Girl Falls In Love Day!

On the porn site, deep in the middle of the TGP listings of thumbnail jpeg series and ten second cumshot mpegs, surrounded by an unending litany of links that read like newspaper headlines from the Porntown Daily Herald ("Redhead Sucks Cock Outdoors!" "Three Huge Dudes Split Girl In Two!" "Coed Spooged!"), there is one link that pops off the screen and makes you think your eyes are going bad.

It says, "Girl Falls In Love". The number next to the link (18) indicates if you click on that link, you will find a series of 18 photographs documenting the moment when a girl falls in love. If you don't click, if you don't want to see how a porn site handles love, you're out of your goddamn mind.

Thumbnail number one: A brown-haired girl in her mid-twenties is sitting on a grassy hill on a sunny afternoon. She holds a bottle of water in her hand. Sitting beside her is a brown-haired boy, also in his mid-twenties. The boy also holds a bottle of water. They do not look at each other.

Thumbnail number two: The boy sips from his water. The girl appears not to have moved.

Thumbnail number three: The girl sips from her water, and the boy takes another sip.

Thumbnail number four: Her eyes are closed. The boy stares off, but not blankly. He recognizes something in the distance.

Thumbnail number five: The boy appears to be yelling at whomever he has seen. The girl looks in the same direction, smiling.

Thumbnail number six: A brown-haired man who looks to be in his early thirties is squatting before them, talking to them. All three are smiling.

Thumbnail number seven: The three continue talking, the boy now with his arm around the girl, who sips from her water.

Thumbnail number eight: The three are still together, but no one is speaking. They stare off into the distance of what is probably a field, from whence the friend came. The girl's head rests on the boy's shoulder.

Thumbnail number nine: The friend is gone. The girl's head still rests on the boy's shoulder. His hand is wrapped round her bicep.

Thumbnail number ten: Both sip from their waters. The girl has lifted her head from the shoulder slightly to do this.

Thumbnail number eleven: The boy is talking. The girl keeps her head on his shoulder but trains her eyes on his face. She is smiling. So is he.

Thumbnail number twelve: The girl is talking. The boy is laughing with his mouth wide open.

Thumbnail number thirteen: The boy sips from his water, a smile still on his face. The girl stares up at him, taking him in.

Thumbnail number fourteen: The boy looks down at the girl. She holds her stare, her smile is one of contentment.

Thumbnail number fifteen: The boy stares off into the distance again. The girl continues to stare at him.

Thumbnail number sixteen: The boy tilts his head up, as if he is relishing a breeze. The girl watches him.

Thumbnail number seventeen: The boy looks down at the girl. The girl smiles at him, her face now streaked with globs of semen.

Thumbnail number eighteen: The boy stares off into the distance. The girl continues to watch him, smiling, some of the semen dangling in a stream from her chin about to land on her sweatshirt.

Happy Girl Falls In Love Day! They almost had it, didn't they.

Children Of Alcoholics Should Become Alcoholics Day!

If your father is an alcoholic, he probably doesn't have a lot of time to spend with you between his three-day benders and being unconscious. So maybe you oughta take a few steps in his direction. If you had a drinking problem like him, then tonight at 3 AM when he says, "We're out of whiskey. I think the neighbors are on vacation so let's break into their house and steal their whiskey." Without a drinking problem, you'd probably already be in bed, waiting to hear the sound of your father falling on the ground so you can finally fall asleep knowing he's safe on the kitchen floor. But with your newfangled alcohol dependency, not only will you be there by his side freaking out because you're out of whiskey, but you'll be across the street shimmying inside your neighbor's basement window before your Daddy has the chance to say, "I love you son. And I'm glad we finally get to do these father-son things together. I'm happy that you finally came around on this one."

If you're a daughter of an alcoholic, don't bother changing a thing. Whether you're drunk or not, he's still gonna fuck you.

Happy Children Of Alcoholics Should Become Alcoholics Day!

Mysticism Day!

In honor of Mysticism Day, hold your open palm overtop of a flame until it hurts too much. Then use your in-tuned-with-the-universe-ness to fuck two chicks at the same time. You can do this either by picking up a pair of friends at a bar who like bumping into each other while having sex with the same guy, or you could slip into your less than corporeal existence and actually be in two different bedrooms (or living room couches) at once (warning: This gives you a bad headache!). Before you go to bed, cast a spell on the sky to make it rain over the heartland. You'll be doing the farmers a solid.

Happy Mysticism Day!

Throw An HIV Party Day!

The last time you threw a White Trash Party, the only people who showed up were the losers who were trying to get the most out of the forty bucks they spent on their mullet wigs. Eighties parties are nothing but a chance for incest survivors to bury their memories for a short joyous respite (as long as the Kajagoogoo keeps playing, it's still 1986 and I haven't been molested yet). And orgies just suck.

There's still one theme you can attach to your next get-together. Throw an HIV party! Just ask everyone to show up dressed how they think they'd look if they had HIV. No one will get pissed off about having to go out and buy costumes because you can look like you have HIV even when you're wearing the same clothes you wear everyday. You just have to walk around with an expression on your face that says, "Fuck! Fucking fuck fuck!!! I can't believe I have fucking HIV!!! Fuck! Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fucking... Ah well, I'm not going to let this thing beat me."

But if they want to go retro and dress all late nineties HIV style, the guys just have to wear Hawaiian shirts that look like they were found on the sidewalk. And the girls have to wear black tee shirts tucked into modest skirts or coulottes. And everybody has to wear Teva sandles.

You can also drop jelly beans into the high ball glasses and everyone can pretend they're drinking their drug cocktails. Play a videotape of Magic Johnson highlights on a loop. And you can play card games with pretzels for betting, but the amount of pretzels you have left reflects your T-Cell count. This is going to be such a good time and everyone in your social circle is going to think you're fun and funny.

Happy Throw An HIV Party Day!

Turn A Hose On The People Who Are Protesting You Day!

If you're trying to sleep in but the protesters are out on your lawn chanting, "Up and At 'Em! Rise and Shine! You're a terrible person! Hey!" Let them know that they can't push you around and turn a hose on them. If you don't have access to a fire hose, just use the garden hose. It won't force them to disperse, but if it's chilly out they might catch cold and every time they sneeze, they'll know it's because they thought they could mess with you, and they were wrong.

If they come back later in the evening while you're trying to eat dinner, and they start chanting, "Stop Eating! You're a pile of shit! Hey!" apparently the hose wasn't enough to scare them away. So go get your rifle and shoot into the thickest part of the crowd. Just a few rounds.

Happy Turn A Hose On The People Who Are Protesting You Day!

Be A Drug Addict Day!

Cower in the corner of an empty room in a rundown abandoned house scratching at your forearm and scream, "Just one more hit! Pleeease! I'm sick man!" Then fellate somebody who doesn't love you. If you have a baby, don't change its diapers. Ever. But offer to sell it in exchange for the drugs your addicted to. Also, kill it.

By now, everything's on fire. Don't care. Just keep laying down with a pleasant grin on your face. If you see any electronic appliances, sell them. Then fellate somebody who doesn't love you, but likes to make drug addicts like you fellate him in front of his laughing friends to show just how much power he has over drug addicts because he has drugs. When you're finished fellating him, he's going to punch you in the face, stomp on your belly, then toss a small bag of the drugs your addicted to on the floor next to you. Scrabble across the floor for the bag of drugs as if nothing else in the world matters. One day you're going to fellate someone who is high and a little out of his mind and when he beats you up afterwards, he will go too far and kill you by accident. No one will care, though, because you are a drug addict and America hates you.

Happy Be A Drug Addict Day!

And How Is Howard Treating You Day!

Are you glad you took him back? Has he changed as drastically as his letters promised? Why are you hunting through the apartment for the envelope full of rent money he was supposed to give to the landlord this morning? And where is Howard anyway?

That's right, Girls Are Pretty just popped by to say we fucking told you so. Now let's get these locks changed and make happy hour. I'm buying.

Happy And How Is Howard Treating You Day! We here at Girls Are Pretty have come up with a nickname for you that we call you behind your back. It's "Doormat."

Doctors And Nurses Day!

Doctors and nurses have so much intercourse it's a wonder that any of us ever get better. There's three kinds of intercourse doctors have with nurses. First, there's the happy fun intercourse that the handsomest doctor has with every nurse who ever crosses his path. It's happy fun because all the nurses know he's no good for anything more than intercourse, and he knows it too. That makes it really consensual, and then the nurses go back to their husbands or fall in love after having another kind of intercourse with another kind of doctor. That's love intercourse, the second kind of intercourse. This takes place between a nurse who isn't a jerk, and a doctor who's real serious about wanting to help people and who has a little cousin with MS. This guy is so determined to make a difference that a nurse who has intercourse with him feels like she's on the side of the hero in the story. AND he's so troubled with worry over his little cousin with MS that she also gets to feel like she's giving him the care she took an oath to give (albeit through very unorthodox means, har har, and har!). The nurse who has intercourse with him falls in love with him because any nurse who doesn't is an idiot. The third and final kind of doctor-nurse intercourse is bad and negligent intercourse. This takes place between a doctor who accidentally killed a patient because he didn't read his chart, and a nurse who knows it and is torn as to whether she should turn the doctor in or whether she should just keep having really angry scared intercourse with him. Bad and negligent intercourse eventually comes to an end when the doctor gets real drunk and drives through a guardrail on a rainy night and dies.

Happy Doctors And Nurses Day!

Don't Do As You're Told Day!

For example, let's say your mother says, "Take the sheets off of the couch and get out of the house before your brothers get here. If your brothers find out I let you stay here with me they'll cut me off and I'll end up out on the street. You want that?"

Of course you don't want that, but you have no choice but to leave the couch covered in bedding and stay put in the house because today is Don't Do As You're Told Day. So you have to do the exact opposite of what you're told (sort of like Opposite Day, except today necessarily involves other people and what they command, whereas Opposite Day can be observed simply by telling a big fat girl that she's skinny).

It's a shame your mother didn't know what today is. Now you have to just sit tight and wait to see what happens when your brothers' bluff is called. Will the two fuckers go so far as to cut your mother off just for giving you some shelter for a week? Or will they finally sit down and let you tell your side of the story? Either way, you're not moving until somebody tells you where your son is.

Happy Don't Do As You're Told Day!

Apocalypse Boyfriend Day!

Tomorrow, just after you contract SARS, your afternoon Latte will be ruined when a suicide bomber sprints through the door blowing the place apart. If you survive, you'll get to watch the nuclear holocaust and you'll get to finally find out if, when a nuclear bomb goes off, everyone turns into skeletons standing up like they always do on TV.

Now then, do you really want to spend the night listening to Mr. Long-Haul detail his five-year investment plan for you again? Why don't you go get yourself an Apocalypse Boyfriend.

Apocalypse Boyfriends are fucking adorable and they're just employed enough to afford just enough alcohol to make you forget about how screwed over you ended up the last time you lifted your skirt for someone with such a habit for tardiness. There'll be no annoying "getting-to-know-you" period since they don't really want to know you, which is perfect since there won't be much more to know after the bombs drop. Even though they aren't too good at making plans, you can always find your Apocalypse Boyfriend as long as you know where he drinks or who else he's screwing besides you.

In this day and age, you and your Apocalypse Boyfriend will have the only truly level relationship since neither of you wants anything more than to rub up against each other and feel good for another five minutes. Perfect for you since you don't believe you'll live much longer than the end of the day. Perfect for him because he never cared what happens after that anyway.

And you can wait to tell your parents the engagement is off. If your Apocalypse Boyfriend ends up getting rough with you, you might end up back with Mr. Long-Haul when he shows up out of nowhere to belt your Apocalypse Boyfriend and show you what sort of man was lurking underneath all that dependability all along (NOTE: You would never have found this out had you not left him for Apocalypse Boyfriend in the first place, so it was still a good idea).

Happy Apocalypse Boyfriend Day!

Love Cowboy Vs. The Recent Surge Of Very Specific Graffiti Around Town These Days Day!

I entered my apartment through the front door, 'cause the only other way in's the window and being as I had the key to the front door, I figured I'd use it.

"No reason to make things harder on myself," I said out loud because I was drunk. First thing I did when I got through the door was lug my two six packs of Sierra Nevada into the kitchen and start loading them into the icebox. I always came home with two six packs, even on nights like that late Sunday when I'd probably already had six pints and it was nearing one AM. I knew I didn't have it in me to stay awake long enough to drink any more than four or five bottles. But when I'm at the store, I'm thinking ahead, and I'm thinking behind, about those horrible nights when I managed to run out of beer and I had to drink my last one terrified that when the bottle was empty I'd either have try to go to bed or go to the store for another six pack, which would mean leaving the house again. So when I'm walking up the steps to my apartment, I'm usually lugging twelve glass bottles underneath my arm. Which is why when I get inside my apartment, I'm usually really sweaty.

"And thirsty," I said out loud as I cracked open my first (seventh?) beer because I was drunk. I then picked up the phone to dial the Love Cowboy voicemail box. I was relieved to find it empty. But my home answering machine was blinking for one message, so I tapped it to play.

Some lady's voice: "Love Cowboy. You don't know me at all, but I know you somewhat. And I know you're the one to help me. You might've noticed the recent surge of rather specific graffiti going up around town these days. Well I know something about it and I want you to help me put a stop to it. You'll be phoned again tomorrow at 3 PM to arrange a time when we can meet."

I went back to the fridge for my second (eighth?) beer and I let a dozen questions bustle through my head. What fucking graffiti? Who cares? And like ten others. Including, What's this lady doing calling me Love Cowboy on my home answering machine? Hardly anybody knows me and the Love Cowboy are the same person. Sometimes I'm not even sure.

I had no idea what I meant by that last thought. One thing I did know was she was gonna have a hell of a time getting ahold of me at 3 PM the next day. I had an appointment to register with a new temp agency at 2:30 and by 3:00 I'd be halfway to acing my Microsoft Office testing and I'd be damned if I was gonna screw that up just to talk about some bullshit graffiti.

I made an effort to push all the Love Cowboy business out of my head so I could think about Emma's face until I passed out sitting up on my couch.

AND SO BEGINS the exciting adventures of Love Cowboy! Because today's Love Cowboy Vs. The Recent Surge Of Very Specific Graffiti Around Town These Days Day!

There's A Giant Elephant In The Room That No One Wants To Talk About Day!

If you talk about the giant elephant, you'll only encourage it. It only comes by to get attention anyway because it knows if it shows up at the dinner table, everyone's gonna be like, "HOLY FUCKING CHRIST THERE'S A GIANT MOTHERFUCKING ELEPHANT IN THE MOTHERFUCKING DINING ROOM!!! DEAR GOD!!! EVERYBODY! OUT OF THE HOUSE!!! RUN!!!" and then once you're all safely outside somebody'll run into the garage to find some lighter fluid or old kerosene and douse the house in it to set it ablaze with the elephant inside. And when you could've been eating a nice dinner, you'll end up outside in the yard starving and hoping the fumes from the fire will knock the elephant unconscious before it bursts through the wall and kills many.

To avoid all this, try to ignore the elephant. Come up with topics of conversation to distract you and your family. Just look away from the elephant and say, "Daddy, your drinking problem is tearing this family apart" or "Daddy, you have to stop hitting mommy" or "Daddy, why do you go into little Anna's room at night? It's to have sex with her isn't it. Well all us kids and mommy are leaving the house after dinner and the police are on their way." I know it's all just boring chitchat, but anything is better than talking about that stupid, annoying, "hey everybody look at me I'm an elephant and I'm in the house" cuntlicking elephant. Fucking asshole elephant.

Happy There's A Giant Elephant In The Room That No One Wants To Talk About Day!

You're So Emaciated Day!

You're so emaciated, everyone's afraid you're trying to kill yourself. You're so emaciated, your father has been calling up your friends and telling them to keep an eye on you and offer an unsolicited hand to you from time to time. You're so emaciated, you're about to be skipped over for a promotion because people at work feel like the pallor of your skin will frighten clients, though no one has spoken a single word about it. You were just removed from the short-list without any discussion as to why. You're so emaciated, I'm afraid to shake your hand. You're so emaciated, if you were in bed underneath a blanket I'd probably look at the bed and say, "There is no one in that bed." You're so emaciated, you probably think today is about you (it is).

Because today's You're So Emaciated Day!

It's Sort Of A Vicious Circle Day!

You're worried that you should not have kept your baby because you don't feel much more than burdened when you hold her in your arms.

You're worried that your baby can sense how you feel and will carry that into her adulthood.

So you worry that the natural mother's love won't kick in soon enough to avoid any irreparable psychological damage to your baby.

And you worry that worrying so much about when and if you'll ever love your baby will make it harder for that love to blossom, or maybe you'll be so busy worrying that you won't even acknowledge the love when it's hit.

It all seems so doomed and dooming that maybe you should not have kept your baby in the first place.

Kind of like when you can't fall asleep but you know you have to be up for work in 4 and a half hours, isn't it? But when you don't sleep, the only person you're hurting is yourself. In this case, you're ruining your daughter's life.

Happy It's Sort Of A Vicious Circle Day! And actually, I guess if you don't get enough sleep you could say that your co-workers suffer as well because they're counting on you and you're not at the top of your game.

Break Up With Your Boyfriend/Girlfriend Via Hot Air Balloon Day!

Act like you just wanted to surprise your special little pumpkin-head with a nice, romantic hot-air balloon ride. He or she will think you're trying to make up for the fact that you've been really cold and cunty lately and you'll get a big, wet kiss on the mouth before you both head for the car.

Climb into the basket and continue to act all "We're in it to win it, us two in this here relationship!" Do this by touching. Keep the game going until the balloon pilot (they're called "Looners" in the industry) cuts your ropes from the ground and you start to rise. Before you can blink an eye, you'll already be eight feet off the ground, which is the point at which you should dive from the basket with a forward roll onto the ground below (any higher than eight feet and you might fuck up and die).

Your lambykins will be staring down at you stunned, not sure whether to laugh or call an ambulance on his or her cell phone. As soon as you get back on your feet, just shout "I don't think we should see each other anymore! I feel like I've built a house up around me that doesn't have any windows or doors! And I wanna go outside! We're broken up now!" Then run.

Or, if you don't think you can get the words out, make some signs and hold them up for your Tupthumper to read. Then run. Your nookynooky will demand to be lowered down after you, but the Looner will offer some excuse as to why that can't happen, not letting on that you tipped him extra to do just that.

If you wanna get a really good headstart on your runaway, take the car. Or if it's not your car, at least throw the keys into a swamp. And don't answer your cell phone. They work in hot air balloons and your Lumplumps can call you to explain why you can't go. Throw your cell phone into a swamp. You are a coward.

Happy Break Up With Your Boyfriend/Girlfriend Via Hot Air Balloon Day!

Moleberries Underneath Your Shoes Day!

Today's the day. You're finally going to have your first kiss! And when it happens, there will be moleberries crushed underneath your shoes.

That's all I know, and I feel unsure that you should have been told that much. A first kiss is something you're supposed to remember for the rest of your life and you're supposed to get all weepy about it on the occasions that you're real drunk and looking for a topic of conversation because you're drinking with someone you don't know very well. It doesn't seem right to give a specific detail of a memory like that before the event even takes place.

Also, I hope this doesn't fuck things up in some way, the way you can alter destiny bytime traveling. I'd hate to think that you'll end up underneath someone's moleberry tree and look down at the ground and see a whole mess of black and red and purple moleberries ground into the ground and you'll think "Oh shit, this is it. It's gonna happen right now" and then you'll run away or move too fast or something. If the kiss doesn't take place, we'll probably all end up all of a sudden being ruled by cats who know how to use phones.

Which I guess would be kind of cool. It'd be worth it to be thrown into slavery just to see a cat pick up a phone and go, "Hello? Oh hey! I was just about to call you!" That'd be so fucking adorable.

So there you go. Enjoy your first kiss if it happens. If not, better go buy yourself some cans of tuna for bribes. And wipe your feet when you go home. Moleberries are hell on a carpet.

Happy Moleberries Underneath Your Shoes Day!

Photographs Of Famous Dead Drunks Day!

Famous dead drunks have had a lot of photographs taken of them; usually before they were dead, while they were famous, and based on the smiles on their faces, most definitely while they were drunk. Captions to these photos will often read, "The very-worshipped Ribald McBrilliantwriter enjoying his early morning pint at his favorite pub where a shrine made of gold has been erected in his honor on the spot on the floor where he went to lay down one evening and gradually vomited most of his organs out of his body until he was found deceased and empty of his insides." Looking at a photograph like that makes you kinda wanna end up a famous dead drunk yourself, yes?

Here's how you do it. First, get drunk and stay that way. Hurry up!

Next stop, fame. To add this ingredient, you'll just have to create something that makes you famous, like a book about being poor, or you could be a stage actor who yells a lot, or a book about rich people who kill, or you could just be witty and sit near and screw people who write books or stand on stage yelling at imaginary Dads. Don't forget to stay drunker than Christ.

Finally, die. This is gonna be disgusting but at least you don't have to worry about how to go about it since your death will be taken care of for you if you follow the first step. You will live a long life, drunks always do, but when you die there's going to be a lot of saliva involved.

Along the way, be sure to get your picture taken often, and with big smiles all around (unless you wanna look pensive or brooding). You might find yourself at points where you think your life is a walking death and where you've managed to cut off everyone who once cared for you, leaving you to suffer the company of sycophants and golddiggers. You might attempt suicide, which is fine even if you succeed, as long as you already got famous. At times you'll be poor and angry and you'll go through this period of thirty years or so where you regret ever having taken a single drink. Don't get your picture taken during any of these times. Remember, big smiles! I'll raise one to ya' one day.

Happy Photographs Of Famous Dead Drunks Day!

It's the Girls Are Pretty "Can't Believe That Son Of A Bitch Is Still Alive" Weekend!

Check it out ya'll. Pretty Girl received word that her father lives still. An unmarked envelope showed up under her door with a black and white photograph of a man who looks like her father buying fruit at an outdoor market. All these years, Pretty Girl assumed he had died when Castro assumed power. Now that she has evidence he's alive, she's gonna have to hit the road to fulfill her lifelong fantasy of killing the piece of shit with her bare hands. Since he is presumed to be in the Ukraine, this might take all weekend. Just to be safe, Friday through Sunday are going up today. As usual, if you read ahead, you might end up gay. Scroll down to read Friday's now. Then come back and read Saturday's tomorrow. Don't fuck this up.

Sunday, April 13, 2003

Country Club Day!

Head over to the club and see if anyone's up for some backgammon. If not, tell everyone they're too scared to face your backgammon wrath, then park yourself on a barstool and drink vodka tonics until you're blind. One day, you're going to regret today.

Happy Country Club Day!

Saturday, April 12, 2003

Stand On The Shoulders Of Giants Day!

See if you can peek into the windows of a skyscraper and watch people doing it. If at first you don't see anyone doing it or anyone taking a shower even, tell your giants to move on to the next building. It's okay to get impatient if your giants take those big, languorous, Giant steps. Just yell out, "Let's get a move on Giants! It's like 11 PM! There's gotta be someone getting naked or having sex in this city. And don't shrug, it makes me nauseous." And if your Giants don't move right away, tell them to show you what they see because they probably spotted someone banging and they wanna hog it. When you finally find someone doing it, beat off. Your Giants will be cool with it. That's what you're paying them for.

Happy Stand On The Shoulders Of Giants Day!

Friday, April 11, 2003

Make Maps Day!

Today is the day to make some maps. They can be maps of anything you want. Whether you want to draw a "Dick Map" which shows people how to find your dick. Or you can make a "House Map" to either show people how to get around in your house or how to get to your house if you're having a party. Or how about a "Store Map" of all your favorite stores in town or a "Dick Map" that shows where dicks live, like your ex-girlfriend or that guy who hates blacks. Don't make a treasure map though, because if you do someone might find the map and dig up the treasure. So just dig up the treasure then figure out how to exchange treasure for money. You have to make at least 40 maps so get some crayons and hit it!

Happy Make Maps Day!

Volcano Of Love Day!

The Volcano of Love is about to erupt. When it does, love-lava will come bursting from its mouth and seeping down into its valleys. Thousands will die. Thousands more will be left homeless, in possession only of that which they were able to carry when they ran for the flatlands. But you will live.* Because the Volcano of Love exists only to bubble its love-lava all over your face until the love-lava is dripping from your chin and cascading in sheets down your pretty chest, belly and testicles. The Volcano of Love was created only to cover you in love-lava, and you were created for the sole purpose of taking in as much love-lava as you can handle without feeling discomfort. You may fear the love-lava, but once you taste it on your tongue, feel it on your skin, you'll understand. The Volcano of Love is about to erupt. Are you ready baby?

Happy Volcano Of Love Day!

*The reason you will live is because it makes sense that if you were created solely to be covered and flooded with love-lava, why would it hurt you? Right?

Wedding Day!

Congratulations, today is your wedding day. And by this I mean, if you get married on any day but today it will not work out. I know this is short notice but I hope, for the sake of your marriage, that you got married today, or are getting married tonight. Otherwise, you can either call the whole thing off and avoid a lot of pain and regret way down the road (when I say your marriage won't work out, it might not go to shit for as many as five or six years), or keep your mouth shut and enjoy the party and the giant wads of cash and sets of dishware (and the small appliances and newlywed sex, which is fucking filthy). Your choice.

Happy Wedding Day!

College Boy Day!

Anyone who claims to know anything at all today is a snotty little College Boy and will be berated as such. This goes for the obvious, too-big-for-his-britches smarty-pants who interrupts conversations at seedy bars to offer correction on minor points. Any day of the week that punk's gonna hear someone tell him he's a college boy just before he hears the whisk of a punch to the jaw. But today, it's anyone who knows anything. This includes the guy who says, "Keep your baby covered with my overcoat and stay low to the ground to breathe as little smoke as possible. The fire stairs are this way. Move quick if you want to live." Sure, he knows how to escape to safety from the burning building, but whoever follows his lead should nonetheless respond, "Think you're so smart dontcha College Boy? Us small-town folk just too dumb to make it out the building on our own, that it College Boy?" Or, you could look down your naked torso and sneer "Guess you learned that at one of your fancy-schmancy anatomy classes out at that college of yours, eh College Boy?" after your husband has managed to locate your clitoris with his tongue. Or, if you are in college, and your college professor begins his lecture, get a chant going among your fellow students: "COLLEGE BOY! COLLEGE BOY! YOU SUCK! COLLEGE BOY!" Your professor will probably run out of the room crying like a pussy.

Happy College Boy Day!

Meteorite? MeteorWRONG! Day!

Do you live in a place whose only claim to fame is that over a half a century ago a meteorite once landed within the town limits? Does your local government devote the majority of its tax revenue to luring tourists to your town to photograph the meteorite crater? Does that piss you off?

Then tear some shit up, yo.

Take to the streets chanting "Mee-tee-or-Rite?! Mee-Tee-Or-WRONG!" and put that on some signs too, except on the signs don't spell it out quite so phonetically. March until the government takes some of the money it spends promoting tourism and diverts it to a much needed-needle exchange program, or schools. If you feel like you're not getting your point across, smash some shop windows and grab a few TVs. Heroin addicts are catching AIDS and Hep C just so the Potter family can take a picture of a hole in the ground as a pit stop on their way to Yellowstone. Also, schools are underfunded. It'll be a great day when our needle exchange programs have all the money they need and the metorite tourism industry has to hold a bake sale to get people to come look at a meteorite. It'd be cool if schools got some money too, but not all of it.

Happy Meteorite? MeteorWRONG! Day!

Hang Your Sneakers From An Electrical Wire Day!

Did I say "Hang your sneakers from an electrical wire?" I meant to say, "Hang yourself from the loop of your own belt clenched in the bathroom doorframe."

Just kidding. Really, hang your sneakers from an electrical wire. But if you were going to hang yourself from the loop of your own belt, the bathroom would be a nice place to do it because when you poop and pee yourself it would be easier for your roommates to clean up from the bathroom floor than if you did it in your bedroom. But if your roommates were forced to clean up the floor of your bedroom, that would really make them carry the memory of your suicide really close to their selves. They'd probably have to move out of the apartment. Maybe they'd try to stick it out and rent out your room, but they'd end up just shutting out the new roommate and maybe even hating him because he'd be able to live in that room without caring a damn that they'd once had to free someone from the doorframe and let his body fall upon their shoulders, maybe causing them to slip and nearly fall in the puddle of waste underneath their feet (will they have taken the time to put on shoes?).

But wait, if you had hung yourself from a belt in the doorframe, they would've had to open the door to get into your room so you would've already tumbled to the puddle on the floor. Unless they'd climbed into your room from the fire escape. But even so, then they're picking your excrement drenched body from the floor and figuring out where in the apartment to lay you out until the ambulance arrives. Then comes the cleaning of the floor. And of course your releatives arriving to collect your things. Fuck me.

But anyway, forget all that. Just go out to the middle of the street and toss your old converse up to dangle from the electrical wire. It makes streets look prettier.

Happy Hang Your Sneakers From An Electrical Wire Day! And not to beat the subject into the ground, but you should do a jump-test with the belt to make sure your doorframe will support your weight. Just grab the loop and jump up in the air, then hang there by your grip. If the belt doesn't free itself from the frame, let 'er rip!

Hot Pussy On Crutches Day!

Many people think that just because a woman happens to be a way smoking piece of hot pussy, she must necessarily be impervious to injury. That because a woman was born with the ideal body type and bone structure, she must never have to worry about bruising or mortality. This is true only of the most attractive women. These flawless specimens of beauty and sexuality are also, in fact, unbreakable.

But what of all the women who appear to be, in the dimmest of tavern or the brightest of day, physically perfect? Yet, after a night or a year together, unsightly wrinkles are discovered, a redness around the armpit is found to linger in the summertime, or she gains some weight. This woman might carry herself as if she is possessed of a superhuman beauty and powers we cannot comprehend, but in reality she is as fragile as the ugliest girl in the burn ward. And this fact is never so apparent as when she breaks one of her legs.

Suddenly, she must choose to either lay in bed for six weeks until she can once again walk the streets with her facade untarnished, or she can own up to her physical vulnerability and take to the streets on a pair of crutches. If she chooses the latter, she will go about her day with her head bowed, awaiting the ridicule and big rocks she assumes will be hurled her way. In her mind, everyone she passes revels in her hobbling. "Not so pretty now that you fell down," she imagines them thinking.

What she does not expect is the admiration she inevitably receives from her neighbors. She is shocked to find her bravery recognized and commended. She feels welcomed by all those people she used to look down on because they were merely passably attractive. They are excited to learn that she is capable of feeling the same physical pain that they feel. They ask her things like, "So, do you have to work too?" And, "Do you defecate?"

And most surprising of all is the attention she receives from the men she encounters in her day. Men of all shapes and sizes, ugly and handsome alike, all of them go out of their way to let her know that, now that it's clear that this beautiful woman will also one day die, these men would like to buy her dinner and perhaps penetrate her. And she is overjoyed to be spoken to by so many different men when, in the past, the only men who approached her were the very wealthy.

So when you see some hot ass on a pair of crutches, go to her. Let her know that you are awed by her courage and you're glad to know that she's not all stuck up about having skin that is flame retardant like those other girls at the club. You'll be making her day, you sure will.

Happy Hot Pussy On Crutches Day!

Super Day.

Everything you do is super today. When you're in the shower and you bend over just enough to spread your buttocks and tap your anus with your index fingertip, you won't just give it a tap, you'll supertap it. You also will brew a pot of supercoffee, superdrive to work and superfile some boxes of old files in the newly built archive room. Tonight you're going to get superloaded and superhave sex with someone on a couch because that's where the winner you superchose to screw happens to be living temporarily (19 months and counting). Tomorrow, you will not have supercrabs. You will just have crabs.

A Golden Glow Inside The Baby Day!

The new baby has a golden glow inside it. You can see the light when you crack the baby's door open and shards of yellow stab out into the hallway. Sometimes you have to go back into the room because, lying in bed just a few minutes after you last stood by the baby, you remember the moment taking place in a room with orange walls, when you know you painted those walls blue. You made a day of it some months ago, parents-to-be painting walls the color of paint they'd bickered over then went out and bought with their own hard-earned money. You go down the hall to check the walls up close and of course they're blue. You check on the baby, then go back to bed and in your mind's eye you were just in a room with orange walls again.

"Think our baby's Jesus?"

"No."

"Buddha?"

"No, honey. Go back to sleep."

"Babies aren't supposed to emit a heavenly golden glow. I'm worried he's some kind of messiah and he's going to be taken away from us."

"There's no such thing as messiahs. Go to sleep."

"Okay, well what if he's imbued with something we can't even comprehend yet. What if he's somehow like a sun fell to earth."

"He's our son and he didn't fall to earth. You delivered him fair and square."

"No, but he could provide an alternative energy to the planet once we drain resources. That could be it. All we see of it now is a humming glow coming off of him but once the need is there his power might exert itself. If he's a product of nature, nature hates a vacuum. And they'd take him away from us for that, if he could provide the earth with a necessary sustenance. They'd take him to some desert and put him up atop a tower and we'd have to drive out and wave to him from the ground and hold up signs that say 'Hi honey.' And we'd have to see him wave back at us through binoculars."

"I'm so tired."

"But they'd take him away from us for something like that. What could we do in the face of the end of the world?"

"Just go to bed. They wouldn't take him away."

Yes they would. In fact, someone already has. You don't feel it yet because you're hot with worry. But you're going to sleep for an hour until you wake with a shiver. You'll wake and the house will be ice cold and dark with the lights on. You'll run to his room and you'll know before you even open that door that the baby is gone and whoever took him left the window open.

Happy A Golden Glow Inside The Baby Day!

What It's Gonna Take To Make It Back To Bed Day!

It's gonna take balls. And obedience. And kowtowing and ass-kissing and some compliments paid to people you loathe for choosing to wear an outfit only the severely retarded would choose to wear. When you notice the sign on the neighboring cubicle that reads "I believe in Jesus Christ," it's gonna take an iron-clad will and 20-20 tunnel vision on the end-goal to refrain from posting your own sign that reads, "She Believes In Jesus Christ" with an arrow pointed at her cubicle. You've gotta keep the image of a happy night's sleep floating just before your eyes so you don't punch anybody in the throat as they pass you in the hallway. That will send you to jail or will at least send you out of a job and the jobless don't sleep well. And don't go jumping into noone else's bed neither. Intimacy With Others = Trouble Down The Road, ya'll. Assuming you're going to eat dinner tonight, you've got around 7 hours before you're safe and sound under blankey-blankey so please please please try to not to say anything like "I quit" or "I'm going to follow my life-long dream and risk failure in order to die knowing that I at least gave it my all so I quit" or "I'm going to do the life-long dream thing in the previous sentence but not for the fear of dying unfulfilled but because one day I wanna have a son and I don't want my son to look up at me and think Dear God don't let me give up like that so I quit" or "Fuck you. Wait look me in the eye. Are you looking me in the eye? Fuuuuuuuck...you." Don't say that.

Just let it all go the way someone else planned it. You've been generously allotted at least one third of your life to spend in bed. That's not a bad deal. Now put a congenial smile on your face that tells your supervisor, "Thank you for letting me work here. I hope to do a good job today. I hope to make you happy with my performance." If things get hard, just start calculating how many hours of sleep you can get if you manage to be in bed by 7:30 tonight (probably twelve or twelve and a half if you wake up late tomorrow, right?).

Happy What It's Gonna Take To Make It Back To Bed Day!

Don't Cruise For Dudes If You Have A Case Of The Sneezies Day!

In order to be able to tell whether a guy wants you to follow him downstairs to a bathroom stall, you need to be able to hold his eye contact long enough for there to be something obvious. You can't just catch an eye and smile and then all of a sudden convulse in a sneeze attack. It's not attractive and it makes boys wonder whether you're going to be stopping every few seconds to shoot phlegm out your mouth once you're down stairs stooped atop a toilet seat. Someone can get poked in the eye if you can't control your spasms. And lets not forget about how frightened a dude will be of catching a cold just as Spring is coming over the hill.

And forget about the Parks. When you get the sniffles you are the exact opposite of discretion. Just stay home until your sinuses clear up and send out some Instant Gratifiers to the personal ads on your hot list. You'll have anonymous sex with somebody tomorrow or the next day. Promise.

Happy Don't Cruise For Dudes If You Have A Case Of The Sneezies Day!