Let A Taxi Driver Convince You To Stay With Your Lover, With Whom You've Been Disenchanted Of Late Day!

"That's quite a lotta bags," he'll ask after the first few blocks of you staring out the window as if your decision were standing on every street corner making rasberries at you. "You look like you packed 'em in a hurry."

It's already over. If you were pressed for time at all, you would just stop the cab and run back to your apartment so you can crumple up the note before he or she gets home. But you wouldn't have put your life in two suitcases in the trunk of a cab if you weren't stubborn. So you're just going to sit there and grimace while your resolve weakens with every click of the meter.

"I been done wrong," the cabbie starts in. Blah blah blah, but he'd give everything to have said the one thing he was too proud to say...why don't you just go back there already? Your twenty-seven year old ass is no match for the worldly wisdom of the American Cab Driver. He's been more emotionally invested in a knife fight than you are in your live-in fling with Mr. or Mrs. Graduate Student In Semiotics. Yeah, you have a lot of years ahead of you, he can tell. But he can also tell that you are far too dull to do anything with them.

"My forty-first birthday...the loneliest day of my life..." he says. But what he meant to say was, "You still here?" Jesus, exactly what in this world has given you the illusion that things could ever be better for you than they already are? Look at your driver. He expects nothing more than for you to pay your fare and to once a day feel the cold steel of a revolver against his temple. Your generation, you got joy marketed to you so you think it's yours for the buying at half off on your charge card so you can get frequent flyer miles. The American Cab Driver knows two things: the clap won't kill ya' and if you get your hands on joy for half a minute of your life you can consider yourself one of the lucky ones.

Now go home and settle.

Happy Let A Taxi Driver Convince You To Stay With Your Lover, With Whom You've Been Disenchanted Of Late Day!

Pretend Like You Just Graduated High School And One Of Your Friends Is About To Be Shipped Off To Viet Nam But You're Going To College Day!

Obviously, your friend is much wiser than you and has far more to offer but he unfortunately wasn't born with the financial advantage that you have. Also, he'll never make it to Viet Nam because he's going to die before the sun rises, probably when someone dares him to scale an electrical tower or dive into a quarry.

Now about you. You should be wistful, without really knowing why. Just kind of wonder why everything doesn't mean more. Why every footstep you take isn't weighed down with resonating import. The awesome part is you're totally gonna get laid when you and your girl/boyfriend have sex for the first and last time and it'll feel like rape. When the sun rises and you don't know that your friend just died, throw a beer can into a vast space, like the quarry (assuming your friend didn't just die there. If you're aware of your friend's death, we understand that you'll be at the hospital slapping walls or demanding information from nurses so we'll just go home). We wanna watch the beer can float into so much wide open nothing because it'll symbolize how indifferent the future is as regards you and the choices you'll soon make.

conGRADulations on Pretend Like You Just Graduated High School And One Of Your Friends Is About To Be Shipped Off To Viet Nam But You're Going To College Day!

Everything's Made of Shit And Dick Cancer (Koala Bears Excluded) Day!

A little girl from Tampa, FL named Cecilia, age 8, wrote the following adorable letter to Girls Are Pretty in reference to today's special day. Give it a read:

Dear Prettygirl,

Zebras are pretty. I like Zebras. At the zoo, I only want to see the Zebras because they are my favoritest animal in the zoo. I don't think Zebras are made of shit and dick cancer and can you please change your holiday so that everything else but Koalas and Zebras are made of shit and dick cancer? Please? Thank you Prettygirl.

--Cecilia. Age 8.

Wasn't that sweet? Sadly, I have no control over what happens on what day. I am only a conduit for this 50 foot monkey that decides on everything, even the thoughts in your head. So here's my response, Cecilia:

Dear Cecilia,

You're fucking dead.

--Prettygirl

Happy Everything's Made of Shit And Dick Cancer (Koala Bears Excluded) Day!

More Titty!!! Day!

The prevalence of titty in day to day American life has been on the wane since the Great Arizona Titty Fair And Chili Cook Off of 1996. Finger pointers wasted lots of Sunday Morning television air time pointing fingers at Cuba. In the 1999 Bestseller When Titty Was Tops, a transcript of Barbara Ehrenreich's graduation address to the Philadelphia Academy of Fine Arts left Gore Vidal's September, 1989 Atlantic Monthly satirical feature "George Bush And The School For Advanced Meteorology" largely in tatters, but conspicuously avoided the topic of Titty like it was plague. Was it cynicism or was it glee?

Who killed Titty?

Well today, we're going to stop looking to Congress for free lunch or at least coupons. If we want our field of vision to once again be saturated with enough titty to make us feel a little claustrophobic and wondering where that odor's coming from, we're gonna have to start at our own doorsteps. Knock on your neighbor's door and introduce yourself. Over the course of the afternoon, you and your neighbor will drink each other stupid with red wine and that's when you suggest that maybe the neighborhood could do with a little more titty here and there. I'll be damned if he or she doesn't grab your shoulders and say, "You might have a point, but who do I write to?" When you both wake up from your nap, one of you will ask "We didn't...did we?" A pair of naked and freckled shrugged shoulders will tell you you might have just gotten laid but you were too drunk to enjoy it.

All that aside, what do you say we celebrate More Titty Day by bashing in some fucking skulls? Who's with me?

How 'Bout Nobody Gather Round A Fire And Sing A Bunch Of Queer-Ass Songs Day!

This one's also known as "Let's Not And Say We Did You Dork Day." It's about refusing to participate in a warm, unifying evening of old and new friends joining together in the woods to pretend that singing "Row Row Row Your Boat" is gonna change the fact that some people's Dads come into their rooms late at night. "Kumbaya My Lord?"

No.

Look this isn't Meatballs. Chris Makepeace is not going to win any races today and Bill Murray is not going to get back together with one of the butchest love interests ever put to celluloid. The only thing any of us has in common is the fact that none of us should ever gather round in a circle to do anything ever. We're just wrong for each other. We're not in a "Gather Round A Fire And Sing Some Songs" place right now. The harder you try to force it, the more plaintive our disgust for each other will become. Oh and way to break out the acoustic guitar on How 'Bout Nobody Gather Round A Fire And Sing A Bunch Of Queer-Ass Songs Day. Good planning. (Just like when you booked the trip to Denver during Denver Blows Week last year.)

What? No I didn't say anything.

Don't Worry, You Too Will One Day Die Day! (Promise)

Sometimes it feels like life might never end. Day after day of heartache and feeling sleepy on public buses sitting too close to gangrenous men who are singing. We're all looking forward to crossing over into the dark blank. But you wonder: "What if I'm the one whose health just never crosses that line? Isn't it possible that my heart just might keep on beating? Dear Christ what if I'm the motherfucker who has to keep on living forever?!"

There's no need to sweat. Precedent indicates that you too are not long for this world. So far, in the history of humanity, no one has lived longer than like 111 years or so.

FAQ
Q: But what if there are people who are immortal but they're just hiding because they're shy?!!

A: Hmm. That's a tough one. I guess you're right. Though highly unlikely, it is possible that this misery might never end for you. Shit.

Happy Don't Worry, You Too Will One Day Die Day! (Probably)

Call A Truce In Your War Of Wits So That You And Your Arch Enemy Can Fuck Day!

Before you go to priceline to arrange for the hotel room, perhaps you might get a handle on that premature ejaculation problem. You're mad geniuses in a never-ending battle for world domination after all. When the begrudging respect you hold for each other turns to an erotic longing so palpable that you're both willing to postpone death ray construction to find out whether your coupling will make the winters boil and the summers freeze, the whole bang-bang shouldn't dribble away after a few minutes when you mutter, "Oh...uh...oops. I'll get a washcloth."

You guys should fuck on top of a mountain. In fact, you guys should fuck each other with a mountain. Time should stop but if it didn't, you guys fucking would last longer than the span of three generations. The moaning should be mistaken for a summer storm's thunder and if you get bored or sore with one particular position you should go into villages and steal some village elders and fuck each other with them.

Don't come yet.

Now stay genitally conjoined but start beating the living shit out of each other! Spit fire on each other and start talking really breathy and potty-mouthed. God that's hot. Your minions are engaged in battle at the mountain's base and they're almost all dead, just so you know. Now, one of you should ask what the other is thinking about, and the other should lie to spare feelings. Take a break to run to the deli to get some sparkling water and limes, okay? Drink up and then go at it again but lazier this time. Be playful. You have all day before you have to return to your respective secret headquarters underneath their respective riverbeds, so why not make the most of this bed. Say what you feel. There's nothing sexier than communication, you know. It's almost as sexy as searing runes into your lover's thigh with your prosthetic pinky laser.

Remember, eye contact. Happy Call A Truce In Your War Of Wits So That You And Your Arch Enemy Can Fuck Day!

Spend All Your Money And Die Day!

Start with brunch. Then go buy like a baby or something. Buy a baby and the legal rights to keep it in the refrigerator (if you spend enough money, you're allowed to do anything you want to a baby. Use your credit card). Then buy a plane and fly it into a mountain. Or buy a porsche and drive it into the ocean (but make sure the person in the passenger seat is wearing a bored expression on his or her face as you fly out into the drink). Or buy the end of the world and use it. Just spend all your money and fucking die. I'm gonna go get breakfast and if I think there's anything else you should spend your money on, I'll update this post later. But don't like stay inside all day or anything.

It's Feed Upon Our Love And You Will Never Ever Go Hungry Day!

Fatso.

Just kidding. But seriously, you are kinda hogging it aren't you? Could you maybe save some for me? Jesus, how do you breathe? You aren't even listening to me. It's like you're hypnotized, just hunched over and gorging on our love as if leaving a little bit on your plate will force your dad to rape a kid. You need to walk more.

Happy Feed Upon Our Love And You Will Never Ever Go Hungry Day! I'm starting to find you less attractive.

Confess To Your Officemate That Sometimes Even The Most Casual Physical Contact, Like A Handshake, Can Make You Wanna Set Yourself On Fire Day!

Just throw it out there, during a lull, when the two of you are bullshitting about whether the new Accounts Receivable Officer is a whore or just sleepy or whether either of you have ever known a heroin addict. When he or she is taking a bite of a sandwich, say it loud.

"I don't know. Sometimes it feels like if someone even brushes past me on the elevator I'm never gonna stop throwing up."

Your officemate might be unsure he or she heard right. Clarify.

"I just feel like people are diseased."

Why have you been shutting your officemate out for so long?

Kittens Day!

FUCK! Kittens Day can blow me.

I'm sorry but I'm out of fucking Ativan and my doctor won't let me have any more until I quit drinking. Now I have to get all sucky-fucky when all my friends call me up and ask if I wanna wish their kitten a Happy Kittens Day?! I always try to leave town this time of year but I'm broke.

I'm gonna go spraypaint curse words all over my futon. Talk to you tomorrow...

Sit On A Roof At Dusk, But Don't Bring Your Rifle Day!

I don't know about your neck of the woods and I don't really care all that much, but from where I'm sitting it's gonna be a pretty nice evening. That's why around 6:30 I'm going to climb out onto my rooftop and just kind'a soak in the twilight. Join me? We can watch the folks in their cars ease down on the clutch as they get closer to their families. We can chuckle at the Rorschach-inspired shapes of the bald spots of the boyfriends on the sidewalks, and we can wander down the cleavage of the girlfriends on the sidewalks from our bird's eye view. We can bring beverages, like a cran-apple drink or some Vodka. We can smoke marijuana. We can just lay back and get heavy-petted by the breeze and if you want to kiss, I don't know. We can talk some stuff out that we can't talk about at a lower altitude and we can spit on things or confess to crushes we have on mutual friends. And I promise not to bring my rifle this time. That was a bad idea, I'll admit it. That was my bad, yo. But how the hell does a newspaper get to print a headline like "Rush Hour Sniper Captured Before First Shot Fired" when they have no idea whether I was going to shoot anybody. As far as I know, it's legal to own a rifle and according to my lease, I have roof access. Is this Russia?

Don't Commit Adultery Unless You Just Want To Have Sex With Someone Besides Your Monogamous Partner Day!

People who commit adultery are disgusting vermin and whatever wacked out making-it-count position they use during their adulterous relationships, that's exactly how the devil's gonna fuck them for all eternity when they end up rotting in hell. Except for the ones who were just doing it for the fresh, exciting sex.

But the others, like the ones who had sex outside their monogamous relationships just to prove they're cool or the ones who nail somebody because he or she knows a lot of trivia about Hockey or the ones who need to fuck strangers to feel necessary to the world because they were molested, those ones deserve to fucking die. I mean, just because someone helps you fix a flat tire then takes his or her shirt off, it's not an excuse to betray the one you love. But if you really just want to have sex with the person, because you never have, then it's cool.

I knew this one guy. He had a wife and two daughters and one night he was on a business trip and he had sex with this cocktail waitress in a motel. But he only did it because he found out one of his daughters had Leukemia and he needed to be close to someone for the night. Anyway, while he and the waitress were asleep, someone broke into the motel room and slit both their throats.

See?

Pray To Baby Jesus To Help You Find Lots Of Money Day!

Just explain things to him. Say, "Baby Jesus, when I went to my high school reunion everyone seemed richer than me. All my old friends and enemies seemed to have found lots of money either by marrying someone who had already found some or by going to college. I wanna find lots of money and I need your help. Give me a sign that tells me where there's some money hidden. Like how about if you get a camel to lead me to an abandoned building where drug dealers who are all dead once stashed gajillions of dollars because the heat was coming around the corner? Or just put a bag of thousand dollar bills on my coffee table. Thanks Baby Jesus. I always knew you weren't a fucking asshole."

Happy Pray To Baby Jesus To Help You Find Lots Of Money Day!

Learn How To Make Poison Day!

Yes, drink Drano and you will most likely die. But how easy is it to get an impotent King to drink Drano?

There are so many poisons out there that are thousands of years old and are just truly fucking awesome when it comes to offing a dude because they were made by ancient Indian civilizations full of guys with nothing better to do than sit around all day dreaming up ways to kill a motherfucker who likes to drink beverages that are offered to him.

Well, little Mr. Unemployed, are you going to spend the day complaining about how you have no one to go see the Ya Ya Sisterhood with because all of your friends have jobs and families? Or are you going to empty out the kitchen cabinets and concoct a potion that might as well be the Grim Reaper himself if the Grim Reaper took the form of a delicious Strawberry Daiquiri? I know you well and I know there's a little Village Medicine Man inside you that's just waiting to come out. You'd look dope with a femur pierced through your nose and you'll get more ass than a place called "Assy Asstowne" whose slogan is "If It's Ass And We Don't Have It, We'll Order It!" once the neighborhood finds out that you got rid of the Town Bad Tipper when you spiked his Mochachino with a droplet full of judgement day that made him bleed something out his eyes that looked like a slurpee. Dress sharp.

Note: Use your poison-making talent for good. If you use it for evil, you're almost guaranteed to drink your own poison one day, and it'll be a poison that lets you live those few extra seconds it takes to acknowledge the irony of being undone by the very thing that made you such a badass in the first place.

Write Impassioned Letters Confessing Your Blind, Paralyzing Love For People Just To Put The Feelers Out There Day!

This dating bullshit just takes to much motherfucking time, don't it? It's just like this awkward dance to a crap song that lasts about 6 to 8 months (eating fucking dinner, going to fucking movies, fucking, fucking calling each other for no reason, wondering whether you fucking love the piece of shit and wondering whether the piece of shit is on the same fucking page then wondering whether you should fucking say so so you can finally fucking move the fuck in together so no one has to fucking run back to his or her apartment at six fucking am just to change into a clean pair of chaps before work). Then guess what? The song ends and the answer is no and you just wasted 6 to 8 months acting like a retard (that's how people act when they try to be in love with each other in the interest of getting more sleep somewhere down the line).

So let's say you think Abbott in HR could be into falling in love with you and you could maybe fall in love with him if you could get past his limp. Are you gonna start dating and maybe find out all the way after fucking Christmas if he'd be down? Fuck it. Write him a letter and tell him you've been insane with lack of sleep and appetite because you have yet to devote every ounce of your being to making his stay on this earth a pleasurable one. Or just pick some flowery way to say, "I will love you forever. You down?"

If he's down, tell him that's awesome but you didn't really mean all that shit you said in the letter. "I mean, I like you and I don't even care all that much that you're kind of crippled." But you got like six more letters out there and eight more to write but he's the first to respond so he's got dibs on a shot at you finding out if you'd be into returning his eternal love.

Sure, this makes the relationship kind of one-sided, but if you're the one writing the letter, your side's gonna win. So who's complaining? There's just gotta be a way to keep boys and girls from getting all fucking naked and sticky for half a year before they find out they never wanna see each other again. I think this is it.

Use mail merge in Word. It lets you put all the cunts you think could be into falling in love with you into a database and then you can plug their names and addresses into a mass declaration of undying "I think you're tops" and you can even make mailing labels with it too.

It's Remain Clothed While In Public Friday!

Awwwwww yeah, TGIF! Party ovuh where?!

(And all the Freelance Technical Writers shout "Party Ovuh Heeyah!!!)

Friday is an exciting time for fans of Jalapeno Poppers all over the country. But after you log off for the day and you make your functional alcoholic's sprint toward the local theme restaurant's happy hour, remember to keep an eye out for people who will demand that you remove your clothing in public.

Ladies, how many times have you been stopped at a light on your drive to Chili's when the balding man with an "I'm impotent" goattee in the '91 Tercel across the intersection starts flashing his headlights at you and miming the act of lifting up his shirt. Suddenly, you're in a quandary. "Does he just want me to show him my breasts in their bra, or is he hoping to see my bare nipples? This bra is difficult to refasten once undone, though. And how long should I remain topless in order to satisfy him? O, cursed debacle!"

No need to fret. For today is that one day of the year that you are to remain fully clothed while in public, even if someone demands that you expose your naked body!

So if you're walking down the street and a crowd of say one hundred men start shouting "SHOW US YOUR TITS!!! HURRY UP AND SHOW US YOUR FUCKING TITS!!!" you just smile and take out your pocket calendar and point to Friday, June 14th, shaking your head as if to say, "Sorry fellas." Once they remember the date they'll unhand you and help you look for some of the buttons they ripped off of your blouse and may even offer some Polysporin to help scab some of the cuts on your face and neck. Then, they'll start kicking over some trash cans.

It's a fine day of relaxation for men and women alike. The corporate sector used to be a man's kingdom. But lately, no matter what he's the VP of, a man can't even walk outside to a sandwich cart without windows flying open and women bellowing out from their offices, "WHIP OUT YOUR FUCKING COCK AND WAGGLE IT AT ME, SHITFUCKER!!!" And sure, he'll pull his penis from his pants and kind of shake it at them or slap it back and forth against his upper thighs to make a kind of CLAP-CLAP sound, but the modern ladies of today's corporate world are not easily satisfied. "NO, FUCKDICK! ERECT! WE DON'T WANNA SEE YOUR SHRIVELED LITTLE TOOL!!! MAKE IT HARD, LIKE YOU'RE READY TO FUCK US BLIND!!! OR YOU'RE DEAD!!! YOU HEAR US?! YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD!!!" So there he is, today's captain of industry reduced to masturbating on the sidewalk under the watchful eyes of scores of judgemental colleagues, doing all he can to achieve an erection and waggle it at the surrounding expanse of offices just so he can go and have his lunch in peace.

But not today. Today men and women alike can stride with the confidence of someone who doesn't have to disrobe in public at a stranger's demand. Because today's Remain Clothed While In Public Friday! Now who wants to go halvsies on a quesadilla?

Let's Get You Out Of These Wet Clothes Day!

Tough luck catchin' a flat in this weather. AAA says they're so backed up tonight they won't get a tow out here for at least another couple hours. But it just so happens that tonight was the night I cleaned out my freezer and so I went and cooked way too much braised lamb and basil potatoes for one person. Join me?

Oops, there go the lights. Happens like clockwork during the rainy months. Looks like we'll be dining by candlelight.

Where are my manners? You must be freezing! Here, let's get you out of these wet clothes. I have a terrycloth bathrobe that might fit. It belonged to my ex. Here, I'll turn my back and let you change.

Hm? No, sadly, not a divorce. A tragic accident. I'd have given everything to have been divorced if it meant his/her life would've been spared.

There I go again. I just...My goodness. It fits you perfectly. And, if I may be forward, until you stepped into that candlelight I had no idea just how green your eyes are. They shimmer.

Make yourself comfortable. I'll get the wine.

(Happy Let's Get You Out Of These Wet Clothes Day...Playa!)

Go Stare Deep Into The Rest Room Mirror And Sort Some Shit Out Day!

Lay your palms flat on the sink and just lean in real close, never blinking your eyes, like if you blink once you might miss it when your reflection begins to fade and fill in with gray. Kind of shake your head a little. Like: "No...Can't be...no..."

Your coworkers will come and go, patting you on the back as they pass, using the sink next to yours and asking if you watched a particular sitcom the night previous and whether you thought a certain misunderstanding was as hilarious as they did. Say nothing. Hold your eyes directly ahead as if you're waiting for God to finish a joke.

On the occasions when the rest room is empty save for your slack form, start sorting this shit out. Say it out loud:

"Who'd respect you? Why?"

Wipe your hands with a paper towel, crumple the towel and beam it into the waste basket with all the fury you can salvage from your bile-drowned spirit. Then lay your palms flat on the sink again, the filthy germ-crawling formica, and stare into those frightened eyes until they're about ready to mock you. Say it out loud:

"You're gonna let it all slip away. In the end, you'll have meant nothing."

Breathe deep. Now close your eyes. Keep 'em closed until it's time. The rest room is gonna be someplace else when you open them again. Keep 'em closed.

Open. Say it out loud:

"Can't..."

Swear In a Crowded Elevator Day!

Make it an express so you and your fellow riders have some time alone, without any doors opening or making room for new riders. During that long rise to the first stop, just stand perfectly still and let out a long, throaty "fffffuuuuuuuck..." Maybe you can punctuate it with a gust of hot breath against the back of the neck before you. Or if you want to be less mysterious and more wacky, start rifling through your bag and let loose: "SHIT PISS COCKSUCKER FUCK!FUCK!FUCK!" You're gonna put a smile on a lotta people's faces.

Buy Yourself Sumthin' Sexy Day!

It's Monday, June 10th, 2002 again. It's time to ask your extremely wealthy and condescending boy/girlfriend to make more time in his/her life for you so that he/she may slip five hundred dollars in your palm and demand that you "Buy yourself sumthin' sexy." Don't take it lightly. Buy something that will appeal to him/her and have it handy the next time he/she demands sex from you. It doesn't matter if, when the item is presented to him/her, your facial expression betrays the feelings of disgust you hold for yourself. Just make sure he/she finds the item appealing. This is a very powerful person we're talking about and no one will miss you if you disappear.

And now for a moment of silence in remembrance of those who can suck me and I mean suck me hard.

It's Throw Something At The Wall Sunday!

You could throw the alarm clock at the wall if you accidentally set it to go off and it goes off and you get angry that it went off. Or you could throw the phone when someone tells you that your last chance fell through and then they hang up. Or your shoes, though that seems misplaced. I don't know. Throw whatever you want. It's not like we know each other.

Seriously, good luck. But I got some shit to do. Happy whatever.

Pretend Your Apartment Is A Fort And Invite Friends Over So You Can Pretend They're Monsters Trying To Get In And Eat You Day!

Pile up all your pillows and couch cushions in a kind of circle and hunker down with your cordless phone and some chicken. Then call up your friends and tell them to come on over and bring some beer. When they buzz your apartment and ask to come up, tell them you know they're monsters and they're just trying to get in so they can eat you and everyone else in the building so they can start the occupation of the neighborhood. When your friend says, "What?", repeat yourself. Your friend might say something like, "Quit being a fucker. It's me, Ed. C'mon it's chilly out here." That's when you tell the monster that you know that monsters have the ability to mimic prey, and you can assume that Ed is dead and that the monster should leave because you're vengeful. Eventually all of the friends you invited over will get pissed off and go away. Then you'll be alone.

Date Someone Who's Hot And Has A Terminal Illness Day!

The great thing about hot people who are dying is they have a really great attitude. Seize the day type stuff. And you'll never be bored because they always have this long list of wild activities they wanna do while they still have the energy. You could barely get your ex to go see a movie but with a hot dying person you'll barely get through a weekend without hang-gliding through a rainbow or meeting Michael Jackson or something. The sex rules, and not just because he or she is hot. You thought you felt sexual panic the last time you went a few months without? Try filling out organ harvest consent forms and see if you wanna cross a few new positions off the list.

Once he or she starts to deteriorate, it can be a bit of a drag. But if we're talking "really hot," for the first few months you only have to worry about dark circles under the eyes and a drop in weight (which might not be bad). Eventually you'll have to put up with incontinence and night-screaming, but the big payoff is once he or she kicks it, you get to be the mourning lover which first of all is about the most erotic thing you can be and second of all you won't have to leave the house for like six months before someone accuses you of milking it. Everyone's going to pay so much attention to you, you'll start to feel like you matter to people. Also, if you're lucky and the hot dying person scored a contract with Make-A-Wish neither of you are gonna have to pay for dick while you're dating!

Conduct Yourself As You Would In The Fantasy Of Someone You Hope Is Fantasizing About You Day!

Does that make any sense? Lemme break it down.

You dig somebody. You hope he or she digs you back. You want him or her to be laying around the apartment thinking about you, wondering what you're doing, fantasizing about what you might be doing. Do that.

So basically, today you're going to fantasize about his or her fantasy about you, and you're going to act that out. This is about lurking inside the darker corners of that special someone's head and guessing where you might bunk down. It'll be a great way to kill some time.

But let's not be lazy about it. I don't wanna hear, "Gee, I bet Betsy's imagining me jerking off to ass porn right now." If you do this right, you get to spend a lot of time thinking about that hot little number you can't stop thinking about anyway, and what you end up doing will feel like it matters all that much more because you'll be imagining that someone is daydreaming about you doing that very thing while you do it.

I'll get us started by example. When I go home I am going to stand naked in front of an air conditioner to dry my freshly showered body and when I am not sipping from a beer bottle I will hold it to my right nipple and occasionally wet my finger with the condensation on the glass and smear a moist circle just below my belly button. The half-smile I wear will be a window into my naughty little mind.

I'd like to remind anyone posting a comment today that this is a family blog. Let the games begin.

Anyone Who Goes By The Name "Big George" Is Attractive Only To Those Who Can See The Inner Goodness In People Day!

Sorry, anyone who goes by the name "Big George." Tomorrow everything should be back to normal. But for today, you kind'a gross people out. Except for your mom and nuns.

Befriend A Runaway, BUT DON'T PUSH!!! Day!

Runaways ran away because they were getting molested so much they had to cut school to make time for it, am I wrong? So when they finally steal their stepdad's crank revenue and get on a bus, they take it to Hollywood usually, to become famous because if they're rich and famous then everyone will listen when they say "no." Some might go to Seattle if they wanna be rock stars instead of movie stars, or New York if they dig musical theater (Note: Just because everyone in musical theater has been molested, it does not follow that everyone who has been molested digs musical theater).

So where do you come in? You have to pick a runaway and try to keep him or her from becoming a hooker. At least for a little while. The only people who talk to runaways are pimps offering free soup. Yeah, some pimps just like to give runaways free soup, but others want to convince the runaways to have sex with strangers for money (IT'S THE FUCKING TRUTH!!!). So if you stop and talk to the runaway shivering in your bus shelter every morning, he/she will think that maybe there are people out there who are just as nice as pimps and he/she will wonder if there are more options open to him/her than being obligated to have sex with strangers for money in gratitude for free soup.

Switch things up. Offer your runaway some pie. Or show up one day with a bowl of your "World Famous Chili" and act like you're only offering it because you're so proud of the fact that you know how to cook wet beef that you make everyone you meet eat some. This way the runaway won't think you're trying to manipulate him/her at all. You're just an annoying person with few talents.

The important thing is not to push. Runaways are kind of snobby in that they think everyone wants to fuck them. So don't offer to let him/her crash at your place. He/she will think you're just like the rest. Maybe give directions to a shelter or call the police or leave little post-it notes on his/her blanket of newspapers that say "You're special and no one can take that away from you." Before you know it, you're gonna be reading your name in the dedication of a tell-all book.

Happy Befriend A Runaway, BUT DON'T PUSH!!! Day!

Don't Run From Bears Day!

If a bear walks up to you and arches up on his/her hind legs and roars like "Grrrr! I'm a rip you into like fifty pieces! Awesome!!!" don't run. When a bear wants to kill you, running away is like saying to the bear "Oh God I'm gonna die!" and the bear just gets really into it. So just sit there. Even if the bear doesn't stop roaring at you for days. Just act like you couldn't give a shit if you or your children live or die. Eventually, the bear, which is actually a naturally occurring force of existential angst, will realize that living another day is something you could take or leave. The bear will perceive that you would find your own dismemberment as disagreeable as being forced to take a lemon in your vodka tonic because the bartender is out of limes. Remember, if you are menstruating, you should bury yourself to the bellybutton in soil.

Just Fucking Drive Day!

Following are situations in which it is suggested that you shut up and just fucking drive:

--A bank robber hops into your passenger seat and points a handgun at your temple and tells you to "Moooove!" and when you're forty miles outside of town and the bank robber (who is quite attractive as it happens. Been quite a while since there was something worth looking at in that passenger seat, yes?) is trying to burn his flesh-wound into a scab with the cigarette lighter you hesitantly allow yourself to glance his way and ask, "So where are we going?"

--You've been alone for quite some time and tonight you went to a disco hoping against hope to meet somebody who would be willing to pull down your pants. After a few hours you find you've drank too much to feel desirable and are about to make your way for the door. A gorgeous man/woman has just caught his/her gorgeous boy/girlfriend in a ladies room stall speaking intimately with an ex-lover. Enraged, he/she stomps across the dance floor in an "eye-for-an-eye" mindset. You feel his/her hand grip your arm and he/she asks "Do you have a car?" You nod and he/she drags you out to the parking lot and practically leads you to your Honda. As you drive aimlessly, he/she doesn't speak, just stares out the window as if his/her eyes could set fire to everything they look upon. You say, "So should I take you home?"

--You are a school bus driver. You've long passed the last stop on your route and you're going 7 miles an hour above the speed limit to get the empty bus back to the garage in time to meet the gang at McGillicutty's for happy hour. You hear a cough. A man's cough. The bus isn't empty. You screech to a halt and turn around in your driver's seat to stare directly into the bloodied face of your former chess mentor. You say, "I thought you were extradited."

--On a dark highway, you pick up the hitchhiking ghost of a celebrity who would like you to not speak but keep driving and who has a penchant for profanity.

--Everything behind you is in cinders. Everything up ahead belongs to someone else. The only thing left is the two of you, side-by-side, and the forward momentum. The first one to speak is gonna say "Pull over." The second one to speak is gonna say "Goodbye."

Happy Just Fucking Drive Day! Remember: Stay Alert, Stay Awake, Stay Alive and shit.

Write A Letter Of Apology To Someone Who'd Forgotten All About Your Very Existence Over A Decade Ago Day!

Yeah, you ought'a get pretty loaded to pull this one off. I can't imagine you really enjoying it unless you get so drunk that you end up crying against the rest room hand-dryer because you remember back in 1989 when you were at the Dallas Airport Radisson for the Ceramics In Hospital Furnishings Conference and you saw your high school chemlab partner across the lobby but you didn't wave hello because the conference was about to begin and you wanted to get a table nearest the dais. And even though at the time it was 11 years after graduation, tonight, here in the Wichita Airport Chili's rest room you're just beside yourself with disgust at what a selfish, miserably insulated person you can be.

Well it's never too late to apologize. Who cares if he/she didn't even see you that day. If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, you're still a cock. So go back to the bar and start composing a letter on bar napkins. Under better (read: "sober") circumstances, the letter could be as simple as, "I saw you many years back and I wish I'd said hello but I was in a hurry." But if you write less than thirteen pages of the most deeply confessional prose, apparently you don't really care about this person. Start with why your son stopped speaking to you. With a nice seque, you could be deep in the muck of you not crying at your mother's funeral by page five. For the big closer, confess to sleeping with his or her boy/girlfriend the summer after graduation and then turn it all around and blame him or her for the two of you losing touch after the chemistry final. Don't worry if you forget to include the part about apologizing for anything. The point is you're clearing the air once and for all.

You could wait till tomorrow to transfer the text of the bar napkins to hotel stationery, but you have a plane to catch. Just drop those napkins in an envelope and send it on its way, tonight, before last call. He/she used to live three doors down from you in high school, remember? His/her parents probably still live there and they'll forward it. Drop it in the mail and get to bed. You're gonna sleep well tonight, friend. Because today's Write A Letter Of Apology To Someone Who'd Forgotten All About Your Very Existence Over A Decade Ago Day!