly to the massacre inside. Finally, when enough balloons have been shot down that they can see inside, they’ll send in their assault team and take you down. For every balloon they save, that’s another gathering of people given the chance to party.

“No one takes away a citizen’s right to party,” the commanding officer says. “Not in my city. Deploy SWAT.” Then SWAT deploys right up your pants leg and in and out of the goddamn ball sack pocket of your brief underwears.

Happy The Party City Massacre Day!

Friday, September 21, 2007

Hunting For Toucans Day!

Today you’re going into the jungle to hunt and kill some toucans. Along the way you’ll stumble upon a tribe of savages who will think that you are their God because you look like the cave painting someone did of their God one time, and they’ll all bow down to you and tell you you can have anything you want as long as you finally make the trees bear fruit again. If you don’t make the trees bear fruit again, they’ll burn you because that’s what it said to do within the instructions someone once wrote on the cave wall near the painting of God.

“Okay,” you tell them. “First thing I need is as many dead toucans as you can bring to me.”

They run out into the woods and start strangling toucans. They bring back to you a big pile of the birds and lay them all at your feet. You start to bag them up when the savages ask about the trees bearing fruit.

You’ll say, “I have to confess, I don’t know how to…”

Just then, one of the savages will point up at the trees. Bananas will be growing from their branches like you’re looking at them in fast-forward. God, the real God, must have made that happen. He must hate toucans too and he’s rewarding you for getting so many of them to die by letting you keep your life as well as all those toucans. Congratulations and have fun eating toucan salad sandwiches for the next year and a half.

Happy Hunting For Toucans Day!

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Some Kids From MTV Are Here To Watch You Do Stuff Day!

You’re not sure how they got in. They’re all on the floor lining the wall of your living room, and they’ve filled up the couch as well. They’re here to watch you do stuff without paying any real attention to you. Mostly, they’ll just be looking at someplace past you where there’s probably a camera or a producer signaling them. On occasion, when you’ll be on the phone and you’ll say something funny, a few of the kids will chuckle just a second or two late, so that it’s not clear whether they were laughing at what you said or at a private joke.

Don’t eat too fast. You might think that you can eat with abandon since you have all those kids there, but they won’t give you the Heimlich. They’re barely aware of where they are, let alone that you are a human being who can feel and die like them.

Happy Some Kids From MTV Are Here To Watch You Do Stuff Day!

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

The Magical Wardrobe Day!

You’re a thirteen year old boy who has just discovered that your wardrobe has the magical ability to teleport you to another place in time. Whenever you go inside the wardrobe, a bright light appears and you find yourself inside the locked broom closet of a bus station in Minneapolis, eight minutes into the future. You don’t know how to get out of the closet, and there’s nothing really for you to do there. The best you can do is go into the wardrobe and then listen through the broom closet door to the conversations in the bus station, trying to see if you can get some hint of what the future holds based on what the travelers are all talking about. So, for example, let’s say it was the day OJ was acquitted back in 1994 at the close of the Trial of the Century and you were eight minutes away from the verdict. You could go into the wardrobe and then listen through the broom closet door to people shouting in either joy or disillusionment at the verdict. Eventually someone might say something like, “I can’t believe he got off,” and you would have known the verdict before anyone else.

Since a situation like that doesn’t come along too often, you’ve been using the wardrobe to smoke cigarettes without your parents catching you, and without and risk of harming your lungs since you always smoke in the future. When you return, it’s like you never left and therefore never smoked. You’re really enjoying smoking and it’s getting hard to wait to get into the wardrobe to have another cigarette.

Happy The Magical Wardrobe Day!

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Abstinence Makes The Heart Grow Hornier Day!

You and your buddies down at the mill decided to have a contest to see who can go the longest without having sex with a woman. After eighteen years it’s just you, Marcus and Joey left. Chris ended up screwing a hooker when he went to Reno in 2000. And Matt divorced his wife in 1998 and so he kind of went on the warpath and had sex with two different women in 1999. He married the second and kept on having sex with her until 2003. Matt is so out of the running.

Chris and Chipper have started a side contest since Chris hasn’t had any since 2002 and Chipper just did that one deed in 2001 when his ex-wife rolled into town to try to get her new husband pissed. They’re thinking that maybe you, Marcus and Joey will eventually either dip your wicks or die, so they should keep the faith to see if they can outlive you and top your record, whomever of you sets it.

The thing is, after eighteen years without, you're really horny and you’re starting to worry that the absence of intimacy has turned you mean. You’re an elementary school vice-principal and sometimes at the end of the year you look back on the discipline you’ve handed out for even the most innocent of indiscretions and you just marvel over what you’ve become. When it’s all over, is this really the life you want to have lived? You wonder. Then you imagine telling Marcus or Joey that you had sex with somebody and you can already see the smug looks on their faces. Makes you want to puke. You’ll either have to wait it out, kill them both, or kill yourself. No way you’re giving those shitheads the satisfaction of knowing their wills are stronger than yours. No way.

You’ve already got the rifle. It’s just a choice of whose heads are gonna get caved in. Yours, or theirs? Or all three of ya's? Win, lose, or draw, your involvement in this contest ends tonight.

Happy Abstinence Makes The Heart Grow Hornier Day!

Monday, September 17, 2007

The Dog That Drank Himself Into A Coma Day!

You moved to a new city five months ago and you haven’t made any friends yet, so you spend a lot of time at home drinking alone, which you hate. You’re really lonely and you feel awful just sitting there at your kitchen table drunk with no one to talk to or raise your glass with or take a swing at. The only other living thing in your house is your dog, Larue.

Tonight you’re going to spike Larue’s water dish with a little bit of whiskey. Not too much, just a few drops to symbolically ordain him as your drinking buddy. Larue will lap it up, and then he’ll sit by you and listen while you talk to him like a pal.

“How about that game today, Larue,” you’ll say. “Those fairies got trounced.”

Larue will pant, and you’ll say, “Oh, you want another? Well I’ll buy.” Then you’ll pour a little more whiskey into his dish, which he’ll again drink down very quickly.

“This summer ever gonna end? Sweatin’ my ass off,” you’ll say to Larue, and he’ll answer with a bark.

“Another round sounds good to me too.” Larue will have drunk up all the water in his dish, so you’ll pour him a small helping of straight whiskey. He’ll drink it in seconds.

“Not a fan of that porker Jonah Hill. He was pretty much over before he started, ain’t that right Larue?”

Larue will lay down at your feet and whimper a bit. You’ll pour yourself another glass, and without thinking about it you’ll go and fill up Larue’s bowl to the rim, all the while singing the teenage wasteland part to “Baba O’Reilly.” Larue will go and lap up a good bit of the whiskey, then he’ll fall asleep next to the bowl. You’ll fall asleep with your head in your arms on the kitchen table.

When you wake up tomorrow morning, hungover like any other Tuesday, you’ll find Larue still asleep next to his bowl. You’ll kick him gently and his limp body will just lay there. You’ll shake Larue, but he won’t wake up. Then you’ll see his water dish full of brown whiskey and you’ll remember what an idiot you were last night.

You’ll rush Larue to the vet’s office, fearing you killed him. Your vet will tell you that Larue went into a coma.

“What happened yesterday?” she’ll ask.

You’ll burst into tears. “I was lonely and wanted someone to drink with!”

Your vet will hold you in her arms and tell you to never do that again. “From now on, if you need someone to drink with, you call this number,” she’ll say. “It’s my home number.”

“Really?” you’ll ask.

“I’m only thinking about the dog’s well being,” she’ll say.

You’ll thank her, and you’ll call her that very night. She’ll invite you to her place and you’ll share an evening that one day you’ll tell your grandkids about. “He was everything I hated in a pet owner, and yet there was something so adorable about him I just had to come up with a reason to get him to call me,” she’ll tell the family when she’s 81 and you’re already two years dead of natural causes.

Happy The Dog That Drank Himself Into A Coma Day!

Friday, September 14, 2007

You’re Like The Dexter Of Shoplifters Day!

You’re a security guard at a mall Boscov’s, and you probably bust one shoplifter every two days. Though your store publicly claims that its policy is to prosecute shoplifters to the fullest extent of the law, the real policy is that shoplifters are to be caught, taken to the security office where they are photographed and warned to never return to the store or risk prosecution. You’ve turned a total of two shoplifters over to the police, and in both cases the perp got violent when you caught him. Otherwise, they get their picture taken and sent on their way. That’s it.

Not good enough, sez you.

Today you’re going to enact a new policy. From now on, every shoplifter who gets caught and then let go is going to be paid a visit by you. They won’t know it of course. Not until they discover that one of their very valuable possessions has been stolen. You can start with the college student whom you’ll catch trying to walk off with a pair of fur ear muffs in her bag this afternoon.

You’ll let her go, as usual. But not before you get her photo and address. Tomorrow, call in sick and drive over to her dorm while she’s at class. Then break in and steal something you know she’ll miss (the mini-fridge). Leave a note in its place that reads, “It’s not so fun when shrinkage happens to you is it?” When she asks around to find out that the word shrinkage doesn’t just refer to that Seinfeld episode but is also the term used for lost retail revenue due to shoplifting, she’ll know what just happened.

“Justice,” she’ll whisper to herself while crinkling the edges of the note in her hands. “It hurts so good.”

She'll look at the six pack of diet cokes she just brought home from the store. No mini-fridge to keep them cold, not anymore. "A shoplifter like me doesn't deserve cold soda," she'll say. She'll get into bed and spend the next three semesters in a deep depression. Your work is done, security guard.

Happy You’re Like The Dexter Of Shoplifters Day!

Thursday, September 13, 2007

You Don’t Want To Rent Dune Buggies Out In The Desert Day!

“I don’t like the desert,” tell him. “It’s dry, and dune buggies are dangerous. We’ll never get insured.”

He’s turning 35 in a year and eight months and he wants to get out of the rat race in advance of that. His idea is to go out into the desert, live in a wooden shack and rent out Dune Buggies to people who want to come out and have fun in the sand, or who are looking for someone who went into the desert and never came back.

“Get your feet off my dreams,” your fiancĂ© will say. “I don’t want to be a wealthy securities broker when I’m 35. I wanna feel sand on my lips. I wanna smell the rubber of big round tires. I wanna live in a house with inventive plumbing.”

Tell him if he does that, the marriage is off. He’ll go and think about it, then come back to you.

“Okay, never mind the dune buggies. Let’s own and operate a roller coaster in Illinois.”

He’ll show you a Craig’s List ad for a Roller Coaster that is for sale. It’s located not far from where the man you truly love lives. This is a sign. You are meant to operate that roller coaster so he can take his kids there, see you, and the two of you can throw yourselves into a thrilling and careless affair.

“Done,” say. Your fiancĂ© will kiss you on the lips in gratitude. He has no idea.

Happy You Don’t Want To Rent Dune Buggies Out In The Desert Day!

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

You Know Lou Barlow Day!

You don’t have all that much going for you except that you know Lou Barlow. You and he used to be roommates way, way back when, and after losing touch with him, you moved into his current neighborhood solely so that you would be able to contact him and tell him you and he should get together again. You had brunch in 2005, and that’s the last you and he spoke face to face. Though you do send him emails.

Since there’s really not much to be said for you and what you’ve done with yourself while you’ve existed, it doesn’t take you too long to tell someone you’ve just met that you know Lou Barlow. “We have brunch sometimes,” you say. 85% of the time, you have to explain who Lou Barlow is. Of the 15% who don’t need you to explain, only 4% of them seem impressed, and of that 4%, 95% are faking it because they’re just happy to finally have something to talk to you about.

Today Lou Barlow is going to call you and ask if you can come pick him up from a service station. His car broke down and since you live in his neighborhood, he figured you wouldn’t mind that much. Unfortunately, he’ll call when you’re not getting a signal. When you get the message, you’ll call him back and leave a voicemail asking if he still needs a ride. A few hours later, he’ll text back with “never mind.” You’ll call him and leave a voicemail with a long apology, and Lou Barlow will text back “don’t worry about it.” Tonight, you’ll feel like that was your last shot at really having a relationship with Lou Barlow and you blew it. You’ll spend the next ten years coming to terms with the fact that it’s all downhill from here.

Happy You Know Lou Barlow Day!

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Troublemaker Day!

Your Dad is a taxidermist and you’re a rebellious teenager so it’s time for you to rebel against him by stuffing M-80's inside the dead animals that are brought to him and blowing giant holes in their carcasses.

“Do you know how much extra work you’re making me do when you do that? I have to sew up those rips and tears and make sure that the fur covers over the seams. You’re slowing my business down.”

Tell your dad you don’t care.

“Well I’ll make you understand the value of a dollar,” your dad will say. Then he’ll sell your bed to pay for an assistant to help him with the extra work and he’ll make you sleep on a bed of the dead animals waiting to be stuffed.

“Can’t I sleep on the couch?” you’ll ask. Your Dad will tell you that he had to sell the couch too, in order to keep his business from going under.

“Now do you understand the value of a dollar?” your Dad will ask as you settle into the pile of bloody pelts and crunching animal bones.

“No!” you’ll say just to be obstinate. But you’re starting to understand it. People who don’t have dollars make their sons sleep on dead animals. You’ll probably do the same to your son one day.

Happy Troublemaker Day!

Monday, September 10, 2007

Sad Rock And Roll Star Day!

The rock and roll star is sad because his brother is trapped in a mine.

“I’m gonna do a concert for him,” the sad rock and roll start will say. “Right next to the mine. And I’m gonna keep playing until he’s rescued. I’m gonna play for the rescue workers to keep their spirits up, and hopefully my brother will be able to hear me down there in that mine, and he’ll know I’m waiting here to give him a hug and buy him a beer.”

The concert starts off with a really exciting two and a half hour set, broken up by lots of stories about when the rock and roll star and his brother were growing up together and how much fun they used to have. “My brother used to always tease me about my music,” the rock and roll star will tell the crowd. “He prefers classic rock, not the kind of electroclash influenced emo that I like to play. But he always supported me. He told me not to give up. Well brother, I’M NOT GIVING UP!!!” Then he’ll launch into his next hit and the crowd will roar their approval.

After a short break, the next hour-long set is a little more subdued. Then the breaks start getting longer and the sets shorter. The Rock and Roll Star starts singing a lot more covers. By day two, after being awake and performing for 24 hours, he just starts singing things like “99 Bottles of Beer on The Wall” and “Happy Birthday.” Then he gets a second wind and does a really long set of nothing but Christmas carols. On Day three he brings a laptop on stage and sings the entire Duran Duran album “Rio,” reading the lyrics off the web. On day 4 he does a 45 minute version of the song “Ghostbusters” in which he doesn’t sing any of the verses, just occasionally shouts the refrain “Who ya gonna call” and makes the crowd shout “Ghostbusters!” which we all stop doing after a while. On day 5, the rock and roll star stops singing in any known language and he gives a performance that is hard to comprehend, but has flashes of absolute brilliance. On day 6, sleepless and crazed, the sad rock and roll star dies.

That’s when his brother is finally rescued from the mine. When he surfaces, he tells the cameras, "I was fine. I just heard my brother up here singing that crap of his so I hid from the rescuers until he finished." Everyone laughs and commiserates over how crappy his brother's music was.

"What do you mean was?" the rock star's brother says. When they tell him his brother died on stage, the rock star's brother screams "No!" at the sky. Then he punishes himself by diving back into the mine just as it collapses again.

Happy Sad Rock And Roll Star Day!

Friday, September 07, 2007

There’s A Prince At The Door Day!

He’s got a cock ring and he wants to see if it fits you. Someone left it behind at a masquerade ball the night prior. Try it on and maybe you can be his princess.

“Well?” you’ll say when you come out of the bathroom sporting the glittery rubber ring.

The Prince will look at you and shake his head. “Good God no. Take that off at once and wash it.”

You’ll do as he says. You’ll feel very stupid and rejected while scrubbing away at the cock ring. Once or twice you’ll hear the Prince sigh impatiently outside the bathroom door.

“Here,” you’ll say, holding the cock ring out to him. “Sorry I made you wait.”

“As you should be, peasant,” the Prince will say.

“Who’s out there Bryan?” your roommate, Leon, will shout to you from his room.

“Just some Prince, Leon,” you’ll say.

Leon will race into the living room and he and the Prince will lock eyes. The Prince will hold the cock ring out to Leon, and you’ll know before he even bothers to try it on that it will fit perfectly. When Leon comes out of the bathroom looking absolutely majestic in his cock ring, the Prince will whisk him away to live the rest of his life as royalty, and you’ll go on Craig’s List to place yet another ad seeking a roommate.

Happy There’s A Prince At The Door Day!

Thursday, September 06, 2007

Man You Are Really Into Egg McMuffins Day!

You decided to start a website devoted to the wonder and beauty of the McDonalds Egg McMuffin, hoping that maybe there will be other people out there who also love Egg McMuffins who have been looking for someplace where they can get together and meet people who have similar interests.

“Here’s my online shrine to the Egg McMuffin,” your homepage reads. “Hope all you other McMuffin lovers enjoy my little world wide McMuffin club, and maybe we can all get together and talk about our first experience with the Egg McMuffin and why it turned us into devoted followers of the McMuffin’s many travels and adventures over the decades. I’ll start:

When I was eleven my babysitter gave me a handjob while she was eating an Egg McMuffin. Occasionally she’d use both hands, but she wouldn’t put her half-eaten McMuffin down, she’d just hold it in her finger and thumb while stroking me with her palm. The McMuffin grazed my penis several times and later I found cheese on my little shaft. It was my very first sexual experience, and I have enjoyed Egg McMuffins ever since. Now you!”

Your visitors will arrive by the millions and they’ll all pretty much have had the same experience. Eventually you’ll start receiving threats because you don’t have a page where people can post McMuffin fan fiction. You’ll create one, but it will be too late and that’s why one of your website fans is going to kidnap your son tonight.

Happy Man You Are Really Into Egg McMuffins Day!

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Your Mom’s Second Husband Moved Into The Building Across The Street Day!

He likes to strangle himself while masturbating, apparently. His name’s Lou and your Mom (dead six years now, natural causes) married him in 1991, then divorced him in 1994. Lou is presently jerking off while hanging from a belt attached to a large hook mounted on his bedroom wall. He’s kicking his legs.

She cheated on your Dad with him. Since he was the guy who brought about the downfall of your parents’ marriage, Lou has always loomed pretty big in your family history. Though after she divorced him, anytime he was brought up in conversation your Mom would just shake her head as if she were embarrassed by her foolishness in marrying such a man. As Lou’s hand jerks with even more fury and his face turns purple, you think you understand why.

By the time Lou comes and releases himself to drop from the belt to the carpet below him, you’re crying. The coincidence of Lou moving in across the street, and the lucky break that he doesn’t care for curtains, has opened your eyes to a whole new side of your dearly departed mom. It’s like you’ve just had a conversation with her where you’ve learned something new about her. You were always so grateful for those rare moments when she let you know she’s just as human as you, and she’s made just as many mistakes as you will. When you get the chance, you’re going to go over to Lou’s building and tip the doorman so you can find out Lou’s apartment number and send him up some anonymous flowers as thanks. For now though, you’re just going to keep watching to make sure Lou gets back up off his carpet.

Happy Your Mom’s Second Husband Moved Into The Building Across The Street Day!

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

College Sophomore Day!

Today you’re a college student starting up your sophomore year and you’ve decided to switch it up as regards the identity thing.

“I’m gonna go transgender,” you tell your dad as he drives his hatchback full of your Bed Bath and Beyond bags onto campus. “Or transsexual I mean. Whichever one doesn’t involve me getting my junk chopped up.”

“Sounds like this decision is going to be sending a pretty hefty credit card bill my way,” your dad will say. “New outfits and all.”

“Goddammit why do you have to try and strangle my personality development with your talk of interest rates and finances,” you’ll shout. “The LGBT Union has the coolest parties on campus. Everyone does it right out in the open.”

“Yeah but only the gay guys could be called traditionally attractive,” your Dad will argue.

He’s got a point. The parties might get wild with potential for an orgy breaking out, but there aren’t a whole lot of attendees there that you’d ever want to see naked.

“I wanna transfer to Brown,” you’ll say.

Your Dad will make a U-turn, cursing as he tries to reprogram his GPS for Rhode Island.

Happy College Sophomore Day!