The Color Of Sympathy Day

The Color Of Sympathy Day!

It's gray. That's what color everyone is when you come home from the courthouse after your girlfriend took the stand. They buried her up there.

"I just know she didn't do it," you tell your gray Dad.

Your gray Dad shakes his head and says, "Poor little guy. It'll be all right."

You look over at your mom shaking her head in the corner, her eyebrows up high. Man, is she gray.

"How's about I make you some dinner. Whatever you want," she says.

"I can't eat," you say. "But I guess I better, if I don't want to become as gray as all of you."

Just then your little brother comes running through the room. "Mike's in love with an enemy combatant! Mike's in love with an enemy combatant!" he sings. He casts a very healthy pink and beige light.

"Shut uuuup!" you say.

"Don't listen to him," your father says to you. "Wanna rent a movie?"

At Blockbuster, you watch the kid behind the counter to see if he notices how gray your Dad looks. He doesn't, which means the color of sympathy is in the eye of the person on the receiving end of said sympathy.

Happy The Color Of Sympathy Day!

Your Boyfriend Is A Car Racer Day

Your Boyfriend Is A Car Racer Day!

He used to go out there because he loved the speed. Today, he's going out there because he's got something to prove.

"Prove that you love me and stay home today," you plead.

"You keep me in this house you won't have a man by your side. Race or not, the man I could be is gonna walk out that door today. He races, he'll come back. He chickens out, he's gone forever."

You place your hands on his shoulders. You know you can't change his mind. "I'm afraid you're going to die. Just like…"

He takes your hand off of his shoulders. "I'm not here so's you can have your Daddy back."

He pushes through the screen door and goes out to his Camaro. The engine rumbles to life. You hear his voice shout over the growling of the car. You go to the screen door.

"Baby!" he's shouting.

You step out on the front porch.

"Your old man could never handle the turns like I can," he shouts.

You nod. It's true, even your Daddy would admit to that. But your Daddy never raced for anything more than the sum total of the prize money. He was too far in debt to worry over pride.

Happy Your Boyfriend Is A Car Racer Day!

You And Your Big Sister, Out On The High Seas Day

You And Your Big Sister, Out On The High Seas Day!

Today, you and your big sister Joan are going out in the most seaworthy of vessels to hunt down the legendary treasure of Queen Violeta. Your big sister Joan can be really bossy, which is why she's going to be captain and you're going to be first mate.

"I'm older than you," Joan said, when she suggested that she be the captain.

"You're not Mom and Dad," you replied.

"I know. But when Mom and Dad aren't around, I'm in charge, so I should give the orders when we're out at sea."

You couldn't argue with this.

Off you go with the breath of God sending you speeding after the end of the world like there was a bounty on its head. By January, Joan will die of scurvy and you'll be alone and sad.

Happy You And Your Big Sister, Out On The High Seas Day!

The Diamond Is A Fake Day!

The Diamond Is A Fake Day!

You didn't suspect a thing. You simply brought it in to the jeweler to have it cleaned.

"Are you in trouble? I mean financially?"

He says, "Not financially, no."

You're icing his birthday cake. Your back is to him. You don't want him to see the tears welling in your eyes. It would ruin his birthday.

"I want to know only two things," you say. "Why did you sell it? And can we get it back? If you answer those two questions, I'll never ask another."

He doesn't speak right away. The only sound to break the silence is his footsteps to the spot just behind you. In twelve years together this is the first time you've ever felt unsafe in his presence.

He says, "Did it ever occur to you that there was nothing to sell? That the ring that I bought you was a fake?"

You don't gasp. Your tears pull back behind your eyes and the stinging back there comes to a stop. You place the icing spatula in the sink and calmly walk out the front door.

When he follows you outside you're already in the street.

"Stay there on the steps," you shout to him. "If you come any closer this entire neighborhood will hear me scream."

"Honey, come on…" he says.

"Who are you?"

He lifts his arms from his sides and starts to approach you.

"Stop!"

"Who am I?" he says. "I'm your husband. Now come inside."

"My husband didn't buy me that ring," you say. "It was my grandmother's."

His arms drop to his sides again. He takes a few more steps.

"Don't come any closer," you say.

He pulls the very realistic mask from his head and says, "Your husband is still alive. But he won't be for long. If you ever want to see him again you're going to have to trust me."

Happy The Diamond Is A Fake Day!

It's The Girls Are Pretty "This One's For You Minxy!" Thursday And Friday!

It's The Girls Are Pretty "This One's For You Minxy!" Thursday And Friday!

Fans of this site do not need to be reminded that Prettygirl actually sprung from the abdomen of her far more brilliant sister, Minxy. Minxy had great plans for herself. She planned to be the one who would engulf the planet in a storm of fire, once she got a handle on the whole wrangling the servants of hell in service to her whims thing. But Prettygirl's father felt that Minxy was not quite pretty enough, and so he pulled from her side yours truly. This of course killed Minxy, but she lived just long enough to look down into her new sister's eyes and whisper, "He's the cunt. Devote your life to his destruction."

So, yes, Prettygirl's back on her Daddy's trail. Satellite photos place him in a post office in Sao Paulo. She needs today and tomorrow to take him apart at the eyes. So today and tomorrow are going up today. Scroll down and read today's today, then read tomorrow's tomorrow. As you know, reading tomorrow's today shall curse you to forever stink like yesterday.

Friday, November 26, 2004

Marshmallows Roasting In The Fireplace Day!

You've been waiting by the fireplace for an hour to roast some marshmallows, like Mom said you could after dinner. But then Mom starting fighting with Brad, her new boyfriend. They're screaming in her bedroom and sometimes it sounds like something as heavy as a human just fell on the floor. In a minute, Brad's going to come out to the fireplace and throw a bag of marshmallows at your head. He'll say, "Have fun you little shit." Then, from behind your mother's bedroom door you'll hear him shout at your mother, "There, he's toasting his fucking marshmallows. Now if you want someone to sit with him maybe you should call his fucking Dad over here so I can go the fuck back to Metropark."

Maybe she should.

Happy Marshmallows Roasting In The Fireplace Day!

Thursday, November 25, 2004

The Inside Of Your Gloves Smells Like Andrea Day!

Andrea broke up with you at the end of last winter and she must have been the one to wear those gloves last, because your hands smell like her hands.

"I guess everyone I touch will feel the shiver of ice-cold derision course through their veins until I find some anti-bacterial soap," you think.

You're still a little bitter and you shouldn't date yet.

Happy The Inside Of Your Gloves Smells Like Andrea Day!

Hot Pain Day!

Hot Pain Day!

Jeff and Cara like to burn each other. Jeff doesn't enjoy sex with Cara unless Cara first drips scalding hot water from a kettle that's recently sounded its whistle. Cara doesn't enjoy sex with Jeff unless Jeff binds her wrist to a steaming radiator, the bounds kept loose so that she can try to pull away from the hot steel, but will be scuttled against it again and again as Jeff's methods broaden during the lovemaking.

Today at 7 PM, Jeff and Cara will win a 90 Million dollar lottery. You have until 7 PM to establish a friendship with them. You loathe people like Jeff and Cara, people who think they're interesting just because they need to be set on fire before they come, and understandably so. But if you get into Jeff and Cara's inner circle, they might pay for your father's medicine. He'll die without them.

Happy Hot Pain Day!

You're Going To Hide The Puppy Where She Hides Her Candy Bars Day!

You're Going To Hide The Puppy Where She Hides Her Candy Bars Day!

To celebrate her 90th day of no chocolate tomorrow, you got your wife an adorable little puppy. You hid him in the garage with a bowl of food and some water. She'd never step foot in that garage unless it was to tell you to stop messing with the birdhouse and come into dinner.

That used to be the case. But lately she's been visiting that garage a lot more often. That's where she goes to get her secret fix of a delicious Hershey's Kiss or two, or perhaps a full-on Toblerone if things get really rough. She knows how much her new diet means to you and she doesn't want to disappoint you. So she's keeping it a secret, weaning herself off until the candy is gone for good, which she thinks will totally happen in just a week or two. What's it matter if she's a little deceptive to keep you happy? She'll be off candy soon enough anyway. No big deal.

But today it's going to be a big deal of hilarious proportions. She'll go into the garage for a Butterfinger. Little Cupcake will start barking up a storm. You'll come out to quiet the dog, but you'll find your dear sweet wife out there. And the whole ridiculous house of cards will come crashing down around you!

OR! Cupcake will eat all your wife's candy and she'll fly into a rage and slam the dog's body against the workbench until he's ripped open at his little puppy sternum. That's not as hilarious, but your wife's got a mean streak that you've always tried to ignore.

Happy You're Going To Hide The Puppy Where She Hides Her Candy Bars Day!

You Have Seventeen Dollars And Seventeen Kids Day!

You Have Seventeen Dollars And Seventeen Kids Day!

Tell your kids, "I'm gonna go buy seventeen lotto tickets. Each one's gonna have one of your birthdates in the numbers. Whichever of your birthdates shows up on the winning ticket, that's the kid I'll take with me when I leave tonight forever."

The seventeen children say, "But what if none of the tickets win." All seventeen of them say that at once. That's what conversations are like in your house. You against seventeen, every damn word.

In answer, just smile and shrug. Then take off and spend the seventeen dollars on a bus ticket. Your seventeen kids'll spend all day praying that it's their birthday that pops up when the numbers are drawn, and you'll be long gone.

The fun part is, if one of their birthdates do show up in the winning numbers, that kid will spend his life thinking that you won the lotto on his birthdate, but welched on your promise to take him with you. He'll probably spend his late teens and twenties tracking you down. And when he finds you he'll find that you never even bought a ticket. He probably won't kill you, but by then he will have amassed his own wealth. You'll of course con your way into his graces and he'll take you in. What he has planned for you, however, is a truly diabolical act of vengeance. Whether he follows through on his plan depends on whether or not he's his Daddy's little boy.

Happy You Have Seventeen Dollars And Seventeen Kids Day!

Heard You Through The Ceiling Day!

Heard You Through The Ceiling Day!

They heard you slow dancing.

"He's been alone for so long," Jack said to Wendy. "Can he really be slow dancing up there?"

They let their dinner get cold on the table as they sat in silence, scrunching their eyebrows to discern the unmistakable sound of two pairs of feet gently shuffling around the floor at the urging of Nina Simone.

"All things must come to a head," said Wendy.

They raised their wine in a toast to your night on the dance floor. It will be a week before they ride the elevator with you and the thirteen year-old cousin who was assigned to you as your ward according to the last will and testament of your long-lost uncle. You hadn't been getting along until she confided that she had a mixer coming up at school and she'd never learned how to dance, you'll explain to Jack. What you won't go into is the fact that the will also bestows upon you thirty million dollars if you can prove at the end of six months that you would be a good caregiver for your cousin, which means you should stop freebasing. But it's hard to stop freebasing.

Happy Heard You Through The Ceiling Day!

She Had Dirty Hands Day!

She Had Dirty Hands Day!

She was near you at the dinner party when you took out your Altoids, so you offered her one. She flitted her fingers around in the case to get a grip on a couple and then she walked away. You wouldn't speak to her again for the rest of the evening. But you would notice later that many of your mints were smudged black with some sort of soot.

"I gave you an Altoid," you said to her when you met her again four months later. You were at a gallery opening for a friend you didn't like. "At Kathy's Autumn dinner."

"I think I remember that, yes," she said.

"You had dirty hands," you said. "You smudged all of my Altoids with something black."

She laughed. "Oh I'm sorry. I had helped Kathy open the flue to her fireplace as people were arriving. I guess I never got a chance to wash them. I wonder how many hands I shook."

"I had to throw out the Altoids," you said.

She said, "My, you do hold a grudge don't you?"

"I just didn't know what it was," you said.

"Well, I do apologize for my filthy hands," she said. "Now I'd better go and save my boyfriend from that filthy girl he's talking to."

At that she walked across the gallery to a man you didn't know, but who looked like he had some money.

Today you're at work. It's Saturday, but it's overtime. She's outside at the Starbucks in front of the public library where you get your coffee. She's alone, and she's unhappy.

Say, "Dirty hands!"

Join her, ditch work, take her to a movie. Her hands are washed clean of that rich guy you saw her with at the gallery (he left her for someone dim). Invite her to a movie and I promise you'll be leaving your girlfriend for her by Christmas.

Happy She Had Dirty Hands Day!

Washed Up Movie Stars Day!

Washed Up Movie Stars Day!

Washed up movie stars just love a strong young man like you who'll help out around the house and maybe help them woo back a former spouse.

"But what do I get out of it?" you ask. Fuck you.

Now go on up to Blanche Desdemona's estate and tell her you're here in reference to the Live-In Fireplace Attendant Wanted ad that you saw on Craigs List. The mantle above the fireplace is crawling with photos of her ex-husband, the Macedonian tycoon Nikolai Vortenskiy. Recognize him to her and the job is yours. By the way, she's an ether addict.

Happy Washed Up Movie Stars Day!

You're Not His Girlfriend Day!

You're Not His Girlfriend Day!

But you're in his bed.

"I'd better break up with my girlfriend now," he says.

You drink the coffee he gave you while he calls his girlfriend and tells her it's over.

"That's all over with," he says. "Your place or mine?"

He moves into your place. Things go very well and he invents something essential to the American kitchen.

"We have so much money," he says.

"Let's kill our enemies," you suggest.

With your enemies gone, the next few years feel like heaven. Then you both grow bored.

"He's not your boyfriend," you say. The naked girl in your bed is quite attractive.

"We had a good run though," he says from the bed.

"Gimme 20 million," you say.

He says, "Done." You're rich and you're single again. Rowrrr!

Happy You're Not His Girlfriend Day!

Don't Make Him Take The Commuter Train Alone Day!

Don't Make Him Take The Commuter Train Alone Day!

He's been on that train a thousand times before. And he promised his mother you'd be coming home with him for Thanksgiving, that you'd help him endure the stench of rotting flesh billowing up from the seats, the mothers beating their children half to death, the businessmen screaming jovial obscenities back and forth across the car in between sips from their Miller Lite King Kans.

"I'm sorry," you tell him. "I don't like you enough to meet your mother."

Look at his face for God's sake. That's the face of a man about to have a family of nine crushing in around him. He can already feel the gum on his shoes, the soda spilled seeping through the seat of his pants, the punch to his eyes he'll receive from an unattended toddler.

"I just don't feel like we talk enough," you say.

But what about the ticket-takers? He's scared of the ticket-takers. They slap at his feet when he puts them on the seats. One of them even called him Mary once.

"There's no real spark is all," you say. "I don't know if there ever was."

But sometimes people on the train bring their Roy Rogers chicken meals with the processed stench fills up the car like a fog rolling in.

"Have a nice Thanksgiving," you say. You notice how the blood drains away from his face. It's not your fault. He's just remembering what it's like to share a three-seater with a dry-humping teenaged couple. He's feeling a little tender in the stomach.

Happy Don't Make Him Take The Commuter Train Alone Day!

Airplanes Day!

Airplanes Day!

You’re an only child flying home to spend Thanksgiving with your Dad, the first since your mom died.

"About five years ago, I became aware of the fact that I would one day see my parents go," you tell the guy sitting next to you. "And honestly, I used to pray my dad would go first."

"You're a horrible person" the stranger says.

You change your seat to tell a girl in her twenties about how you had so many questions you were hoping to ask your mom once your Dad was gone, and now you'll die with those questions unanswered.

"You should have thought to ask before she went," the girl says.

When the flight attendants bring you up to the cockpit, you tell the pilots that you don't think fathers can really have much bearing on a daughter's life.

The pilot says, "I'd like to crash this entire plane just to take you out."

By the time you touch down at O'Hare, every passenger on the plane is in agreement that you suck. Your father is waiting for you at the gate. Be a good daughter.

Happy Airplanes Day!

He Lives Off Of An Allowance Day!

He Lives Off Of An Allowance Day!

Rich kid, 3 o'clock.

That's what your friend Marci said to you at the New Year's party last year when George walked through the door. You had told Marci that you were sick of working hard to make end's meet and you were ready to date a guy who would spend a lot of money on you. Enter Fat George.

That's only his nickname. Granted, he's a pretty big guy and doesn't do too much to keep himself fit. He's certainly not your usual body type. But he has a lot of money and he's generous with it.

You're probably wondering why today is about you and George. After all, you've been together for almost 11 months already. It was four months ago when you were shocked to discover that you loved him more than anyone you've ever been with. What's new about today?

Today's the day you're going to go back to the restaurant. George met someone else. Someone as rich as he is. It's not that he was looking for someone as rich as he is. But their similar Rich Kid backgrounds made George think they had an immediate connection that he never had with you. He's been telling himself this past month that he always feels like he has to translate stuff to you. Whereas this girl gets everything right away.

He's wrong about this girl. He's going to be bored witless by Easter. But he is going to end it with you today I'm afraid. The good news is he's going to ask you back next Summer. The somewhat bad news is you'll say no. You'll be with someone else by then. Someone poor, and you won't feel like a good person ending it with Mr. Broke-Ass to go back to Mr. Want-An-Ipod?. But you will consider it. Man will you wrestle with that one.

Happy He Lives Off Of An Allowance Day!

She's The Pretty One At The TCBY Day!

She's The Pretty One At The TCBY Day!

Her name's Bobbi. You heard her co-workers call her that on your twentieth over-long visit. In all the mall, there's no one sweeter than TCBY Bobbi.

She looks good with you. Part of the wall at TCBY is mirrored, allowing you to get an image of your head next to Bobbi's behind the counter. Yours is always a lot bigger of course, but you can tell you complement each other. Your hair looks good with her eyes.

You're not sure if she likes girls though. You've waited till closing and the only boy who ever visits her looks like he's gotta be gay because he wears a bandana tied around his neck. Even if she isn't queer herself, she might inexperienced enough to give a girl a shot.

You've spoken to her, and you definitely felt something on her end. It'll all be made clear tonight. You parked your car with its nose facing hers, and you tucked a red rose underneath her windshield wiper. When she finds the rose, she'll look around to see if the admirer is still around, and she'll spot you behind the wheel of your Nissan. You'll wave to her and smile. It's going to be a big mistake.

Happy She's The Pretty One At The TCBY Day!

Flower Show Day!

Flower Show Day!

Today, will be the first day of your new life as an Incontinent American. You're gonna pee in your pants in front of the gladiolas at the flower show down at the Civic Center. On the ride home, your boyfriend will laugh it off, and you'll laugh with him, pretending it's just a silly girl thing. But you'll know it wasn't that. You'll know that you lost all control, as if the possibility of control over your bladder was never there in the first place.

Your doctor will put you on one of those medications they're advertising for women in their 30's to 40's who demand that tour buses pull over so they can run to a ladies room. But he'll also recommend you to a therapist. The very possibility that this could be rooted in something mental or emotional is going to send you into a deep depression for a few weeks.

Soon, your boyfriend's going to leave you and you're going to find the strength to soldier on with pee all over your thighs. By next Spring, you'll be a different person. A stronger person. And that's when you'll have the therapy session wherein you summon the repressed memory of walking in on your father making love to a strange woman when you were five and he and your mother were temporarily separated. You'll pee when you remember it. And while getting a grasp on that memory will give your incontinence some origin, you're still gonna wear a diaper until you die when you're 80.

Happy Flower Show Day!

That Belgian You Did It With Stole Your Passport Day!

That Belgian You Did It With Stole Your Passport Day!

When Jean and his sister motioned for you to join them at the café, you were hoping only to be sucked into a very European, very erotic triangle of incest of jealousy. By dinnertime, they'd shown you every secret Austria had to offer. At dinner, you looked in the mirror behind the table and noticed just how much you resembled Cataline, his sister. By midnight, the three of you were drunk in their room at the hostel. You fully expected to have all six of your legs wrapped up tight and naked within the hour, but then Cataline ran off for more wine, never to return, and Jean put his lips on yours. You made love, and fell asleep.

And now, here you are, alone in Jean and Cataline's room, and someone's pounding on the door. That's the day attendant at the hostel, demanding that the room be vacated for the next tenant. You don't know it yet, but Cataline has your passport and she's on her way to the border. You'll never see Cataline again, but you'll see Jean. You'll see him within 18 hours in fact. Answer the door and get this shit going.

Happy That Belgian You Did It With Stole Your Passport Day!

Blood Solitaire Day!

Blood Solitaire Day!

To play Blood Solitaire, open up your left wrist then deal the cards. The object behind Blood Solitaire is to try to get all of your cards face up on the table before you die or there's so much blood on the table that you can't make out the suits anymore. It's rare that anyone gets through a single run through the deck without falling unconscious or changing his mind about dying and running from the table to fashion a tourniquet out of washcloths. Blood Solitaire is a horrible game. Play to win.

Happy Blood Solitaire Day!

Rainstorm Chasers Day!

Rainstorm Chasers Day!

Four guys in a truck are chasing after a drizzle they tracked headed south-southwest.

"Catch that motherfucker and hold it to the ground by the neck underneath the truck tires!" screams Cole. Cole's always the first one out of the truck, but he makes everyone else nervous with his bravado. The equipment belongs to the university, and Cole doesn't always think it's necessary to keep the equipment secure.

"Without that equipment, Cole," Mason will say, "We might as well sit by our bedroom windows and watch puddles form in the driveway."

Cole will just spit to the ground at that. A mixture of chewing tobacco and blood (Cole's dying from the inside fast). "Ain't no regulations when you're staring down the barrel of a sunshower," he'll say.

According to their calculations, the drizzle should be just a half mile ahead. They slow the car. Just to the right, about ten yards away, they see a cow just standing there.

"Hold," Mason says. They drift ahead. Howard behind the wheel keeps his foot ready to brake.

A drip appears on the windshield.

"There," whispers Mason. The car comes to a stop. Everyone holds their breath. They scan the glass of the windshield until, smack dab in the middle of the driver's view, another drop appears.

"Everybody out!" shouts Cole.

The Rainstorm Chasers pile out of the truck and race to the back, snatching up their assault rifles and grenade launchers and just as quickly taking formation shoulder to shoulder in front of their truck. They lift their weapons in front of them and aim at the sky. Cole mutters, "This is for Tommy." And then the Rainstorm Chasers open fire, unleashing a gray fog of artillery directly into the middle of the drizzle.

Happy Rainstorm Chasers Day!

Date A Wizard Day!

Date A Wizard Day!

You should date a wizard for several reasons. Number one, you've always wondered what it would be like to date someone who looks more fabulous than you. The right wizard, the one who is still on his way up and isn't burnt out on weed, will wear only the finest in bedazzled velvet cloaks. Secondly, a wizard can make you rich simply by burning a hole through a live frog with some matches. Thirdly, wizards eat the puss.

A wizard's gonna call you tonight and ask you to go see The Grudge with him. Say hell yes.

Happy Date A Wizard Day!

Hold Each Other Tight Against The Cold Morning Day!

Hold Each Other Tight Against The Cold Morning Day!

Are you coworkers or are you human beings? You've shared this cubicle for three and a half years already, and yet you've never touched. Every morning the two of you come inside with the skin hanging just a little further from your skulls. Yet you avert your eyes, you turn your backs, you pull headphones over your ears and you bend your spines to your desktops.

This morning is cold. It is lonely and mean. You share nearly of third of your lives together. If you try to dispel with warmth from that third, you will both die more quickly.

Take each other. When you arrive in the morning, pull each other into the less visible corner of your cubicle and huddle into each other's deepest crook and shiver and weep and love. "My brother," whisper. "We are both here and we are both dying men. Let's do what we can."

Say, "Let's do what we can."

Happy Hold Each Other Tight Against The Cold Morning Day!

You Live With A Mouse Day!

You Live With A Mouse Day!

It's small, dark gray with a black spot just above its tale. You don't feed it or take care of it, but you make no effort to kill it. It shares your space. Sometimes, you pretend it's a roommate.

You once pulled the trash bag from the can to find several holes in the bag that nearly caused it to split open wide. The next morning, you left a note on the kitchen table.

"Could we all PLEASE try to not eat through the trash bag? There was a BIG hole in it when I went to take the bag to the dumpster tonight. Thx!"

Another time, when you were crying because a girl you liked thought you were disgusting, you looked across the room and saw the mouse sitting in the middle of a dirty dinner dish, staring at you. It held still for over a minute, then ran off. You felt he was there for you that night.

Of course, when he ate through the cable of your hair dryer and you got such a bad shock you passed out, you were pretty pissed. But it was nothing another note couldn't solve.

"I almost died this morning. Don't eat my wires."

For richer or poorer, you live with a mouse. And starting tonight, it's gonna start telling you to do stuff.

Happy You Live With A Mouse Day!

Carnival Cruise Catastrophe Day!

Carnival Cruise Catastrophe Day!

Your parents' Carnival Cruise ship is going down in the middle of the Pacific right now. It's about to sink vertically like a dagger in a dead man's chest. Everyone is climbing to the top end because they all saw Titanic. There's not enough room for everybody though, so they're all just beating the shit out of each other and throwing each other into the—

It just went under. Maybe your parents made it. They had a good time though, up until tonight. A Carnival good time. Hope they make it.

Happy Carnival Cruise Catastrophe Day!

Send In Two Clowns Day!

Send In Two Clowns Day!

From today onward, the song "Send In The Clowns" is now "Send In Two Clowns." And it's about how it's about time they sent in exactly two clowns. The song will not specify whether the two clowns work together, or whether they just ignore each other. It will just demand that two clowns be sent in.

Anyone for whom "Send In The Clowns" was an important song can go off someplace and fuck themselves. It's "Send In Two Clowns" now. The song "Send In The Clowns" never existed as far as you're concerned.

Thank you.

Happy Send In Two Clowns Day!

Run A Breast Cancer Marathon Against Your Prodigal Older Brother Day!

Run A Breast Cancer Marathon Against Your Prodigal Older Brother Day!

Bury that prick.

Even though he split town to sink most of the inheritance your father left behind into a chain of roller rinks that of course sank fast and tragic. Even though you were the one to carry your mother from bedroom to bathroom ten to twenty times a night during her heavy chemo. Even though he once went six months without a phone call before he showed up on the doorstep asking for money, he's still your Mom's favorite.

And guess where 90% of his minimum pledge plateau came from. That's right.

"But sweetie, I know you don't need my help," your mother told you. "I know I can count on you to raise so much money you'd never even ask me for a dime."

It's gotten to be more than you can handle when she goes on and on about how proud she is to have both her boys running for her cure. You don't address it anymore. The one time you inquired into his intentions, both he and your mom furrowed their brows across the dinner table asking, "Why do you have to be so competitive?"

He can do whatever he likes whenever he wants and she'll still welcome him home. He can fail and fail and fail, dragging the family finances down with him, and she'll still be "so proud of him for trying." And no matter how hard you try to make her happy, no matter how much of yourself you hand over in service to her dying wishes, she'll still spend most of the day re-reading his last letter out loud into the living room.

Let him run. Let him put on whatever charade he has to concoct in order to keep her purse strings untied. If he shows up on marathon day, it'll be a miracle. And a bloodbath.

Because if he shows up on marathon day, he will be beaten. Nothing else matters anymore. The both of you can finish at the very back of the pack, but he will not finish before you. You'll take a pipe to his kneecaps if it must be done, but your brother will lose the race for the cure.

Happy Run A Breast Cancer Marathon Against Your Prodigal Older Brother Day!

Today You're Going To Get Electrocuted To Death Day!

Today You're Going To Get Electrocuted To Death Day!

You're not a death row inmate. You're not even a prisoner of war undergoing interrogation. And neither were you involved in the theft of some drugs from a drug kingpin huge enough to use electrocution to torture people into telling him where his stolen drugs are.

No, you're just another kid trying to hold down a job and find a pretty face to lick when it gets cold outside. Today, just before you get electrocuted to death, you'll have a half-finished not-trying-to-get-back-together-just-wondering-how-you're-doing letter in your bag and you'll be looking forward to going home and finishing that letter with a little help from the eight beers waiting for you in the fridge. You can't be told exactly when, where and how you die of electrocution because if you knew, you'd necessarily avoid your death, thereby altering the natural course of things and sending us all back to the ice age. It could happen when you push a walk signal button at a crosswalk, one of those buttons that probably don't even work. Or, it could happen when you get into a street-fight with a wizard. Either way, Lovesick, you're fried.

Happy Today You're Going To Get Electrocuted To Death Day!

Gentrify My Heart Day!

Gentrify My Heart Day!

You're not the man you hoped you'd be. You've made your money from neighborhood gentrification. But at least you can say you're not just sitting back and letting the cash from a property pile up. You're the point man. You're the guy who goes out door to door, establishing long-term relationships over the course of three to six months, convincing homeowners to so sell to the venture groups you represent. You talk people into leaving their homes.

You're trying to be the happiest woman you can be. But juggling a full-time job, a full-time courseload at City College, and a nine-year old daughter makes you feel like you're one mis-stroke away from drowning. You have a home though. Not long after your ex abandoned the two of you, his mother died and with no will and no son around, you kept her home. The ex of course returned and you took him to court and you were awarded the home fair and square. And now some man wearing a suit he bought off the rack is asking you to sell.

"I fought for this home," you say. "My daughter has a home. Why would I give that up for money."

"If you invite me in," he said.

You invited him in and like everyone else on the block, he's paid you a visit twice a week on weeknights and once every Sunday afternoon. Unlike everyone else on the block, you two have been having the most wonderful sex ever since that third visit, when you stood up to throw him out, and he placed his hand on the mane of your hair draped in between your shoulderblades.

"I'm under contract to convince you and your neighbors to sell your property," you say.

"I'm going to do everything I can to hang on to my home," she said.

And then you roll around inside each other. And when you say goodbye each day, you go back to your canvassing to get signatures on contracts, and you bring cakes to your neighbors to sit them down and beg them not to sell.

Happy Gentrify My Heart Day!

Pool Cleaner Day

Pool Cleaner Day!

It's deep autumn and you don't have a boyfriend anymore. He broke up with you after the Halloween bonfire, saying, "Let's be honest with each other. Before Christmastime, ya know? I mean, what if we bought each other gifts and all."

The deck chair is wet through your jeans. The sky is steel gray. It's cold enough out that it hurts to cry, but you came out here to the pool turned brown with a layer of leaves so you could be alone and let it all out. You didn't count on your Dad finally getting around to summoning the pool guy to gather up the leaves and seal up for the winter.

"Why your Daddy bring me out so late?" he asks you from the foot of your chair. Your face was in between your bents knees and you didn't see him coming. His name's Clarke and he's got a dark gray-white pallor, like his whole body is covered in five o'clock shadow.

"He couldn't afford it until now," you say. You sniffle. You don't hide from Clarke that you've been crying. He got to interrupt you several times last summer, when you would be straddling and kissing your boyfriend in that deckchair, the two of you dripping in your bathing suits. Now he can suffer the repercussions. The tears when the boy's all gone.

"I better get started before I end up shoveling snow outta there," Clarke says. "You go turn on the pump."

You furrow your brow. "That's your job, right Clarke?"

He didn't hear you. "I'll get my net outta the van."

Clarke leaves, and you shrug and do as he said, turning on the pump before returning to your chair by the pool. Clarke comes back and tosses three metal rods at you, one with a net on the end. "Put that together for me?" he says. Then he goes to the rolled up pool cover and starts untying the rope holding it tight.

You get his far-reaching net into one piece and hand it to him. Then you stand by his side as he fishes bunches of leaves from the water. When he steps along the edge, you follow.

"My daughter's two years older than you," he says from silence. "Can I ask you something?"

You nod, but his eyes are on the pool. He takes your silence as assent.

"Why are you all so miserable?"

You laugh in spite of yourself. "It's not our fault," you say.

"The world's so bad to the teenage girls?" Clarke says.

"Maybe the teenage girls were just hoping for something better," you say.

Clarke hands you the net. "Grab those leaves into that pile by the side over there. I'm gonna use your bathroom."

Clarke goes into your house and leaves you floating the net just under the water's chilly surface, grabbing up leaves like schools of fish. You like what you said to Clarke. None of this is your fault. You've just been let down again.

Happy Pool Cleaner Day!