Search The Product Descriptions And Instructions Of Your And Your Roommates' Shampoo Bottles For Grammatical Errors Day!

You're not a watcher. You're a doer! While everyone else would like to go out and get that great job and land that hot-bodied husband, you actually consider it sometimes. Life is short and it's too damn dull to not make something happen for yourself. So you're not going to just cower under the covers wondering if any of the shampoo bottles in the bathroom have any grammatical errors within their product descriptions and instructions anymore, you're going to kick your blue veined feet out onto your bedroom floor, march down the hall to the bathroom and spend about twelve minutes searching those labels until:

Use for ten days and you'll see a difference. Best of all, Pantene Pro V enriched hair that is natural bounce and body.

"A Ha!" You'll shout before letting out a barrage of triumphant laughter that feels like it might not stop, like the laughter isn't yours, but it's not going to let you breathe. Like when you started laughing the morning of your older sister's funeral.

Happy Search The Product Descriptions And Instructions Of Your And Your Roommates' Shampoo Bottles For Grammatical Errors Day!

The Sincerest Of Apologies For Having, For The Very First Time In Girls Are Pretty History, Dictated Your Personal Regression Assignment A Day Late Twice Within The Same Week, From Everyone Here At Girls Are Pretty:

Sorry, Dicks!

Sunday, June 29, 2003

Tell Your Dead Roommate's Most Recent Ex That He's Dead Day!

Your really kind of liked her too. Especially since she used to walk around the kitchen in the morning wearing boy's pajama pants and a long john top that flattered her breasts with a shape that would make the most aerodynamically genius of lingerie designers swoon with professional admiration. Plus, at last year's new year's party you caught her alone up against one of the pantry doors when she was looking for some olives, so you took her ass into one of your hands and the side of one of her breasts in the other and then tried to kiss her, which she of course didn't allow, but she never made a peep. She's way cool.

"Hey." You'll start off with that when you see her at the bar tonight. You'll have spotted her hanging on a guy with far more affection than you ever saw between her and Lee in the three months they spent together.

"Hey you!" She's going to say that back to you and then you too will kiss briefly and you'll read too much into it.

"How've you been?" She's been fine.

"How's Lee?" Lee's dead. So are his parents and older sister. They were all four of them, and two family friends, in a chartered plane flying over to a wedding on an island off the coast of Florida. Lee's Dad was worth a million or two, not a huge shitload, but he of course consorted with the type of folks who charter planes for the delivery of wedding guests to islands off the coast of Florida. Sometimes, even though rich people pay for them, chartered planes crash.

"Yeah, weird huh?" She agrees it's weird, but she won't say so. Best not to make her say anything.

"I thought about calling and telling you when it happened, but--" No you didn't.

"I understand. I mean...God. Lee. That's so sad."

"Yeah."

I have no idea what the two of you should do now. I mean, you should of course walk away from each other and maybe never see each other again if that's how it's all going to work out. But all you were supposed to do is tell her he's dead. Now, do whatever you can to go back to enjoying your evening. That will probably involve you going back to your table and telling everyone there about how you just had to tell that chick "about Lee, my roommate who died. She's his ex. They only went out for a couple months, but man. That was weird." And she will most likely return to her table and tell everyone there, "I just found out this guy I dated for a little while last year died in a plane crash." People at her table will say holy shit.

Happy Tell Your Dead Roommate's Most Recent Ex That He's Dead Day!

Saturday, June 28, 2003

Crochet Heroines Day!

You need to get the burglars to fall into the hole you dug in the yard so you can trap them there until the police arrive. Have your grandmother and her buds crochet an afghan that will cover up the hole. It doesn't have to blend in with the grass of the yard. It can be whatever your grandmother and her bitches want it to look like. Don't stifle them. If they want an afghan of green and orange zig-zags, or an afghan of deep blue and purple squares against a black frame, or if they want big holes or tiny holes, it's completely up your grandmother and her afghan crocheting hoes. When they're finished with the horribly ugly thing, tell them they all did a wonderful job but make sure you act like a retarded nine year old just came home from successfully buying a bottle of milk from the 7-11. Then spread the afghan over the mouth of the hole you dug and wait for the burglars to arrive.

Yours is the only house on the block that they haven't robbed yet. Everything's ready. You packed the wife and kids in the car, left the one light on in the living room that you've left on every night this week when you all left for the evening, knowing they were casing the place. Then you walked back from where you parked five blocks away and crept behind the hedge along with Dave and Marcus (Marcus is way too into the vigilante aspect of the whole thing. Dave just wants to get these guys in jail so he can raise his kids again).

Why would they walk onto the afghan if no effort was made to blend it in with the lawn? Because it's an afghan spread out on a backyard lawn. Would you rather look at it from off to the side and say out loud "The hell?" or would you rather step into the middle of it and look at the afghan splayed out around you and say out loud "The hell?"

Just you wait, your grandmother and her drunk-ass dykewad cronies are going to be Crochet Heroines!

Happy Crochet Heroines Day!

You Are The Straw That Broke The Camel's Back As Regards A Homeless Person's Death Day!

Today, when you refuse to give a homeless person the fifty cents he asks of you, you will be the reason he dies. Not from starvation or the inability to make a phone call to reach out to his brother, the only person left in the world willing to take him in. Rather, when you refuse to give him the change and say, "Get a job, hippy," the homeless person will be overcome with fury and frustration to the point that he will feel it is impossible to take one single step forward. He'll just stand exactly where you left him, exactly where his feet were planted when you told him no, he'll stand in that spot for six minutes without a quiver. And just when he's about to take a step, a frozen rod composed entirely of urine ejected from the belly of a commercial jet will impale him through the chest and he will die. And it will be all your fault because you upset him.

Give to the homeless. It's up to you to keep them from being impaled by human waste turned solid thanks to a combination of jet engine speed and high altitude sub-zero temperatures.

Happy You Are The Straw That Broke The Camel's Back As Regards A Homeless Person's Death Day!

It's the Girls Are Pretty Yesterday's And Today's Up Today Day!

Yesterday five men in suits broke into Prettygirl's house and chewed at her flesh for twenty-six hours. Therefore she was unable to post yesterday's personal regression assignment. Her apologies. You are all quite weak.

Thursday, June 26, 2003

Study The Wrinkles Of Your Dog's A-hole Day!

Note where the a-hole twists in on itself in a manner that, to the eye, appears to guarantee an absolutely impenetrable knot, much like a naval. Use a magnifying glass to verify that, yes, though you just watched the little pooch defecate through that very orifice not three hours ago, this a-hole cannot allow passage to even the tiniest of cylindrical object. Then shove your pinky into the center. If your pinky goes inside your dog, say aloud "I was mistaken."

Happy Study The Wrinkles Of Your Dog's A-hole Day!

Wednesday, June 25, 2003

Paint Your Self-Portrait Day!

Start with your hat. If your hat does not currently sport a feather, add one in the painting. No one will know the difference. Do it now.

Next, paint your bare legs and pelvis. Then put on some paints and paint them overtop the bare legs and pelvis. You might not like the way you look in the pants you've chosen to wear. If this is the case, you can either take off your pants, repaint your bare legs and pelvis, then put on a more flattering pair of pants and paint them over top the bare legs and pelvis, or you can embellish. That is what is wonderful about art. It lets you fib.

Using shading around the crotch area, make it look like your vagina is two inches too far to the left.

Next, paint your naked torso. Do not put on a shirt and paint over your naked torso. Paintings are better with titty.

Now for the face. You really can't lie about the expression you give yourself, since this is the expression that comes from deep inside you, unless you blow at painting. But if you can muster the right feelings, you might be able to paint a face that says to the average self-portrait appreciater: "I have lots of money and am a really fun date." If all you can come up with is, "I have eyes but don't know how to paint the right color," then paint a thought bubble above your head with a dollar sign in it. If you want to get your point across, paint a second thought bubble with the image of dick sliding inside a pussy and draw little arrows pointing at each. At the negative end of the arrow pointing at the dick, paint the word "yours". At the negative end of the arrow pointing at the pussy, paint the word "mine."

And now for the background. Use the Acropolis.

Happy Paint Your Self-Portrait Day!

Raid On The Go-Kart Race Day!

Don't go out there, Streak. I got a bad feeling about today.

But I gotta race, honey.

I already lost my Daddy to that state prison. I don't wanna lose you too.

You don't understand. Go-Karting isn't just some Saturday afternoon suburban funtime anymore. Latinos participate now. This is about honor.

Is Go-Karting more important to you than our love?

Yeah.

I understand. I won't hold you back from your destiny. But at the first sign of the police, you get on your Go-Kart and you--

I don't think we should see each other anymore. I can't be with someone who thinks she can tell me what to do because she gets a fucking "bad feeling." Get out.

You're right. I'll pack my things after breakfast.

Do it now.

Okay.

Happy Raid On The Go-Kart Race Day!

Kiss A Girl Day!

You've waited patiently enough, and it has not gone unnoticed. It is well past time for you to kiss a girl.

Go to 3rd and Elm, in the old Chinatown. You'll see a fabric store called Ching Chong Fabrics. Go inside and ask the counterperson if she sells Star Wars Episode One bedsheet fabric. She will lead you to the back room, to a door in the wall. You will turn to her to ask her where the door leads, but she will now be holding a pistol aimed at your head. Open the door and go through it.

Now you are in an alleyway. There is a homeless man singing about three coins in a fountain while rooting deep into a trash can. Kick him in the rear. When he falls head first into the trash can and tumbles over, walk in whatever direction the can tumbles.

After ninety-one paces, you will see a very small fair. There will be a one-horse Merry Go Round, and egg roll booth, and a kissing booth. Go to the egg roll booth and buy and egg roll BUT DON'T EAT IT. It will spoil your breath for the kiss, firstly, and secondly, if you pay the girl at the kissing booth a dollar, she will kiss you. If you give her an egg roll, she will lead you to a basement where young Asian women working off the debt they incurred by being smuggled into the country are forced to kiss boys as if they were in love with them and this was the first and only chance they'd get to kiss the object of their love before they were injected with mumps.

Happy Kiss A Girl Day!

Don't Go Down With The Ship Day!

If the ship you're captaining looks like it's going to sink, do not, I repeat DO NOT stay on it and die a watery death simply because you got promoted to captain because the last guy got shot by a passenger after he tried to screw that passenger's teenage girl daughter and beat her up when she wouldn't let him.

Nowadays, regulations for commercial liners are very strict about there being more than enough lifeboats for passengers to get to safety, so it's not like you'll be taking someone's place. Once everyone's in a boat and it's clear that duct tape isn't going to do the trick, get into a lifeboat yourself and head home to your family. You're just a casino boat captain. No one's going to be hoisting one into the air for you at the wharf tavern in honor of your respect for the code of the high seas. For God's sake, you pay union dues to guarantee a safe working environment.

Happy Don't Go Down With The Ship Day!

It's the Girls Are Pretty Labor Weekend!

This weekend, Prettygirl is going to have a baby. She should be done by Sunday. But Friday and Saturday are going up now, because even if she manages to have a baby by Saturday, she is gonna be so loaded after. Don't read Saturday until Saturday or the rationalizations that keep you getting out of bed in the morning will topple like a house of cards.

Saturday, June 21, 2003

Pancakes And Bourbon Day!

Your grandfather used to eat this every single day for forty years before beating your mother senseless. It's time for you to carry on the tradition. Bourbon alone makes a man a but rambunctious. Pancakes alone makes a head get rather hazy. Pancakes and bourbon put together and you'll get in your car with the starkly conscious intention of driving it at high speed directly into your own house. Pancakes and bourbon makes you wig out, s'what I'm saying, ya'll.

Happy Pancakes And Bourbon Day!

Friday, June 20, 2003

Break It To Them With A Pie In The Face Day!

So, your beloved brother Michael is dead. He was your children's favorite uncle and now you have to tell them they're never going to see him again. This will be their first experience of death. Is there any proper way to handle this?

Why not use the old Pie In The Face gag. When your kids walk through the door and start screaming "Mom! Mom?!" step out into the doorway and casually shove a pie into each of their faces. They'll start giggling and maybe crying a little (pie hurts when it gets in your eyes) and they'll want to clean up. Don't let them.

Sit them down on the couch as with the pie drips from their solemn chins into their shivering laps, say "Remember Mommy told you about your Uncle Michael's epilepsy. How he sometimes has seizures? Well last night he had another one when his wife wasn't at home. He choked on his own tongue. I'm afraid he's dead."

Your kids will want to ask things like "You mean we'll never see him again?" But before they do, they'll try to clean off their faces. Don't let them. Just make them sit there with pie on their faces and think about what this all means. After about three minutes, say "Okay, go get cleaned up."

When they're much older, they'll tell this story to their spouses as evidence of you having been out of your mind. But they'll both add, "You know, she kind of had a point. Cruel as it was."

Happy Break It To Them With A Pie In The Face Day!

How Kittens Become Cats Day!

It's time you knew the truth about Mittens.

It would appear that a kitten merely grows in size and coat as it ages, until your sweet little kitten has become the wise and tempered cat that will spend the rest of its days at the foot of your bed. But there is one very clear and specific step a kitten must take before it can become a Cat. The step is bloody.

It happens the night you can't find her, and you assume she got into the basement and is hiding. This is what you assume, but in reality, Mittens is out on the streets, in the backyards, roaming all night long, hunting. For before Mittens becomes a cat, she must kill a fully grown cat, one who is completely innocent. Mittens has to walk right up, with at least one other kitten watching to bring word back, and Mittens has to open up that poor Cat's throat to keep the mewling to a minimum. Then Mittens sends a paw full of claws into that friendly, law-abiding cat's big furry belly and skin it open like a can of sardines. Then Mittens and the kitten that's standing witness sink a claw into that Cat's chest and drag it out into the street, alerting the neighborhood to the fact that another kitten is on the way to becoming a Cat.

When Mittens returns to where the other kittens are awaiting word, she gets the shit kicked out of her and she takes it without a meow. Then Mittens enters into an eighteen-hour cocoon.

Happy How Kittens Become Cats Day!

If You Kill A Praying Mantis You'll Be Fined Fifty Dollars Day!

And if it's your third offense, you'll have to spend a night in jail. And in jail, guards and inmates all agree on one thing: Praying Mantis killers should perform fellatio on people.

And so when you go to jail, word spreads real fast that you're there because you killed a praying mantis and you're only there for one night. And everyone in jail thinks to themselves, "We've got to teach this guy a lesson. Let's make him perform oral sex on us." So they all wait until after chow* and then they work really hard masturbating to thoughts of beautiful women in order to attain erections. And then they all pile into your cell and close their eyes tight so they can pretend that they're receiving fellatio from a beautiful young woman, perhaps a celebrity, instead of a man, because that's gay and they'd probably all throw up if they had to actually see another man with his mouth on their genitals.

Some of them are so disgusted that they really do start to throw up. They're the ones who pull their penises out of your mouth before you've brought them to orgasm, and they throw themselves against the wall of your cell screaming "Dear God I can't go through with it! It's just too horrible, homosexual relations I mean." And then the other inmates slap their faces and scream, "Do you think we like it? Of course we'd like to throw up until we're gray! But this guy is a Praying Mantis killer. And we have to let him know that if you kill a Praying Mantis, you'll have to swallow the ejaculate of an entire cell block. How else will he learn?!"

And so you don't even get to hang onto that glimmer of relief you feel when a guy gets out of line and you think, "Awesome, that's one person who's sperm I don't have to feel splattered all over my lips and teeth and dripping down my throat." Because he just gets right back into line, except now he'll take a lot longer to come. You really shouldn't kill Praying Mantises.

Happy If You Kill A Praying Mantis You'll Be Fined Fifty Dollars Day!

*Dinner

Surfer Boy Day!

Surfer Boy is about to call you. He got your number a year and a half ago at a party when you had a line on a used air conditioner. He never called about the air conditioner, which is good news because air conditioners are heavy. You see, Surfer Boy doesn't even know how he got your number. He's calling you because he needs someone to help him move.

"What?"

"I swear man, I know this is weird but all my friends flaked on me."

Surfer Boy always seemed to enjoy a deep throng of friends and lovers. When he'd arrive at the beach, he'd often be greeted with, "Hey look, here comes Surfer Boy!" And everyone would crowd around him as he pulled himself into his wet suit, asking him what he thought of the waves and whether he wants to go beat up some Howlies. And then Surfer Boy would run down to the beach and all would watch him with mouths agape. He was the kind of person people wanted to be seen talking to.

"Have you tried calling a moving company?"

"Too last minute. Please man."

A party was considered a success if Surfer Boy showed up. Oftentimes a party would erupt out of a casual gathering simply because Surfer Boy decided to hang around for a while. When the mayor wanted to close a popular beach to get some much needed improvements underway, he brought Surfer Boy into his office and asked him if he had any concerns.

"Are you sure there isn't a single friend you can call?"

"I'm just an idea to them."

You might pity Surfer Boy, and it will feel good. All those night's you envied his ability to walk into a room and stop the music. And now you learn that in truth his is a life of loneliness. Everyone shouts to their friends, "Hey it's Surfer Boy!" But no one's ever going to walk up and say, "Hi Surfer Boy. How are you? You look a little thin."

You might pity Surfer Boy, and that might make you think you should help him in his time of need. That depends on you and whatever you might have been hoping to do today.

"So how 'bout it man, whaddya say?"

Happy Surfer Boy Day!

Cool Dads Beat Up Gay Dads Day!

If you're a dweeby little dorky gay Dad and you're walking your kid to school, stay away from the cool Dads who are standing by the edge of the lawn smoking and talking about chicks (wives). Because if they see you, they'll beat you up right in front of your son. So not only will you be humiliated in front of your son, but now that you're all older men, a fight can lead to death. Not because you might die of a heart attack, but grown Dads don't always cry and run away the way you did when you got into your first fight, when both parties would be like "Holy shit I'm really in a fistfight! Ow fuck!"

So, you could die if you don't stay away from the cool Dads. And then your son will forgo college to avenge you and that'll just break his mother's heart.

Happy Cool Dads Beat Up Gay Dads Day!

You've Got A Faggot Day!

Your faggot's on the fire escape. He's watching the police car lights whirl-flash and the Escalades make their left turns. He sees so many Escalades trying to leave town and make sure the plan for the rest of the night works out. And the police car lights, it's just one police car, parked every night outside of the school. Your faggot's not sure what's going on but you'd think someone's digging for something with the way a police car blocks off a lane of streetway every single night with its lights and its black and white.

Your faggot's on the fire escape learning to smoke and wondering what gravity could do. He's worried about shifting his feet and sending the soot and the fragments under his bare feet twirling to the scalps below; some of them are children holding large hands. Your faggot can't hear the phone ring out there so your faggot is hopeful and smoking, hopeful that he'll come back in to find he missed a message, and smoking because it makes him go slightly blind in one eye.

The important thing to remember is you've got a faggot today. That faggot, no matter how he fills the hours, is there for you to perhaps wonder about him. He wants you to wonder what he's doing right now, where he is, is he inside somebody. He's hoping you're doing absolutely nothing, living for absolutely no other reason, than for the fact that he's sitting on his fire escape watching lights flash and Escalade roofs pass.

Happy You've Got A Faggot Day!

Do Your Favorite Dances Day!

Do the side - to - side and the up - down - up - down and the three - steps - forward - then - think - it - through - for - a - minute - then - take - two - more - steps - forward - and - wait. You've been practicing them in your room for hours every single night after your father goes to bed, and you've been really quiet because your father forbids dancing (he's Jewish). Well today's the day to go to The Black Cat or The Black Dog and dance with all the attractive boys and the sluts. Show them that you're the best dancer in the house with the way you wiggle and stomp when you do the Crepe-Paper Sashay and the Dry-Clean Only and the Cunt Of Hate. Everyone will get in a circle and clap and you'll have to choose between the girl with the honest heart or the girl who's addicted to drugs and loves only lord god money.

Happy Do Your Favorite Dances Day!

Map The Butterfly Genome Day!

Because everyone who ever took AP Biology in high school is mapping the human genome. Why not forge your own path?

Sure, mapping the butterfly genome is far from the glamour and 'tang you'll get by mapping the human genome. It's not going to land you on the front page of the Times. But butterflies are far prettier than humans, and so their genomes are probably prettier too. And if you have to map something, wouldn't you rather map something that's pretty than something that's not? I bet Ayn Rand and Seamus McNally had a lot more fun mapping Honolulu than they did mapping Dayton.

And with everyone busy mapping the human genome, they're going to be arguing for years over who gets the credit and they'll probably start stealing each other's girlfriends. And all the while you'll be quietly mapping your way to butterfly-genome-mapping history. And when humanity or kittens are threatened with a horrible virus and the President needs someone who knows all about the terrain of the butterfly genome to come up with a vaccine made of something to do with butterflies, you'll be able to say "What's in it for me Mr. President?"

If there is no such thing as a butterfly genome, don't try to map one. Instead, eat less and exercise more.

Happy Map The Butterfly Genome Day!

Driving Instructor Day!

At the end of today's driving lesson, your overweight aging instructor will give you a business card with the words, "The Optimist's Creed" on the front and a whole bunch of uplifting statements on the back of it. You will not read a word of it, and you will be so bewildered by the whole situation that you'll wish he could have just placed your hand on his crotch instead.

Happy Driving Instructor Day!

The Frat House Got A Porch Swing Day!

Theta Chi! Gently sway on the front porch whilst enjoying a nice lemonade as the late spring sun sets, or die!

Just kidding, the house slogan is the same. But they did get a new porch swing. The house treasurer found a surplus of 700 dollars in the structural improvements budget and he brought it up at every Sunday meeting for about five weeks, trying to get the brothers to take a vote on how it should be spent. The only item anyone suggested they buy was a new home theater, but the Phillips system they already had cost two grand, so there was no point in trying to replace it with something cheaper. After everyone got bored with addressing the topic every week, the Vice President of the chapter finally just invited the treasurer to find something to spend it on himself and consider it approved.

The treasurer, Pete, saw the porch swing on display at Home Depot and was flooded with memories of the porch swing he shared with his mother and sister for a few minutes every evening until he turned fifteen. When his parents split up, they sold the house and he had to go and live with his Dad.

The porch swing was just delivered to the house. Pete hasn't sat on it yet. He has been standing on the porch, though, to get his brothers' reactions as they come in and out. Some of them look at the swing and Pete strangely, but most just shrug and pass it by. Soon, Pete thinks, they'll be unable to remember a time when they lived in the house without it.

Happy The Frat House Got A Porch Swing Day!

The New Constellation Day!

Astronomers and stargazers are floating on air today. A new constellation has been found, one of the largest ever, comprising what is now believed to be 130 individual stars, all holding firmly in place to form the outline of you taking a problematic shit.

It's definitely you, because the stars have arranged themselves in such a way as to detail that cowlick at the tip of your head. And the shape is clearly the shape that you take when you appear in someone's daydream. The night sky is a brilliant minimalist, and that's never been more evident than in the two short clumps of white light that denote the wrinkles stretching back from the corners of your eyes, signalling the strain put upon every muscle in your body as you do all you can to dislodge a turd from just inside the cavern of your anus. Your mouth hangs open to form a tense oval, as if you are in the middle of saying "Oh fucking christ not again! Always at a dinner party. Every fucking time and I get stuck in here for fifteen fucking minutes! Just drop already for christ's sake!"

The stars have also fallen into line to draw a conservative pair of casual dress pants clumped around your ankles, the kind of pants you only wear when you have to look a little nicer than you want to. But the stars did give you a very nice pair of shoes. I like your shoes.

Happy The New Constellation Day!

You're Back! Bigger, Better, But With Gonorrhea Day!

Everyone who considered you down for the count is going to be sorely disappointed. The road home might have been long and bumpy, but no one can deny that you sir have finally made it. A poster-child for the old trope "That which doesn't kill us only makes us stronger." You are, most decidedly and undeniably, BACK! You are richer, stronger, happier, wiser, better in every way. Except now you have gonorrhea. But the parade marches on, because you are almost certain that gonorrhea is highly treatable.

Happy You're Back! Bigger, Better, But With Gonorrhea Day!

The 1920's Day!

The 1920's lasted for ten years, early in the 20th century. They took place not long after World War I, but long enough before World War II for no one to be very worried about it. At the end of the 1920's, the Great Depression began, creating a period of time that was known throughout the world as "The Time America Sucked."

The 1920's are never going to happen again, so today is the day to be glad that you don't have to wait in line for free soup, and it's the day to be sad that World War II already happened instead of it not having happened yet.

Happy The 1920's Day!

A Crash Course In Self-Discipline Day!

Starting today, anytime you consider doing something to make yourself feel good, stick a thumbtack into your thigh instead. Like if you think, "I should eat a brownie or two," don't go out and buy yourself brownies. Stick a thumbtack into your thigh. Or if you think, "I've worked hard all week, I'm going to go fuck whores." Instead of going and fucking whores, stick a thunbtack into your thigh. Or if you decide, "That's it! I'm buying myself a Jeep!" Don't buy yourself a Jeep. Stick a thumbtack into your thigh.

After a few weeks of this, you won't want to do anything to make yourself feel good anymore.

Happy A Crash Course In Self-Discipline Day!

Make It Nice And Clear Day!

The kid you put up for adoption twenty six years ago is going to look you up with a lot of wishful thinking in his head. His name is Keith and when he visits, he'll be reciting claptrap like, "So I guess when you gave birth to me you were young and had no money and you didn't feel like you could provide for me the home that I deserve, right?" Say, "No. That's not right. That's wrong."

Tell Keith the truth. Tell him that he was conceived just before one of your many "let's manufacture some drama because summers between college semesters are way fucking dull" breakups. Tell Keith how his mother used her pregnancy to drag his father back by her side and after a few days' deliberation to heighten the suspense, his father agreed to get back together on the condition that little Keith be vacuumed piece by piece from deep inside Mommy's belly.

"And everything looked to be rosy-pink," bio-daddy should say. "Mommy was going to have you torn apart and we were going to continue in our utterly joyless late-teen relationship until we went back to our separate state schools and start cheating again just like we promised not too." Then lean real close to the nosy little punk and say, "Except Mommy wanted to play a different game."

"Stop it, Harold," bio-Mommy should say to bio-Daddy.

"Our boy's come home!" bio-Daddy should say to bio-Mommy. "All these miles just to meet Mom and Dad. I think he deserves to hear how you and me and baby made three, don't you Olivia?"

"Bastard," bio-Mommy should whisper from behind the hi-ball glass upturned to her lips.

"Is she talking about me or is she talking about you? I think she's talking about me," bio-Daddy should say to Keith. "Where was I? Oh, the aborted abortion, of course. So then, long lost apple of my eye, you don't play poker with many women do you? Of course you don't. Men can appreciate the rewards of a fair game played. But women can't resist the urge to stick a card up their sleeves."

Bio-Mommy should rest her cheek against the leather head-rest of her chair in a kind of alcohol-soaked waking sleep. "Why shouldn't they cheat?" bio-Daddy should continue. "They have no use for sport. They do not hunt, they gather. They take, and they think sport is only a complicated way of winning that which can merely be taken."

Bio-Daddy should stand up and look at bio-Mommy to feast on the dread in her face, but he will be disappointed when her expression implies she might not remember that the afternoon even took place. He'll freshen his drink, then, and he'll finish his story whether it strikes the blow he intended or not. "Bio-Mommy knew she'd have a few more pots to win before we called it a night. So looked me in the eye and slipped into her shirt-sleeve an ace. An ace by the name of Kevin."

Keith will say "Keith."

"Son," Bio-Daddy should say. "A boy. She lied. She told me she'd abort my baby and she held onto it long enough to tell me she was going to have my boy. She started to show. Our parents got involved. Hers demanded our marriage. Mine, being of a higher economic class, demanded that we finish college. A compromise was made."

Now, bio-Daddy should just hover over bio-Mommy's chair and tell the rest of the story to her sedated frame. "We would marry, and the baby would be put up for adoption since I obviously didn't want it. And though no one made her say it, your mother certainly had no feelings for you beyond those a terrorist might have for a hostage. You were useful, and then you, Keith, were no longer necessary."

"In a way, you can be proud," bio-Daddy should address Keith again. "You were a good son to your mother. Simply by being born, you made sure your poor mother was taken care of. Even if she never had the manners to introduce herself. Though, her side of the family was never considered the most mannered of people."

Now, bio-Daddy and Keith will watch bio-Mommy sleeping in her chair. Bio-Daddy should say, "Adorable isn't she?" And then bio-Daddy should offer Keith a drink.

Happy Make It Nice And Clear Day!

God Exists Day!

For today only, there's a God so we don't have to do nothin' because everything's God's fault. It's God's world, we're just fucking it up.

One problem, God can die. And there is an evil genius who's figured out how (you have to hit God with twenty five nuclear missiles at once). The evil genius has got the codes and he's just got to get to 3,000 feet above sea level (is that high?) before his remote launch system can have the range to activate the launch. You have to stop him or God will be killed and all will be lost.

Or if you can at least hold him off until midnight, whereupon we will once again be living an accidental existence never having had a God to believe in, that'll be cool. But as long as God lives, you can't just sit back and let him get blown up. He's God. Lend a hand.

Happy God Exists Day!

Impress Your Mom Day!

Moms want to know that their little girls and boys have grown into big, strong women and men who can drink a shitload. So go and pay your Mom a surprise visit. When she greets you at the door, she'll say "My Goodness! What are you doing here?!" Or maybe, "To what do I owe this honor?" if your Mom is hilarious. Put your hands on her shoulders and say, "Take a seat Momma. I want to show you how good I am at drinking now."

She'll sit down on the edge of the couch and look up at you, standing in the middle of the living room fishing through your backpack, and she'll have anticipation twinkling in her eyes. Pull the can of Budweiser from your bag with a broad flourish. Then hold it out to your Mom and say, "Would you like to inspect the can for any hidden wires?" She'll either laugh or she won't, it doesn't fucking matter.

Now, explain to her exactly what's at stake here. "Momma, when I was younger, I wasn't very good at drinking beer and over the years I've gotten much better. Looking back at the person I once was, I find that person laughable. Youth was no excuse. I should've been better at drinking. You and Father must have been so disappointed in me.

"I flew out here today to show you that you were a good mother to me and I wanted to give you a chance to see all that you have to be proud of before you die soon."

Then hold the can in position to be popped open, take a deep breath, look your mother in the eye and say "Check this shit ya'll." Then pop the can open and slam that shit down your throat like it's gonna stop a car crash. When the can's empty, slap it into your skull until it's a disc and then fling it like a frisbee at your aged cat. Then say, "Aw fuck yes!"

Your mother will rise slowly and extend her arms to you, her lips quivering with joyful sobs. Take her to you and hold her. She is your mother and she is proud of you. Not just for what you can do, but because you want her to be proud of what you can do. This, ultimately, is the real evidence that she was a good mother to you.

Happy Impress Your Mom Day!

Paint Yourself Into a Corner Day!

But don't use paint, use extramarital dalliances. Like, you know how when you're painting your floor (if you owned a shed I guess you might think about painting the floor) and you're not paying attention so you just go ahead and spread the paint all over and before you know it you're stuck in the corner of the shed, standing in the only part of the floor not yet covered in wet paint and now you have to either wait for the paint to dry or dig your way out because you weren't paying attention to the consequences? Do the same thing but with extramarital dalliances. So every time one of your mistresses calls and says, "Let's boff!" just say, "Sure, meet me in my shed at 7!" And so you go down to the shed at 6:56 right after ice cream and you stand in the corner while one by one, both of your mistresses show up to do it with you. But they look at each other, then they look at you, and they start shouting at you, and so you just think "Boy did I paint myself into a corner here!" And then you see your son standing in the door watching you. He's eight.

Happy Paint Yourself Into a Corner Day!

Toenail Cookies Day!

Everyone at work loves your chocolate chip cookies. They're the highlight of every potluck lunch and Christmas party. Your colleagues just can't eat enough of them.

So next time an office occasion calls for a batch of your cookies, bake your collection of clipped toenails into them. Just make sure to chop the toenails into such little bits that no one will notice anything more than a bit of an extra crunch. This way, when your coworkers spend the day stuffing their faces and raving to you about how they can't get enough of your cookies, you'll know they've all been eating your fucking toenails all day. And you will feel nice.

Happy Toenail Cookies Day!

Accept An Apology From The Policeman That Accidentally Murdered Your Wife In His Chokehold Day!

Refusing to acknowledge the penance he's served is not going to bring her back. After that horrible day at the WTO demonstration, yours wasn't the only life to fall apart. Officer Quaid's drinking escalated until he was thrown off the force and out of his marriage. After a month in prison for a parking lot brawl and two suicide attempts, he tried Christ, then AA, then social service. He's spent the last nineteen months training community watch teams at low-income housing projects how to keep drugs and dealers out of their buildings, and he's about to take over the Security Chief post overseeing five Women In Need shelters (a program providing aid to homeless women).

Big fucking deal? He agrees. None of this will rekindle the life he snuffed out that day. He's said as much in his letters to you. And hearing that you don't want him dead isn't going to get him to bed any easier, either. He knows this.

"I murdered a woman." Every time he opens his mouth, he feels like he's about to say those words. No moment in his life comes close to weighing as much as the moment your wife's life ended behind his nightstick. You are the only other person who cares so much about that single moment in time. So, he wants to talk to you about it.

Also, your wife hit him in the face with a pipe. He got excited.

Happy Accept An Apology From The Policeman That Accidentally Murdered Your Wife In His Chokehold Day!