Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Loveway Day!

Lower the top of his newspaper so you can look into his eyes and say this subway just stopped being a subway because now it’s a loveway, then lean in and kiss. He’ll lift his napkin to his lips and cough into it because a lot of his lung was removed back in 2004. He’ll say he’s seen you ride this train every morning for the past forty-five years, sometimes with your mop, sometimes in a nice dress. When you wear the nice dress he becomes suicidal because he assumes you’re on your way to visit a lover. Tell him you have grandkids, grandkids with a man who widowed you long ago, and you like to look your best when you visit them. We have to set a good example for our young, say, show them how getting old is done. He’ll say he’s angry that you didn’t kiss him sooner, that you and he don’t have much time left. Kiss him again and ask him if he’s feeling any less angry yet. He’ll lift himself on his cane, pull you by your waist against his itchy tweed overcoat and he’ll tell you it’s time for these years to finally get golden. Lay down on the bench and kiss him through smiles while the entire car applauds the discovery that love lives on when the skin gets loose and the memory gets long.

Happy Loveway Day!

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Your Kidnappers Can’t Kidnap Your Inner You Day!

Your new self-help book, titled “Your Kidnappers Can’t Kidnap Your Inner You,” is selling like crazy, which is a pleasant surprise because you figured that the target audience for a book about how to achieve personal growth while being held captive for ransom would be unable to go shopping because they are all tied to water heaters in basements. You can thank the ebook craze and the ease with which it allows kidnap victims to keep up their reading for your royalty statement. Many kidnappers throw Kindles downstairs with the food, water and TV remote, believing that a kidnap victim with something to read is a kidnap victim who will spend less time dreaming up ways to knock their abductors over the back of the head and escape. The kidnappers generally keep an eye on the books being bought to make sure their abductees aren’t trying to send Amazon messages about their location, but unless kidnappers choose a safehouse in an area that’s been celebrated in literature, it’s kind of hard to pull that off just by buying book titles. Later this afternoon USA Today is going to interview you and ask whether you yourself was ever kidnapped. Be vague about it if you want sales to keep growing. Kidnap victims hate taking advice from people who were never kidnapped. They need to believe you’ve been there, even though you’d never be so stupid as to let something like that happen to you.

Happy Your Kidnappers Can’t Kidnap Your Inner You Day!

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Write Your Name And Address On The Inside Of Your Undershirt, Take It Off And Leave It On The Table So That Maybe The Waitress You Like Will Return It To You In Person After Her Shift Ends Day!

You really like the new waitress at Patty’s On Main, but you aren’t sure how to tell her how you feel because even if she does share your feelings, you don’t know if waitresses are allowed to tell customers that they care for them while their server number is still active in the kitchen’s computer. The best way to handle this is to go into the bathroom and take off your undershirt, write your name and address on the inside and leave it on the table with your tip. That way when the waitress finds the undershirt, she’ll either throw it away if she doesn’t want to love you, or on her break she’ll bring it into the changing closet and rub it against her face, breathing in your scent, until her eyes spy the scribble of pen on the inside and she sees you’ve left her a small but priceless treasure. Your address! The place where you sleep and where you sing into hairbrushes when you’re happy! The place she’s envisioned in her daydreams while standing in the back waiting impatiently for your order to come up, silently imploring the kitchen staff to cook faster so she can bring your dish to your table and see you again. If she loves you she’ll go to your home tonight and hand you your undershirt, then without asking she’ll insert herself into your embrace and you’ll lead her inside and show her the shelves you cleared off for her in the bathroom medicine cabinet.

Only use your undershirt for this because if she doesn’t care for you, she’ll throw out the undershirt and if you go back the next day and ask her to reimburse you for the undershirt, she might balk.

Finally, if this works out as planned and she does return the undershirt, you must never tell her this was all planned. Waitresses are a surly, streetsmart bunch and when they find out they’ve been tricked, their language turns vulgar and they start stealing from you until they feel the wrong has been made right.

Happy Write Your Name And Address On The Inside Of Your Undershirt, Take It Off And Leave It On The Table So That Maybe The Waitress You Like Will Return It To You In Person After Her Shift Ends Day!

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

He Went Over A Cliff With That Whore Day!

After two days the Sheriff finally located your husband’s car. He didn’t make the turn around blind man’s pass and he went into the gully nose first.

“We’re sending a team down to pry his body out of the wreck,” the Sheriff will say. “I should warn you though. Some people in town saw your husband earlier in the day. They say he was with–”

“That whore?” you’ll ask calmly.

The Sheriff will look startled. “You knew.”

Take a tissue and hold it to your nose. It will keep the tears at bay.

“I thought it was just a phase,” tell him. “I thought that when a man reaches my husband’s age, he panics. He creates a fantasy about the man he used to be. He embraces the lie that once upon a time he was bold, without a care for caution. That he was a feared barroom brawler. That he never slept in a bed alone or with a familiar face. That he knew angles, schemes. He’ll focus on five happy minutes enjoyed when he was 23 years-old and in the throes of his illusion those five minutes will stretch to ten or fifteen years, just so he can fill his heart with the longing for this "man I used to be,” enough longing to send him floating out into the night, away from his wife, into the arms of–“

"That whore,” the Sheriff will say. “I should warn you, after she arrived in town and registered her name with my deputy, he did some digging. She has some experience with luring husbands away from home.”

“I know about the will,” tell him. “But it’s useless now. There’s no way they both could have survived that crash, right?”

The Sheriff will look into your eyes. He’ll know plain as day what you’ve done, and badge or no badge, he’ll know it’s none of his business. He’ll just be sure to keep a close eye on the investigation to make sure no one decides to check to see if the brakes were cut.

Your phone will ring. The Sheriff will rise.

“That’s probably for me.”

A few minutes in the kitchen, muttering a few one word questions and one exclamation, and the Sheriff will be back in the living room, resting on the ottoman, this time his hat in his hand.

“Your husband didn’t survive the crash,” he’ll say.

A quick inhale. Put the tissue to the nostrils. You surrendered the right to cry for him.

The Sheriff will arch up in his seat, take a breath, then he’ll add, “The whore. She wasn’t in the car.”

Your lips will part just wide enough to execute a gasp.

“She survived?”

“All we know is she’s not down in that gully.”

Say to the Sheriff, “You’ll have to excuse me Leo.”

“Now Frida–”

“I said you’ll have to excuse me Leo. See yourself out.”

The minute you hear the Sheriff’s car pull away, get the hell into town and this time make sure you kill that whore before she can get a lawyer to hand her everything your poor murdered husband worked so hard to provide for you.

Happy He Went Over A Cliff With That Whore Day!

Wednesday, April 06, 2011

Come Up To The Lair Sometime Day!

You always assumed his invites were just him being polite, and you never intended to take him up on it. Whenever you’d see the evil mastermind who rid the town of the bats then held the town under financial and psychological enslavement for decades to come, long after most in the town realized that he was probably the one who brought the bats to begin with, he’d say hello and ask after your family before parting with a casual “Come up to the lair sometime!” You’d say you’ll be sure to and then go on with your day, happy that he didn’t sick his albino thugs on you.

Today you’ll discover your assumption was incorrect.

“You haven’t come up to the lair,” he’ll say. “Tell me why. Now.”

You’ll stammer an apology and you’ll tell him you assumed–

“No one should make assumptions about what I say. I only speak information that I want the listener to process and act upon. You received information that I wanted your company in my lair. You processed this and decided I didn’t want the company I requested. Shall I kill you?”

Tell him you’ll be up to the lair after you fix your mother’s lunch.

“I’ll wait until 12:45. A minute after that, if I don’t see you in my lair, your family and your employers will be taken to the creek bed and shot. You’ll have no family and no income.”

You’ll say that you’ll be there.

“I’m making mimosas today,” he’ll say. Then he’ll be off.

After you fix your mother’s lunch you’ll head up to the evil mastermind’s mountainside lair, where you’ll be greeted like a long-lost friend with whom he’s reunited at long last. You and the evil mastermind will drink mimosas while you watch footage of a war in southeast asia that he orchestrated. On his fourth mimosa he’ll be drunk enough to ask, “So does everyone down there in the town know I’m the one who brought the bats?”

You’ll nod. “It took us a while to figure it out. But yeah, I think everyone knows.”

The evil mastermind will say, “Then I guess I owe them all an apology.”

He’ll walk across the room to a PA console and shout into the microphone. “Hi everyone. I’m a little late on this I know, but I just wanted to say, about the bats, sorrrrrrry!”

As he returns to the couch you’ll hear that “sorry” echoing up from the town into the hills. Once on the couch he’ll tell you that he’s never apologized to anyone before. He’ll say, “I guess it’s the champagne. Or maybe it’s the company.”

The evil mastermind will think for a second, just a second, and then he’ll have made up his mind.

“I want you to be the one to kill me and take over my global operations. Even though you’ll intend to destroy all I’ve worked for and bring good unto the world, the power will corrupt you and you’ll prove to be even more cruel than I. Agree or your family and your employers will be shot.”

You agree. The evil mastermind will keep you close to him for the next 30 years. All the while you’ll be plotting a way to murder him and free your people, but one day you’ll be on the green of the eighth hole on his indoor golf course and he’ll drive up in his golf cart, approach you and hand you a knife and he’ll say, “It’s time. Kill me now. Do it or your family and employers will be shot.”

You’ll stab him in the heart and you’ll go upstairs to his PA system to announce that everyone is free, but when you start to speak you’ll get confused. Instead of telling your people they have their lives and their town back and they needn’t worry any longer, it will come out sounding more like, “I’d like to inform you all of a new tax being levied to finance the safety of your first-born sons. The tax will be paid or your first-born sons will be taken down the to creek bed and shot.” You’ll put down the PA, stunned at yourself. The evil mastermind’s body is still warm and already you’re raising taxes.

Happy Come Up To The Lair Sometime Day!

Tuesday, April 05, 2011

Major In Her Face Day!

You thought that majoring in Patty’s face would be easy but you’re failing out of college now because you forgot to study, which is sad because studying didn’t require anything more than staring at Patty’s face, taking it in, marveling at her eyes and the poke of her nose and the way her cheeks puff out when she’s angry. But you’ve been having real trouble.

“Look,” Patty says. “I would have been fine if that night at the bar when you told me you were going to major in my face, it was just some pickup line. But you went through with it and chose my face as your concentration. Do you know how embarrassing it is for me that you’re about to fail?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Have you seen another face you wish you’d majored in?” she asks.

“No. Just drop it all right? I’ll go pump gas or something. Who needs college?”

“You do!” Patty says. “We all do. You can’t just quit. Is it really that hard to study my face?”

You’ll finally break down and let it all out.

“I’m bad with faces all right!” you shout, crying before you realize it. “You happy to hear me say it?”

You’ll fall to the ground and sob. Patty will rub your back until you calm down.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she’ll ask.

“I’m great with names,” you say. “Faces though. I just blank.”

Patty will ask how you got through high school and you’ll tell her you were on football and the rally girls remembered all the faces for the guys who had trouble.

“Well we’re not going to let that stop you,” Patty will say. “Now that we know how hard we have to work, we can do it. I’m not going to let you quit.”

Then you and Patty won’t sleep for the rest of the weekend so you can cram, which basically means you’ll spend the next 72 hours staring at Patty’s face and repeating to yourself, “That’s Patty’s face.” You’ll also use some flashcards that have pictures of her face on one side, with her name on the other side. When you finally take the test you’ll get a C and Patty will tell you how proud of you she is and you’ll say “Do I know you?” but it will be just a funny joke.

Happy Major In Her Face Day!

Monday, April 04, 2011

Everyone On The Plane Feels For You Buddy Day!

She showed them all your picture; they asked to see it. They wanted to see the face of the guy whose heart was going to be ripped in two just after the plane touches ground. She made her decision just after the seatbelt sign went off, then she said to her seatmate, “If I tell you something that I’m about to do, will you tell me if I’m a bad person or not?”

The people in the surrounding rows listened in, and word spread throughout the cabin. The flight attendants got wind of it and they started spreading it around first class and the cockpit. By the time she was above the Grand Canyon, that entire plane knew she’d decided not to marry you.

Don’t think they didn’t try and persuade her one way or another. Passengers started getting out of their seats to go to her row and tell her a promise is a promise and who is she to think she deserves better. They told her no marriage is perfect, and no love ever feels like the storybooks. Others elbowed their way down the aisle to offer their support. “Don’t listen to those babies,” they said. “Those babies are just scared of being left behind,” they said. “Life doesn’t wait for you to live it. We could all be dead if this plane goes down so–” That guy got restrained by an air marshal.

Basically, the ones who were sick of getting their hearts broke told her not to break your heart. The ones who’d done a lot of heart breaking told her to follow her heart. You can plainly see who took what side when nine dozen strangers disembark and form a single file line to greet you at the arrivals gate. The ones who tried to keep you two together will pull you close into a hug and they’ll tell you to be strong. The ones who wanted her to set herself free will give you a light punch on the shoulder and tell you that the knocks we take in life are what make us a better person. She was seated near the bathrooms so you’ll hear inspiring words from nearly everyone on the plane before she finally stands before you with tears in her eyes and tells you that she needs to go to the ticketing desk because after she says what she has to say she’s going to need to change her return ticket.

Happy Everyone On The Plane Feels For You Buddy Day!