Invisibility Day!

It's been three days and four hours since you've had a drink and you're so depressed right now. But don't forget, the dryout is for the greater good of your laboratory experiments and you're just a calculation away from perfecting your powers of invisibility. You're at the point where you can pretty much slip out of your physical shell like it was a party dress in the back of a town car. Which means tonight you'll finally be able to be privy to every private moment in the life of that chick in accounting you're so hot for. Since she's been really cold to you ever since the two of you and a few other people went out for drinks after work a couple years ago and you made some delicate remarks about her being black, and since she's been married for eight months now, this invisibility thing is really the only way you're going to get a foot in the door of her private life.

She's going to be hitting the gym right after work tonight so you can see her nude then. In the locker room. She even changes her underwear, but unfortunately she wears her workout clothes home so she can shower there because the locker room is so humid she feels like she can never quite dry off enough after using their shower stalls. So you'll have to follow her home if you wanna watch her take a shower.

After the gym, she and her husband have tickets to see the Society For The Performing Arts' production of Sugar Babies. Have fun!

I Think That Cater Waiter Likes You Day!

You've hosted eleven functions at your home since switching to Wendell and Wendell for your menu and that one boy with the choppy blonde hair has been on staff for every single one. Do you not see how he follows you around, always just five steps behind you. You've found yourself getting a little too tipsy before dinner because this adorable child (at the Rilke School fundraiser he introduced himself as Craig, if you recall correctly) simply will not allow you to hold an empty champagne flute for five seconds before he slips another mimosa in between your fingertips, and you'd barely know he'd done it if he didn't make such an effort to get you to blink at the glint in his eye.

Use this boy. During the keynote speech at tonight's Retinitis Pigmentosa benefit, summon him to your husband's study through the event manager, saying you need Craig to handle drinks for a meeting that will take place there between the fundraisers for the charity and the attorney for a benefactor friend of yours. When Craig arrives, mount him.

Continue your affair with the boy, holding your heated, abbreviated trysts in your husband's study during the keynote speech at every one of your functions (well known to be the time for you to butt heads with the event manager to get everything squared away for the reception) until you are certain that you are pregnant. Then tell your husband about him. Tell your husband about the baby and about how the baby was conceived on the edge of the desk from where he's conducted his business for the last twenty years. Tell your husband you cannot have the baby because you are too in love with Craig for any evidence of him to exist on the planet if you are to stay with your husband and children. Tell your husband that you will abort the baby, but that you need him to rid your life of the boy. It's been so long since you've been certain that your husband was responsible for the death of a man and you crave such an affrmation of his virility. You've tried to deny it, but you know that you won't find the man attractive again unless he exercises his influence to murder for you. Consider the spark in your marriage rekindled.

Happy I Think That Cater Waiter Likes You Day!

Give To Me Your Leather, Take From Me My Lace Day!

"Put the leather on the ground and back away with your hands up!"

"Show me the lace!"

"PUT the leather on the ground and back away with your hands UP!"

"Not until you show me the lace!!!"

"Boy I am not gonna tell you again! Now do right by yourself, drop the goddamn leather and back away WITH YOUR HANDS UP!"

"I can't do that O'Reilly. That lace is worth a lot more than my head right now."

"See them rifles up in these towers here? I got a leash on 'em but they're tuggin' real hard. You come in with me and you'll be safe. Hand over the leather boy."

"Sorry O'Reilly. If I don't walk away with that lace then a girl dies and I'm pulling the trigger myself."

"Boy, where you goin? Hold still, son! HOLD YOUR FIRE!!! HOLD YOUR FIRE!!!"

Chase.

Happy Give To Me Your Leather, Take From Me My Lace Day!

Methods Of Protest Against People Wearing Fur Have Been Amended Day!

Starting today, animal rights activists are asked (politely) to refrain from throwing buckets of red paint at people who sport apparel made from the coats of slaughtered animals. Girls Are Pretty recommends (humbly) the following alternative means of protest against such individuals:

To protest someone wearing fur:

1. Chase after them peeing.

2. If they get away, meet friends for drinks.

To protest someone wearing leather (yes, shoes included, oh yes yes):

1. Shoot a baby.

2. Throw the shot baby at a wall.

To protest someone wearing fake fur:

1. Go to the gym.

2. Work out with free-weights.

3. Approach the fake-fur clad person, hold out your arm and make a muscle.

4. Say, "Feel this."

5. After they feel your muscle, say "Pretty nice, right?"

6. Walk away, wondering why you didn't really get around to any sort of assault.

7. Screw up at work. Find yourself spacing out in conversations with friends. Forget a birthday.

8. After a few days, take a moment to figure out why you're so wiggy lately.

9. Realize that when the fake-fur clad person felt your muscle, you felt something shift inside, like a drastic weather change. Conclude that the only step you can now take is a step toward looking into that fake-fur clad person's eyes once more.

10. Run to the fake-fur clad person's house just in time to see a cabby slam the trunk shut on a pile of suitcases before getting into the cab and pulling away.

11. Get into a cab of your own and shout, "Follow that cab. My only shot at happiness is in that cab so there's a C-Note in it for ya' if you do right."

12. Find the fake-fur clad person at the airport gate about to board a plane to go back to Ohio and be a parent to the son he or she abandoned in high school, having left his or her high school sweetheart to raise the boy alone.

13. Explain that you think you dig the fake-fur clad person. Convince him or her to put off being a parent to the boy long enough to see if you two stink right together. Marry.

Happy Methods Of Protest Against People Wearing Fur Have Been Amended Day!

Start A Family Day!

Buy some soup. Enough soup to feed everyone in the family you hope to have for at least one whole day. So if you want to have three boys and a spouse, buy about fifteen cans of soup to get you all through breakfast lunch and dinner. This way, if you get pregnant or if someone you have sex with gets pregnant and you want to convince your partner that the baby should not be murdered, but rather, it should be birthed and fed soup, when your partner says, "Where the fuck are we gonna find the money for soup?!" you can show him or her the cabinet full of soup that you bought and you can be all, "Check it out, yo. I already got one whole day X'd out on the calendar. And that's how we should approach keeping our little baby alive. Don't think too far ahead. Take it one day at a time." There is no way to argue against that. There is no way to argue against that. There is no way.

You Look So Motherfucking Hot Today Day!

damn, ya'll. fuck. damn. holy shit, did you just see that. i wanna kill my mom, that shit so stank. fuck, i wish parts of my body were inside that body...

...

...


...and vice-versa (sorry, chewing).

fuck. fuck, you look so motherfucking hot today, fuck, you look so motherfucking hot today people just have to look in your direction and they wish they were having sex with you. i know that's not very colorful, but i mean everybody. on earth. except the blind. that's big, right? even really hot people can't expect everyone who looks in their direction, including the newborn, to wanna fuck them. but today, you're the one, ya'll. fuck i wanna fuck your turds.

Happy You Look So Motherfucking Hot Today Day!

Bring A Present To A Funeral Day!

Hallmark ain't quite figured it out yet, so how 'bout you start a gift-giving tradition by wrapping up a kitschy little over-priced knick-knack and just leaving it on the foyer table at the reception for your friend's dad's funeral. Imagine how she'll feel when she finally has everyone out of the house and she gets to let her shoulders fall without fear of someone jumping up from the couch to brace her against her grief, she pours herself a glass of wine too many and plops down on the couch to open up the only gift anyone thought to bring and guess what!

"Jenny bought me a pack of Mae West refrigerator magnets for my Dad's funeral! Man oh man am I lucky to have such a thoughtful friend that she remembered my postured appreciation of the work of Mae West on the day my Dad was lowered into his grave. He died at 56 of cancer, by the way."

Whatever you do, don't call your friend until she calls you to thank you for the gift. Even if you never hear from her again.

Happy Bring A Present To A Funeral Day!

Go And Stand Underneath His Or Her Window But Just Don't Do The Only Thing You Wanna Do Day!

That's right, it's a public sidewalk. And since he or she doesn't live above a 7-11, there's no "No Loitering" sign to be found so there's no reason why you shouldn't be allowed to stand staring up at his or her window until Easter Sunday if you wanted. Of course, one phone call to the police will send a squad car over to tell you to move it along or stick em up, "No Loitering" sign or no "No Loitering" sign. Policemen find people who stand still suspicious.

But so what? Stay right there with your eyes on that window until the heat comes around the corner. Crane your neck back and stare and glare and whisper all the swear words you want. Or, if it's raining, droop your head to the ground so when he or she catches sight of you it looks like the rain has pounded you so hard you can't hold your skull on your neck any longer. Do a dance, recite the pledge of allegiance or use your cell to call up moviefone to see if there's a flick nearby that you can catch when this is all done.

Just don't do the only thing you wanna do.

Don't scream "whore" or "prick" or "dick" or "shitlick" either. Don't spraypaint the sidewalk or the front door or the superintendent's street level window with the words "There's a lying, manipulative, impotent puddle of excrement fouling up the air in apartment 3W." Don't throw your half-finished 40 of malt liquor up in the air to crash with a splash to the right of that bedroom light and don't throw a whole-finished one of those to do that neither. Also don't use everything you learned at the community Y rock climbing class to scale the brick wall up and into his or her bedroom because that would be breaking and entering and that's against the law. Don't scream "I'm sorry" and don't scream "I love you" and please for God's sake don't scream any cute little private nicknames like "Fuzzyfeet" or "Fuzzyhead" or "Fuzzypants" or "Fuzzylips" (ew!). Don't hold a bouquet of roses, you'll look dumb. And don't hold your new spouse's hand, it's a turnoff. Don't fire a gun in the air or at the ground or at your own head or even through the superintendent's street level window.

Believe it or not all of these things
are the things that might win your baby
back by your side

So whatever you do just don't do
the thing you know you'll never do

Because you wanna do it so goddamn badly.

You came to the window to stand below it emptyhanded and emptyhanded is the way you will leave. Now beat it.

Happy Go And Stand Underneath His Or Her Window But Just Don't Do The Only Thing You Wanna Do Day!

You Are Feeling Sleeeeeepy Day!

That time of year again. Time for you to go see a dinner theater hypnotist and be the first in the audience to volunteer to be hypnotized in the hope that while in a hypnotic state you will confess to setting the fire that killed your spouse and three children but that the fire department blamed on a rotted gas trigger.

You've tried drinking a lot with old friends praying for the kind of 4 am confessional conversation where drunks who've been drinking together for years start unloading all the secrets they've been dying to throw to the tabletop. You've holed up in a motel room for days with a wisened prostitute, grasping for that kind of intimacy to which you can only surrender yourself when you know you're talking to someone who plans to wash all evidence of you from her body as soon as the cigarette in the ashtray burns down to the filter. You've even become an international spy and allowed yourself to get caught by hostile governments, praying to be administered a hypodermic full of truth serum.

You've gone to such great lengths just so you can be angled unawares into shouting once and for all, "I did it! I rigged the pilot light to go out that night! I killed my little babies and I really apologize big time!" And what have all your headgames yielded? Nada, zip, zilch.

But your chest is still tight when you open your eyes in the morning. So you gotta keep trying. Go see The Amazing D'Agostino and volunteer to be hypnotized. He knows everyone in the audience is just dying to get onstage and admit to their extramarital affairs and sister lust, which is why the Amazing D'Agostino only makes his volunteers cluck like a chicken because he got his chops in vaudeville and he doesn't want all that heinous shit unloaded all over his stage. To quote the Amazing D'Agostino, "This is dinner theater kid. It ain't church. Make em smile and peddle the veal."

Happy You Are Feeling Sleeeeeepy Day!

No One Ever Asks To Be The One To Track Down A Kidnap Victim They've Never Met Before Day!

Sometimes you're in the middle of a meeting and your cell phone vibrates and even though you rarely interrupt a meeting to answer your phone, especially when you don't recognize the number on the screen, something makes you answer and so you step away from the table to answer your phone and you hear a woman's urgent whisper say:

"Billy?!"

You're not Billy and you say as much and that makes her say cursewords. Then she tells you she's in a trunk and she's been kidnapped and she was trying to call Billy but dialed the wrong number. Then she tells you that you have to find Billy.

"They're going to kill me. Probably no matter what, they're going to kill me. But maybe not if you find Billy."

She tells you not to call her back because they don't know she has a cell phone. She'll call you back if she can, she says.

"Billy who?" you say.

She waits, listens, then says, "They're pulling over." You think you might hear the muffled sound of men's voices just before she hangs up.

Sometimes, you answer your phone and you're given no choice. That call that's about to come through is one of those times. You're going to have to find Billy and save the girl. And you're going to hope that Billy is just her brother or her roommate or something because even though she's afraid for her life, she sounds really cute and if you were to rescue her from kidnappers you'd be so in.

Happy No One Ever Asks To Be The One To Track Down A Kidnap Victim They've Never Met Before Day!

Be Somebody's Paperboy Day!

To do this, you should either deliver a newspaper to somebody's house early in the morning, or you should show up to their house at dinnertime and ask them if they would be willing to pay you to bring a newpaper to their house in the morning. Tell them that if they wish, you can deliver only the Sunday newspaper, but they still have to pay. Everybody pays.

Happy Be Somebody's Paperboy Day!

Inside Your Veins, Pouring Through Your Body With The Flow Of Your Blood, Those Are Little Bugs That Shriek When They Laugh And They're Real Ticklish Day!

That's why you feel like you've been vibrating all day. It wasn't nausea, but actually the sum total of millions of little tiny bugs shrieking with laughter inside your veins. I don't know if this news makes you want to die more or less. But anyway, yeah, you're made of a swarm of shrieking bugs.

You know, I want you to die.

It's the Girls Are Pretty "Scaredy Cat Weekend!"

Monday is Martin Luther King Jr. Day, and to honor the good doctor it is tradition here at Girls Are Pretty to spend the preceding Saturday and Sunday crippled with terror over everything from having to tie one's own shoes to a home infestation of giant mice with knives who speak in loud curse words. So it's best that both Saturday and Sunday get put up right now since Pretty Girl just heard a noise. Scroll down to read Saturday. Don't read Sunday until tomorrow or else something bad will happen to your Mom.

Sunday, January 19, 2002

Look Like Ally Sheedy Day!

Today's the day to be on just this side of Dyke. Get a haircut that is kind of almost not shoulder-length but with enough bounce to just nearly avoid looking way hot. Wear girl clothes, but rumpled, like they make you feel as uncomfortable as you feel in your own skin. Finally, pout in a way that lets people know you don't expect to be paid heed. For extra credit, ruin your career comeback by taking every opportunity to bitch to the press about your falling out with Demi Moore.

Happy Look Like Ally Sheedy Day!

Saturday, January 18, 2002

Fuck The West Memphis 3 Day!

A while ago, Damien Eccols and Jesse Somethingorother and that third kid were wrongly imprisoned for fucking and killing kids. Since then, a really cool movie was made about the whole thing, as well as a way shitty sequel. And more recently, there was a record of Black Flag covers released to benefit their legal defense fund because apparently Henry Rollins just got HBO Plus. Will these three boys who've spent most of their young adulthood behind bars ever be given a fair trial? Will Jon Mark Byers ever admit to peeling the skin off his step-son's penis with his own teeth? Will the truth ever come out? For today only, the answer to all of these questions is "Who the fuck cares? That sequel blew." So unless the Paradise Lost trilogy is completed by midnight tonight and the final chapter is way cool, today's Fuck The West Memphis 3 Day!

Sneakertongue Shadow Puppet Show Day!

The tongues of your sneakers like to put on little shadow puppet shows in the moonlight while you sleep. Tonight, each tongue will be playing the character of a thin, floppy slab of something or other that's sticking out of the part of the sneaker where the tongue should be. In the shadow puppet show, neither character moves or speaks and the shadow puppet show is called, "The Raping Of Retarded Girls Who Don't Realize What's Going On."

Happy Sneakertongue Shadow Puppet Show Day!

Starz "Seeing What Fits Up Your Ass" Day!

Today, for 24 hours, there's a Starz channel called Starz "Seeing What Fits Up Your Ass" which is a 24 hour live feed of you walking around the house and checking to see what items you can put inside your ass.

I'm not really sure it's you. Or rather, it's definitely you, but I don't know how "You" it is. You look sort of hypnotized, or at least real focused on putting things inside your ass to see if they fit. I'm betting you can watch the channel too. Sometimes, people just sort of show up on a live video feed of them walking around the house seeing what they can fit up their asses. Even though they were at work all day and they have witnesses.

At around 11 am, it was weird, you had just shoved a high school Crew trophy up your ass and it went in real easy too. Then you tried to stuff this enormous bowl of fruit up your ass. The bowl must have been three feet in diameter, and there were oranges and pears and bananas piled high, but you'd just kind of squat over it, then lower yourself down real slow, as if you were afraid of scaring the fruit away. Then when one of the pieces of fruit would inevitably tumble from the bowl, you'd get up and put it back in it's place with great care and deliberation, then you'd get in position to lower your asshole over the bowl of fruit for another try. It took you like 45 minutes to give up, and when you did you didn't seem disappointed at all. In fact, you've looked really at peace the whole time.

Right now you're trying to shove the living room wall up your ass.

Happy Starz "Seeing What Fits Up Your Ass" Day!

Quit Drinking Day!

If you've ever ingested alcohol, you know that it's better than motherhood. Alcohol solves most problems and if you drink enough of it, you might win money! Over 89% of Americans polled daily say that they never want to stop drinking ever for fear of living in a gray, gray world devoid of kittens.

This all may be true, but that doesn't change the fact that today's the day to quit drinking.

Happy Quit Drinking Day and I'm only kidding. I'm drunk right now!

Get A Chant Going Day!

Wherever you are, whatever you happen to be doing, today's the day to get everyone around you on the same page with a nice, catchy chant.

For example, let's say you've just finished a presentation for a visiting client. When everyone's finishing up their plates of danish, just slap your hands on the conference table to a beat and bang out with:
"This presentation was a great presentation/
And you should be a satisifed client! Hoo Hoo!/
This presentation was a great presentation/
We love clients because clients smell clean!"

Or, if you're on a bus:

"Bus driver! Bus driver!/
You're a good bus driver!
Mommies think sons who drive buses /
Are good!"

Or let's say you're hemmorhaging:

"That's a lot of blood hey! /
A lot of gushing blood, ho! /
I can see a bright white light! /
Tell my wife I love her! Yee hah!"

A good chant is just the best way to say to somebody that you've got spirit, yes you do, you've got spirit and you're wondering if everyone else around you also has spirit.

Happy Get A Chant Going Day!

It's the Girls Are Pretty Silly Putty Week!

This week on Girls Are Pretty, we're going to be celebrating Silly Putty week by posting more than one day's personal regression assignment at a time. Also, in honor of Silly Putty Week, there will be no mention of Silly Putty on this or any other web page on the worldwide internet network of webpages and websites. Check it out.

Monday, January 13, 2003

Cheerleader Camp Day!

Today is the day you're going to try to turn your life around by joining cheerleader camp. Within six hours, you'll be kicked off the grounds for not being nimble and also for being high in the boathouse with the 55 year old retarded guy who looks after the boathouse. You might not make cheer squad, but at least you'll have found love.

Happy Cheerleader Camp Day!

Sunday, January 12, 2003

Maple Syrup Day!

Put a bowl of tunafish on the kitchen floor but before you open the door to your kitchen, pour a big puddle of maple syrup on the floor in between the entrance to the kitchen and the tuna on the other end of the floor. Your cat will already be trying to dig underneath the door to get into the kitchen, so when you open the door she'll just come tearing across the floor glomping straight through that puddle of syrup. She'll still eat the tuna, but for the rest of the day she isn't going to be able to take a step without twitching her paws to try to whip that syrup from her fur. The syrup won't ever come off and your cat will want to die. This is gonna be so fucking awesome.

Watch The Waves Crash Against The Rocks And Then Watch All The Crabs Washed Up Onto The Rocks By The Waves As They Decide Whether They Want To Fight Or Fuck Day!

Two crabs, both black, find themselves lost atop a giant rock. And then they find each other.

First order of business: DANCE!!! To the left, to the right. Then on back to left once again, ya'll.

Next, lay still. This'll take a while till one of the crabs decides it's fast enough to burrow into a crook of the stone.

By now, the other crab has decided it would like to rip the crook-burrowing crab's legs off. Which is sad because the crook-burrowing crab has never been so hungry as it is right now for the kind of muchomucho tangytang it knew that other crab was packing the minute their eyes met. It's always sad when a crustacean just wants to eat a piece of pussy but instead gets all its arms ripped from its body.

Happy Watch The Waves Crash Against The Rocks And Then Watch All The Crabs Washed Up Onto The Rocks By The Waves As They Decide Whether They Want To Fight Or Fuck Day!

It's The Girls Are Pretty "Prettygirl Is Going To Attempt Suicide" Couple O' Days!

It's that time of year again, everybody, when Prettygirl eats a shitload of pills and tries to die. No worries, it's just a cry for help. But there might be some hospital time and maybe some "I promise I'll never do it again" time with the Moms and Pops. So it seems wise to get two or three posts up at once just in case. And I say two or three because I'm not sure when these Vicodin are gonna start with the eraser-paint. Fuck you all.

Friday, January 10, 2003

You Don't Have To Be Gay To Admit That A Flower Is Prettier Than Your Feet Day!

But you do have to be gay to admit that you want to make love to people who are of the same gender as you so stop it with the racketball classes and go eat up some of that genitalia that looks just like the kind that's smack dab on the business end of your pelvis.

Happy You Don't Have To Be Gay To Admit That A Flower Is Prettier Than Your Feet Day!

Thursday, January 9, 2003

Be The Asian Chick In The Commercial About Anti-Allergy Medication Day!

It'll be awesome. As soon as you come on the screen and start talking about how busy your schedule is, millions of people across the nation are gonna be like, "That chick's Asian!" Then they're gonna feel manipulated into buying that brand of anti-allergy medication because of the wackiness of an Asian chick all of a sudden being thrown in their faces when they had never really thought about Asians having allergies before. They'll get angry about this and will probably change the channel. They it's just a lot of "I'm going on a killing spree" this and "I'm going on a killing spree" that. Ho hum.

Happy Be The Asian Chick In The Commercial About Anti-Allergy Medication Day!

Be An AIDS Metaphor Day!

Go into people's houses and if the people who live there are unwilling to discuss the fact that you are in the house and you should be dealt with, kill them slowly by weakening their immune system.

Or, you could get way high on weed. Say out loud, "The pain and misery of me is alleviated by marijuana usage."

Whichever you prefer. Oh! One more!

Go to the park and find some heroin addicts who are sharing a needle and who look disgusting. Use a Sharpie to paint dark spots on their skin. Tell them, "I am AIDS. Metaphorically speaking of course."

And lastly, suck. Because man, does AIDS ever suck! ; )

Happy Be An AIDS Metaphor Day!

Fess Up Day!

When the chick behind the starbucks counter is making your drink, she'll say, "I smell Chinese Food."

You'll have just had Chinese Food. You'll be embarrassed to stink of your very fragrant lunch, but she'll know it's you. Just cop to it. Say, "I just had Chinese Food."

She'll say, "Did you have an egg roll?"

Say, "No. Beef with broccoli."

Her face will light up and she'll say, "It smells really good. It's making me hungry. I wish you'd brought some for everybody."

Tell her, "Well, I think I still have some residue of it in my mouth. I haven't had anything to drink yet. But I did smoke a cigarette. Actually, yes, now that I am talking, I can feel some little stalks of broccoli loosening from the paste on my tongue."

She'll look around for her supervisor, and if her supervisor isn't there, she'll lean over the counter with her mouth open wide. Gather a heaping glob of saliva from the walls of your mouth and from underneath your gums and spit a big loogie into her open jaw.

She'll swish it around with her tongue then she'll smile a big grateful smile and she'll say, "Thanks. How 'bout I upgrade that Latte to a Venti, no charge."

That's when you should say, "Solid!"

Happy Fess Up Day!

The Christmas Tree Is How They're Going To Catch You Day!

You've been mimicking the life of your upstairs neighbor for weeks now, killing off all of his enemies one by one, using methods only he would use. With every disappearance you've sent the investigator directly up the steps past your door with a question: "Where were you last night Bradley?"

The best part, Bradley always has an alibi. You've made sure of that. And the investigator is a shrewd one. Even though all signs point to your upstairs neighbor as the killer, the investigator can't help but believe there is something far more mind boggling going down. He wants to find that little detail and he thinks it's right there in front of his eyes. As he walks towards the building with the question on his tongue, the investigator can feel the killer near. And as soon as Bradley opens his door, the feeling evaporates into a fog of frustration.

Bradley has a beautiful Christmas tree lit up with white light in his streetside picture window and he won't take it down. So neither can you. Even though you know it's the clue literally lit up in lights for the entire city to look up from the sidewalk and see. You can't take it down until Bradley does. Not if you want to continue to live as Bradley lives. And you want no other life, even though you know it will be your ruin.

The investigator found the body of Bradley's former publisher this evening. He's on his way over. And he might look up at the building and wonder why two people living above and below each other would choose to keep their Christmas trees lit up with white light as late as January 6th.

Happy The Christmas Tree Is How They're Going To Catch You Day!

Your Dick Smells Day!

Aw God. Button up buttercup. Your dick stinks like hell just farted.
Jesus Christ, do you sleep with your cock in a jar of old mayonaise or
something? I have pets for Christ's sake.

Why don't you go wash up for a few hours? Or fuck that, lemme
light your dick on fire. Seriously, only a white flame could burn through
whatever dried up and died all over that thing. Goddamn you're gonna
make me kill myself.

I just did it. Happy? I just committed suicide. And I just committted
suicide because your dick smells.

Happy Your Dick Smells Day. And I guess I'll be seeing you at
my funeral, stinkdick!

The Allegory Of The Pasta Maker Day!

There was once a couple aflame. In the throes of divorce, a man and his wife directed the whole sum of their bitterness and rage into a single dispute over the custody of their jointly purchased pasta maker.

It began when the husband first moved out of their home. He was packing into his Nissan several boxes containing all the belongings he felt he could not live without during his stay in the apartment he was subletting from an attorney working out of the London office of his firm for the year. Settled precariously atop the last of the boxes was the pasta maker with its cord wrapped tightly around the base. As the husband made for the door, his wife reached out and snatched the pasta maker into her embrace.

"You're not taking the PastaMatic," she said.

The husband defended his rightful possession. "The fuck I ain't," he said. After much shouting, it was in a huff he left, and the pasta maker was returned to it's home on their kitchen counter. But it was not plugged into the wall socket, and neither would it ever be again.

In the ensuing months, the husband fetishized that dusty countertop appliance as if it were the key to a secret door of escape from his feelings of loss and resentment. The Secretarial Services Adminstrator with whom he'd struck up the instigating affair soon grew tired of his preoccupation and ended their trysts, yielding him all that much more time to strategize how to win back his prized piece of cookery. There were many threatening phone calls during office hours and he even staked out his wife's dinners with her new beau, waiting for her to step out of an Italian restaurant just to jump from his car and shout "Ah ha!" into her recently carbohydrated face. She would shout back that she'd only ordered a plate of veal, and he would say, "You'll slip up one day. And know this: I'll be there when you do."

The pot came to a boil when in the middle of his fifth sleepless night in a row he broke into his former home, grabbed the pasta maker from the kitchen counter (noting that he didn't have to unplug it from the wall) and climbed upstairs to stand at the foot of his old bed and woke his wife and her lover from their sleep with a whisper of her name.

"I'm taking the PastaMaestro now," he said.

She saw the flames in his eyes and decided to stoke the fire. "I'll ruin you," she said. "Walk out that door with the PastaMucho! and my lawyers will have you working for me by the time this divorce is final."

Her new boyfriend concocted a plan to bring the matter to a close. The husband appeared not to have even noticed him until he finally spoke. And even then, it wasn't sure how much he heard.

"Why not let an outside party decide who gets the PastaMarksman?" he said. The wife thought that was a good idea. And for some reason, perhaps just to get to the end of this story, the husband agreed as well.

So some old and wise person, probably a town elder or a cop, he showed up in the bedroom and said, "I'll cut the Pastameliorator in half so's both ya'll get a piece."

The wife was into it but the husband said, "No, let her have it. I'd rather give up the Pasta (and I mean) Lotsa! than see it destroyed." The wife went, "Score!" and grabbed for the appliance but the old guy yanked it out of her reach. He said, "No way, little baby ho. Your husband clearly loves the Pastamerica (USA!) (USA!) most for whatever reason. He probably fucks it. But anyway, I'm giving him dibs."

That's when the wife freaked out and killed everyone in the room using magical powers.

Happy The Allegory Of The Pasta Maker Day!

Your Belly Is His Belly Is Her Belly Is Their Belly Day!

Make everybody happy and fill up on pills.

Have A Blessful Your Belly Is His Belly Is Her Belly Is Their Belly Day!

Check The Outlook Calendar At The Desk Where You're Temping To Find Out What The Executive You're Assisting Was Doing On Momentous Days Of Your Life Day!

On August 3rd, 2002 you drove with your brother to the Sy Gould funeral home to pick up the urn containing his wife's ashes. Your car stalled in the parking lot with your brother sitting there in the passenger seat, the urn in his lap. Seven minutes into the 40 minute wait for AAA, your brother got out of the front seat and opened the back door to put the urn in the backseat. Then he got back in the front seat and turned on the radio. You stood beside the car and smoked lots of cigarettes. Four at least.

On August 3rd, 2002, Fred Penn, VP of IS Development at Lace Duterhoffer Financial Partners was in Tuscany for his fourth night at the Hotel Pelicano. He had dinner with Tan Fujiyama of the Wattei Corporation at the Pizzi Vineyard. 8:30 reservation.

Happy Check The Outlook Calendar At The Desk Where You're Temping To Find Out What The Executive You're Assisting Was Doing On Momentous Days Of Your Life Day!

Blame It On The AZT Day!

A little testy at brunch this morning with your sweetums? Blame it on the AZT! Talk about how they bungled your levels at the understaffed hospital pharmacy and it'll buy you at least a few hours. If you end up losing your temper again when you go out for your after dinner coffee, just apologize and say, "I really don't mean to be so prickly. I just can't seem to kick this sheep pneumonia."

These are just stall tactics of course. Eventually you're going to have to sit your NaughtyNaughty down and say flat out that you don't think you can get serious with someone who has dyslexia. Don't mention that you get grossed out when you feel his or her double chin pinch your own chin when you kiss. That would be mean. You need your karma right about now, yo.

Happy Blame It On The AZT Day!