It's The Girls Are Pretty Flowering The Gravestones Long Weekend!

As many of you may know, Prettygirl is not known to bring the best of luck to those who care for her. In fact, those who grow close to Prettygirl can expect to die a very funny death within a year's time (ie: stopping in the path of a speeding bus to check if one's zipper is down. HA!). This string of sadness is the result of a curse cast upon Prettygirl by a spurned lover (PRETTYGIRL CHEATED CHEATED CHEATED!). It can be reversed. The blood of that former lover must be fed to a black cat. A Craig's Listing has been posted, but the only responses that have come in are people screeching about satanic cults and berating Prettygirl for wanting a cat of a particular color when there are so many beautiful animals in the world that need a home.

But all that's not important right now. This weekend is about those who are no longer with us. Prettygirl's mail carrier Janice for instance. Her Portugal friend, Marcus. These people died simply because they came to care for Prettygirl, and this weekend she will be paying her respects. Their graves are spread far and wide, but make no mistake, a flower will be lain upon each.

It's gonna take a little bit of time though. So most of this weekend's are going up now. YOU CANNOT READ TOMORROW'S TODAY OR THERE WILL BE NO TOMORROW, GOT IT (DICKS)?!!

Sunday, August 1, 2004

Buying The Special Toy Day!

Your kid wants the Mattel Piss Cannon, a toy that has turned into a National Phenomenon. It goes on sale this morning at Wal-Mart and will be sold out by 8 AM. Camp out in the parking lot, but do not sleep or you might get your throat slit. When the doors open in the morning, find the biggest toughest Mom in the crowd and rip her goddamn throat out her neck to show all the other Moms you're not to be fucked with. If you don't acquire a Mattel Piss Cannon this morning, you do not love your son.

Happy Buying The Special Toy Day!

Saturday, July 31, 2004

Get A Boyfriend Day!

You've been single for what seems like an ugly person's lifetime. You don't mind it much, you value your time and you have a lot of work to do. But your friends and family assume you are going to kill yourself the first moment you get alone. Ease their worry and take up with the first employed man you meet. This is not about love, it's about not looking like a loser. If he hits, get out of there.

Happy Get A Boyfriend Day!

Friday, July 30, 2004

Giant Awesome Explosion Day!

It’s only awesome because no one is going to be hurt. If anyone gets hurt, there’s nothing awesome about it, are we understood?

Very well. Today the Mayor’s office is going to blow up a 50 foot pyramid of spraypaint cans. The initial blast will have a very tinny sound, and then everyone and everything will be covered in a rainbow of toxic paint, illustrating the undeniable fact that the world is beautiful and dying.

Happy Giant Awesome Explosion Day!

Thursday, July 29, 2004

Insane Gas Meter Reader Day!

The gas meter reader is not dangerous. But she is delusional and has many bouts of paranoia. Don’t talk on the phone while she reads your meter. If she overhears you say anything, she’ll think it’s about her and before she leaves she’ll confront you.

Were you speaking to Dina? It sounded like my friend Dina was on the other end of that line.

Happy Insane Gas Meter Reader Day!

Someone Put Some Fireflies In Your Room Day!

Someone, and I'm not saying who, but someone opened up her jar of lightning bugs in your room and shook them all out onto your floor. There should be maybe two or three hundred up there waiting to brighten up your day one little fleck of gold at a time.

The person who did this is slow and because she thinks that lightning bugs in the yard in the evening are beautiful, she fails to see why anyone might find lightning bugs perched along every surface of one's bedroom absolutely abominable, to the point of being terrifying. She thought she was giving you a present is the thing, so don't be too upset with her. It's okay though if you want to force her to sweep them all up after they die. Retarded or not, life keeps going. She's going to have to learn what the slowly fading glow of a shitload of squished fireflies looks like sooner or later. It'll keep her out of your room anyway.

Happy Someone Put Some Fireflies In Your Room Day!

For Charity Day!

Today, volunteer at a soup kitchen. Many of the homeless are mentally insane and one at the soup kitchen will confuse you with a woman to whom he has been married for decades. Try to calmly explain that you are not his wife.

"Are too," he'll say.

Don't reply "Are not" or you'll never get out of there. Instead give one of the kitchen administrators the high sign and then fall to the ground in an effort to fake your own death. The administrator will run over and press his fingers to your throat and then he'll announce, "She's dead," and after the confused homeless man sobs his tears all over your face and neck, the security guards will drag you back into the kitchen.

You might smoke a cigarette or take a leak before you come back out and resume serving soup. The now-bereaved homeless man will see you and he'll shout "Ethel!" or whatever he thinks your name is.

Say to him, "You just saw me die so I must be a ghost I guess. I can't hear what you say to me, and if you try to touch me I'll vanish."

The confused homeless man will not take his eyes off of you, and he'll probably follow you home for the next few years, but he won't bug you while you're trying to do some good at least.

Happy For Charity Day!

Your Roommate's Breast Reduction Day!

Ever since Sandy moved in she's spoken of nothing but her impending breast reduction. How much her back muscles stand to benefit, how vehemently her mother expressed her opposition, and how she can't wait to finally put on a tank top in August. You've had so little going on in your own life that you got pretty caught up in it, which is why you'll be picking her up from the clinic this afternoon.

She'll be coming out of the anesthesia and, therefore, vomiting. A nurse will wheel her to your car, but you're going to have to help her into the house. She'll need to be steadied in your arms, and her bosom will be wrapped tight in bandages (change daily) so you're in no danger of ripping the stitches. But it would be best if you could keep your hands near her hips and her waist. Best not to lift her shoulders any more than necessary.

She hasn't prepared you for how much she'll need you to care for her because she really has no idea. The vomiting should stop by early morning tomorrow, then you'll have to feed her some. It's good that you have so little going on for yourself right now. But before you get caught up in something like this again how's about you send out some resumes, yes?

Happy Your Roommate's Breast Reduction Day!

Run To Your Death To Win The Race Day!

It's a complicated race and there are no spectators, no sponsors, no organizers, no starting line, and, as will be made obvious, no finish line. To enter, begin running. Your participation in the race is only made official when you drop dead. And the last person to drop dead wins. But anyone can enter the race anywhere, at any time. One only need to begin running. Therefore, when you finally drop to the ground to die there, you will not know if there are others still running somewhere. And even if you are the last to drop dead, if ten years down the line someone somewhere wishes to enter the race, you lose. IT'S REALLY QUITE SILLY.

If you should pass someone else who is also in the race, you may nod to each other, but no chit chat as this is not a singles bar.

Happy Run To Your Death To Win The Race Day!

This One's For You Ted Day!

Ted wrote in with a request. The following is just for him.

A girl we'll call Shannon was nineteen and in between semesters at college, visiting her boyfriend, Jeff, who had gone to school close to home. It was a great comfort to be back with him, spending nights in his arms again, going to the Centennial Gardens on the edge of town almost every free afternoon they could share, and Shannon waiting at the concession tables of the Cineplex where Jeff still worked on his breaks from school. It was just like in high school, but now their days and nights together were colored with a tint of doom, just around the frame, since they both knew this summer would be their last together. Shannon felt like it was expected of her to move on to better than Jeff. And Jeff just sort of understood that if you stay in the same place, you'll be left behind eventually. He wasn't too sad about it. Just a little anxious for things to be done with.

The dread for the coming end suffused their sex with just a little more abandon. Shannon wanted to do a few things that she would remember, such as being penetrated amongst the hedges of the Centennial Gardens just before closing. And Jeff wanted to penentrate Shannon whenever he was permitted to do so. They had their fun and said goodbye forever six days before Shannon left to return to college.

Before the leaves began to change, Shannon discovered she was pregnant. She aborted within days. Shannon is now a star of feature films and is very happy with her life. She knows she made the correct decision, but she wishes she hadn't had to make it.

Hope this helps Ted. Happy Birthday.

And Happy This One's For You Ted Day!

We Found His Beret Day!

It was in the brush by the stream. There was some blood on it. Lotta dirt, it looked like it was definitely on his head for much of the struggle. The good news is we're not far from finding your boyfriend. The bad news is, it doesn't look like we're going to find him alive.

I'm a cop, sure, but I have no idea whether your boyfriend wore a beret often or not. And I have no idea whether that was even a problem for you. It doesn't have to have been. But I just want to make sure we're clear that if we don't find him alive, your boyfriend will have died in a beret. That can be hard to swallow for some, and I don't want it to sneak up on you. He was wearing a beret up until the very end. A beret.

Happy We Found His Beret Day!

And With A Puff Of Smoke Day!

Last night you prayed to Baby Jesus that he do what he can to put a little more magic into your life. That's why you shouldn't be surprised when, this morning, after you stir your milk into your coffee and the color changes from black to light brown, you and your coffee will be enveloped by a short puff of beautiful white smoke. Which will disappear as quickly as it came.

When you are in public, the puff of smoke will be followed by a round of applause and two or three guys going, "Ooh." You'll see soon enough. Like when you drop quarters into the newspaper box and open the door to retrieve a paper. Baby Jesus is still a dick.

Happy And With A Puff Of Smoke Day!

Trapped Under Boxes Day!

Today, you're stuck underneath some boxes. You tried to get to the box in the middle of the pile because you were pretty sure that the picture of your sweet little mother was in that box and you wanted to talk to it. But when you pulled that box out, your entire pile of boxes tumbled atop your head and pinned you to the ground.

You can't breathe deep enough to shout for help. And you can't talk to your mother's picture anymore because every time you look into those eyes you can hear her shouting that you should turn yourself into the police for being gay. There is nothing to eat or drink and you have no friends who might stop by to find out why you won't return any calls because, while you have a handful of friends, you only get a call for the group invites. Outside of those, all responsibility for staying in touch with your friends lands in your lap. You don't talk to your neighbors either. There is a very good chance you're going to die.

But you've still got one chance left. Nineteen feet away from you, way up on the wall, is a small red button that opens the garage door. Within your reach is a toy bow and arrow from when you were a kid. You have only one arm free. If you can pull the bow with your teeth and shoot the arrow at that button, the door will open and some of the boxes will tumble out, lessening the weight above you and opening the door to the rubble so someone might poke his nose in to see what happened. However, when you were a child, after the car accident and before you had your arm reattached, you were the prized archer for your elementary school's team and they needed you to bring them to victory. They were counting on you to adjust to having only one arm. You didn't come near hitting the target of course, and that failure, you're certain, made the rest of your life take a turn for the worse.

Well, now it's not your team record on the line, it's your own preservation. If you miss the target, you'll die there under those boxes. If you hit the target, your whole life will change because you'll have compensated for that humiliating day so long ago when everyone was counting on you to shoot a bow and arrow with one arm and your teeth and you failed. Give it your best shot and you're going to miss and die there. It won't make a difference that you tried because after you miss, you'll know that your fear of failure kept you from concentrating on the task at hand, and it will feel like you were doomed to fail from the first moment that the challenge presented itself.

Happy Trapped Under Boxes Day!

Woke Up In A Girl Day!

When you opened your eyes you were wrapped up in her arms, in her legs, caught up in the gusts of her breath. You were laid flat rendered defenseless under 110 pounds of a girl you've only had sex with seven times. She wouldn't stop sleeping.

You said, "Wake up, let me go."

Her eyes fluttered and her mouth closed and her lips pursed up into that coy little redheaded smile. Then you wriggled out from underneath her like you just found out she had poison ivy.

She said, "What?"

"I couldn't get away," you said.

She stared, making sure it wasn't a dream. Then she pulled her legs up to her chest and said so that you could not in a million years think she might need you even the slightest little bit, "Go then." That's when you felt ice cold, like last November, and you stretched back out in bed.

After ten minutes, she wrapped herself up and around you again. After four hours, you said, "I didn't want to leave. It was just…" After nine hours she left the bed and came back with an orange cut up into slices.

Happy Woke Up In A Girl Day!

Blood All Over Day!

Last night he sliced a giant maw into your lower calf with his over-grown toenail and you're not sure whether the loss of blood itself made you woozy or did you need to stand on your knees only after you saw just how wild and wide the red had spread? You talked to the police and they said if you were to die from the blood loss, your husband would be suspected of murder only if there appeared to be probable cause, given that that method would look so much like an accident. So you took out an insurance policy on yourself, naming your husband the sole benficiary, and you've begin an affair with a coworker. And tonight you're going to present all of this to your husband so he'll understand that he risks being raped in prison for the rest of his life if he doesn't cut his fucking toenails. Jesus.

Happy Blood All Over Day!

Too Cool For Anderson, Lipschitz, Morrisey, Jullan, Heimlich, and Fried LLP Day!

You try to play off your junior partnership in the firm as if you're above it all. They're lucky if you show up to a third of the mixers thrown throughout the year. Whenever your team manages to score a big new client, even if you're primarily responsible for bringing them on, all anyone gets out of you is a shrug and a "Not too bad if that's the sort of thing you care about I guess. I get much more excited by Jazz." And God forbid you're asked to give a speech or else you'll start spewing out about what's really important, or worse, you'll tell a thrice-told anecdote from your post-college year in Prague.

The difference between you and almost everyone else at your firm is that they are not disappointed in themselves.

Happy Too Cool For Anderson, Lipschitz, Morrisey, Jullan, Heimlich, and Fried LLP Day!

The Skirt Of Her Wedding Dress Flares Out Like A Bell Day!

It's the only dress she packed. In the darkness of 3 AM she didn't need to see it to know it was the one she'd marry in.

While packing she was aware of the story she'd one day tell, perhaps to her daughter, perhaps only to her mother. "I packed only one dress," she would say. "Just one dress to marry in. Some jeans, socks and underwear and I tossed the bag out my window to Paco waiting in the garden." It was going to be a very good story.

"I've seen you in that already," Paco says when she meets him at the podium of the wedding chapel.

"Bad luck?" she asks, her face a teardrop with a grin.

Paco lifts the makeshift veil up to rest on her hair. "We'll see," he says. And he turns to hear what the minister has to say.

Happy The Skirt Of Her Wedding Dress Flares Out Like A Bell Day!

Broken Coffee Pot Day!

You'll smack it into the head of the long-neck faucet when your trying to swish the water around to clean the walls of the pot. You'll take a huge shard out of the side, down to the metal band at the bottom. Your heart will stop beating and you'll sit on your couch, trying to remember whether you've ever replaced a coffee pot before. Not the entire coffee maker, just the pot.

"Must have," you'll think. But you won't be able to remember when. You'll only be able to assume that large stores like Wal-Mart have an abundance of replacement coffeepots for every brand of coffee maker.

"At least I hope."

You'll stay on the couch until you're fifteen minutes late for work. Though in a panic, you'll walk to the elevator, take it to the lobby, walk out of your building and make your way to your train to get to work. With every step the anxiety will grow. You don't have a coffee pot anymore. And you're going to have to find out how to get a new one. Somehow.

Oh dead God almighty the whole world prays only for you.

Happy Broken Coffee Pot Day!

Raindrops Made Of Teardrops Day!

Not to be confused with Teardrops Made Of Raindrops Day. Which is essentially a day that means nothing to no one. All it is is some chick crying but the drops that come out of her eyes are of the same composition as the rain. Wheee!

Today however, the raindrops that fall from the sky are of the same organic makeup as the drops that fall from the eye of your average person who has just had a hair plucked from his nose or lost a dad.

So what's today mean? Well, if you believe in God and you believe that God is up in the sky, you can believe that he's crying and you can try to figure out what you did wrong. If you don't believe in God, today it's raining weird.

Additionally, it doesn't have to rain today. But if it does, you get it.

Happy Raindrops Made Of Teardrops Day!

Goosepimples Herbert Day!

Goosepimples Herbert was sitting on the couch with his wife Eileen watching television. When Eileen looked down at the cushions for the remote, she noticed that Goosepimple Herbert's left arm had broken out in Goosepimples.

"Oh, God. Herbert look," Eileen said.

Herbert looked down at his arms, then up at Eileen. "Don't panic," he said. "Get out to the car and wait. I'm going to put on pants."

They raced to the airport where their son, Roy, was about to board a plane to a Marching Band Competition in Chicago. Goosepimples Herbert and Eileen were not allowed to go to the gates without a ticket, but they had Roy paged to meet them at the security gates.

"What's up?" Roy asked from behind the metal detectors.

Goosepimples Herbert held out his bare forearms, which had by now turned beet red.

"Oh crap," said Roy.

"Go back and get your stuff," Eileen told Roy. "And tell the rest of the band that the plane might go down."

Roy marched sulkily away from the gate. Goosepimples Herbert and Eileen waited for twenty minutes with no sign of Roy's return. They started paging him again, with no response. With just minutes before the flight's departure, Goosepimples Herbert and Eileen began to beg and shout at the security desk, warning them that the flight to Chicago was in danger. They were both detained, and somehow the flight was allowed to take off.

The plane is in the air right now and Roy is on it. He is sick of being pulled out of trips and events every time his father's goosepimples erupt. Half the time, the goosepimples predict tragedy. The other half, they predict nearly nothing at all. Roy refused to back out of the trip and he certainly wasn't going to warn everyone else on the trip based on his father's half-baked psychic ability.

Goosepimples Herbert and Eileen are no longer being held but they've yet to leave the airport. They're watching the clock, waiting for their son's flight to land without incident, at which point they're going to rent a car and drive to Chicago to pick him up.

Happy Goosepimples Herbert Day!

The Boy Who Can Sing Day!

He was six when he first let his beautiful voice chirp out into the middle of My Country Tis Of Thee and midway through the song everyone else in the class stopped singing and just let Malcolm take it away. He didn't realize he was doing a solo until the very end of the song he opened his eyes and saw the whole homeroom staring at him, their mouths hanging open. His teacher's hands hung heavy at her sides, her eyes were wet. Malcolm was about to apologize when she went running out the door.

From that day on, the whole school district was priming Malcolm to ride his voice outta that town. "You have a gift, Malcolm," the world-wise custodians would say to him. "Build upon that gift and make greatness. It's your responsibility." Malcolm wished he didn't have quite so beautiful a voice, so that just a little less might be expected of him.

By junior year, Malcolm had fallen in love with Maria Bobst. What Malcolm didn't know was that his best friend Chipper also loved Maria, had loved her since elementary school. Chipper was doomed to take over his father's drywall business following graduation. "After graduation" was a phrase Malcolm and Maria chose to avoid because they knew it was just a long way of saying goodbye. Chipper was pissed that even though Maria knew she had no future with Malcolm, that he'd never take her with him when he gets out, she still chose to stay with him. So today, Chipper's going to swing a length of pipe at Malcolm's voicebox. Chipper's going to say, "You two deserve each other" right before he does it. In the coming weeks before Malcolm speaks his first word, he's going to hope that his voice has been destroyed forever so that he can stay with Maria and shrug off all that was expected of him and just live a quiet little life listening to someone else's songs.

Happy The Boy Who Can Sing Day!

Conga Line Classes Day!

Retard, who told you you'd meet the girl of your dreams in a conga line? The only one your gonna find on the tale end of a conga line is Buddy Lou. Remember Buddy Lou? Got buried alive for six days by his senile uncle. The uncle caught Buddy in the middle of one of his seizures and thought he was dying. Buddy's uncle flashed back to his childhood as a stable boy and decided he had to finish Buddy off and bury him so he knocked his nephew in the head with a shovel. He thought Buddy was dead, but he was only knocked unconscious. Asleep deep enough to get dropped in the ground underneath his uncle's basement and curl up under six feet of soil. That's who's got his arms on your hips, kicking to the left and the right like a cartoon chimpanzee. Buddy Lou, a man dead for six days and lived to dance about it. That's the kind of fun you'll find creeping up at the back of a conga line. Now get a bicycle and talk up the babies down by the bike path.

Happy Conga Line Classes Day!

Describe Love For Money Day!

It seems hard to believe, but a great many Americans (surveyed) have never fallen in love. Either because they are extremely busy, extremely shallow, or were hurt by the loss of a pet at a very young age and have yet to risk opening their hearts to another living creature, these people neither crave this "love" about which so many songs are written, not do they fear it. They are simply curious.

That's where you come in. These people want to know the difference between "loving" and "grabbing." They want to know why, following sexing, some people choose to spend the night together instead of dressing and walking out the door in silence, with averted eyes. They want a workbook full of exercises.

Call it "This Is What Love Is" and charge seven hundred dollars. Only allow pro-rated refunds up to the 8th class session. And give out diagrams that show puppies sharing ice cream cones.

Break love down into seven stages: Confusion, Surrender, Ripping Metal From Metal With Seeming Superhuman Strength To Pull The Object Of Your Love From A Car Wreck As A Seeping Puddle Of Gasoline Approaches, Suspicion, Disillusionment, Experimentation, Murder-Suicide.

Here are some notes for your lectures:

1. Confusion: "So you're just going about your business and all of a sudden you see this face or this flip of the hair and it's like you got conked on the head!"

2. Surrender: "You try to fight the feeling, but trust me baby, you are powerless. I don't care how rich you are. Love's gonna getcha!"

3. Ripping Metal From Metal With Seeming Superhuman Strength To Pull The Object Of Your Love From A Car Wreck As A Seeping Puddle Of Gasoline Approaches: "Being in love doesn't make you a superhero. But if the object of your love is in danger of dying, you will find that you can do things you never thought you could do. Such as flight."

4. Suspicion: "You love her so much that when she comes home late from work you decide she's handing it out to anyone with a late-model Chrysler!"

5. Disillusionment: "He's still the only one who understands the real you. But you feel utterly deceased inside, and you think that all you have left to do is wait for your body to die too."

6. Experimentation: "You'll be thinking, Hey! I never did it with a Black!"

7. Murder-Suicide: "Till death do us part baby. I mean, you can say that right before, you know. Or you can come up with your own little bon mot that you can say right before the end. Let's hear some ideas."

Just remember, a lot of the people in your classroom are gonna be angry types who wanna challenge you. They'll have signed up after they got dumped because they didn't know how to love, and they'll be looking at you and thinking, "This is the kind of guy she's looking for. Fucking fruitcake, is what." Look out for yourself, and expect your car to get keyed.

Happy Describe Love For Money Day!

Talk To The Girl On The Raft Day!

You're twenty six years old and you're still going on vacation with your parents because that's the only way you can afford to go on a vacation. The red-haired girl on the raft has been out on the lake every day for the past three days. She's apparently also on vacation with her family and she appears to be close to your age. Unless she's engaged to someone stationed in Iraq or something, you two will have sex not long after introducing yourselves. Or at least before one of you goes back home. You just have to swim out and ask her how old she is.

"Hey!"

She lifts her head from the pillow of the raft and looks to shore.

"Yeah, you!"

She shields the sun from her eyes with her hand to see if she knows you. She doesn't.

"How old are you?!"

"What?" she asks.

"I said, how old are you?! I like your bikini. Are you over twenty? Twenty's kind of a cutoff for me!"


"I can't hear you," she says. "You're going to have to swim out to me."

Told you you'd have to swim out. By the way, she's twenty-three and her boyfriend just broke up with her. If you make plans to meet up tonight, you can have sex in the shed where they keep the life-jackets, which will be kind of uncomfortable because all the walls are really splintery and you won't be able to lean up against any of them. But if you get the first bout over with tonight, you can invite her over on Saturday when your parents go to the gorges and the two of you can have the cabin to yourselves for like six hours.

Happy Talk To The Girl On The Raft Day!

You Matter To No One Day!

Most of the time you feel like furniture. Like you could be dragged about the living room according to what is convenient for guests your husband has invited over. Occasionally, you feel like trees. Just a few trees scattered about some relatively uninteresting public property, such as a median strip.

The last time you felt needed was when you saved a girl from drowning. You were a lifeguard on the Jersey shore for a summer and a sixteen year old girl went out too far and couldn't fight the tide to swim back in. You swam out and pulled her into shore. She thanked you with as much enthusiasm as if you'd held a door open for her. Even her parents gave off a "waddayou want a medal?" vibe.

Today is nothing special. Don't do anything to try to make yourself heard or anything. Just rest easy and keep quiet. Life will be over soon.

Happy You Matter To No One Day!

Live The Life Of A Shipwreck Day!

Just rest absolutely motionless at the bottom and wait for people with access to extremely advanced technology to come poking around you, joking about how spooky you are, while they take what they want to bring up to the surface (where everyone else in the world is) and leave the rest to rot very slowly. Additionally, you should be full of human skeletons and jewelry that once sat upon the wrists of wealthy little girls. Plus, every twenty five years you should list over to your side with the guttural sound of hell opening up to yawn.

Finally, live in stark irony as the dilapidated remains of what was once so full of promise.

Happy Live The Life Of A Shipwreck Day!

Waterguns Day!

Your home is the battlefield. Your wife is the enemy.

Strapped from head to toe with pistols, balloon launchers, and a water-pump with backpack ammo-tank attachment, soak that little girl you married with extreme prejudice.

Whether she’s eating the breakfast she made for the two of you, whether she’s showing a house to a buyer ready to close, whether she’s in the shower, she’s going down.

Yes she’s your wife and yes she’s the reason you are what you’ve made of yourself up to today. But guess what, she’ll do it to you. If you don’t drench that lady first, she’ll turn around and she’ll look you in the eye and she’ll fucking irrigate your ass.

She might even tell you she loves you when she pulls the trigger.

Splash her in the head. Spray the crotch of her pants so it looks like she peed. Soak her white tank top and then tell her you can see her bra. Get that lady so damn wet friends and neighbors will fear that she’s lost her mind and taken a shower with her clothes on.

Shoot your wife with water.

Happy Waterguns Day!

His Name Is Hopeless Harv Day!

He explained the nickname when he met you that day in the cafeteria of the library.

"People call me Hopeless Harv because most people who know me think things are pretty hopeless for me," he said from behind the lip of his milk carton. You found his honesty to be sexy so you asked him out on a date.

He's going to stand you up. He was just about to leave his house when he looked in the mirror and asked himself what ever became of that kid who used to talk so big about what he was destined to become. "Did you kill that idealistic little boy?!" he started shouting into the mirror. Then he shattered the mirror with his fast and sent a shard of glass deep into his wrist. His sister came home while he was trying to edge the shard out from the gash and she committed him again because she assumed he had made another attempt on his life.

Hopeless Harv didn't really put up a fight. He could use a rest. And though he thought you were very pretty and very nice, he's glad he doesn't have to try to get you to like him. If you'd like to visit Hopeless Harv in the psych ward, drop Prettygirl a line and she'll ask Hopeless Harv if it's okay.

Happy His Name Is Hopeless Harv Day!

It's the Girls Are Pretty "So Much Beauty There In That Circle" Sunday And Monday!

Check it out. Prettygirl sat down yesterday to deliver your personal regression assignment, but she was interrupted by a knock on her door. It was a Policeman.

"Yes?" Prettygirl asked. "And how can I help you officer?"

"Were you close with your next door neighbor? Ms. Polnechek?" asked the Policeman.

"Oh no one was close with Ms. Polnechek," said Prettygirl. "She was far too beautiful. The most beautiful girl in the whole building. Perhaps on the entire block."

The Policeman went on to explain that Ms. Polnechek had jumped from her window just an hour prior. A note was found in her apartment asking what the point was.

Prettygirl voiced her terror. "But if such a beautiful young woman cannot find reason to continue…"

"What hope is there for the rest of us?" said the Policeman with a rueful nod.

After a brief embrace, Prettygirl asked the Policeman whether there was anything she could do to help. The Policeman explained that they had run out of chalk.

"I was halfway through the outline when I started tearing open the skin of my fingertips," he said.

So the long and short of it is Prettygirl spent most of yesterday on the horn trying to track down a fresh piece of chalk, and most of today trying to figure shit out with her new Policeman friend. So, here's yesterday's and today's. Scroll way down and read yesterday's, then scroll a little ways up and read today's, or else that pretty little nose of yours is coming off. Tomorrow'll hitcha tomorrow, like it's sposed'ta.

Monday, July 5th, 2004

Does She Weigh One Hundred And Twenty Pounds Day!

The girl of your dreams, they claim. She'll be meeting you at seven.

"Does she weigh one hundred and twenty pounds?" you ask.

Yes, they lie.

"I'll be weighing her the minute we meet, so you needn't waste her time if you're not telling me the truth."

One hundred and eighteen, they say.

"And how exactly am I supposed to replace a one hundred and twenty pound ancient totem with a one hundred and eighteen pound girl without tripping the booby traps?" you ask, and rightly so. Rightly so.

They say that love requires compromise and you demand your money back.

Happy Does She Weigh One Hundred And Twenty Pounds Day!


Sunday, July 4th, 2004

She Fell Asleep In Her Black Panties On Top Of Your Comforter Day!

You're not gonna be able to sleep for a little while, so load your handgun and position your desk chair so as it's facing the door to your apartment. Wait.

For a burglar. For a serial murderer. For the brother of a boy she killed twelve states away, the brother who has finally found the vengeance he's been hunting. Perhaps.

Wait, occasionally cocking the hammer of the handgun in case anyone's listening on the other side of the door.

In fact, compose a sign and run downstairs to post it on the bulletin board by the mailboxes. Fasten it over top the babysitter available and man with van flyers that have the little phone numbers dangling from the end. Your sign could say:

My girlfriend is here. Congratulations. You've found her. She's asleep and at peace in Apt 4D and asleep and at peace she'll stay.

I am unemployed and I am armed. And I am prepared to do what is necessary to prevent her from being disturbed.

Until I find work again, you can take it as truth that if you try to kill my girlfriend I will try to kill you. And even when I find work again, you can expect that I will set traps.

If you've come here to kill my girlfriend, good luck. Let the games begin baby baby baby.

Then go back upstairs and cock your handgun a few more times. Then check moviefone for Spiderman 2 showtimes. She'll be up by nine I bet.

Happy She Fell Asleep In Her Black Panties On Top Of Your Comforter Day!

Fat Girl Day!

The reason your new apartment is so cheap is because it was once occupied by a really fat girl who died in a fire there because no one went up to save her because she was a fat girl.

"There's a fat girl on the fourth floor. And an old man on the seventh," said the nosey old lady in the basement apartment to the firefighters.

"How fat?" asked the firefighters.

She haunts at dusk, when the light dances with shadow, when everyone and every thing settles into a cocktail and an easy chair. What she does when she haunts is she runs at full speed down the hallway and slams herself into the front door. It makes a hell of a racket. Even when the front door is open, she still launches herself at the doorway as if she has to knock the door down. And almost like there's an invisible door there, the ghost of the fat girl still ends up tumbling backwards and yelling. Every time she falls she yells, "Oh my holy God! Shit!"

But you get a lot of sun. Sign the lease.

Happy Fat Girl Day!

The Boys In This Town Day!

The boys in this town are all the same. They love their cars first and foremost. Then they love their mamas. And not a one of them is willing to stay out past dark with a girl for fear of being chewed through by the nine-foot tall hobgoblin that lives in the woods.

You've dated nineteen of them and you've got six more you're going to cross off your list before you move three towns over to Houston, TX. Of those nineteen so far, must have been twelve of them who claim to have been bit on the ankle and dragged through the grass nearly into the thick of the woods by the toothy mouth of the hobgoblin.

"How'd you get away?" you asked every damn one of them.

And every damn one said, "Ma rang the dinner bell."

"Sounds like one faggoty ass hobgoblin if he can be scared off by the sound of a dinner bell," you started telling them after about the sixth one. That'd usually break the two of you up. No one fucks with the dinner bell where you're living.

Marcus Landry was the only one you ever convinced to stay out with you as late as ten PM. The two of you were going down on each other in the backseat of Marcus' Pontiac when the hobgoblin punched through the fogged up rear windshield and dragged Marcus out of the car and off into the woods. Marcus' body was never found since no one will go into those woods.

Since then, you've been known by the mothers in the town as "Trouble." The mothers have been counseling their sons to stay away from you, which has actually sent a few more phone calls your way. When a Mom describes a girl as "trouble," the son only hears "whore."

So you've dated three since Marcus. Tonight, or maybe just "Today," you've got number four, Jamie Kraus. You're meeting Jamie at the Dairy Queen at four, then you're going to walk along the creek together. At 6:30, let him feel your boobs, which are still pretty bitchin' for a 31 year old. Hopefully, the promise of more, or at least the promise of more boobs, will keep you and Jamie out deep into moonlight tonight.

But if Jamie ends up getting eaten by the hobgoblin, you should leave town. After Marcus got killed, there was a quickly squelched effort by some of the mothers to string you up in the middle of town and slit your throat in front of a crowd. Kill another of their sons and reason might not prevail this time.

Happy The Boys In This Town Day!

Wanna Say Goodbye To Something Sweet Day!

They should put it on a bumper sticker. "I'd rather be looking down into a pair of sad little eyes and saying that I'm just not the guy that you wanna be making any long-term plans with." You'd buy it. And if you owned a car, you'd put it on your car. But since you don't own a car, you'd totally tack it to your bulletin board.

You just want to be a dangerous person. A man who owns one pair of jeans and has seven thousand dollars in a shoebox buried at the base of a tree somewhere in Omaha. You want to breeze into a town solely to get killed, but end up being mothered by the town's widowed librarian until she demands that you hurt her any way you like as long as you leave town in one piece.

You want that librarian to stop you before you step into the thick of the sunset and show you the bag full of everything she owns that she's got in her left hand. You'd caress her cheek with the knuckles of an open fist. And you'd tell her that you wanna do right by her, and the only way to do that is to say goodbye.

"The more people I leave behind," you'd explain, "The fewer who'll know when I'm dead. That comes kinda close to livin' forever."

She wouldn't understand what you're trying to say, and a little part of her would be relieved that she's staying put because that little part of her would suspect that the reason you're unable to settle into anything secure is because you're not that bright.

Trouble is, you are pretty bright. Just bright enough to know what to be scared of, and how to behave in khakis. So tonight, instead of telling a sweet little thing that you're trouble and not to get mixed up with guys like you, you're going to take a bath and then watch season one of Alias.

Happy Wanna Say Goodbye To Something Sweet Day!