Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Unfrozen Fart Day!

Your Dad drew up his will, and he wants to have his body frozen when he dies.

“But I want them to freeze me so that the minute I get unfrozen I rip a fart,” you say. “I want them to melt me down in the future, and right when they’re wondering whether my my body can be reanimated to give them information about society in the past, I let fly this rip-roaring Harley Davidson type fart that lasts like two and a half minutes and makes everyone laugh.”

You’re going over the terms of his will, and you just aren’t sure about this.

“Can they do that, Dad?” you ask. “I mean, you’ll be dead when you’re frozen. How can they freeze your dead body in such a way that it will release gas?”

“It’s called science!” your Dad says, hitting you with the stirrer from his martini glass.

You skip down to the part where you inherit everything and you smile. He really does love you.

“I think it’s a great will Dad.”

Your dad tries to fart but can’t.

“Man I hope this works out. It’s worth dying tomorrow if I could be sure that I’d fart ten centuries from now.”

You wish you could relieve his pain, but you’ll have to leave that to the future for now.

Happy Unfrozen Fart Day!

Monday, April 28, 2008

Go And Rescue Your Classmates From The Caved In Crystal Cavern Day!

Your class went on a field trip to the Crystal Cavern but you weren’t allowed to go because you got in trouble for picking up Julie Rigby and running off of school grounds with her over your shoulder during recess. Julie was screaming and yelling for help while you carried her away and several teachers had to chase you across the street and up the next block before you let her go. You explained that you only did it because you like Julie but she thinks you’re fat (you are), so you assumed this is the way it has to be done. Since then you’ve been meeting with your guidance counselor during lunch so he can tell you what you’re allowed to do to girls you like and what’s not allowed and what’s illegal.

Keeping you from the Crystal Caverns trip was a harsh punishment, you thought, but now that they’re all trapped and likely to die in the caved in mine, you wonder whether it was a blessing. If you go and save all your classmates, you can probably lift up any one of your classmates and carry them wherever you like. You’ll be the hero, after all, and heroes get to walk away with whatever they want over their shoulders.

When you start to walk toward the mine’s entrance, the rescue workers laugh at you for being so fat and thinking that you can be of any use. Then you go straight to the pile of rocks and begin hefting the big rocks away from the mass and they wonder if maybe you might really be of some use. Then you pull one rock away and it makes all the others tumble deeper into the mine with a loud rumble. After that the people with the headphones listening for voices under the rocks, they take off their headphones and they shake their heads no. You go on home, wondering if tomorrow there’ll even be anyone left to carry off from the playground now.

Happy Go And Rescue Your Classmates From The Caved In Crystal Cavern Day!

Monday, April 21, 2008

Some Christmas Trees Can Talk and Fight Terrorism Day!

When you were seven you went downstairs on Christmas morning to see what was waiting under the tree for you. In the living room twinkling with tree lights and tinsel, you found a mountain of gifts sitting under the majestic pine raining its dry needles all over the wrapping paper. It was when you started picking up gifts and shaking them that you swear the tree started talking to you.

“Did you say something Christmas tree?” you asked it.

It spoke again. You can’t remember what it said, which is why ever since then you've assumed you were just having a dream that morning. Most of your childhood memories can be relegated to the stuff of dreams, at least until those memories are confirmed by an outside party.

Today, at age 35, you’re going to be woken up when your front door bursts from its hinges and an old, brown Christmas Tree still sprinkled with tinsel comes hopping through your apartment to your bed.

“Why didn’t you kill them?” the Christmas Tree will ask.

It looks like a tree that was thrown to the sidewalk on January 3rd. Except it’s standing on its own stump without a tree stand, and its branches shake around the midsection when it talks.

“You were real?” you ask.

“Christ. Don’t tell me you didn’t believe in me. So much for the wonderment of children.”

“What did you tell me all those years ago?” you ask.

“I told you that the world will end in 2008 unless you kill your parents and brother. You had 27 years for the love of Pete. We can track and gather info and we can collate data, and we can fake passports and bribe the right people, but to actually strike against a target we need humans. We’re only trees after all. We counted on you, man.”

You tell the Christmas tree that you’re pretty sure you’re going crazy right now and you’re going to stop talking to it. The Christmas tree will get frustrated and just to piss you off it will go to your shoe rack and shake it’s branches over your shoes so they’ll fill with needles. Then it will leave.

“Turn on the TV,” the Christmas tree will say before it hops out the door.

You get out of bed and turn on your TV to find photos of your mother, father and brother displayed on the screen, captioned with Eastern European names. The words “Missing Nuke” are displayed above them in scary red letters. The newsman is giving out evacuation instructions to the populace.

“I should have listened to my Christmas Tree,” you’ll think. “Now the whole world is gonna burn.”

You lay back in bed, dizzy but warm in your heart. Finally, at 35, you understand the true meaning of Christmas. Then you see a bright white flash in the east.

Happy Some Christmas Trees Can Talk and Fight Terrorism Day!

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

You Sure Do Get A Lot Of DUI’s For A Woman Day!

Getting pulled over for your fourth DUI turned out to be the best thing that’s ever happened to you. It looked like it was going to be the end of your life as a licensed driver, and you were probably even going to have to serve some jail time. Then the judge presiding over your hearing made one fatal mistake.

“You sure do get a lot of DUI’s for a woman,” the judge said.

No one knew what a stir that little statement would cause. A few people in the room even chuckled. But after you got your sentence for community service and AA, you immediately went to the press and told them about the double standard that sways over the county courthouse.

Within days the story about the judge who thinks women should drive less drunk than men swept through the nation and you had your pick of top-notch lawyers fighting to argue your civil rights suit against the County.

“It’s not that women don’t drink and drive just as much as men,” the judge said when interviewed on a local morning show. “It’s just that in my experience, they don’t get caught so much. Their center of gravity is different right? Maybe that helps them drive drunk better.”

But no one bought it. The judge was condemned as a sexist and forced to resign. He later killed himself by closing up his garage and letting the car run idle. Your suit against the County won you a $3 million settlement and you finally got to open that coffee shop you always dreamed about.

You still drink and drive, and you still get caught a lot, but you never have to do any time. None of the judges want you in their court room for even half a second after they saw how you handled their colleague. Which is nice because you used to be afraid to drink certain places knowing how far you'd have to drive home wasted. Funny thing is, now that you can drink and drive all over the place, all you want to do is sit at home and drink alone.

"Weird how that kind of thing works out," you mutter into your glass of bourbon just before it drops to the floor and you fall asleep sitting upright in a living room chair.

Happy You Sure Do Get A Lot Of DUI’s For A Woman Day!

Monday, April 14, 2008

You Can’t Stop Driving Day!

Your ex-girlfriend used to design parking lots and since she left you’ve been unable to park your car without being reminded of her. She hurt you real bad, left you for your landlord, and you just can’t handle knowing that every time you park your car you might be doing it thanks to her ingenuity of drawing straight lines on a paved lot. It’s made it so that every time you get into your car to run an errand, you find yourself unable to park. You just keep driving until you run out of gas or open the door and roll out of the car while it’s still moving, hoping that it crashes lightly into a tree or a river and not some kids.

Your therapist was good enough to give you one last session. He’s running beside your car right now, trying to open the passenger door. He needs you to go slower.

“I’m only going five miles per hour,” you shout at him.

“Slower!” he pants. “I can’t get in!”

“I’m going three miles an hour! If I go any slower I’ll park. I can’t park!”

“I can’t get in. Slower!”

He’s grabbing at the door handle, slapping at it but he can’t seem to get a good enough grip to open it.

“This won’t work! Call me!”

You keep driving and you watch your therapist shrink in the rear view. You look over at the door and realize you forgot to unlock it. You can’t help but burst out laughing. You laugh and you laugh until you see the post office and you roll out of the car to pick up some stamps. The car crashes into a Blockbuster Video, which is convenient since you had to return “Becoming Jane” anyhow. It's sitting on the dash.

Happy You Can’t Stop Driving Day!

Friday, April 11, 2008

Your Lawyer’s Here Day!

He’s got some bad news.

“I did the best I could. But the State won’t allow you to receive your lethal injection from a man dressed in a Boba Fett costume while another man in a Darth Vader costume massages your balls and talks about how you and he are one and the same. And they won’t abduct your mother and make her watch while her exclamations of disgust are pumped into the execution room via a hidden microphone.”

“What about the topless woman in a Greedo mask walking in just as I’m about to die and admitting to me that she shot first?”

“No go,” your lawyer says.

You shake your head in sadness for America. “They call this humane?”

“You shouldn’t have killed those kids,” your lawyer says.

Happy Your Lawyer’s Here Day!

Monday, April 07, 2008

Your Best Friend’s Boyfriend Is Your Boyfriend Now Day!

Your best friend’s boyfriend is knocking on the door. Open it up and he’ll tell you he’s your boyfriend now.

“Okay!” you say. You wrap your arms around him and give him a big kiss. Your first as a couple. “We don’t kiss now,” he says. “Newhart’s on.”

You hand him the remote and you order burritos. “We don’t eat burritos on Tuesdays,” he says. “Tuesday is sandwiches night.”

You throw away the burritos and you and he make some sandwiches. Then you turn off the TV and start having sex.

“We don’t have sex like this,” he says, pulling off your mask. “We have missionary position vagina sex.”

You change-up and it is magical. When you finish, you get up and go look for some marijuana.

“We don’t smoke weed after,” he says. “I lay here and you turn your back to me and cry.”

You’re starting to get the sense that he’s a little set in his ways. “I don’t want to cry,” you say.

“This doesn’t feel right,” he says. “But, when in Rome.”

You both get high, but he doesn’t loosen up. You invite him to take a shower with you, where you start scrubbing his front, but he doesn’t do anything to you.

“We don’t scrub each other’s fronts first,” he says. “I wash your ass for around eighteen minutes and then the water gets cold.”

He washes your ass for only twelve minutes before the water turns freezing.

“This is all wrong!” he shouts as he hops out of the shower hunting for a towel, which isn’t kept where he thinks it should be. Then he complains that the temperature in the apartment is maintained at a lower grade than it should be, and the light bulbs in the fixtures are 60 watt when they should be 75. When he looks in the fridge and finds no string cheese or celery sticks, he tries to pick up the refrigerator and throw it out the window, but he can’t.

“I think you might need a little more time to get over your old girlfriend,” you say. “She’s my best friend and she’s really great. I can understand why you’re having trouble adjusting to her being gone.”

“But I’m your boyfriend,” he says. “You’re just doing everything wrong.”

“I’ve probably already lost my best friend, and it’s just not worth it to trade a wonderful friendship for someone who’s just going to follow me around telling me everything’s wrong,” you say. “Seriously, go back to my best friend, or go home and be alone for a while.”

He shakes his head. “No. I’ll get used to you doing everything incorrectly. Really. Pretty soon, the way you do everything wrong will be the right way to do everything, and by the time I leave you I’ll be pissed off at the way the next girl does stuff because it isn’t the way you did it.”

You can’t help it. You like the thought of some girl two years from now having to put up with hearing how she’s all wrong because she’s not you. You decide it’s worth it. You take a seat on the couch and pull a pillow over your lap.

“You don’t hold pillows,” he says.

“Deal with it,” you say.

The phone rings. It’s your best friend. When you answer, she hangs up.

Happy Your Best Friend’s Boyfriend Is Your Boyfriend Now Day!

Friday, April 04, 2008

You Think You Know What The Smoke Monster Is Day!

You have been living alone for the twelve years since your divorce and you never really had much in your life to keep you occupied until you started watching "Lost." Now you spend all your days commenting in message boards and editing "Lostpedia" with your theories, but many of the other fans think you're a crackpot. The one theory of yours that no one wants to accept is that of the nature and origin of the Smoke Monster.

"It's sexual," you start off. "The smoke monster is an embodiment of the unresolved sexual tension between all of those characters who should be having sex with each other but aren't because they're either too busy worrying about the freighties or because they've already been killed and buried. Anytime someone comes close to having sex on the island but gets shot instead, the smoke monster grows stronger."

No one wants to accept your theory and anytime you add it to Lostpedia, it gets removed almost immediately. You're starting to get a little pissed which is why today you're going to find the other major players in decoding Lost-lore online and you're going to bring them to your house and starve them until they're too weak to escape. Then you're going to make them live with you as members of your family and all of you will watch Lost together when it starts up again. You've never watched Lost with anyone before, and you bet it would be fun. Just as long as the people you're watching with don't get stupid and contradict you, because for those foolish folks you'll keep a branding iron glowing hot and ready to scar their naked torsos (keep them all naked to make it harder for them to run away).

Be careful though. When you walk toward that first house of the first Lost "expert" you want to kidnap, how do you know he isn't waiting for you? How do you know he wasn't planning this all along? How do you know this isn't exactly what the island wants you to do?

Happy You Think You Know What The Smoke Monster Is Day!

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

You And The New Guy Should Get Along Day!

When you show up to work today, you boss tells you that you have to train the new guy.

“He’s just like you,” your boss says.

“Almost like your clone,” your boss’ right-hand man adds.

“You guys should get along just fine. You’re practically the same person,” your boss says.

You go to your desk and you find the new guy sitting on the floor next to it. He’s eating pudding out of a plastic container and it’s all over his face. When he finishes the pudding container, he throws it at the back of someone’s head then laughs very loudly.

“You’re the new guy?” you ask. “I’m supposed to train you."

“Thank God you’re not black,” the new guy says.

You march right back to your boss’ office.

“What do you mean he’s just like me?”

“You don’t see the similarity?”

You look back at the new guy. He’s now in a desk chair and he’s got his pelvis arched up under the desk, clearly massaging his boner with the desk’s underside.

“Okay, maybe a slight resemblance," you say. "But I’m not racist.”

“Yes you are,” your boss says without looking up from the documents he’s reading.

You decide to go back to the new guy and learn more about yourself.

“It’s hard to believe my boogie-snot still tastes good after so many years," the new guy says. "You’d think my changing chemical makeup might have altered the taste after a while. Or it might have been affected by my all-consuming sense of disappointment. But nope. It’s still my favorite meal."

You send out an email to the entire office, apologizing for your behavior in general. You promise to try to be easier to tolerate.

“Can I access the kind of pornography where it looks like someone is being victimized on this computer? Or do I have to use my iPhone?” the new guy says.

“ isn’t blocked yet,” you say. “But we’d better start training soon.”

“Let me just finish this threatening letter I’m writing to someone I want to be,” he says.

You wait.

“Okay, finished. Just have to drip a little of my blood at the bottom here. Aaaaad, let’s get to work.”

You’re amazed by just how bad the new guy smells. You send out another email, telling everyone in the office that you now understand why you’re seated alone by the window and you’ll try to rectify the situation.

It’s all getting too much to bear. You kind of want to train the new guy and then resign so you can start anew someplace where people aren’t already so familiar with your repulsive character. There’s just so much you have to change about yourself.

“Before we start training,” you say to the new guy. “I want to thank you. You’ve taught me so much about myself already.”

The new guy leans in. “I’m an undercover agent with the FBI. This office is a front for a human trafficking ring. You’re the only one here who isn’t in on it, so I made sure they’d pair me up with you by appearing to be compatible to your personality. Help me bust these scumbags.”

You shake his hand. He wipes his hand with an anti-bacterial napkin after you let go. Then you begin your brief tenure as the world’s most repulsive crime-fighter, all the while thinking, “I may be awaiting trial for masturbating next to patients' beds in a burn ward, but at least I’m not running a sex slave ring.”

Happy You And The New Guy Should Get Along Day!