Russian Roulette Day!
Your hot streak at Russian Roulette is going to end tonight. But man was it a good run, huh?
Anyway, bet against yourself.
Happy Russian Roulette Day!
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Your Worthless Sixteen Year Old Daughter Day
Your Worthless Sixteen Year Old Daughter Day!
She's pregnant. The father is a 25-year old, recently married policeman who's already got a one-year old daughter. He's cut your daughter off completely and has made it clear that things will be made hard for her, and for you and the rest of your kids, if she tries to force him to acknowledge that he's the father.
She wants to keep the baby, even though you already told her if she does you'll kick her out of the house. Don't back down. Pack her bags for her and throw her out. Change the locks tomorrow. You'll miss her, but she needs to learn. After all, your mom did it for you when you got pregnant at sixteen and you turned out just goddamn fine.
Happy Your Worthless Sixteen Year Old Daughter Day!
She's pregnant. The father is a 25-year old, recently married policeman who's already got a one-year old daughter. He's cut your daughter off completely and has made it clear that things will be made hard for her, and for you and the rest of your kids, if she tries to force him to acknowledge that he's the father.
She wants to keep the baby, even though you already told her if she does you'll kick her out of the house. Don't back down. Pack her bags for her and throw her out. Change the locks tomorrow. You'll miss her, but she needs to learn. After all, your mom did it for you when you got pregnant at sixteen and you turned out just goddamn fine.
Happy Your Worthless Sixteen Year Old Daughter Day!
Monday, August 29, 2005
Turnpike Breakup Day
Turnpike Breakup Day!
The morning traffic jam leading to your exit will look no different than the previous 736 weekday mornings of your life. You usually crawl for twenty minutes and then it's a clean stretch to your cubicle. But today, your heart will sink when you spot a young man walking backwards in between the cars. People don't generally get out of their cars unless there's an ugly wreck up ahead, which means you could be looking at over an hour's delay.
You'll be startled when the young man knocks on your passenger side window.
"Can you give me a lift?" he'll ask when you roll down the window for him.
Ask him, "Did your car break down?"
"No," he'll say. "My girlfriend doesn't understand me."
You'll unlock the door and he'll slump in the passenger seat. He'll tell you that he couldn't take her nagging anymore and stormed out of his car. This will be followed by a long, bitter speech about how his girlfriend thinks that he's not really an artist just because he's a struggling cartoonist writing a yet-to-be-published comic strip about a talking raccoon and the family whose trash cans it is constantly raiding. Just nod and occasionally cluck your tongue when he talks about his girlfriend's (perfectly sensible) insensitivity to his need to remain unfettered by employment in order for his "vision" to mature. He'll be cute, and at least a decade younger than you, which means you can take him home today and control his every word and deed for as long as he's satisfactory in the sack.
"I'll get you out of here kiddo," say. Then call in sick to work and start maneuvering your way to a closer exit. Unbeknownst to you, his girlfriend will only be five car lengths ahead and will have watched him climb into your vehicle. She'll have positioned her car to follow you home well in advance. While you're having sex with her boyfriend later this afternoon, she's going to burst into the bedroom and pepper spray the both of you. You'll wake up hours later alone in your bedroom and tied to the radiator. You'll hear some noises coming from the living room.
Happy Turnpike Breakup Day!
The morning traffic jam leading to your exit will look no different than the previous 736 weekday mornings of your life. You usually crawl for twenty minutes and then it's a clean stretch to your cubicle. But today, your heart will sink when you spot a young man walking backwards in between the cars. People don't generally get out of their cars unless there's an ugly wreck up ahead, which means you could be looking at over an hour's delay.
You'll be startled when the young man knocks on your passenger side window.
"Can you give me a lift?" he'll ask when you roll down the window for him.
Ask him, "Did your car break down?"
"No," he'll say. "My girlfriend doesn't understand me."
You'll unlock the door and he'll slump in the passenger seat. He'll tell you that he couldn't take her nagging anymore and stormed out of his car. This will be followed by a long, bitter speech about how his girlfriend thinks that he's not really an artist just because he's a struggling cartoonist writing a yet-to-be-published comic strip about a talking raccoon and the family whose trash cans it is constantly raiding. Just nod and occasionally cluck your tongue when he talks about his girlfriend's (perfectly sensible) insensitivity to his need to remain unfettered by employment in order for his "vision" to mature. He'll be cute, and at least a decade younger than you, which means you can take him home today and control his every word and deed for as long as he's satisfactory in the sack.
"I'll get you out of here kiddo," say. Then call in sick to work and start maneuvering your way to a closer exit. Unbeknownst to you, his girlfriend will only be five car lengths ahead and will have watched him climb into your vehicle. She'll have positioned her car to follow you home well in advance. While you're having sex with her boyfriend later this afternoon, she's going to burst into the bedroom and pepper spray the both of you. You'll wake up hours later alone in your bedroom and tied to the radiator. You'll hear some noises coming from the living room.
Happy Turnpike Breakup Day!
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Find Everyone Who Ever Broke Your Heart And Evict Them Day
Find Everyone Who Ever Broke Your Heart And Evict Them Day!
Now that you are one of the most powerful real estate moguls in the country, with two hundred million square feet of business and residential space under your control, it's time to give your acquisitions department a slightly more emotional focus.
Give your scouts the names and any identifying details concerning all of those former paramours, unrequited loves, and prospective prom dates who laughed in your face when you asked. Locate their current residences, have a buyout plan prepped, and one by one take over their land and kick them out on the street.
They won't know why or what for. So you're gonna have to roll up in your limo and show your face. Just hang out the window and shout something like, "Guess you wish you'd have thunk twice before grinding my heart into the dirt! Enjoy homelessness." Then have your driver peel away in such a fashion that your limo speeds through a puddle and splashes any children your ex-lover might now have to transfer into a new, less desirable school district.
Happy Find Everyone Who Ever Broke Your Heart And Evict Them Day!
Now that you are one of the most powerful real estate moguls in the country, with two hundred million square feet of business and residential space under your control, it's time to give your acquisitions department a slightly more emotional focus.
Give your scouts the names and any identifying details concerning all of those former paramours, unrequited loves, and prospective prom dates who laughed in your face when you asked. Locate their current residences, have a buyout plan prepped, and one by one take over their land and kick them out on the street.
They won't know why or what for. So you're gonna have to roll up in your limo and show your face. Just hang out the window and shout something like, "Guess you wish you'd have thunk twice before grinding my heart into the dirt! Enjoy homelessness." Then have your driver peel away in such a fashion that your limo speeds through a puddle and splashes any children your ex-lover might now have to transfer into a new, less desirable school district.
Happy Find Everyone Who Ever Broke Your Heart And Evict Them Day!
Friday, August 19, 2005
It's the Girls Are Pretty "Goin' On An Eating Tour Of Your Butthole" Weeklong Sabbatical
It's the Girls Are Pretty "Goin' On An Eating Tour Of Your Butthole" Weeklong Sabbatical!
Prettygirl has been looking forward to this trip for months. The tram will launch just to left of your butthole. From there, it will progress into and up your butthole. In a week, the tram will come back out of your butthole. Throughout the entire week, Prettygirl will never once stop eating your butthole. Prettygirl hasn't eaten in hours and she is famished. Her bib has already been tied on tight. It reads, "Let's Cut Me A Slice Of Some O' Your Butthole Already, Nazi Fucker!"
Since Prettygirl will be busy all week gobbling up your butthole, the coming week's Holidays are going up in advance. As always, scroll way down to read today and try to avoid reading tomorrow's until tomorrow. If you get caught reading ahead, your eyes will be set on fire.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Teach The Pet Store Parrot To Say Stuff Day!
You didn't get hit by that car just to sit around for the rest of your life sucking on the fat of that insurance settlement did you? You always said if you were ever freed up from your responsibilities you'd use the time to finally exercise the extent of your genius. Of course, you never swallowed that horseshit anymore than your friends or you mom were willing to. But you could at least hobble down to the mall a couple of days a week and teach one of those parrots to say stuff. Possible phrases to inculcate into that parrot's skull are as follows:
Hey Fatso! Yeah, you fatso!
Yeah Baby!
Or…
[YOUR NAME] is supercool!
Good luck, teach.
Happy Teach The Pet Store Parrot To Say Stuff Day!
Friday, August 26, 2005
World Record For Drinking Without Dying Or Calling Your Estranged Daughter Day!
There are several different world-records pertaining to how much one person can drink in one day. There is the record held for highest volume of alcoholic beverages (18% or greater in alcohol content) drunk in one day, followed by that person's death within the week (set by Harrison Tucker of Jackson, Mississippi in March of 1987). There is the record for highest volume of alcoholic beverages (18% or greater in alcohol content) drunk in one day while consistently operating a motor vehicle without causing a fatality (set by Maureen Bowie of Anaheim, California last Sunday*). And there's the one you're going for: Highest volume of alcoholic beverages (18% or greater in alcohol content) drunk in one day without dying or calling your estranged daughter (set by Colin Heinz of Portland, Oregon on December 24, 1977). You have to drink 11.4 pints of vodka to win.
And remember, you can't die or call Helen. Eat something first.
Happy World Record For Drinking Without Dying Or Calling Your Estranged Daughter Day!
*Disputed.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Send The Vermin A Message Day!
Today, some kids on a speed-fueled bender are going to break into your apartment and try to beat you into a coma with some wrenches and pistol butts. They'll steal whatever they can find before fleeing via the fire escape, but it's really all about the thrill-beatdown. What you need to do is send a message to these kids and all their reprobate friends.
First, you're going to have to fight off all five of them and win.
Next, shave their heads and write little notes on their faces that say, "I'm going nowhere" and "I'm a punk."
When they go back to their neighborhoods, they'll be humiliated. And all their friends will discover that crime has consequences. Gun-related fatalities will plummet.
Happy Send The Vermin A Message Day!
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Bucket Of Pee Day!
The bucket of pee that you keep in the unfurnished bedroom upstairs is full. Time to start over.
Happy Bucket Of Pee Day!
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Ziti Hitler Day!
Finances have been tight ever since your wife took a leave of absence from the accounting firm to work on her sculpting. Tonight she will unveil her masterpiece for you and the kids. It will be an eight-and-a-half foot tall sculpture of Hitler composed entirely of uncooked ziti. You and the kids will burst forth with gleeful applause when she yanks the sheet from her creation. But almost immediately, his arm upraised in salute will loose its adhesive and fall to the ground. Your wife will be devastated.
This is where the bad time begins.
Happy Ziti Hitler Day!
Monday, August 22, 2005
Write An Anonymous Love Letter On The Field Hockey Field Day!
Summer practice has begun for your high school's fall sports, which means Heather will be out on the field hockey field bright and early at 8 AM today to get ready for her first year on Varsity squad field hockey. You should congratulate her and tell her how you've always felt about her but were too afraid to tell her by writing it all on the field in sideline paint. You'll have to break in to the groundskeeper's closet, and good luck because I don't know how you're going to pull that off. But once you do, get writing. You need to be done before dawn so no one will see you from the passing traffic. Your letter should make mention of how if there were a sport where sexy knees dominated, she'd be MVP.
Happy Write An Anonymous Love Letter On The Field Hockey Field Day!
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Come Up With An Excuse To Eat Part Of Your Own Thigh Day!
Say to yourself, "With all the starving people in, um, other countries, who am I to eat food that didn't come from my thigh."
They bought it! Now dig in!
Happy Come Up With An Excuse To Eat Part Of Your Own Thigh Day!
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Mating Season Day!
Watch out for yourself because mating season begins today. Everywhere you go, people and animals are going to come up behind you and try to penetrate you. Even when you've obviously got hold of someone or something else that you are attempting to penetrate from behind. Many of the people and animals that will try to penetrate you are not the sort of people or animals that you would ever find attractive. Be polite, but firm.
Happy Mating Season Day!
Friday, August 19, 2005
Bury The Hatchet (You And Your Former Best Friend Are 85) Day!
Being as you are 85, it's time to forgive your former best friend for stealing the woman you loved in 1962. After all, she hurt him in 1988 far more than he hurt you in 1962. Let bygones be bygones. Give him a call and say, "Being as it's amazing that either of us didn't wake up dead today, wanna call a truce?" Your former best friend will hang up on you without calling a truce, but he'll die first.
Happy Bury The Hatchet (You And Your Former Best Friend Are 85) Day!
Prettygirl has been looking forward to this trip for months. The tram will launch just to left of your butthole. From there, it will progress into and up your butthole. In a week, the tram will come back out of your butthole. Throughout the entire week, Prettygirl will never once stop eating your butthole. Prettygirl hasn't eaten in hours and she is famished. Her bib has already been tied on tight. It reads, "Let's Cut Me A Slice Of Some O' Your Butthole Already, Nazi Fucker!"
Since Prettygirl will be busy all week gobbling up your butthole, the coming week's Holidays are going up in advance. As always, scroll way down to read today and try to avoid reading tomorrow's until tomorrow. If you get caught reading ahead, your eyes will be set on fire.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Teach The Pet Store Parrot To Say Stuff Day!
You didn't get hit by that car just to sit around for the rest of your life sucking on the fat of that insurance settlement did you? You always said if you were ever freed up from your responsibilities you'd use the time to finally exercise the extent of your genius. Of course, you never swallowed that horseshit anymore than your friends or you mom were willing to. But you could at least hobble down to the mall a couple of days a week and teach one of those parrots to say stuff. Possible phrases to inculcate into that parrot's skull are as follows:
Hey Fatso! Yeah, you fatso!
Yeah Baby!
Or…
[YOUR NAME] is supercool!
Good luck, teach.
Happy Teach The Pet Store Parrot To Say Stuff Day!
Friday, August 26, 2005
World Record For Drinking Without Dying Or Calling Your Estranged Daughter Day!
There are several different world-records pertaining to how much one person can drink in one day. There is the record held for highest volume of alcoholic beverages (18% or greater in alcohol content) drunk in one day, followed by that person's death within the week (set by Harrison Tucker of Jackson, Mississippi in March of 1987). There is the record for highest volume of alcoholic beverages (18% or greater in alcohol content) drunk in one day while consistently operating a motor vehicle without causing a fatality (set by Maureen Bowie of Anaheim, California last Sunday*). And there's the one you're going for: Highest volume of alcoholic beverages (18% or greater in alcohol content) drunk in one day without dying or calling your estranged daughter (set by Colin Heinz of Portland, Oregon on December 24, 1977). You have to drink 11.4 pints of vodka to win.
And remember, you can't die or call Helen. Eat something first.
Happy World Record For Drinking Without Dying Or Calling Your Estranged Daughter Day!
*Disputed.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Send The Vermin A Message Day!
Today, some kids on a speed-fueled bender are going to break into your apartment and try to beat you into a coma with some wrenches and pistol butts. They'll steal whatever they can find before fleeing via the fire escape, but it's really all about the thrill-beatdown. What you need to do is send a message to these kids and all their reprobate friends.
First, you're going to have to fight off all five of them and win.
Next, shave their heads and write little notes on their faces that say, "I'm going nowhere" and "I'm a punk."
When they go back to their neighborhoods, they'll be humiliated. And all their friends will discover that crime has consequences. Gun-related fatalities will plummet.
Happy Send The Vermin A Message Day!
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Bucket Of Pee Day!
The bucket of pee that you keep in the unfurnished bedroom upstairs is full. Time to start over.
Happy Bucket Of Pee Day!
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Ziti Hitler Day!
Finances have been tight ever since your wife took a leave of absence from the accounting firm to work on her sculpting. Tonight she will unveil her masterpiece for you and the kids. It will be an eight-and-a-half foot tall sculpture of Hitler composed entirely of uncooked ziti. You and the kids will burst forth with gleeful applause when she yanks the sheet from her creation. But almost immediately, his arm upraised in salute will loose its adhesive and fall to the ground. Your wife will be devastated.
This is where the bad time begins.
Happy Ziti Hitler Day!
Monday, August 22, 2005
Write An Anonymous Love Letter On The Field Hockey Field Day!
Summer practice has begun for your high school's fall sports, which means Heather will be out on the field hockey field bright and early at 8 AM today to get ready for her first year on Varsity squad field hockey. You should congratulate her and tell her how you've always felt about her but were too afraid to tell her by writing it all on the field in sideline paint. You'll have to break in to the groundskeeper's closet, and good luck because I don't know how you're going to pull that off. But once you do, get writing. You need to be done before dawn so no one will see you from the passing traffic. Your letter should make mention of how if there were a sport where sexy knees dominated, she'd be MVP.
Happy Write An Anonymous Love Letter On The Field Hockey Field Day!
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Come Up With An Excuse To Eat Part Of Your Own Thigh Day!
Say to yourself, "With all the starving people in, um, other countries, who am I to eat food that didn't come from my thigh."
They bought it! Now dig in!
Happy Come Up With An Excuse To Eat Part Of Your Own Thigh Day!
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Mating Season Day!
Watch out for yourself because mating season begins today. Everywhere you go, people and animals are going to come up behind you and try to penetrate you. Even when you've obviously got hold of someone or something else that you are attempting to penetrate from behind. Many of the people and animals that will try to penetrate you are not the sort of people or animals that you would ever find attractive. Be polite, but firm.
Happy Mating Season Day!
Friday, August 19, 2005
Bury The Hatchet (You And Your Former Best Friend Are 85) Day!
Being as you are 85, it's time to forgive your former best friend for stealing the woman you loved in 1962. After all, she hurt him in 1988 far more than he hurt you in 1962. Let bygones be bygones. Give him a call and say, "Being as it's amazing that either of us didn't wake up dead today, wanna call a truce?" Your former best friend will hang up on you without calling a truce, but he'll die first.
Happy Bury The Hatchet (You And Your Former Best Friend Are 85) Day!
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Crowd Control Day
Crowd Control Day!
Today, a crowd of angry people will surround you demanding refunds. You'll try to explain that you don't sell products, but they'll tell you that they were told you were the one to sign off on this. When you ask them what product they're trying to return, you won't be able to make it out because they'll all start shouting at once. When you revert back to, "But I don't sell products," they'll grow firey and ask you why you asked them which product they're unhappy with if you don't sell products. Suddenly, they'll all take out their receipts and read from the return policy on the back in unison. It will sound beautiful. Occasionally, they'll fall silent and allow one little boy with an angelic voice sing important passages solo, like, "If the item is not in it's original packaging…" Once the recitation ends, they will all begin pummeling you with the products they wish to return. At first, this will be hilarious, since they will all be trying to return a plush toy frog that "Rib-its" when you squeeze it. But it won't be long before they stuff one of the frogs into your mouth and hold your nostrils closed. The name of the plush toy frog product is "Wally Warts."
Happy Crowd Control Day!
Today, a crowd of angry people will surround you demanding refunds. You'll try to explain that you don't sell products, but they'll tell you that they were told you were the one to sign off on this. When you ask them what product they're trying to return, you won't be able to make it out because they'll all start shouting at once. When you revert back to, "But I don't sell products," they'll grow firey and ask you why you asked them which product they're unhappy with if you don't sell products. Suddenly, they'll all take out their receipts and read from the return policy on the back in unison. It will sound beautiful. Occasionally, they'll fall silent and allow one little boy with an angelic voice sing important passages solo, like, "If the item is not in it's original packaging…" Once the recitation ends, they will all begin pummeling you with the products they wish to return. At first, this will be hilarious, since they will all be trying to return a plush toy frog that "Rib-its" when you squeeze it. But it won't be long before they stuff one of the frogs into your mouth and hold your nostrils closed. The name of the plush toy frog product is "Wally Warts."
Happy Crowd Control Day!
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Stab Somebody's Eye Out Day
Stab Somebody's Eye Out Day!
Whether your Mom isn't watching you and your little brother when you start to play with your grandfather's antique ice pick collection, or you decide to strike back against your Peeping Tom landlord who drilled holes in the ceiling above your living room so that he could watch you watch TV every night (you haven't been touched in years), today's the day to stab somebody's eye out. It's going to be awful and you'll never forgive yourself.
Happy Stab Somebody's Eye Out Day!
Whether your Mom isn't watching you and your little brother when you start to play with your grandfather's antique ice pick collection, or you decide to strike back against your Peeping Tom landlord who drilled holes in the ceiling above your living room so that he could watch you watch TV every night (you haven't been touched in years), today's the day to stab somebody's eye out. It's going to be awful and you'll never forgive yourself.
Happy Stab Somebody's Eye Out Day!
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Explain Why You Cry Sometimes Day
Explain Why You Cry Sometimes Day!
He'll say, "You cry so much for no reason. I want to break up."
Tell him, "I can't help it. I been through some stuff."
He'll lift up your chin and look at you with tenderness. "Molested?" he'll ask.
Say, "Ew."
He'll get angry again. He'll say, "Unless you tell me why you cry, and you give me a good reason, I'm laters. It's been a good couple months, but hell."
Breathe deep. Get ready to let it out. Say, "Christmas tree fires."
He'll repeat, "Christmas tree fires?"
Tell him that your mother ran off because your father was a strange and holy man. When she left, his faith ran wild with him. He believed the celebration of Christmas to be evil and he had a small following that agreed. After Christmas, his followers would travel through the towns in trucks, knocking on doors offering to dispose of the neighborhood's Christmas trees at no charge. Everyone knew they were up to something strange, but they were all so poor (you and your father too) that the remnants of Christmas spirit in the neighborhood made it hard to deny them anything. The only time people refused was when his followers were unable to disguise their disgust with what they perceived to be sinful observers of an apocryphal holiday. Around January eighth or ninth, your father would preside over a ceremonial Burning of the Christmas Trees. And he and his followers would rejoice as the crackling dry wood and tinsel fire soared towards the sky.
"That was my Christmastime," tell him. "We'd dance and sing hymns and hug around the warmth of that terrible bonfire."
He'll say, "Holy fucking shit."
Say, "I've felt guilty ever since. Because I love Jesus, just the way my father taught me to love him. But I think I've always loved Christmas trees even more. And I dreaded those fires. I used to run into the woods pretending to pee over and over again so that my father couldn't see me cry. But I knew Jesus could. I just never was able to love him more than those beautiful Christmas trees."
He'll say, "Motherfuck!" And then he'll put his shirt on and book it out the door. You'll be alone again. Try to get some work done this time, Jesusface.
Happy Explain Why You Cry Sometimes Day!
He'll say, "You cry so much for no reason. I want to break up."
Tell him, "I can't help it. I been through some stuff."
He'll lift up your chin and look at you with tenderness. "Molested?" he'll ask.
Say, "Ew."
He'll get angry again. He'll say, "Unless you tell me why you cry, and you give me a good reason, I'm laters. It's been a good couple months, but hell."
Breathe deep. Get ready to let it out. Say, "Christmas tree fires."
He'll repeat, "Christmas tree fires?"
Tell him that your mother ran off because your father was a strange and holy man. When she left, his faith ran wild with him. He believed the celebration of Christmas to be evil and he had a small following that agreed. After Christmas, his followers would travel through the towns in trucks, knocking on doors offering to dispose of the neighborhood's Christmas trees at no charge. Everyone knew they were up to something strange, but they were all so poor (you and your father too) that the remnants of Christmas spirit in the neighborhood made it hard to deny them anything. The only time people refused was when his followers were unable to disguise their disgust with what they perceived to be sinful observers of an apocryphal holiday. Around January eighth or ninth, your father would preside over a ceremonial Burning of the Christmas Trees. And he and his followers would rejoice as the crackling dry wood and tinsel fire soared towards the sky.
"That was my Christmastime," tell him. "We'd dance and sing hymns and hug around the warmth of that terrible bonfire."
He'll say, "Holy fucking shit."
Say, "I've felt guilty ever since. Because I love Jesus, just the way my father taught me to love him. But I think I've always loved Christmas trees even more. And I dreaded those fires. I used to run into the woods pretending to pee over and over again so that my father couldn't see me cry. But I knew Jesus could. I just never was able to love him more than those beautiful Christmas trees."
He'll say, "Motherfuck!" And then he'll put his shirt on and book it out the door. You'll be alone again. Try to get some work done this time, Jesusface.
Happy Explain Why You Cry Sometimes Day!
Monday, August 15, 2005
In The Trunk Of Your Car Day
In The Trunk Of Your Car Day!
A cute but skinny boy is going to give you a love poem today. It will read as follows:
I don't care who you're with
Just let me ride
In the trunk of your car
After we graduate
When you head off to college
Let me ride in the trunk of your car
If you go away for some time abroad
Or pursue a graduate degree
I just wanna ride in the trunk of your car
One day you'll marry a man
A man who's richer than me and slicker than me
That's fine. Cause I just wanna ride in the trunk of your car
Maybe one day you'll divorce
But even then I won't pretend you'll come running to me
But I'll be right where I was all along, riding in the trunk of your car
And when you die that hearse won't carry you alone
Cause I'll slit my wrists and curl up beside you
Whatever it takes for one last ride inside the trunk of your car
You'll fold the poem up and spend the rest of your classes trying to diffuse your blush. You're a pretty one and you've been asked out in a lot of different ways by lots of different boys. But you never thought such a skinny little boy would write for you such a pained and beautiful plea for butt sex.
Check the box for yes. Happy In The Trunk Of Your Car Day!
A cute but skinny boy is going to give you a love poem today. It will read as follows:
I don't care who you're with
Just let me ride
In the trunk of your car
After we graduate
When you head off to college
Let me ride in the trunk of your car
If you go away for some time abroad
Or pursue a graduate degree
I just wanna ride in the trunk of your car
One day you'll marry a man
A man who's richer than me and slicker than me
That's fine. Cause I just wanna ride in the trunk of your car
Maybe one day you'll divorce
But even then I won't pretend you'll come running to me
But I'll be right where I was all along, riding in the trunk of your car
And when you die that hearse won't carry you alone
Cause I'll slit my wrists and curl up beside you
Whatever it takes for one last ride inside the trunk of your car
You'll fold the poem up and spend the rest of your classes trying to diffuse your blush. You're a pretty one and you've been asked out in a lot of different ways by lots of different boys. But you never thought such a skinny little boy would write for you such a pained and beautiful plea for butt sex.
Check the box for yes. Happy In The Trunk Of Your Car Day!
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Prepare For A Nuclear Holocaust Day
Prepare For A Nuclear Holocaust Day!
Preparing for a nuclear holocaust means a lot more than going out shopping for bulk prices on canned goods and porn. It also requires that you use your children's college money to dig under your home and fortify the walls in iron. You'll have to buy some bandanas too. And small arms to keep out the neighbors who will come banging on the door to your shelter, forgetting how they used to call you a damned fool when you first broke ground. And like it or not, you'll eventually have to choose a daughter with whom you'd be willing and likely to procreate should the propensity of the species fall on your shoulders.
There's no better day than today to get started. Especially since its safest to assume that at any given moment a horde of warheads are hurtling across the Atlantic just itching to incinerate your freedom into the dust. Remember, every time you fall asleep the communists are breaking into your home, placing their dicks on your shoulder and taking Polaroids.
Happy Prepare For A Nuclear Holocaust Day!
Preparing for a nuclear holocaust means a lot more than going out shopping for bulk prices on canned goods and porn. It also requires that you use your children's college money to dig under your home and fortify the walls in iron. You'll have to buy some bandanas too. And small arms to keep out the neighbors who will come banging on the door to your shelter, forgetting how they used to call you a damned fool when you first broke ground. And like it or not, you'll eventually have to choose a daughter with whom you'd be willing and likely to procreate should the propensity of the species fall on your shoulders.
There's no better day than today to get started. Especially since its safest to assume that at any given moment a horde of warheads are hurtling across the Atlantic just itching to incinerate your freedom into the dust. Remember, every time you fall asleep the communists are breaking into your home, placing their dicks on your shoulder and taking Polaroids.
Happy Prepare For A Nuclear Holocaust Day!
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Your Commemorative 9/11 Bong Is In Bad Taste And You Should Be Ashamed Of Yourself Day
Your Commemorative 9/11 Bong Is In Bad Taste And You Should Be Ashamed Of Yourself Day!
Haven't you noticed how whenever people come over they always decline a hit from your bong, opting instead to light up their own pipes? No one wants to suck smoke out of the Twin Towers. I know you think it's because they don't know how to hold it without banging their noses on the antenna atop Tower 2. But the real problem is that each time someone takes a hit, everyone has to sit and watch as leftover smoke billows up from Tower One. Consider the mellow harshed, my friend.
It was cool at first, true. But that was only because of the inscription at the base:
9/11: We Remember
Considering that the We in question was guaranteed to be you and your pothead friends (especially Clyde) sitting around in front of a Space Ghost DVD, how could one not be tickled? But everyone's been complaining of bad dreams lately (especially Clyde). Just throw the thing away and break out the R2D2 bong again. Everyone loved that one. And though you refused to smoke out of it "in protest against the crimes George Lucas has committed against your childhood," it's safe to say that Lucasfilm Ltd never got the press release.
Break out R2. Clyde's gonna be by any minute now.
Happy Your Commemorative 9/11 Bong Is In Bad Taste And You Should Be Ashamed Of Yourself Day!
Haven't you noticed how whenever people come over they always decline a hit from your bong, opting instead to light up their own pipes? No one wants to suck smoke out of the Twin Towers. I know you think it's because they don't know how to hold it without banging their noses on the antenna atop Tower 2. But the real problem is that each time someone takes a hit, everyone has to sit and watch as leftover smoke billows up from Tower One. Consider the mellow harshed, my friend.
It was cool at first, true. But that was only because of the inscription at the base:
9/11: We Remember
Considering that the We in question was guaranteed to be you and your pothead friends (especially Clyde) sitting around in front of a Space Ghost DVD, how could one not be tickled? But everyone's been complaining of bad dreams lately (especially Clyde). Just throw the thing away and break out the R2D2 bong again. Everyone loved that one. And though you refused to smoke out of it "in protest against the crimes George Lucas has committed against your childhood," it's safe to say that Lucasfilm Ltd never got the press release.
Break out R2. Clyde's gonna be by any minute now.
Happy Your Commemorative 9/11 Bong Is In Bad Taste And You Should Be Ashamed Of Yourself Day!
Friday, August 12, 2005
Home Invasion Spree Day
Home Invasion Spree Day!
Today, invade some homes. Get a couple of friends together and storm through a suburban neighborhood bursting through front doors and climbing into ground floor windows. When you get inside, you'll find a stay-at-home parent and some kids, or just some people who are unemployed. Regardless of why they're at home, they'll be excited that you want to play Home Invasion Spree, and they'll spring into action to defend their kingdoms.
First, they'll run to the kitchen and start flinging carving knives and electric crock pots at your head. If either hits you, you could die so stay frosty.
Next, they'll take off upstairs with their children and lock themselves in a bedroom. You need to break down the bedroom door with an axe (or a bat) and get a hold of them before they climb out the window and warn everyone else on the block that they should prepare defenses against a home invasion spree.
Once you've gotten into the room, tie everybody up and duct tape their mouths. Now it's time to plant your flag. Drill a hole into the floor boards and insert the staff there, being sure to hold it in place with some caulk. Then begin your dance around the occupants and sing your Home Invasion Victory Song:
You can lock your doors
And load your guns
But you can't stop The Havenhurst Municipality Bandits!
So hide behind the couch
And cover the floor in boiling fat
The Havenhurst Municipality Bandits will still rule!
Ev – en
If – You
Shoot – Our
Face-es
We –will
Prob – Ly
Die
So don't shoot the faces
Of The Havenhurst Municipality Bandits
And we won't spraypaint anybody!
Now that the home has been claimed, move onto the next house. But don't steal anything on your way out because stealing is wrong.
Happy Home Invasion Spree Day!
Today, invade some homes. Get a couple of friends together and storm through a suburban neighborhood bursting through front doors and climbing into ground floor windows. When you get inside, you'll find a stay-at-home parent and some kids, or just some people who are unemployed. Regardless of why they're at home, they'll be excited that you want to play Home Invasion Spree, and they'll spring into action to defend their kingdoms.
First, they'll run to the kitchen and start flinging carving knives and electric crock pots at your head. If either hits you, you could die so stay frosty.
Next, they'll take off upstairs with their children and lock themselves in a bedroom. You need to break down the bedroom door with an axe (or a bat) and get a hold of them before they climb out the window and warn everyone else on the block that they should prepare defenses against a home invasion spree.
Once you've gotten into the room, tie everybody up and duct tape their mouths. Now it's time to plant your flag. Drill a hole into the floor boards and insert the staff there, being sure to hold it in place with some caulk. Then begin your dance around the occupants and sing your Home Invasion Victory Song:
You can lock your doors
And load your guns
But you can't stop The Havenhurst Municipality Bandits!
So hide behind the couch
And cover the floor in boiling fat
The Havenhurst Municipality Bandits will still rule!
Ev – en
If – You
Shoot – Our
Face-es
We –will
Prob – Ly
Die
So don't shoot the faces
Of The Havenhurst Municipality Bandits
And we won't spraypaint anybody!
Now that the home has been claimed, move onto the next house. But don't steal anything on your way out because stealing is wrong.
Happy Home Invasion Spree Day!
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Supermarket Checkout Girl Day
Supermarket Checkout Girl Day!
Today, you're going to watch your favorite supermarket checkout girl get arrested for kidnapping. She'll be ringing up your items and chatting you up with the same jovial demeanor that she always has when two detectives in suits will walk up behind her and say, "Pamela Worth?"
She'll turn around and say, "Yes?"
One detective will hold up his badge for her to see. "Ma'am, you are under arrest for your role in the kidnapping of Mary Radano."
Mary Radano disappeared seven months ago and no one could talk about anything else for weeks. But it's been a while since anyone but the newspapers mentioned her name. She's been missing for so long it's too sad a story to gossip over.
The whole store will freeze in time when the detective says that name. Later, you'll remember that the moving checkout conveyor belts all froze as well. Everyone will stop and watch your favorite supermarket checkout girl get handcuffed. She'll look up at you while she's bent over her register, her eyes big with shame.
Ask her, "Is Mary Radano still alive?"
She won't tell you. But you'll find out when you get home and turn on the TV. Next week, you'll start bringing your cart to checkout number 9 where Collette, your second favorite checkout girl, is stationed. Collette is pleasant enough, but she has acne that can flare up from time to time and her face gets so raw it makes you look down into your wallet while you're waiting for her to double your coupons.
Happy Supermarket Checkout Girl Day!
Today, you're going to watch your favorite supermarket checkout girl get arrested for kidnapping. She'll be ringing up your items and chatting you up with the same jovial demeanor that she always has when two detectives in suits will walk up behind her and say, "Pamela Worth?"
She'll turn around and say, "Yes?"
One detective will hold up his badge for her to see. "Ma'am, you are under arrest for your role in the kidnapping of Mary Radano."
Mary Radano disappeared seven months ago and no one could talk about anything else for weeks. But it's been a while since anyone but the newspapers mentioned her name. She's been missing for so long it's too sad a story to gossip over.
The whole store will freeze in time when the detective says that name. Later, you'll remember that the moving checkout conveyor belts all froze as well. Everyone will stop and watch your favorite supermarket checkout girl get handcuffed. She'll look up at you while she's bent over her register, her eyes big with shame.
Ask her, "Is Mary Radano still alive?"
She won't tell you. But you'll find out when you get home and turn on the TV. Next week, you'll start bringing your cart to checkout number 9 where Collette, your second favorite checkout girl, is stationed. Collette is pleasant enough, but she has acne that can flare up from time to time and her face gets so raw it makes you look down into your wallet while you're waiting for her to double your coupons.
Happy Supermarket Checkout Girl Day!
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
My Cheating Husband's Volvo Day
My Cheating Husband's Volvo Day!
Your wife found out about you and your secretary a month ago, and she reacted the way any betrayed woman of virtue would react. She entered your Volvo V50 Sportswagon in a demolition derby. And she won.
And she's been winning. Every week since she stopped speaking to you she's been heading to the dirt bike track out by the airport and smashing up triumph after triumph. She's turned into a sensation amongst regulars. When she pulls into the ring with those four words spraypainted onto the hood, My Cheating Husband's Volvo, the crowd stirs itself into a frenzy. They revel in the joy of some foolish husband's car about to be destroyed by his woman scorned. But when she starts to win (after all it is a Volvo), there is no limit to how hard that crowd wants to cheer her on. The Derby commissioner says he's never seen a Derby star breakout so fast.
Tonight's the division championship. If she wins tonight, she takes your wagon out to Cleveland for a shot at a $50,000 cash prize and an endorsement for next year. If you wanna make amends with her, you can send her fanbase reeling by getting on a bus and taking yourself out to that track.
When you first see your car, you'll want to scream. She's been keeping it parked in a garage behind the track and you'd been forced to assume she drove it into a lake since she's refused to respond to your queries. But when you see what she can do, when you see what art she can make from her rage and her defensive driving skills, you'll fall in love with her like never before.
You don't want to let her know you're there ahead of time. Just buy your ticket and cheer her on with the rest of the civilians. Wait until she wins. When she's standing in the center of the track and is being handed her trophy, interrupt the ceremony by climbing down and walking halfway to her.
Your wife and the commissioner will both stop the ceremony to see what you're up to. The crowd will read in your wife's body language that it was your Volvo all this time. They'll immediately start booing you and pegging you in the head with beer and batteries. Just stand there about twenty feet from your wife with your arms held out from your sides, waiting. The tension will be thick enough to stop up a blown muffler. But when she finally drops her trophy and runs into your arms, the crowd will roil itself into such a fever pitch you'll think we finally figured out how to win that Iraq thing over there.
Stand by her side as she finishes the ceremony, and then go to your Volvo and climb into the driver's seat. Pull away slow, letting your wife hang out the passenger side window so she can wave goodbye to every last one of her fans. They'll all wish her the best, as they'll be worried her having made up with you will stamp out her rage and pull her out of the demolition game forever. You'll be wondering too. Guess you'll find out for sure in September when you're in the stands in Cleveland, screaming your head off while your wife busts the shit out of a big mess of chrome with her Cheating Husband's Volvo.
Happy My Cheating Husband's Volvo Day!
Your wife found out about you and your secretary a month ago, and she reacted the way any betrayed woman of virtue would react. She entered your Volvo V50 Sportswagon in a demolition derby. And she won.
And she's been winning. Every week since she stopped speaking to you she's been heading to the dirt bike track out by the airport and smashing up triumph after triumph. She's turned into a sensation amongst regulars. When she pulls into the ring with those four words spraypainted onto the hood, My Cheating Husband's Volvo, the crowd stirs itself into a frenzy. They revel in the joy of some foolish husband's car about to be destroyed by his woman scorned. But when she starts to win (after all it is a Volvo), there is no limit to how hard that crowd wants to cheer her on. The Derby commissioner says he's never seen a Derby star breakout so fast.
Tonight's the division championship. If she wins tonight, she takes your wagon out to Cleveland for a shot at a $50,000 cash prize and an endorsement for next year. If you wanna make amends with her, you can send her fanbase reeling by getting on a bus and taking yourself out to that track.
When you first see your car, you'll want to scream. She's been keeping it parked in a garage behind the track and you'd been forced to assume she drove it into a lake since she's refused to respond to your queries. But when you see what she can do, when you see what art she can make from her rage and her defensive driving skills, you'll fall in love with her like never before.
You don't want to let her know you're there ahead of time. Just buy your ticket and cheer her on with the rest of the civilians. Wait until she wins. When she's standing in the center of the track and is being handed her trophy, interrupt the ceremony by climbing down and walking halfway to her.
Your wife and the commissioner will both stop the ceremony to see what you're up to. The crowd will read in your wife's body language that it was your Volvo all this time. They'll immediately start booing you and pegging you in the head with beer and batteries. Just stand there about twenty feet from your wife with your arms held out from your sides, waiting. The tension will be thick enough to stop up a blown muffler. But when she finally drops her trophy and runs into your arms, the crowd will roil itself into such a fever pitch you'll think we finally figured out how to win that Iraq thing over there.
Stand by her side as she finishes the ceremony, and then go to your Volvo and climb into the driver's seat. Pull away slow, letting your wife hang out the passenger side window so she can wave goodbye to every last one of her fans. They'll all wish her the best, as they'll be worried her having made up with you will stamp out her rage and pull her out of the demolition game forever. You'll be wondering too. Guess you'll find out for sure in September when you're in the stands in Cleveland, screaming your head off while your wife busts the shit out of a big mess of chrome with her Cheating Husband's Volvo.
Happy My Cheating Husband's Volvo Day!
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Assassination Day
Assassination Day!
Today at work, Norman Dilansky, the HR guy who comes down to your floor every morning to take roll call, will be shot twice in the neck and once in the back by a sniper positioned on the roof of the Landers Mutual building across the way. In the wake of the tragedy, a group of your coworkers will use the assassination as an excuse to leave for the bar and start drinking at 11:30 AM.
"Guess someone really didn't like having his name taken for roll call," you'll suggest, just before downing your second of ultimately six gin and tonics.
"It is pretty demeaning," Jennifer, the hot technical writer will offer. "It's like we're in grade school."
"That's true," Ben will say. Ben is handicapped, so everyone will turn around from their stools to look down at him in his wheelchair, because it's polite. "Dilansky had it coming. He should've watched his step."
A few others from the office will be sitting in the corner of the bar sobbing into each other's embrace. You won't know them and you'll assume they're full of crap, like the ones who make a big show of wishing you a happy birthday when the cafeteria sends up the requisitioned birthday cake.
Manny the temp will slam his drink down on the bartop. "You guys really think this is about roll call? Jesus, open your eyes. It's Iraq!"
When you get back to the office, you'll find out that Dilansky's assassin was his wife. Apparently Dilansky had been prostituting his daughter to his poker buddies. She decided the world needed to be wiped clean of the likes of him and as his wife, she felt it was her responsibility to spring for the rifle and bullets.
Happy Assassination Day!
Today at work, Norman Dilansky, the HR guy who comes down to your floor every morning to take roll call, will be shot twice in the neck and once in the back by a sniper positioned on the roof of the Landers Mutual building across the way. In the wake of the tragedy, a group of your coworkers will use the assassination as an excuse to leave for the bar and start drinking at 11:30 AM.
"Guess someone really didn't like having his name taken for roll call," you'll suggest, just before downing your second of ultimately six gin and tonics.
"It is pretty demeaning," Jennifer, the hot technical writer will offer. "It's like we're in grade school."
"That's true," Ben will say. Ben is handicapped, so everyone will turn around from their stools to look down at him in his wheelchair, because it's polite. "Dilansky had it coming. He should've watched his step."
A few others from the office will be sitting in the corner of the bar sobbing into each other's embrace. You won't know them and you'll assume they're full of crap, like the ones who make a big show of wishing you a happy birthday when the cafeteria sends up the requisitioned birthday cake.
Manny the temp will slam his drink down on the bartop. "You guys really think this is about roll call? Jesus, open your eyes. It's Iraq!"
When you get back to the office, you'll find out that Dilansky's assassin was his wife. Apparently Dilansky had been prostituting his daughter to his poker buddies. She decided the world needed to be wiped clean of the likes of him and as his wife, she felt it was her responsibility to spring for the rifle and bullets.
Happy Assassination Day!
Monday, August 08, 2005
Washed Up Rock Star Corey Hart Day!
Washed Up Rock Star Corey Hart Day!
You drink too much, which explains why last night you went home with washed up rock star Corey Hart. He's making a lot of noise putting together some pancakes in the kitchen, and you're lying in bed trying to figure out how to get him out of your apartment before your roommate spots him.
"You don't have any blueberries," he'll say when you walk into the kitchen. "I thought I saw a produce stand on the corner. I'll go get some."
Say, "That's okay Mr. Hart."
Corey will turn around. "Wait a minute. Mr. Hart?"
"Sorry. Corey," say. "I'm sorry, I just remember you from when I was a kid, dancing all day and night to your song."
Corey Hart will lean against the kitchen cabinet. "It was a great song wasn't it."
Nod. "It was pretty good. Definitely fair."
Corey Hart will move to you and take your cheeks in his hands. "But now you're a woman. And I'm still the man who sang that song for you."
Take his hands off of your cheeks. "You sang your song for the world. I hold no claim on you Mr. Hart."
"I'm yours if you'll have me," he'll say. "Forget the blueberries. Lemme make you a frittata."
"I don't want Corey Hart to make me a frittata. I want you to stay the way you were the day I first heard you," tell him. "I'm sorry, but if we go any further, it will ruin what you've meant to me all these years."
Corey Hart will say, "But we already went further. For like 40 minutes. You were a stallion."
"Luckily, I was drunk enough that I don't remember anything about that," tell him. "And sure, I could keep drinking and go on seeing you while in the debilitating throes of a blackout…"
You and Corey Hart will look at each other, suddenly freed from the bounds of nostalgia. "Eureka!" you'll say.
Corey Hart will pull the bottle of Wild Turkey down from the top of the fridge. You'll down as much of it as you can while he leads you back to your bedroom with just a gentle pull on your fingertips.
Happy Washed Up Rock Star Corey Hart Day!
You drink too much, which explains why last night you went home with washed up rock star Corey Hart. He's making a lot of noise putting together some pancakes in the kitchen, and you're lying in bed trying to figure out how to get him out of your apartment before your roommate spots him.
"You don't have any blueberries," he'll say when you walk into the kitchen. "I thought I saw a produce stand on the corner. I'll go get some."
Say, "That's okay Mr. Hart."
Corey will turn around. "Wait a minute. Mr. Hart?"
"Sorry. Corey," say. "I'm sorry, I just remember you from when I was a kid, dancing all day and night to your song."
Corey Hart will lean against the kitchen cabinet. "It was a great song wasn't it."
Nod. "It was pretty good. Definitely fair."
Corey Hart will move to you and take your cheeks in his hands. "But now you're a woman. And I'm still the man who sang that song for you."
Take his hands off of your cheeks. "You sang your song for the world. I hold no claim on you Mr. Hart."
"I'm yours if you'll have me," he'll say. "Forget the blueberries. Lemme make you a frittata."
"I don't want Corey Hart to make me a frittata. I want you to stay the way you were the day I first heard you," tell him. "I'm sorry, but if we go any further, it will ruin what you've meant to me all these years."
Corey Hart will say, "But we already went further. For like 40 minutes. You were a stallion."
"Luckily, I was drunk enough that I don't remember anything about that," tell him. "And sure, I could keep drinking and go on seeing you while in the debilitating throes of a blackout…"
You and Corey Hart will look at each other, suddenly freed from the bounds of nostalgia. "Eureka!" you'll say.
Corey Hart will pull the bottle of Wild Turkey down from the top of the fridge. You'll down as much of it as you can while he leads you back to your bedroom with just a gentle pull on your fingertips.
Happy Washed Up Rock Star Corey Hart Day!
Friday, August 05, 2005
It's The Girls Are Pretty "Gonna Go Try To Stop A Wedding" Weekend
It's The Girls Are Pretty"Gonna Go Try To Stop A Wedding" Weekend!
Hey there. So a lover that Prettygirl pushed away is marrying someone else this weekend. The wedding's upstate and Prettygirl's gotta get up there and make a scene to try and put the kibosh on the whole thing. It's not a "Now that I know I can't have you I realize you're the one I want" kind of deal. It's more like, "Even though I don't want you, I demand that you never love again." Time to pack!
The wedding's Saturday, but Prettygirl's gonna try to go tubing on Sunday, so the whole weekend's gonna go up right now. As per convention, scroll down to read today's today. Don't read tomorrow's until tomorrow. You wouldn't want to find out in advance that tomorrow you're going to get lost in a man-made cave, now would you?
Sunday, August 7th, 2005
Cotton Candy Machine Day!
Using all the money you've saved from not drinking, you bought a cotton candy machine for your wife.
"Can you believe that last year I wasn't able to buy this for you because I was spending so much money on alcohol," you'll say to her.
She'll nod. "You really did waste a lot of money on alcohol," she'll say.
Flop onto the couch and tell her that no matter how hard you try to make amends, she won't cut you any slack. "You make me wonder why I stopped at all!" say.
"I'm sorry," she'll say. "I really love the cotton candy machine. I'm so proud of you."
Say, "Too late!" and start drinking again. Beginning tonight, disappear for four days, leaving her with nothing to warm up to at night but a contraption that spits out edible fur. See how she likes that!
Happy Cotton Candy Machine Day!
Saturday, August 6th, 2005
Get Lost In A Man-Made Cave Day!
As you try to make your way back outside, use a rock to scratch sketches of yourself into the cave wall at various points. Underneath the sketches, write "If you see this man, in this cave, no matter how cool he tries to seem, he's lost. Help him." Eventually you'll stumble into the man-made cave's janitor's closet, and you'll find evidence that the janitor has been The Man-Made Cave Strangler all along. He'll chase you down, and he knows this man-made cave better than you, but you have to get that evidence to the fuzz.
Happy Get Lost In A Man-Made Cave Day!
Friday, August 5th, 2005
Warts And All Day!
When your girlfriend tries to break up with you tonight, say, "It's because of my warts isn't it?"
Your girlfriend will say it's not just your warts, it's also that you're poor.
Using a really whiny voice, say, "But the only reason I'm poor is because I have to spend all my money on wart removal!"
Just then, one of the warts that you had dry-frozen at the dermatologist's office will fall off of your cheek and into your soup.
Say, "See, they're going away!" Then, using a high-pitched scream, ask her not to leave you like this just when things are starting to turn around for you. She'll run.
Happy Warts And All Day!
Hey there. So a lover that Prettygirl pushed away is marrying someone else this weekend. The wedding's upstate and Prettygirl's gotta get up there and make a scene to try and put the kibosh on the whole thing. It's not a "Now that I know I can't have you I realize you're the one I want" kind of deal. It's more like, "Even though I don't want you, I demand that you never love again." Time to pack!
The wedding's Saturday, but Prettygirl's gonna try to go tubing on Sunday, so the whole weekend's gonna go up right now. As per convention, scroll down to read today's today. Don't read tomorrow's until tomorrow. You wouldn't want to find out in advance that tomorrow you're going to get lost in a man-made cave, now would you?
Sunday, August 7th, 2005
Cotton Candy Machine Day!
Using all the money you've saved from not drinking, you bought a cotton candy machine for your wife.
"Can you believe that last year I wasn't able to buy this for you because I was spending so much money on alcohol," you'll say to her.
She'll nod. "You really did waste a lot of money on alcohol," she'll say.
Flop onto the couch and tell her that no matter how hard you try to make amends, she won't cut you any slack. "You make me wonder why I stopped at all!" say.
"I'm sorry," she'll say. "I really love the cotton candy machine. I'm so proud of you."
Say, "Too late!" and start drinking again. Beginning tonight, disappear for four days, leaving her with nothing to warm up to at night but a contraption that spits out edible fur. See how she likes that!
Happy Cotton Candy Machine Day!
Saturday, August 6th, 2005
Get Lost In A Man-Made Cave Day!
As you try to make your way back outside, use a rock to scratch sketches of yourself into the cave wall at various points. Underneath the sketches, write "If you see this man, in this cave, no matter how cool he tries to seem, he's lost. Help him." Eventually you'll stumble into the man-made cave's janitor's closet, and you'll find evidence that the janitor has been The Man-Made Cave Strangler all along. He'll chase you down, and he knows this man-made cave better than you, but you have to get that evidence to the fuzz.
Happy Get Lost In A Man-Made Cave Day!
Friday, August 5th, 2005
Warts And All Day!
When your girlfriend tries to break up with you tonight, say, "It's because of my warts isn't it?"
Your girlfriend will say it's not just your warts, it's also that you're poor.
Using a really whiny voice, say, "But the only reason I'm poor is because I have to spend all my money on wart removal!"
Just then, one of the warts that you had dry-frozen at the dermatologist's office will fall off of your cheek and into your soup.
Say, "See, they're going away!" Then, using a high-pitched scream, ask her not to leave you like this just when things are starting to turn around for you. She'll run.
Happy Warts And All Day!
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Be The Witness Day
Be The Witness Day!
Today, you should happen upon the scene of a crime that involves the highest levels of government. The crime should be murder, but if it can't be murder, it should be arson.
When you spy the crime taking place, first, hide. You'll make a little bit of noise when you find your place in the dark corner of the schoolbus garage or when you hoist your feet up in the bathroom stall, but not to worry. When the henchman comes over to check things out, he'll be called away just before he's about to discover your hiding place. (PHEW!)
Next, watch the crime take place. The crime will either be the murder of a bespectacled bookkeeper who is screaming "I swear to God I don't! know! anything!" Or it will be the illegal setting on fire of a bespectacled bookkeeper who is screaming "I swear to God I don't! have! the ledger!"
Finally, let the shock of the crime you've just witnessed disorient you so that you accidentally make a little bit of noise (you start jerking off and rattle a bucket full of shovels) that attracts the attention of the Mayor, the Comptroller, and the entire Tri-Lateral Commission. You'll have to make a run for it, and you might never be able to stop running. Here's hoping you don't have any kids, because fuck them. You're running.
Finally, turn the tables. Tell the Mayor, the Comptroller, and the entire Tri-Lateral Commission something along the lines of, "If I don't make a phone call in a half hour, my story gets mailed to all the major newspapers." Except tell them something that will actually scare them. When you're finished, sit back and take a deep breath because you run this town now. First thing you should do is ask for access to the Tri-Lateral Commission's records room so you can follow through on your theory about the link between the Kennedy assassination and the alien craft kept hidden at Roswell.
Finally, use your access to the Tri-Lateral Commission's records room to find out which of your high school girlfriends were spies, and which were dudes.
Happy Be The Witness Day!
Today, you should happen upon the scene of a crime that involves the highest levels of government. The crime should be murder, but if it can't be murder, it should be arson.
When you spy the crime taking place, first, hide. You'll make a little bit of noise when you find your place in the dark corner of the schoolbus garage or when you hoist your feet up in the bathroom stall, but not to worry. When the henchman comes over to check things out, he'll be called away just before he's about to discover your hiding place. (PHEW!)
Next, watch the crime take place. The crime will either be the murder of a bespectacled bookkeeper who is screaming "I swear to God I don't! know! anything!" Or it will be the illegal setting on fire of a bespectacled bookkeeper who is screaming "I swear to God I don't! have! the ledger!"
Finally, let the shock of the crime you've just witnessed disorient you so that you accidentally make a little bit of noise (you start jerking off and rattle a bucket full of shovels) that attracts the attention of the Mayor, the Comptroller, and the entire Tri-Lateral Commission. You'll have to make a run for it, and you might never be able to stop running. Here's hoping you don't have any kids, because fuck them. You're running.
Finally, turn the tables. Tell the Mayor, the Comptroller, and the entire Tri-Lateral Commission something along the lines of, "If I don't make a phone call in a half hour, my story gets mailed to all the major newspapers." Except tell them something that will actually scare them. When you're finished, sit back and take a deep breath because you run this town now. First thing you should do is ask for access to the Tri-Lateral Commission's records room so you can follow through on your theory about the link between the Kennedy assassination and the alien craft kept hidden at Roswell.
Finally, use your access to the Tri-Lateral Commission's records room to find out which of your high school girlfriends were spies, and which were dudes.
Happy Be The Witness Day!
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
The Roof Party Jumper Day
The Roof Party Jumper Day!
It's just a lucky break that you have roof access and that your rooftop has been done up as a beautiful outdoor deck. You're not rich, and neither are any of your friends. And as is common amongst the Not-Rich, many of your friends are depressed and/or chemically dependent and/or emotionally demonstrative (the rich learned to contain themselves long ago). With all of this being evident, you should know before you invite all of your friends up to your roofdeck for a party that one of your friends will break up with another of your friends (it will have been a long time coming. At dinner parties, all they do is quietly undercut each other and even more quietly cry), and that the one who gets dumped will climb onto the ledge and start making noise about jumping and about how he just wasted two years and eight months with an unimaginative drone.
You should know that everyone else will start shouting, "Get off the ledge Robby."
And that Robby will retort, "I'll get down shortly. But let me first say that Melissa Martinez is going to live a very long life and when she dies, she will not have felt a single thing. There's a woman on the roof who has never known passion and based on who she's leaving me for, she never will. And there's a man on the roof who's about to be a man on the ground."
You should know, before you send out the evite, that your rooftop party will be ruined when Robby throws himself over the ledge and dies on the sidewalk. While this won't bode well for your party, the rooftop party across the street, packed full of rich people who are no strangers to rooftop parties, will watch impoverished Robby somersault to his death and they will find this to be immensely entertaining. Thus, your sad little attempt at tasting a slice of the beautiful life will at least provide some diversion to those who are actually meant to live such a life. So you should go ahead with the rooftop party. For the benefit of the rich.
Happy The Roof Party Jumper Day!
It's just a lucky break that you have roof access and that your rooftop has been done up as a beautiful outdoor deck. You're not rich, and neither are any of your friends. And as is common amongst the Not-Rich, many of your friends are depressed and/or chemically dependent and/or emotionally demonstrative (the rich learned to contain themselves long ago). With all of this being evident, you should know before you invite all of your friends up to your roofdeck for a party that one of your friends will break up with another of your friends (it will have been a long time coming. At dinner parties, all they do is quietly undercut each other and even more quietly cry), and that the one who gets dumped will climb onto the ledge and start making noise about jumping and about how he just wasted two years and eight months with an unimaginative drone.
You should know that everyone else will start shouting, "Get off the ledge Robby."
And that Robby will retort, "I'll get down shortly. But let me first say that Melissa Martinez is going to live a very long life and when she dies, she will not have felt a single thing. There's a woman on the roof who has never known passion and based on who she's leaving me for, she never will. And there's a man on the roof who's about to be a man on the ground."
You should know, before you send out the evite, that your rooftop party will be ruined when Robby throws himself over the ledge and dies on the sidewalk. While this won't bode well for your party, the rooftop party across the street, packed full of rich people who are no strangers to rooftop parties, will watch impoverished Robby somersault to his death and they will find this to be immensely entertaining. Thus, your sad little attempt at tasting a slice of the beautiful life will at least provide some diversion to those who are actually meant to live such a life. So you should go ahead with the rooftop party. For the benefit of the rich.
Happy The Roof Party Jumper Day!
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Go To The Street Magician Day
Go To The Street Magician Day!
There's a street magician in the park who will tap his hat and pull a rabbit from it. Or scarves. Go to him. Perhaps he can help.
Stand at the rear of the crowd ooing and aahing at the appropriate times, such as when the magician convinces his magic wand to levitate. Keep your head down low when the hat is passed around and filled with money. Wait until the street magician sits down on his bench to smoke a cigarette. Then race to his side before he might be approached by anyone else.
Say, "Great show, big guy."
The street magician will say, "You could have said as much by dropping some cash in the hat." He'll then open one eye wide at you and say, "I see all, even the cheapos."
Apologize. "I am poor," say. "I came here for help."
Explain that your son needs insulin, and you don't know how to get it for him because you don't have any money.
"Baby," he'll say, "I earned this bread. You saw me earn it. I'm sorry, but you gotta find someone at social services."
Explain that you're too proud to ask for money and you wouldn't presume that he might part with his performance fee. Explain that you were hoping he might make use of his magic hat.
"Perhaps you could make a vial of insulin appear in it?" say. "Or the cash equivalent. 78 dollars?"
The magician won't want to explain to you that his magic hat is nothing more than a hat with a trick flap. So he'll say, "It is done. Prepare to be amazed."
The magician will tap his hat twice, then he'll reach in and move the rabbit aside (you'll spy the ears poking out from the brim) and he'll move his hand around at the bottom of his hat and he'll find an unopened vial of insulin still in the pharmacy bag.
"Thank you," you'll shout when he places the bag in your hands. "You are truly a gifted sorcerer. Thank you good man!"
The magician will assume that you don't know his name, and so you won't know that that's his son's name on the label when you open it up later. He also won't know that you were aware that magicians hate to let on that they're not really magical, and that he has a kid with diabetes (word spreads when in a small town like yours). He's just happy he got to really wow somebody, and you're just happy that your kid's not gonna fade out any time soon.
So what if you took some trickster's kid's juice. He's got the power of darkness on his side. All you got is two ex-husbands and a drunk tenant living in the basement.
Happy Go To The Street Magician Day!
There's a street magician in the park who will tap his hat and pull a rabbit from it. Or scarves. Go to him. Perhaps he can help.
Stand at the rear of the crowd ooing and aahing at the appropriate times, such as when the magician convinces his magic wand to levitate. Keep your head down low when the hat is passed around and filled with money. Wait until the street magician sits down on his bench to smoke a cigarette. Then race to his side before he might be approached by anyone else.
Say, "Great show, big guy."
The street magician will say, "You could have said as much by dropping some cash in the hat." He'll then open one eye wide at you and say, "I see all, even the cheapos."
Apologize. "I am poor," say. "I came here for help."
Explain that your son needs insulin, and you don't know how to get it for him because you don't have any money.
"Baby," he'll say, "I earned this bread. You saw me earn it. I'm sorry, but you gotta find someone at social services."
Explain that you're too proud to ask for money and you wouldn't presume that he might part with his performance fee. Explain that you were hoping he might make use of his magic hat.
"Perhaps you could make a vial of insulin appear in it?" say. "Or the cash equivalent. 78 dollars?"
The magician won't want to explain to you that his magic hat is nothing more than a hat with a trick flap. So he'll say, "It is done. Prepare to be amazed."
The magician will tap his hat twice, then he'll reach in and move the rabbit aside (you'll spy the ears poking out from the brim) and he'll move his hand around at the bottom of his hat and he'll find an unopened vial of insulin still in the pharmacy bag.
"Thank you," you'll shout when he places the bag in your hands. "You are truly a gifted sorcerer. Thank you good man!"
The magician will assume that you don't know his name, and so you won't know that that's his son's name on the label when you open it up later. He also won't know that you were aware that magicians hate to let on that they're not really magical, and that he has a kid with diabetes (word spreads when in a small town like yours). He's just happy he got to really wow somebody, and you're just happy that your kid's not gonna fade out any time soon.
So what if you took some trickster's kid's juice. He's got the power of darkness on his side. All you got is two ex-husbands and a drunk tenant living in the basement.
Happy Go To The Street Magician Day!
Monday, August 01, 2005
Rowboat Race Day
Rowboat Race Day!
Ten guys in ten rowboats are about to race across a lake to a dock where you're sitting in a deck chair. The first guy to reach the dock, jump from his boat and tackle you in an embrace without knocking you into the water wins your hand forever. If you get knocked into the water, the contest is over. Only ten guys were allowed to sign up for the race, and when the signup sheet was posted in the town square a gigantic fistfight broke out as every single man in three counties rushed for a shot at being your fella. You even got one or two married guys to go ahead and secure a quickie divorce in the hopes of securing your hand as their second or so-on wife. You're that hot (none of the quickie divorce guys made it into a rowboat).
The reason they can't knock you into the water is because you can't swim, and the rules dictate that if you go into the water, you're not to be rescued so that you'll have no choice but to learn to swim to safety. It's part of an ancient tradition in your town wherein the hottest girl in town is either married off or taught to swim in one fell swoop. Your town believes that the most beautiful women should either be married or they should know how to swim. Never both. Both is unseemly.
Your mother submitted to this process before you, and until the day she died of a lightning-strike, she wanted nothing more than for you to follow in her footsteps. However, she always hoped that you might be knocked into the water. Whenever things got hard between her and your father, your mother used to dream about what it would be like to know how to swim.
Happy Rowboat Race Day!
Ten guys in ten rowboats are about to race across a lake to a dock where you're sitting in a deck chair. The first guy to reach the dock, jump from his boat and tackle you in an embrace without knocking you into the water wins your hand forever. If you get knocked into the water, the contest is over. Only ten guys were allowed to sign up for the race, and when the signup sheet was posted in the town square a gigantic fistfight broke out as every single man in three counties rushed for a shot at being your fella. You even got one or two married guys to go ahead and secure a quickie divorce in the hopes of securing your hand as their second or so-on wife. You're that hot (none of the quickie divorce guys made it into a rowboat).
The reason they can't knock you into the water is because you can't swim, and the rules dictate that if you go into the water, you're not to be rescued so that you'll have no choice but to learn to swim to safety. It's part of an ancient tradition in your town wherein the hottest girl in town is either married off or taught to swim in one fell swoop. Your town believes that the most beautiful women should either be married or they should know how to swim. Never both. Both is unseemly.
Your mother submitted to this process before you, and until the day she died of a lightning-strike, she wanted nothing more than for you to follow in her footsteps. However, she always hoped that you might be knocked into the water. Whenever things got hard between her and your father, your mother used to dream about what it would be like to know how to swim.
Happy Rowboat Race Day!