Walter Isn't Sick Anymore Day!
He's back at work today, thirty pounds lighter. But completely free of the mysterious respiratory illness that sent him to what many assumed to be his deathbed.
Walter's going to trot into the office like a little boy at Christmas, excited to see how you all decorated his cube and brimming to tell you about his near-death adventure.
The first woman he'll come in contact with is Marisol, the records administrator. He'll grab her in his arms and tell her how happy he is to see her face. She'll look up into his eyes and start screaming. When he sets her free from his embrace, Marisol will back away slowly, pointing at him and reciting prayers in Spanish. Then she'll make the sign of the cross and flee.
Walter will stay there at the door, trying to figure out what just happened. Then he'll shout out, "Hey everybody! I'm back!"
Slowly, the heads will rise above their cubicle walls, all eyes bugged wide with terror.
"Hey guys, man I sure am glad to see all of you again. What'd I miss?"
Their arms will rise and all fingers will point in Walter's direction. They'll start howling like demons until you are forced to hustle Walter into a conference room.
"We don't have much time," tell him. "They mourned you."
"But I didn't die," Walter will argue.
"You were sick for so long, the productivity came to a halt as we waited for word of your condition. As department manager, I decided it would be best that we all mourn you as if you were already gone."
They'll be pounding at the door to the conference room.
"So, they're under the impression that I'm…"
"Undead," tell him. "A zombie. Yes. Some of these people have been on this floor for thirty years. They only believe what they read in the body of a company memo."
The pounding will be growing louder. You can hear the wood around the door hinges begin to crack.
"You have to get out of here," say. "Climb up into the drop ceiling."
Both of you will get up on the table and knock a pane of the drop ceiling from its frame. The door will crack louder in the doorframe. Walter will be up in the frame, his legs dangling. Once, twice, a third crash and the door is off its hinges. Walter will hold his hand down to you and you'll grab it and be lifted up into the drop ceiling. In your memo to the floor, you made Walter dead. Now that he's walking, they assume that you brought him back to life. They believe you must both be destroyed before a race of walking dead is unleashed on the populace. The war between the army of the living and the army of the mistaken-for-undead has begun.
Happy Walter Isn't Sick Anymore Day!
Monday, October 31, 2005
Sunday, October 30, 2005
On Your Sailboat, Tell Each Other The Truth Day!
Point the boat at the horizon, bring her by your side and say, "That's where we're headed. Where we've been headed since we first looked into each other's eyes. To the end."
She'll kiss you. Hold her shoulders in your right arm.
Say, "I been fuckin' dudes. For about twenty or so years now. Fridays before I come home from work, I stop off at this bar where you can meet a dude you don't know and fuck him in the walk-in freezer. The bar charges 20 bucks for fifteen minutes."
She'll ask, "Does the 20 include a drink?"
Nod. "A well drink or domestic tap beer, yes."
She'll say, "Good deal. I understand."
Kiss the top of her head.
"I'm an agent for the Tri-Lateral Commission assigned to monitor your movements ever since your alien abduction in 1959," she'll say.
"Alien abduction?" you'll ask.
"Those doctors were agents," she'll say. "The hospital was privately run by the commission and we built it solely to house and examine abductees. When you woke up and they told you you'd been food poisoned and had fallen into a near-coma for four days, they lied. You had been returned to the earth not eleven hours prior. The dreams you remember were real."
Keep holding her.
"Why tell me all this?" ask her.
"This sunset is just so beautiful," she'll say. She'll look up at you. "Monitoring your movements these 35 years has been the most wonderful assignment."
"I hope I didn't disappoint," say.
"Far from it," she'll say. "Even after all these years, you never cease to amaze me. I can't stop talking about you to my husband."
"You're already married?" ask.
"Actually," she'll say. "I married you first, but that wasn't a real ceremony. I met my real husband twelve years ago when you and I went to Portugal on our anniversary."
Just think about it all for a second. Then ask:
"So you're cool with the dudes?"
She'll kiss your cheek and say, "Live your life. Mankind only has two years and four months left. We at the commission have a saying. 'There's not gonna be a tomorrow, what with the construction of the heat ray being ahead of schedule. So let's get the partying done tonight.'"
Happy On Your Sailboat, Tell Each Other The Truth Day!
Point the boat at the horizon, bring her by your side and say, "That's where we're headed. Where we've been headed since we first looked into each other's eyes. To the end."
She'll kiss you. Hold her shoulders in your right arm.
Say, "I been fuckin' dudes. For about twenty or so years now. Fridays before I come home from work, I stop off at this bar where you can meet a dude you don't know and fuck him in the walk-in freezer. The bar charges 20 bucks for fifteen minutes."
She'll ask, "Does the 20 include a drink?"
Nod. "A well drink or domestic tap beer, yes."
She'll say, "Good deal. I understand."
Kiss the top of her head.
"I'm an agent for the Tri-Lateral Commission assigned to monitor your movements ever since your alien abduction in 1959," she'll say.
"Alien abduction?" you'll ask.
"Those doctors were agents," she'll say. "The hospital was privately run by the commission and we built it solely to house and examine abductees. When you woke up and they told you you'd been food poisoned and had fallen into a near-coma for four days, they lied. You had been returned to the earth not eleven hours prior. The dreams you remember were real."
Keep holding her.
"Why tell me all this?" ask her.
"This sunset is just so beautiful," she'll say. She'll look up at you. "Monitoring your movements these 35 years has been the most wonderful assignment."
"I hope I didn't disappoint," say.
"Far from it," she'll say. "Even after all these years, you never cease to amaze me. I can't stop talking about you to my husband."
"You're already married?" ask.
"Actually," she'll say. "I married you first, but that wasn't a real ceremony. I met my real husband twelve years ago when you and I went to Portugal on our anniversary."
Just think about it all for a second. Then ask:
"So you're cool with the dudes?"
She'll kiss your cheek and say, "Live your life. Mankind only has two years and four months left. We at the commission have a saying. 'There's not gonna be a tomorrow, what with the construction of the heat ray being ahead of schedule. So let's get the partying done tonight.'"
Happy On Your Sailboat, Tell Each Other The Truth Day!
Saturday, October 29, 2005
The Sk8r Boy Who Can Help You Day
The Sk8r Boy Who Can Help You Day!
The wise sk8r boy, Seth, the sk8r boy who is just a year and four months older, and a whole five inches taller than the rest of the sk8r boys, is the sk8r boy who can help you.
Seth sits on the wall more than he skates. He's not the best. His height is a disadvantage. But the rest of the sk8r boys look as if they're skating for him. When they come to stop on the lip, they look to Seth, trying not to beam. Seth usually sits next to his girlfriend, Mad. And the two of them are flanked by pairs and fours of sk8er boys at a time. They send their conversations back and forth past Seth, inviting him to comment whenever he wishes. Seth's going to college. Everyone knows that. Probably to study English or History. Everyone knows.
Seth is the sk8r boy who can help you.
"Hi Seth," say.
Seth will say, "Hey [YOUR NAME]." Seth remembers everyone's name.
"I have a problem," tell him.
Seth will look to his right and left and the sk8r boys flanking him will drop to their boards and disappear in the noise of a grind.
Sit by Seth's side and talk to him while he looks straight ahead.
Say to Seth, "Me and Patty are having trouble. She wants to break up because I'm spending too much time by my Mom's deathbed."
"What's your Mom dying of?" Seth will ask you.
Say, "Skin cancer. The doctor says it's spreading too fast."
Seth will reach into his bag, digging underneath sweatsocks and CDs and a sandwich and old tattered paperback novels and he'll pull out a vial of brown liquid.
"Give this to your Mom," he'll say. "A tea spoon every day. She should get better within about six weeks. Then you and Patty can spend more time together."
"Wow," say. "This'll cure my Mom's cancer?"
Seth still won't look at you when he nods yes. "I only hope it's not too late to keep you and Patty from breaking up."
Say, "Thanks Seth."
Seth will nod again. The sk8r boys will continue grinding away at the concrete. Mad will return to Seth's side with two bottles of Snapple. Say hi to Mad, then head over to your Mom's hospital. Remember, Seth is the sk8r boy who can help you.
Happy The Sk8r Boy Who Can Help You Day!
The wise sk8r boy, Seth, the sk8r boy who is just a year and four months older, and a whole five inches taller than the rest of the sk8r boys, is the sk8r boy who can help you.
Seth sits on the wall more than he skates. He's not the best. His height is a disadvantage. But the rest of the sk8r boys look as if they're skating for him. When they come to stop on the lip, they look to Seth, trying not to beam. Seth usually sits next to his girlfriend, Mad. And the two of them are flanked by pairs and fours of sk8er boys at a time. They send their conversations back and forth past Seth, inviting him to comment whenever he wishes. Seth's going to college. Everyone knows that. Probably to study English or History. Everyone knows.
Seth is the sk8r boy who can help you.
"Hi Seth," say.
Seth will say, "Hey [YOUR NAME]." Seth remembers everyone's name.
"I have a problem," tell him.
Seth will look to his right and left and the sk8r boys flanking him will drop to their boards and disappear in the noise of a grind.
Sit by Seth's side and talk to him while he looks straight ahead.
Say to Seth, "Me and Patty are having trouble. She wants to break up because I'm spending too much time by my Mom's deathbed."
"What's your Mom dying of?" Seth will ask you.
Say, "Skin cancer. The doctor says it's spreading too fast."
Seth will reach into his bag, digging underneath sweatsocks and CDs and a sandwich and old tattered paperback novels and he'll pull out a vial of brown liquid.
"Give this to your Mom," he'll say. "A tea spoon every day. She should get better within about six weeks. Then you and Patty can spend more time together."
"Wow," say. "This'll cure my Mom's cancer?"
Seth still won't look at you when he nods yes. "I only hope it's not too late to keep you and Patty from breaking up."
Say, "Thanks Seth."
Seth will nod again. The sk8r boys will continue grinding away at the concrete. Mad will return to Seth's side with two bottles of Snapple. Say hi to Mad, then head over to your Mom's hospital. Remember, Seth is the sk8r boy who can help you.
Happy The Sk8r Boy Who Can Help You Day!
Friday, October 28, 2005
Discover One Of Life's Little Truths Day
Discover One Of Life's Little Truths Day!
Today you're going to find that when someone decides to walk away, no matter how hard you cry or how loud you scream for them to stay, they keep on walking away. You might figure this out in one of several ways. Maybe it'll be that your boyfriend of three years will shake you awake to see that he's wearing his coat and holding a small suitcase in one hand and his Vornado fan in the other. Or you could be a refugee from a war-torn land when the UN Peacekeepers who have been keeping armies away from your camp just start packing up and climbing into the back of their trucks. Or maybe you'll be at the Cheesecake Factory later today intending to spend your last seventeen dollars on something delicious. So you'll order the Fat Pig's Big Fat Plate of Chicken and Potatoes and the waitress will start to walk away and as you watch her take your order to the kitchen you realize you've made a horrible mistake and the last meal that you can ever foresee being able to afford is going to be just another disappointment. You'll pound on the table and make your waterglass tumble to the floor and you'll scream until your lungs bleed all about how much harder life has been for you than it has been for others. But the waitress at the Cheesecake Factory is just like an army of UN Peacekeepers or a boyfriend who's decided there's something better waiting for him somewhere. Once they decide to go, they're gone.
Happy Discover One Of Life's Little Truths Day!
Today you're going to find that when someone decides to walk away, no matter how hard you cry or how loud you scream for them to stay, they keep on walking away. You might figure this out in one of several ways. Maybe it'll be that your boyfriend of three years will shake you awake to see that he's wearing his coat and holding a small suitcase in one hand and his Vornado fan in the other. Or you could be a refugee from a war-torn land when the UN Peacekeepers who have been keeping armies away from your camp just start packing up and climbing into the back of their trucks. Or maybe you'll be at the Cheesecake Factory later today intending to spend your last seventeen dollars on something delicious. So you'll order the Fat Pig's Big Fat Plate of Chicken and Potatoes and the waitress will start to walk away and as you watch her take your order to the kitchen you realize you've made a horrible mistake and the last meal that you can ever foresee being able to afford is going to be just another disappointment. You'll pound on the table and make your waterglass tumble to the floor and you'll scream until your lungs bleed all about how much harder life has been for you than it has been for others. But the waitress at the Cheesecake Factory is just like an army of UN Peacekeepers or a boyfriend who's decided there's something better waiting for him somewhere. Once they decide to go, they're gone.
Happy Discover One Of Life's Little Truths Day!
Thursday, October 27, 2005
You Just Stole A Truck Full Of Cigarettes Day
You Just Stole A Truck Full Of Cigarettes Day!
You're shrugging your shoulders as if to say, "Now what?!"
First thing you're gonna have to do is find a fence to move the goods. There's a fence outside of Miami named Corky (not retarded) Colon. He can move anything from dolls full of cocaine to assault rifles full of cocaine. He's also very handsome and you're going to sleep with him. He'll pay you three grand and you'll head back up North, but you won't even make it to Georgia before you notice something you haven't felt in quite a while.
Longing.
The memory of Corky's touch will be with you there in the car (Corky gave you a car to get back up North. It's full of Cocaine). You won't be able to get very far before you pull over into the parking lot of a Denny's and make a phone call.
"I was hoping…" Corky will say.
"Can I come back."
"Let my assistant, Joanie (not retarded) Masso meet you there. She'll drive the car the rest of the way and you'll drive her car back to me. The car you are driving is full of cocaine and if it does not arrive in New York tomorrow there will be a civil war in Colombia by the end of the week."
"I'll wait for Joanie," say. "Tell her not to obey any speed limits."
"I never thought I could feel this way again," Corky will say. "I thought I existed just to move things that are full of cocaine and the occasional truck full of cigarettes. Now I know I exist to hold you in my arms."
"Send Joanie," say. Then hang up and moon about the parking lot like a farting puppy you're so in love.
Happy You Just Stole A Truck Full Of Cigarettes Day!
You're shrugging your shoulders as if to say, "Now what?!"
First thing you're gonna have to do is find a fence to move the goods. There's a fence outside of Miami named Corky (not retarded) Colon. He can move anything from dolls full of cocaine to assault rifles full of cocaine. He's also very handsome and you're going to sleep with him. He'll pay you three grand and you'll head back up North, but you won't even make it to Georgia before you notice something you haven't felt in quite a while.
Longing.
The memory of Corky's touch will be with you there in the car (Corky gave you a car to get back up North. It's full of Cocaine). You won't be able to get very far before you pull over into the parking lot of a Denny's and make a phone call.
"I was hoping…" Corky will say.
"Can I come back."
"Let my assistant, Joanie (not retarded) Masso meet you there. She'll drive the car the rest of the way and you'll drive her car back to me. The car you are driving is full of cocaine and if it does not arrive in New York tomorrow there will be a civil war in Colombia by the end of the week."
"I'll wait for Joanie," say. "Tell her not to obey any speed limits."
"I never thought I could feel this way again," Corky will say. "I thought I existed just to move things that are full of cocaine and the occasional truck full of cigarettes. Now I know I exist to hold you in my arms."
"Send Joanie," say. Then hang up and moon about the parking lot like a farting puppy you're so in love.
Happy You Just Stole A Truck Full Of Cigarettes Day!
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Your Daddy Is A Truck Driver Day
Your Daddy Is A Truck Driver Day!
He's on the phone and your mother is telling him that you're pregnant. She's trying to get him to convince you not to abort.
"Your father wants to speak to you," your mother is shouting. "He's in Tulsa so hurry up."
You take the phone and say Daddy.
"Heard you was in trouble," your Daddy says.
You say yup. You say that you're going to take care of it.
"You know that's a sin right," he says. "You know it's wrong."
You say yup.
"As long as you know," he says. "I wish I could be there for you."
Tell him you know that he has to be out on the road so that you and your mother can eat.
"Still, I wish I could be there with you," he says.
Tell him you wish he could too.
Say, "Thank you Daddy."
He'll say, "Take care of your Mom. I'll be home right after Thanksgiving."
You say yes Daddy and you tell him that you love him. When you hang up you tell your mother that you're going to get an abortion and that you want her to drive you.
"Get a friend to drive you," she says. "I can't have my car in that parking lot."
You ask your Mom whether she ever got one and she says yes.
"It was the right thing to do, but I wish I could go back and not do it."
You ask your Mom if it was your Daddy's baby and she says of course.
Ask her if she's glad she didn't abort you.
She'll say, "Some days more than others." You'll laugh and laugh.
Happy Your Daddy Is A Truck Driver Day!
He's on the phone and your mother is telling him that you're pregnant. She's trying to get him to convince you not to abort.
"Your father wants to speak to you," your mother is shouting. "He's in Tulsa so hurry up."
You take the phone and say Daddy.
"Heard you was in trouble," your Daddy says.
You say yup. You say that you're going to take care of it.
"You know that's a sin right," he says. "You know it's wrong."
You say yup.
"As long as you know," he says. "I wish I could be there for you."
Tell him you know that he has to be out on the road so that you and your mother can eat.
"Still, I wish I could be there with you," he says.
Tell him you wish he could too.
Say, "Thank you Daddy."
He'll say, "Take care of your Mom. I'll be home right after Thanksgiving."
You say yes Daddy and you tell him that you love him. When you hang up you tell your mother that you're going to get an abortion and that you want her to drive you.
"Get a friend to drive you," she says. "I can't have my car in that parking lot."
You ask your Mom whether she ever got one and she says yes.
"It was the right thing to do, but I wish I could go back and not do it."
You ask your Mom if it was your Daddy's baby and she says of course.
Ask her if she's glad she didn't abort you.
She'll say, "Some days more than others." You'll laugh and laugh.
Happy Your Daddy Is A Truck Driver Day!
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Make Everybody Pay Day
Make Everybody Pay Day!
Vengeful? Great! Cause today's the day you make everybody pay for what they've done. Start with the street gang that killed your mother as part of their initiation. Make them pay by locking them in a house and then setting the house on fire.
After that, wait next to the car that's parked in your favorite parking space until the driver comes back out. Lock the driver in a house and set the house on fire.
Next, go to the school where your roommate is substitute teaching and tell him that you're upset with him because he finished your orange juice. Don't lock your roommate in a house and set it on fire, because aside from the juice drinking thing, he's a pretty good roommate. Instead, take your roommate out to the school's parking lot, and then lock the doors to the school and set it on fire. Your roommate loves kids and it will break his heart to watch all those kids burn to death all because he was too inconsiderate to go out and buy his own juice.
Finally, go home and get Muffins, the kitten that refuses to love you, and take her for a drive. Find a long stretch of road leading up to a sharp turn underneath an overpass, and take off yours and Muffins' seatbelts. Tell Muffins that if she refuses to love you, you're going to drive the car into the wall of the overpass and kill the both of you. Muffins might call your bluff, in which case you'll die. But if she doesn't, you'll have yourself a kitten that loves you. What's better than that?
Happy Make Everybody Pay Day!
Vengeful? Great! Cause today's the day you make everybody pay for what they've done. Start with the street gang that killed your mother as part of their initiation. Make them pay by locking them in a house and then setting the house on fire.
After that, wait next to the car that's parked in your favorite parking space until the driver comes back out. Lock the driver in a house and set the house on fire.
Next, go to the school where your roommate is substitute teaching and tell him that you're upset with him because he finished your orange juice. Don't lock your roommate in a house and set it on fire, because aside from the juice drinking thing, he's a pretty good roommate. Instead, take your roommate out to the school's parking lot, and then lock the doors to the school and set it on fire. Your roommate loves kids and it will break his heart to watch all those kids burn to death all because he was too inconsiderate to go out and buy his own juice.
Finally, go home and get Muffins, the kitten that refuses to love you, and take her for a drive. Find a long stretch of road leading up to a sharp turn underneath an overpass, and take off yours and Muffins' seatbelts. Tell Muffins that if she refuses to love you, you're going to drive the car into the wall of the overpass and kill the both of you. Muffins might call your bluff, in which case you'll die. But if she doesn't, you'll have yourself a kitten that loves you. What's better than that?
Happy Make Everybody Pay Day!
Monday, October 24, 2005
Don't Let Your Kids Grow Up To Be Assassins Day
Don't Let Your Kids Grow Up To Be Assassins Day!
Tell them that killing for money should be considered a "plan B."
Your kids will stop torturing the squirrel that they captured and ask you what it was that you really wanted to do if you didn't always want to be an assassin.
"I wanted to be President of the United States," tell them.
Your kids will laugh so hard that the squirrel will bite through its restraints and escape into the wild.
"I'm serious," tell them. "And I could have been President if I hadn't wasted so much time screwing around. You could too."
Your kids will laugh even harder at this. "No we can't," they'll say. "You brought us into this country illegally." This is the truth.
"I was speaking metaphorically," tell them. "You can be anything you want to be. Except for stuff that's prohibited by law."
One of your kids will say, "Killing for money is prohibited by law."
"That's right," tell them. "And yet I kill for money! See, anything is possible!"
Your kids will shake their heads and turn their backs on you. You'll watch them take the cat they captured out of its box and prepare it for torture. Then you'll go upstairs and pray to your dead father (they used to call him "Vito The Gun" because he never went a day without firing his gun at somebody's face) for guidance.
Happy Don't Let Your Kids Grow Up To Be Assassins Day!
Tell them that killing for money should be considered a "plan B."
Your kids will stop torturing the squirrel that they captured and ask you what it was that you really wanted to do if you didn't always want to be an assassin.
"I wanted to be President of the United States," tell them.
Your kids will laugh so hard that the squirrel will bite through its restraints and escape into the wild.
"I'm serious," tell them. "And I could have been President if I hadn't wasted so much time screwing around. You could too."
Your kids will laugh even harder at this. "No we can't," they'll say. "You brought us into this country illegally." This is the truth.
"I was speaking metaphorically," tell them. "You can be anything you want to be. Except for stuff that's prohibited by law."
One of your kids will say, "Killing for money is prohibited by law."
"That's right," tell them. "And yet I kill for money! See, anything is possible!"
Your kids will shake their heads and turn their backs on you. You'll watch them take the cat they captured out of its box and prepare it for torture. Then you'll go upstairs and pray to your dead father (they used to call him "Vito The Gun" because he never went a day without firing his gun at somebody's face) for guidance.
Happy Don't Let Your Kids Grow Up To Be Assassins Day!
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Stop Giving Your Boyfriend Money To Fund The Design Of His Robot Day
Stop Giving Your Boyfriend Money To Fund The Design Of His Robot Day!
It's nice that you believe in your man. You have dreams of one day being revered for having stood by him even when the rest of the scientific community called him "a fraud" and "worse than retarded" and "just a guy who delivers beds for Scheinberg Sealy Serta." But he's determined that he has a grasp on AI and with enough funding and enough time, he will build the world's first advanced-functioning robot that will finally break down the wall between sophisticated computational programming and artificial intelligence. You don't know what gives him such strong conviction, but by-gum you're his lady and you're gonna stand by him.
You really shouldn't. You're a smart, attractive woman with the beginning of a good career in your grasp, and, well, not to sing along with the chorus, but he's just a guy who delivers beds for Scheinberg Sealy Serta. Doesn't it ever occur to you that maybe someone with a background in something like Robotics or Science or even College might have a shot at beating him to the big breakthrough in AI. There's this place called "M.I.T" where they do the kind of thing your boyfriend wants to do, and they do it really well. As far as I know, no one there has a concentration in mattress delivery in their Curriculum Vitae.
No one's saying break up with him. But last week you gave him $400 for "the little red light bulbs" he needed to build robot eyes. Today he's going to ask you for $400 more, claiming that he lost the $400 you gave him last week. "I think I dropped it in the park or maybe at the movie theater when I went to see 'Doom.' 'Doom' ruled." Just don't give it to him. You don't have to fight about it. Just say that you're out of money right now because your boss is docking your pay for smoking pot on the job. It happens to him all the time, so he'll buy it. And make sure to take all the cash out of your pocketbook and hide it, because in addition to the money he asks you to give him he also sometimes just roots through your pocketbook for twenties.
Happy Stop Giving Your Boyfriend Money To Fund The Design Of His Robot Day!
It's nice that you believe in your man. You have dreams of one day being revered for having stood by him even when the rest of the scientific community called him "a fraud" and "worse than retarded" and "just a guy who delivers beds for Scheinberg Sealy Serta." But he's determined that he has a grasp on AI and with enough funding and enough time, he will build the world's first advanced-functioning robot that will finally break down the wall between sophisticated computational programming and artificial intelligence. You don't know what gives him such strong conviction, but by-gum you're his lady and you're gonna stand by him.
You really shouldn't. You're a smart, attractive woman with the beginning of a good career in your grasp, and, well, not to sing along with the chorus, but he's just a guy who delivers beds for Scheinberg Sealy Serta. Doesn't it ever occur to you that maybe someone with a background in something like Robotics or Science or even College might have a shot at beating him to the big breakthrough in AI. There's this place called "M.I.T" where they do the kind of thing your boyfriend wants to do, and they do it really well. As far as I know, no one there has a concentration in mattress delivery in their Curriculum Vitae.
No one's saying break up with him. But last week you gave him $400 for "the little red light bulbs" he needed to build robot eyes. Today he's going to ask you for $400 more, claiming that he lost the $400 you gave him last week. "I think I dropped it in the park or maybe at the movie theater when I went to see 'Doom.' 'Doom' ruled." Just don't give it to him. You don't have to fight about it. Just say that you're out of money right now because your boss is docking your pay for smoking pot on the job. It happens to him all the time, so he'll buy it. And make sure to take all the cash out of your pocketbook and hide it, because in addition to the money he asks you to give him he also sometimes just roots through your pocketbook for twenties.
Happy Stop Giving Your Boyfriend Money To Fund The Design Of His Robot Day!
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Roll Around On The Street In The Rain With Somebody Day
Roll Around On The Street In The Rain With Somebody Day!
Most people think you should only roll around on the street in the rain with somebody if you really think he or she is "the one." But times have changed and this city was founded on the kind of spirit that makes someone say, "Hey, we just met in a bar, and you look like the ex I call sometimes when I'm in hotels, so lets drop!" So if you two dig each other, forget about what your mama might say.
The problem is, when it's raining, motorists have more trouble stopping their cars to keep from running over people who are rolling around in the middle of the street. So wear white.
Happy Roll Around On The Street In The Rain With Somebody Day!
Most people think you should only roll around on the street in the rain with somebody if you really think he or she is "the one." But times have changed and this city was founded on the kind of spirit that makes someone say, "Hey, we just met in a bar, and you look like the ex I call sometimes when I'm in hotels, so lets drop!" So if you two dig each other, forget about what your mama might say.
The problem is, when it's raining, motorists have more trouble stopping their cars to keep from running over people who are rolling around in the middle of the street. So wear white.
Happy Roll Around On The Street In The Rain With Somebody Day!
Friday, October 21, 2005
Watch A Man Finish His Last Cup Of Coffee And His Last Cigarette Day
Watch A Man Finish His Last Cup Of Coffee And His Last Cigarette Day!
Today, you'll be a little bit early to work, so you'll walk at a bit more leisurely of a pace. You'll look up at the buildings around you and you'll realize so much of your day just breezes by you without you noticing. The architecture of all the buildings, the signs on the storefronts, so many of them handwritten and misspelled. And all the people. Before you've even made it to work they look like they're already on a midday break, eating meals on the sidewalk and smoking cigarettes without any jackets on.
When a truck backs up into a garage, you'll be forced to stop walking and you'll look up at the building across the street. In one of the fourth floor windows you'll find a thin black man leaning on the windowsill, one of his hands hanging over the edge with a cigarette, the other inside the window lifting a coffee cup to his lips.
When the sidewalk is clear, you won't start moving again. You'll be too busy guessing at the context of that fourth floor window. You'll guess that he's in a stairwell, since even in those industrial buildings you have to head out to the stairwell to smoke anymore. You'll guess that this isn't a break for him. That he's not started his day yet and this is his first of many coffees and his last of a few cigarettes for the morning. You'll guess that he works at a job that's semi-administrative and semi-manual labor, like a mail processing center.
You'll watch the man tip the coffee cup all the way back to drain its contents, and he'll take one more drag of his cigarette, stub it out, then toss it to the middle of the street below. Then the man will climb onto the windowsill and he'll pitch himself through the window then tumble in the air to the sidewalk below. No one will scream for as much as ten seconds after he lands. The blood will start to flow out of his head after eight seconds. Only after the screaming begins and the crowd circles around him will you be aware that the man who was smoking in that window just jumped to the sidewalk to die. He didn't make a big deal about it is why you didn't notice right away.
Once you realize the man has just killed himself, you'll reevaluate the context of his moment by the window. He was on break, you'll decide. His day started as much as five hours ago. That was his last cup from thousands of gallons of coffee, and that was his last of thousands upon thousands of cigarettes. He definitely works in mail processing, and he really liked that coffee he was drinking. It was the coffee that he bought every day and that he loved. You'll wonder where he used to buy it.
Happy Watch A Man Finish His Last Cup Of Coffee And His Last Cigarette Day!
Today, you'll be a little bit early to work, so you'll walk at a bit more leisurely of a pace. You'll look up at the buildings around you and you'll realize so much of your day just breezes by you without you noticing. The architecture of all the buildings, the signs on the storefronts, so many of them handwritten and misspelled. And all the people. Before you've even made it to work they look like they're already on a midday break, eating meals on the sidewalk and smoking cigarettes without any jackets on.
When a truck backs up into a garage, you'll be forced to stop walking and you'll look up at the building across the street. In one of the fourth floor windows you'll find a thin black man leaning on the windowsill, one of his hands hanging over the edge with a cigarette, the other inside the window lifting a coffee cup to his lips.
When the sidewalk is clear, you won't start moving again. You'll be too busy guessing at the context of that fourth floor window. You'll guess that he's in a stairwell, since even in those industrial buildings you have to head out to the stairwell to smoke anymore. You'll guess that this isn't a break for him. That he's not started his day yet and this is his first of many coffees and his last of a few cigarettes for the morning. You'll guess that he works at a job that's semi-administrative and semi-manual labor, like a mail processing center.
You'll watch the man tip the coffee cup all the way back to drain its contents, and he'll take one more drag of his cigarette, stub it out, then toss it to the middle of the street below. Then the man will climb onto the windowsill and he'll pitch himself through the window then tumble in the air to the sidewalk below. No one will scream for as much as ten seconds after he lands. The blood will start to flow out of his head after eight seconds. Only after the screaming begins and the crowd circles around him will you be aware that the man who was smoking in that window just jumped to the sidewalk to die. He didn't make a big deal about it is why you didn't notice right away.
Once you realize the man has just killed himself, you'll reevaluate the context of his moment by the window. He was on break, you'll decide. His day started as much as five hours ago. That was his last cup from thousands of gallons of coffee, and that was his last of thousands upon thousands of cigarettes. He definitely works in mail processing, and he really liked that coffee he was drinking. It was the coffee that he bought every day and that he loved. You'll wonder where he used to buy it.
Happy Watch A Man Finish His Last Cup Of Coffee And His Last Cigarette Day!
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Steve Broke Up With Janet Via An Overpass Day
Steve Broke Up With Janet Via An Overpass Day!
Tonight at 5 PM, everyone's going to see it. Everyone with a 9 to 5 and a bitch of a commute is going to know. Janet's heart is going to break two miles deep in the heavy logjam leading into the Jackson St turnabout.
Spraypainted in valentine red across the expanse of the Turner Blvd overpass: "It's over Janet. I can't stay on the turnpike with you anymore. I'm hitting the expressway. Also, the sex has been pretty blech lately, am I right? Steve."
Janet won't call the house or his cell. She won't whip out her blackberry to see if there's an addendum there telling her what she can expect to find when she gets home. She'll know what is waiting for her. She'll sit in the dead-still traffic jam, staring up at her goodbye, and cataloging everything that's his, creating the vision in her head of all those negatives. In her vision, there will be blank white spots where his things used to be. Where he pulled a book off a shelf or a shirt off a hanger, white nothing so glaring the color of it hums. Her whole house will be humming when she gets there.
The easy smile on her face will be unshakable. He won't do this to her. These people are her fellow commuters. They've shared this traffic jam with her every evening for seven years now. They've stared across the lanes at her behind her wheel, wondering where she's coming from and where she's headed, what she's wearing underneath that skirt and what she's going to watch on TV tonight. They will not look over to find her crying into her hands and learn that she is the one whose relationship just ended on the side of an overpass.
She'll feel their eyes search her and her car's interior for any signs of disturbance. Like soldiers hunting down holdouts. She'll feel like they can see it, but that's silly. They know the make and model of her car and that sometimes she sings without being aware of it. They couldn't pull a Steve from so little, could they?
After some panicky breaths, she'll feel strong enough to turn her head and meet their gaze dead-on. She'll find their eyes are not on her, but are in their own laps. Their heads will shake sorrowfully from side to side. Occasionally her fellow commuters will look up at the overpass and then slap their steering wheels in anger.
They'll be with their Janet. Though they won't know which car is hers, they'll see this scrawl on the overpass as an assault on the commute and all those who take part in it day after day. "Steve," they'll say to no one in their cars. "Steve probably works from home," they'll say. "Probably trying to get an online business off the ground," they'll say. "Probably has more than enough time to come out in the middle of the afternoon and hang off the side of an overpass and spraypaint some filth that'll break the heart of his Janet."
"Janet," they'll say. "She's on her way home. She's looking forward to her home," they'll say. "She's been working where she doesn't want to be, just like me," they'll say. "And when she intended to do nothing but push ahead into whatever space she can find to just inch a little closer to home, she had to look up and find that nothing is waiting for her anymore."
All at once, every single one of them, alone in their cars and unbeknownst to each other, they will all say in unison, "Janet is me."
Happy Steve Broke Up With Janet Via An Overpass Day!
Tonight at 5 PM, everyone's going to see it. Everyone with a 9 to 5 and a bitch of a commute is going to know. Janet's heart is going to break two miles deep in the heavy logjam leading into the Jackson St turnabout.
Spraypainted in valentine red across the expanse of the Turner Blvd overpass: "It's over Janet. I can't stay on the turnpike with you anymore. I'm hitting the expressway. Also, the sex has been pretty blech lately, am I right? Steve."
Janet won't call the house or his cell. She won't whip out her blackberry to see if there's an addendum there telling her what she can expect to find when she gets home. She'll know what is waiting for her. She'll sit in the dead-still traffic jam, staring up at her goodbye, and cataloging everything that's his, creating the vision in her head of all those negatives. In her vision, there will be blank white spots where his things used to be. Where he pulled a book off a shelf or a shirt off a hanger, white nothing so glaring the color of it hums. Her whole house will be humming when she gets there.
The easy smile on her face will be unshakable. He won't do this to her. These people are her fellow commuters. They've shared this traffic jam with her every evening for seven years now. They've stared across the lanes at her behind her wheel, wondering where she's coming from and where she's headed, what she's wearing underneath that skirt and what she's going to watch on TV tonight. They will not look over to find her crying into her hands and learn that she is the one whose relationship just ended on the side of an overpass.
She'll feel their eyes search her and her car's interior for any signs of disturbance. Like soldiers hunting down holdouts. She'll feel like they can see it, but that's silly. They know the make and model of her car and that sometimes she sings without being aware of it. They couldn't pull a Steve from so little, could they?
After some panicky breaths, she'll feel strong enough to turn her head and meet their gaze dead-on. She'll find their eyes are not on her, but are in their own laps. Their heads will shake sorrowfully from side to side. Occasionally her fellow commuters will look up at the overpass and then slap their steering wheels in anger.
They'll be with their Janet. Though they won't know which car is hers, they'll see this scrawl on the overpass as an assault on the commute and all those who take part in it day after day. "Steve," they'll say to no one in their cars. "Steve probably works from home," they'll say. "Probably trying to get an online business off the ground," they'll say. "Probably has more than enough time to come out in the middle of the afternoon and hang off the side of an overpass and spraypaint some filth that'll break the heart of his Janet."
"Janet," they'll say. "She's on her way home. She's looking forward to her home," they'll say. "She's been working where she doesn't want to be, just like me," they'll say. "And when she intended to do nothing but push ahead into whatever space she can find to just inch a little closer to home, she had to look up and find that nothing is waiting for her anymore."
All at once, every single one of them, alone in their cars and unbeknownst to each other, they will all say in unison, "Janet is me."
Happy Steve Broke Up With Janet Via An Overpass Day!
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Use A Magic Trick To Stop Someone From Crying Day
Use A Magic Trick To Stop Someone From Crying Day!
In case you don't know anybody who is presently crying, go to the emergency room or the cemetery. Don't just reach out and yank a hair from someone's nostrils. That's not the kind of crying you can stop with one of your "illusions." The crying has to come from an emotional place, like if someone just found out his daughter is dead. Or someone who has been trying to find his wife, who disappeared from a truck stop six years ago, and he's followed all of his clues to where he thought he would find her in her new home, but he ended up finding nothing but a Teddy Bear factory. That guy might feel so exhausted and frustrated that he'll drop to his knees before the Teddy Bear factory and just start bawling.
That's where you come in. Ask him if he's crying because his ears are so dirty, then pull a quarter out of his ear. He'll stop crying so that he can shake you and start shouting, "Where's Barbara?!" That's when you should pretend to pull scarves out of your nose.
Happy Use A Magic Trick To Stop Someone From Crying Day!
In case you don't know anybody who is presently crying, go to the emergency room or the cemetery. Don't just reach out and yank a hair from someone's nostrils. That's not the kind of crying you can stop with one of your "illusions." The crying has to come from an emotional place, like if someone just found out his daughter is dead. Or someone who has been trying to find his wife, who disappeared from a truck stop six years ago, and he's followed all of his clues to where he thought he would find her in her new home, but he ended up finding nothing but a Teddy Bear factory. That guy might feel so exhausted and frustrated that he'll drop to his knees before the Teddy Bear factory and just start bawling.
That's where you come in. Ask him if he's crying because his ears are so dirty, then pull a quarter out of his ear. He'll stop crying so that he can shake you and start shouting, "Where's Barbara?!" That's when you should pretend to pull scarves out of your nose.
Happy Use A Magic Trick To Stop Someone From Crying Day!
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Now You Don't Have A Date For The Dance Day
Now You Don't Have A Date For The Dance Day!
David is a killer in prison. He put a profile up on a website for men in prison looking for women to marry them either while they are in prison or when they get out. Since none of the boys in school have asked you to the upcoming Harvest Hop, and since, according to his profile, David's release date falls on that very weekend, you decided to establish a correspondence with him. You've done everything right, promising him that you are 21 years old with a gigantic ass (his profile demanded serious inquiries only). He proposed several letters ago, and you said yes. Then you told him that now that you and he are engaged, he has to take you to the Harvest Hop on the weekend that he gets out of jail. He of course asked why you are still in high school and you told him that you flunked and that you're totally 21. David said he doesn't want to go to a high school dance. When you pressured him, he reminded you that he's killed before and will kill again. Then he demanded that you steal money from your Dad and send it to him so that he can pay the Muslims not to kill him for another week.
As you seal the letter with all of your Dad's money in it today, you'll start to cry. You'll try to keep the tears from staining the envelope. You don't want David to have to worry about you while he's locked up and unable to give you comfort. But you can't help but feel distraught that another dance is going to come and go and you're not going to be able to go. Sometimes you wonder whether you rushed into things with David. You're only fifteen, after all. Isn't there more than enough time to lie to an incarcerated killer about your age and your ass size in order to get him to propose to you? Slow down, kiddo.
Happy Now You Don't Have A Date For The Dance Day!
David is a killer in prison. He put a profile up on a website for men in prison looking for women to marry them either while they are in prison or when they get out. Since none of the boys in school have asked you to the upcoming Harvest Hop, and since, according to his profile, David's release date falls on that very weekend, you decided to establish a correspondence with him. You've done everything right, promising him that you are 21 years old with a gigantic ass (his profile demanded serious inquiries only). He proposed several letters ago, and you said yes. Then you told him that now that you and he are engaged, he has to take you to the Harvest Hop on the weekend that he gets out of jail. He of course asked why you are still in high school and you told him that you flunked and that you're totally 21. David said he doesn't want to go to a high school dance. When you pressured him, he reminded you that he's killed before and will kill again. Then he demanded that you steal money from your Dad and send it to him so that he can pay the Muslims not to kill him for another week.
As you seal the letter with all of your Dad's money in it today, you'll start to cry. You'll try to keep the tears from staining the envelope. You don't want David to have to worry about you while he's locked up and unable to give you comfort. But you can't help but feel distraught that another dance is going to come and go and you're not going to be able to go. Sometimes you wonder whether you rushed into things with David. You're only fifteen, after all. Isn't there more than enough time to lie to an incarcerated killer about your age and your ass size in order to get him to propose to you? Slow down, kiddo.
Happy Now You Don't Have A Date For The Dance Day!
Monday, October 17, 2005
Take The Perfect Picture Of Your Girlfriend On The Day She Dies Day
Take The Perfect Picture Of Your Girlfriend On The Day She Dies Day!
Today, in the park, when the wind sends the leaves flying in a swarm of red and brown, take a picture of your girlfriend smiling with pink cheeks. This picture will come to define the next few years of your life for several reasons.
First, at that moment, in the way she is smiling at you, it will be clear that your girlfriend has never loved you more. And she never will love you more because…
Second, your girlfriend is going to die tonight of a blood disease linked to a chemical contained in paints sold by a particular manufacturer of paint, HGT Paints, between the years 1968 and 1977. It is only recently that some universities have begun studies of this chemical and its effects on children who grew up in homes where paint containing this chemical was used. HGT is presently doing all they can to keep the findings from these studies out of the press. Which brings us to…
Third. In the background of your photo, a director of corporate security at HGT will be seen handing a manila envelope to a Department of Health and Human Services administrator. You won't recognize either of them, and a few weeks from now you will wonder why your Flickr.com page was disabled. Flickr will send you an automated message telling you that your account has been shut down because Flickr reserves the right to disable the accounts of those users who have the power to bring to light webs of corruption that involve the highest levels of government and the most powerful of multi-national conglomerates with a single chance photograph of a pretty dead girlfriend. Soon after, you'll come home from a day of wandering around in mourning to find that your apartment has been ransacked. The whole game won't become clear to you until you go on the run for your life. Once you learn that the people who are after you are the same people who are responsible for the death of the love of your life, you turn the tables and use that photo like the atom bomb that it is.
One day many months from now, that photo you're going to take today of your girlfriend on her last day alive will appear on the cover of every magazine and newspaper in the country. Though her death will have been avenged and the company that made her sick will have been destroyed, you'll be sad that her photo is appearing in all of those newspapers and magazines but no one is writing about how pretty she is and how sad it is that she died.
Happy Take The Perfect Picture Of Your Girlfriend On The Day She Dies Day!
Today, in the park, when the wind sends the leaves flying in a swarm of red and brown, take a picture of your girlfriend smiling with pink cheeks. This picture will come to define the next few years of your life for several reasons.
First, at that moment, in the way she is smiling at you, it will be clear that your girlfriend has never loved you more. And she never will love you more because…
Second, your girlfriend is going to die tonight of a blood disease linked to a chemical contained in paints sold by a particular manufacturer of paint, HGT Paints, between the years 1968 and 1977. It is only recently that some universities have begun studies of this chemical and its effects on children who grew up in homes where paint containing this chemical was used. HGT is presently doing all they can to keep the findings from these studies out of the press. Which brings us to…
Third. In the background of your photo, a director of corporate security at HGT will be seen handing a manila envelope to a Department of Health and Human Services administrator. You won't recognize either of them, and a few weeks from now you will wonder why your Flickr.com page was disabled. Flickr will send you an automated message telling you that your account has been shut down because Flickr reserves the right to disable the accounts of those users who have the power to bring to light webs of corruption that involve the highest levels of government and the most powerful of multi-national conglomerates with a single chance photograph of a pretty dead girlfriend. Soon after, you'll come home from a day of wandering around in mourning to find that your apartment has been ransacked. The whole game won't become clear to you until you go on the run for your life. Once you learn that the people who are after you are the same people who are responsible for the death of the love of your life, you turn the tables and use that photo like the atom bomb that it is.
One day many months from now, that photo you're going to take today of your girlfriend on her last day alive will appear on the cover of every magazine and newspaper in the country. Though her death will have been avenged and the company that made her sick will have been destroyed, you'll be sad that her photo is appearing in all of those newspapers and magazines but no one is writing about how pretty she is and how sad it is that she died.
Happy Take The Perfect Picture Of Your Girlfriend On The Day She Dies Day!
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Rescue Some Kids From Something Day
Rescue Some Kids From Something Day!
Today is the day to get those kids the hell outta there, wherever "there" may be. The kids you choose to rescue will more than likely be determined by which kids happen to be enduring the sort of hell you were forced to suffer through when you were but a wee one. Not everyone has been fucked by an uncle or an uncle's friend or even an uncle's group of friends, so not everyone is gonna rush right out and try to save some kids who are getting fucked by their uncles or members of their uncles' social circles.
You can go as lowkey as rushing out to the local Chuck E Cheese to rescue some kids from a particularly lame birthday party. Or if they don't want to leave the birthday party, maybe a kid still needs to be rescued from a really boring conversation about Magic The Gathering with the kid who smells like a laundry hamper. Just swoop in and shout, "Dum de DUUUUM!" or whatever your rescue theme might be, then pretend to be the kid's dad and say that it's time for the kid to wash his face. If the kid who smells like laundry keeps watching you and the kid you rescued, lick your thumb and rub the kid's face clean with your saliva. That's what Dads do. The kid you rescued might start to cry because you're not his Dad, but you can trust that he's grateful for the rescue.
Who's kidding who? The only kids anyone's gonna rescue are the kids who are getting fucked. Get your cape on, time is money.
Happy Rescue Some Kids From Something Day!
Today is the day to get those kids the hell outta there, wherever "there" may be. The kids you choose to rescue will more than likely be determined by which kids happen to be enduring the sort of hell you were forced to suffer through when you were but a wee one. Not everyone has been fucked by an uncle or an uncle's friend or even an uncle's group of friends, so not everyone is gonna rush right out and try to save some kids who are getting fucked by their uncles or members of their uncles' social circles.
You can go as lowkey as rushing out to the local Chuck E Cheese to rescue some kids from a particularly lame birthday party. Or if they don't want to leave the birthday party, maybe a kid still needs to be rescued from a really boring conversation about Magic The Gathering with the kid who smells like a laundry hamper. Just swoop in and shout, "Dum de DUUUUM!" or whatever your rescue theme might be, then pretend to be the kid's dad and say that it's time for the kid to wash his face. If the kid who smells like laundry keeps watching you and the kid you rescued, lick your thumb and rub the kid's face clean with your saliva. That's what Dads do. The kid you rescued might start to cry because you're not his Dad, but you can trust that he's grateful for the rescue.
Who's kidding who? The only kids anyone's gonna rescue are the kids who are getting fucked. Get your cape on, time is money.
Happy Rescue Some Kids From Something Day!
Saturday, October 15, 2005
Dance For Her Day
Dance For Her Day!
She's given you six beautiful girls and she's made you a wonderful home in which to raise them. Show her how much you appreciate her for the sacrifices, the patience, the love and the unqualified devotion. Dance for her. To "Plush" by STP.
Make sure you wear sunglasses and that you do it in the middle of the restaurant where you met 41 years ago tonight. Be very suggestive in your choreography. If a dance move doesn't make clear that your bod is hers for the groping, cut the move. And don't forget a theme. Like "I'm a bad girl playing Twister." That's a good theme for a retired prized litigator like yourself.
Your heart is weak so of course you might pass during the performance, God willing. If you die in the middle of your dance, it will only bring home just how devoted to the craft you are, even though you've never danced before. Not even at weddings.
Happy Dance For Her Day!
She's given you six beautiful girls and she's made you a wonderful home in which to raise them. Show her how much you appreciate her for the sacrifices, the patience, the love and the unqualified devotion. Dance for her. To "Plush" by STP.
Make sure you wear sunglasses and that you do it in the middle of the restaurant where you met 41 years ago tonight. Be very suggestive in your choreography. If a dance move doesn't make clear that your bod is hers for the groping, cut the move. And don't forget a theme. Like "I'm a bad girl playing Twister." That's a good theme for a retired prized litigator like yourself.
Your heart is weak so of course you might pass during the performance, God willing. If you die in the middle of your dance, it will only bring home just how devoted to the craft you are, even though you've never danced before. Not even at weddings.
Happy Dance For Her Day!
Friday, October 14, 2005
Join The Police Department Day
Join The Police Department Day!
You've spent many years in the back of your limousine gawking through the window while this city went down the toilet. It's time you did something about it.
Say to the desk sergeant, "I wanna sign up."
He'll be skeptical at first. Skeptical of your thousand dollar coat and your manicured hands and the two beautiful women in gowns clinging to your arms.
"Let's see how you are with a gun," he'll say. At that he'll hand you his sidearm and he'll place a 9 volt battery on his shoulder. You miss the battery and shoot a flatfoot in the face.
"It's all right," the desk sergeant will say. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have asked you to fire that gun in here when I barely know you. I just love this city too much, I guess."
One of the beautiful women on your arms ask the desk sergeant what loving this city has to do with anyone.
"Girly," the desk sergeant will say. "I love this city so much, I wish everyone in it would be given a pistol so the playing field could be evened out and the clean could start getting rid of the filthy. With an even playing field, God always wins."
Tell the desk sergeant you don't believe in God, then accidentally shoot a clock.
"God doesn't ask that his soldiers believe in him," he'll say. "He only asks that they obey him."
The desk sergeant will hold out his hand to be shaked, then he'll give you your first assignment. A drug ring that you have to infiltrate and then bring down. "The next time you see the drug ring either buy or sell drugs, arrest them all."
Say, "Got it boss." Then run outside and tell your chauffer, "Take me to the underbelly!"
Happy Join The Police Department Day!
You've spent many years in the back of your limousine gawking through the window while this city went down the toilet. It's time you did something about it.
Say to the desk sergeant, "I wanna sign up."
He'll be skeptical at first. Skeptical of your thousand dollar coat and your manicured hands and the two beautiful women in gowns clinging to your arms.
"Let's see how you are with a gun," he'll say. At that he'll hand you his sidearm and he'll place a 9 volt battery on his shoulder. You miss the battery and shoot a flatfoot in the face.
"It's all right," the desk sergeant will say. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have asked you to fire that gun in here when I barely know you. I just love this city too much, I guess."
One of the beautiful women on your arms ask the desk sergeant what loving this city has to do with anyone.
"Girly," the desk sergeant will say. "I love this city so much, I wish everyone in it would be given a pistol so the playing field could be evened out and the clean could start getting rid of the filthy. With an even playing field, God always wins."
Tell the desk sergeant you don't believe in God, then accidentally shoot a clock.
"God doesn't ask that his soldiers believe in him," he'll say. "He only asks that they obey him."
The desk sergeant will hold out his hand to be shaked, then he'll give you your first assignment. A drug ring that you have to infiltrate and then bring down. "The next time you see the drug ring either buy or sell drugs, arrest them all."
Say, "Got it boss." Then run outside and tell your chauffer, "Take me to the underbelly!"
Happy Join The Police Department Day!
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Saddest Sandwich Day!
Saddest Sandwich Day!
Today you are going to enter the Saddest Sandwich contest, wherein participants compete to see whose sandwich makes the most people feel really sad. You are going to come in second with your PB and DS'sMBC with the crusts cut off (peanut butter and dead son's matchbox car with the crusts cut off). The grand prize will go to Holocaust On Wheat.
Happy Saddest Sandwich Day!
Today you are going to enter the Saddest Sandwich contest, wherein participants compete to see whose sandwich makes the most people feel really sad. You are going to come in second with your PB and DS'sMBC with the crusts cut off (peanut butter and dead son's matchbox car with the crusts cut off). The grand prize will go to Holocaust On Wheat.
Happy Saddest Sandwich Day!
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Propose To The Deformed Man Who Lives In Your Attic Day
Propose To The Deformed Man Who Lives In Your Attic Day!
When your mother's will was finally read, everything seemed in order. You'll get the house and she'd like it if you lived in it. You get her wedding ring and her other jewelry. The life insurance payments would be split between you and your brother who lives in California (he is far more successful than you and did not need the trouble of dividing up the proceeds from the sale of a house). The only odd note in the will was where your mother demanded that you leave a bowl of chicken stew at the top of the stairs leading to the attic every night.
Thus you discovered the grunting and crippled man-beast that has lived in your attic all of your life. He claims to be two years older than you, but is at least a foot smaller. None of his limbs work the way they should, nor does he have a strong grasp on the English language. Additionally, he smells bad.
Propose. You've loved him ever since that first day you found him there but it's taken all these months for you to admit it. Just take his hand and ask him if he will be your husband. He'll say he can't because he is your brother.
At first you'll assume he's having trouble with the language again. But when he tells you the story of your mother giving birth to twins and deciding that one should put in the attic and punished as a spawn of Satan, as is dictated in the Bible someplace probably, you'll look in his eyes, at his brow and at the shadow of his cheeks, and you'll realize all these months you've been looking into the face of your brother in California (albeit with a slightly less even tan).
Call your brother and ask him about a twin.
"Oh yeah," he'll say. "Mom told me I had a twin but that they drowned him not long after delivery, as is dictated someplace in the Bible I think."
Tell him that his mother lied. Then tell him to come home.
Happy Propose To The Deformed Man Who Lives In Your Attic Day!
When your mother's will was finally read, everything seemed in order. You'll get the house and she'd like it if you lived in it. You get her wedding ring and her other jewelry. The life insurance payments would be split between you and your brother who lives in California (he is far more successful than you and did not need the trouble of dividing up the proceeds from the sale of a house). The only odd note in the will was where your mother demanded that you leave a bowl of chicken stew at the top of the stairs leading to the attic every night.
Thus you discovered the grunting and crippled man-beast that has lived in your attic all of your life. He claims to be two years older than you, but is at least a foot smaller. None of his limbs work the way they should, nor does he have a strong grasp on the English language. Additionally, he smells bad.
Propose. You've loved him ever since that first day you found him there but it's taken all these months for you to admit it. Just take his hand and ask him if he will be your husband. He'll say he can't because he is your brother.
At first you'll assume he's having trouble with the language again. But when he tells you the story of your mother giving birth to twins and deciding that one should put in the attic and punished as a spawn of Satan, as is dictated in the Bible someplace probably, you'll look in his eyes, at his brow and at the shadow of his cheeks, and you'll realize all these months you've been looking into the face of your brother in California (albeit with a slightly less even tan).
Call your brother and ask him about a twin.
"Oh yeah," he'll say. "Mom told me I had a twin but that they drowned him not long after delivery, as is dictated someplace in the Bible I think."
Tell him that his mother lied. Then tell him to come home.
Happy Propose To The Deformed Man Who Lives In Your Attic Day!
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
This Is Why You Can't Have Nice Things Day
This Is Why You Can't Have Nice Things Day!
Your Dad is an executioner. He assists in the administration of lethal injections at the State Prison. Everyone in your town works at the State Prison, but your Dad is one of four executioners on staff.
Your mother explains it to you every once in a while, and she'll explain it to you again the next time you proclaim that it's not fair to you.
"It's your father's penance," she says. "He has to end men's lives in order to bring an income into this house, and he has problems with spending that income on anything that isn't necessary, like shoes. Trust me honey, I've tried to bend his rules. But anytime I've put up some nice drapes or cooked him a steak, he just asks me politely to take it down or take it away. Or he'll tell me that he's sorry but he'll have to be donating to the Salvation Army a pretty dress that I just bought. It's the way it is."
When you ask your mother why he won't look for another job, she says, "He loves his work. He was never content to just vote for the Governor who was pro-capital punishment. He really wanted to be the guy pushing the button. 'Only way to make sure the sons of bitches fry' he used to tell me on some of our first dates. There aren't many men in this town, honey. No more than a dozen or so."
When you ask her if she'd be willing to leave your father and take you with her so that the two of you can share the wonderful life that you deserve, she'll say, "Sounds good."
You leave tonight. You're going to miss your Dad, but if he's going to put the murder of America's monsters before the happiness of you and your mom, he deserves to go it alone.
Happy This Is Why You Can't Have Nice Things Day!
Your Dad is an executioner. He assists in the administration of lethal injections at the State Prison. Everyone in your town works at the State Prison, but your Dad is one of four executioners on staff.
Your mother explains it to you every once in a while, and she'll explain it to you again the next time you proclaim that it's not fair to you.
"It's your father's penance," she says. "He has to end men's lives in order to bring an income into this house, and he has problems with spending that income on anything that isn't necessary, like shoes. Trust me honey, I've tried to bend his rules. But anytime I've put up some nice drapes or cooked him a steak, he just asks me politely to take it down or take it away. Or he'll tell me that he's sorry but he'll have to be donating to the Salvation Army a pretty dress that I just bought. It's the way it is."
When you ask your mother why he won't look for another job, she says, "He loves his work. He was never content to just vote for the Governor who was pro-capital punishment. He really wanted to be the guy pushing the button. 'Only way to make sure the sons of bitches fry' he used to tell me on some of our first dates. There aren't many men in this town, honey. No more than a dozen or so."
When you ask her if she'd be willing to leave your father and take you with her so that the two of you can share the wonderful life that you deserve, she'll say, "Sounds good."
You leave tonight. You're going to miss your Dad, but if he's going to put the murder of America's monsters before the happiness of you and your mom, he deserves to go it alone.
Happy This Is Why You Can't Have Nice Things Day!
Monday, October 10, 2005
The Lovesong Dedicated To No One Day
The Lovesong Dedicated To No One Day!
When The Heart Inside Your Ribs turned into one of the biggest hit love songs in the history of Pop music, the press couldn't get enough of singer/songwriter Marty Stabs. Every interview included the question, "Who's the song about?"
After keeping silent for over a year, Marty finally told US News & World Report, "It's about a girl named Gina. She died in a swimming accident seven years ago. She gave me ten of the most wonderful months of my life before her passing. So I wrote her this song."
Immediately after the announcement, his sales jumped near as high as the numbers he charted when the record first dropped. His record company commended him. "Brilliant of you to keep the identity of the song's inspiration a secret for so long. The speculation kept the enchantment alive," said Ghostface Records executive John LeQuee. "You may think I'm only talking about advertising. But I'm talking about enchantment. Those people out there play your records for one reason. You enchant them. In my mind, a singer who can't enchant them should never have been put to wax. This wasn't a ploy. This was an ever heightening enchantment and it was a damn good idea."
But it wasn't to increase his sales that Marty kept the inspiration of the song a secret. It's because there was nothing to keep secret about. There was never any girl named Gina who drowned. There was never any girl, period. At least none that were worth writing a song about.
Marty heard the question a million times and each time he wanted to shout that as his answer. "It's about no one and nothing. I've never loved anyone in a way that could inspire such revelry. Probably never will. My parents were ghosts around each other and I think it's rubbed off on me. I don't know why I write so many love songs when I'm apparently incapable of either giving my love or accepting the love of another. Mine is a joyless and undisturbed life. Every word I sing is horseshit."
Marty instead chose to concoct the girl named Gina who's at the bottom of an ocean somewhere. The press went looking through his past and they made accusations that the story was false but nothing ever stuck. Marty continued to make millions and he'd managed to silence the question forever.
Over the past few years, Marty's mind has grown week and he has begun to believe his lie. He now spends his life inside his mansion, mourning this lost love who he might have been able to rescue had he not been fetching more scotch from the belly of that fictional boat. In his madness, he has been given the ability to believe that he did, in fact, love once.
Today he is going to announce in the city's paper that he is accepting applications to be crew on his undersea expedition to recover the remains of Gina's body. You should apply. The expedition will last until Marty runs out of money, and certainly no one needs you up here on the surface. Get on board. After a few months in close quarters, Marty will see in you shadows of the man he once was. And he'll adopt you as his son, leaving you his millions when he dies. Congratulations because you're going to be rich.
Happy The Lovesong Dedicated To No One Day!
When The Heart Inside Your Ribs turned into one of the biggest hit love songs in the history of Pop music, the press couldn't get enough of singer/songwriter Marty Stabs. Every interview included the question, "Who's the song about?"
After keeping silent for over a year, Marty finally told US News & World Report, "It's about a girl named Gina. She died in a swimming accident seven years ago. She gave me ten of the most wonderful months of my life before her passing. So I wrote her this song."
Immediately after the announcement, his sales jumped near as high as the numbers he charted when the record first dropped. His record company commended him. "Brilliant of you to keep the identity of the song's inspiration a secret for so long. The speculation kept the enchantment alive," said Ghostface Records executive John LeQuee. "You may think I'm only talking about advertising. But I'm talking about enchantment. Those people out there play your records for one reason. You enchant them. In my mind, a singer who can't enchant them should never have been put to wax. This wasn't a ploy. This was an ever heightening enchantment and it was a damn good idea."
But it wasn't to increase his sales that Marty kept the inspiration of the song a secret. It's because there was nothing to keep secret about. There was never any girl named Gina who drowned. There was never any girl, period. At least none that were worth writing a song about.
Marty heard the question a million times and each time he wanted to shout that as his answer. "It's about no one and nothing. I've never loved anyone in a way that could inspire such revelry. Probably never will. My parents were ghosts around each other and I think it's rubbed off on me. I don't know why I write so many love songs when I'm apparently incapable of either giving my love or accepting the love of another. Mine is a joyless and undisturbed life. Every word I sing is horseshit."
Marty instead chose to concoct the girl named Gina who's at the bottom of an ocean somewhere. The press went looking through his past and they made accusations that the story was false but nothing ever stuck. Marty continued to make millions and he'd managed to silence the question forever.
Over the past few years, Marty's mind has grown week and he has begun to believe his lie. He now spends his life inside his mansion, mourning this lost love who he might have been able to rescue had he not been fetching more scotch from the belly of that fictional boat. In his madness, he has been given the ability to believe that he did, in fact, love once.
Today he is going to announce in the city's paper that he is accepting applications to be crew on his undersea expedition to recover the remains of Gina's body. You should apply. The expedition will last until Marty runs out of money, and certainly no one needs you up here on the surface. Get on board. After a few months in close quarters, Marty will see in you shadows of the man he once was. And he'll adopt you as his son, leaving you his millions when he dies. Congratulations because you're going to be rich.
Happy The Lovesong Dedicated To No One Day!
Sunday, October 09, 2005
You And Your Stinky Hippy Friends Day
You And Your Stinky Hippy Friends Day!
The farmer has decided that he's going to chase you and your stinky hippy friends out of the woods today. The farmer who owns the woods is sick of you and your stinky hippy friends coming into the woods every afternoon to dance around in a circle. He hates how you all pair off to grab hold of each other's heads and look into each other's eyes while crying. And he really hates your one stinky hippy friend, Moe, because she's black.
The farmer will chase you out of the woods by shooting at you with his shotgun. He won't have intended it, but he'll hit Hogan, your slowest stinky hippy friend. Hogan will fall into the dirt with the terrifying majority of his stomach missing, it having been blown away and scattered amongst the surrounding foliage.
You'll all run back to Hogan, and the farmer will keep running toward you. You and the farmer will discover that Hogan is dead at the same time. After some shouting, the farmer will conclude that he has no choice but to kill the rest of you, which he will proceed to do. One of you will get away, but it won't be you.
The farmer will try to keep this all a secret from his wife and dispose of all of your bodies on his own. But eventually, she'll ask why he's got blood all over himself and what he was doing pulling a Birkenstock sandal off of a severed leg. When he tells her what happened, she'll pitch in with the burials. That's how it's done on the farm. Everyone pitches in.
Happy You And Your Stinky Hippy Friends Day!
The farmer has decided that he's going to chase you and your stinky hippy friends out of the woods today. The farmer who owns the woods is sick of you and your stinky hippy friends coming into the woods every afternoon to dance around in a circle. He hates how you all pair off to grab hold of each other's heads and look into each other's eyes while crying. And he really hates your one stinky hippy friend, Moe, because she's black.
The farmer will chase you out of the woods by shooting at you with his shotgun. He won't have intended it, but he'll hit Hogan, your slowest stinky hippy friend. Hogan will fall into the dirt with the terrifying majority of his stomach missing, it having been blown away and scattered amongst the surrounding foliage.
You'll all run back to Hogan, and the farmer will keep running toward you. You and the farmer will discover that Hogan is dead at the same time. After some shouting, the farmer will conclude that he has no choice but to kill the rest of you, which he will proceed to do. One of you will get away, but it won't be you.
The farmer will try to keep this all a secret from his wife and dispose of all of your bodies on his own. But eventually, she'll ask why he's got blood all over himself and what he was doing pulling a Birkenstock sandal off of a severed leg. When he tells her what happened, she'll pitch in with the burials. That's how it's done on the farm. Everyone pitches in.
Happy You And Your Stinky Hippy Friends Day!
Saturday, October 08, 2005
IHOP Day
IHOP Day!
Today at IHOP, 4:14 PM, you, a guy and a girl barely 20 saying nothing to each other, an elderly person with Downs syndrome, four unsupervised children under 10, and a woman writing a suicide note are all in this together.
The girl who's not talking to the guy she's with is going to turn to the elderly retard to say, "I like your Lord of the Rings tee shirt."
In an attempt to return the compliment, the elderly retard will reply, "I like Twix bar sundaes. They make them good here. They know how to do it."
The woman writing the suicide note will shout out to anyone, "What's the word for when you feel like you're just drifting through life and you get thrown this way and that way and this way and that way until you can't look into the mirror without wanting to puke."
One of the unsupervised children under 10 will shout, "Poopies!"
The other unsupervised children under 10 will giggle and confirm that the word for that condition is "Poopies."
You know that in certain respects, the unsupervised children are correct. But nonetheless, you should suggest to the woman writing the suicide note, "Rudderless."
The woman writing the suicide note will smile at you. "Thanks," she'll say. Then she'll write rudderless on her sheet of paper. You should make a move on her. No strings, most likely.
The boy barely 20 who hasn't said anything to the girl barely 20 will get up and walk outside, where he'll be shot twice execution style.
"He shouldn't have left the group," the elderly retard will say. The girl barely 20 will go and sit with the elderly retard and they'll talk about soda while you and the woman writing the suicide note will exchange smiles from across the dining room. Stacks of pancakes will come and they will go, almost as if the stacks of pancakes were rudderless, if one were to use the word "rudderless" incorrectly.
Happy IHOP Day!
Today at IHOP, 4:14 PM, you, a guy and a girl barely 20 saying nothing to each other, an elderly person with Downs syndrome, four unsupervised children under 10, and a woman writing a suicide note are all in this together.
The girl who's not talking to the guy she's with is going to turn to the elderly retard to say, "I like your Lord of the Rings tee shirt."
In an attempt to return the compliment, the elderly retard will reply, "I like Twix bar sundaes. They make them good here. They know how to do it."
The woman writing the suicide note will shout out to anyone, "What's the word for when you feel like you're just drifting through life and you get thrown this way and that way and this way and that way until you can't look into the mirror without wanting to puke."
One of the unsupervised children under 10 will shout, "Poopies!"
The other unsupervised children under 10 will giggle and confirm that the word for that condition is "Poopies."
You know that in certain respects, the unsupervised children are correct. But nonetheless, you should suggest to the woman writing the suicide note, "Rudderless."
The woman writing the suicide note will smile at you. "Thanks," she'll say. Then she'll write rudderless on her sheet of paper. You should make a move on her. No strings, most likely.
The boy barely 20 who hasn't said anything to the girl barely 20 will get up and walk outside, where he'll be shot twice execution style.
"He shouldn't have left the group," the elderly retard will say. The girl barely 20 will go and sit with the elderly retard and they'll talk about soda while you and the woman writing the suicide note will exchange smiles from across the dining room. Stacks of pancakes will come and they will go, almost as if the stacks of pancakes were rudderless, if one were to use the word "rudderless" incorrectly.
Happy IHOP Day!
Friday, October 07, 2005
Those Two Seismologists Feel The Earth Move Every Day Around 4 PM When They Sneak Off To The Broom Closet Together Day
Those Two Seismologists Feel The Earth Move Every Day Around 4 PM When They Sneak Off To The Broom Closet Together Day!
That's what everyone's been saying about you and Charlotte. You both think you've been so careful, but everyone knows how prevalent adultery is in the seismology community. Something about all of you standing around waiting for a needle to twitch and announce the world crumbling apart makes you all think that common morality doesn't apply to you.
Today, there's going to be a 7.4 and it's going to hit while you're in the broom closet. You won't know it at first, since you'll be creating your own little 5.1 on the supplies desk. But it won't be long before even you won't be able to ignore that activity. You'll hustle back into your clothes and run to your red phones to make the proper emergency announcements to the media and the mayor's office. Then you'll both drive on the "solid" roads that your department helped to map out and you'll race to your respective homes, which will be gone.
Now your only hope is that whomever of your loved ones didn't make it home are still alive somewhere, and you have to find them before they get harmed in the ensuing chaos. You join forces in your search, and as you make it through your town, which appears to have almost been swallowed whole, you start to feel like the last man and woman on Earth. The search for your loved ones grows frantic. Neither of you is willing to say it out loud, but you both wonder whether you might have saved some lives had you been watching the needle when the activity began to occur, instead of in the broom closet.
This risk was always a part of the excitement for the two of you, but now that it's happened, you feel nothing short of evil. You try to blame each other. You take to screaming. When you grab Charlotte and shake her by her shoulders, telling her this is all her fault, she grabs a piece of wood and lands it on the side of your head then runs. From then on, you'll travel separately in your respective searches for your families. You both acquire weapons along the way, and the next time you see each other one of you will live and the other will die.
Happy Those Two Seismologists Feel The Earth Move Every Day Around 4 PM When They Sneak Off To The Broom Closet Together Day!
That's what everyone's been saying about you and Charlotte. You both think you've been so careful, but everyone knows how prevalent adultery is in the seismology community. Something about all of you standing around waiting for a needle to twitch and announce the world crumbling apart makes you all think that common morality doesn't apply to you.
Today, there's going to be a 7.4 and it's going to hit while you're in the broom closet. You won't know it at first, since you'll be creating your own little 5.1 on the supplies desk. But it won't be long before even you won't be able to ignore that activity. You'll hustle back into your clothes and run to your red phones to make the proper emergency announcements to the media and the mayor's office. Then you'll both drive on the "solid" roads that your department helped to map out and you'll race to your respective homes, which will be gone.
Now your only hope is that whomever of your loved ones didn't make it home are still alive somewhere, and you have to find them before they get harmed in the ensuing chaos. You join forces in your search, and as you make it through your town, which appears to have almost been swallowed whole, you start to feel like the last man and woman on Earth. The search for your loved ones grows frantic. Neither of you is willing to say it out loud, but you both wonder whether you might have saved some lives had you been watching the needle when the activity began to occur, instead of in the broom closet.
This risk was always a part of the excitement for the two of you, but now that it's happened, you feel nothing short of evil. You try to blame each other. You take to screaming. When you grab Charlotte and shake her by her shoulders, telling her this is all her fault, she grabs a piece of wood and lands it on the side of your head then runs. From then on, you'll travel separately in your respective searches for your families. You both acquire weapons along the way, and the next time you see each other one of you will live and the other will die.
Happy Those Two Seismologists Feel The Earth Move Every Day Around 4 PM When They Sneak Off To The Broom Closet Together Day!
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Raise A Wild Animal In Your One-Bedroom Apartment Day
Raise A Wild Animal In Your One-Bedroom Apartment Day!
You're not happy. You know who was happy? That's right, the guy who kept a tiger in his apartment as a pet. You know why he was happy? There was a wild animal in his house.
They took the tiger away and he had to pay a fine or something, but if you ask him now he'd tell you he'd pay a million fines if they'd just give him his tiger back. Then he'd lean in real close and tell you that he has a line on a four-month old Puma. His smile will be radiant with excitement.
You've tried everything from anti-depressants to accepting the unconditional love of your tween-aged daughter, but nothing seems capable of making that black cloud go away. Are you content to live out the rest of your days exerting the extent of your will just to get out of bed and put on your slippers every morning? Or are you ready to try some less traditional remedies for unhappiness?
Raising a wild animal as a housepet in a confined space is guaranteed to yield happiness to the pet owner because wild animals look funny sitting on couches or eating out of bowls that say "Mr. Piddles" on the side. Also, anyone who tries to break into the pet owner's home and steal his stuff is guaranteed to be disemboweled. Also, no mice!
All you need is a one-bedroom apartment and $85,000 and you can have an almost domesticated wild animal napping on the edge of your bed by Thanksgiving. If you don't have $85,000, find it.
Happy Raise A Wild Animal In Your One-Bedroom Apartment Day!
You're not happy. You know who was happy? That's right, the guy who kept a tiger in his apartment as a pet. You know why he was happy? There was a wild animal in his house.
They took the tiger away and he had to pay a fine or something, but if you ask him now he'd tell you he'd pay a million fines if they'd just give him his tiger back. Then he'd lean in real close and tell you that he has a line on a four-month old Puma. His smile will be radiant with excitement.
You've tried everything from anti-depressants to accepting the unconditional love of your tween-aged daughter, but nothing seems capable of making that black cloud go away. Are you content to live out the rest of your days exerting the extent of your will just to get out of bed and put on your slippers every morning? Or are you ready to try some less traditional remedies for unhappiness?
Raising a wild animal as a housepet in a confined space is guaranteed to yield happiness to the pet owner because wild animals look funny sitting on couches or eating out of bowls that say "Mr. Piddles" on the side. Also, anyone who tries to break into the pet owner's home and steal his stuff is guaranteed to be disemboweled. Also, no mice!
All you need is a one-bedroom apartment and $85,000 and you can have an almost domesticated wild animal napping on the edge of your bed by Thanksgiving. If you don't have $85,000, find it.
Happy Raise A Wild Animal In Your One-Bedroom Apartment Day!
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Water For The Marathon Runner Day
Water For The Marathon Runner Day!
You've been in town for three weeks now and you haven't met a soul. Your parents and friends back home are sick of you calling late at night just because you need to hear a friendly voice. It's time for you to put yourself out there and draw some people in. What better way to do that than to go down to the finish line of a marathon and dole out some water?
You've been to the finish line of a marathon before. As they come in, the runners are all clamoring for water because they're thirsty and their legs are covered in shit and blood.
That’s where you come in. You'll sidle up with your aluminum bucket and drinking straw and you'll say, "Drink up." The runner will gulp down half the bucket, and with the other half he'll scrub his feces from the part of his legs that he chafed raw so that he can properly dress his wounds. When he looks at you to thank you for essentially saving his life, say, "I'd be up for a bite to eat if you are. I'm new in town."
The runner will smile and wink at you, which is the symbol for "You want to have sex with me don't you?" If you smile and wink back, that's the symbol for "Yes, I want to have sex with you. Really hard." Don't smile and wink back unless you want to have sex with the runner.
If he sees that you haven't smiled and winked back at him, the runner will say, "Oh, so just a friendly bite?"
Say, "Yes. I saved your life pretty much just now."
The runner will agree that you did and he'll say, "It'll be a day or so before I can hold down solid food. But I'd be willing to sit on the grass over there and talk. If you don't mind me passing out from time to time."
Unless you mind him passing out from time to time, take him up on his offer. You just might have yourself a new friend if the runner doesn't turn out to be a cock.
Happy Water For The Marathon Runner Day!
You've been in town for three weeks now and you haven't met a soul. Your parents and friends back home are sick of you calling late at night just because you need to hear a friendly voice. It's time for you to put yourself out there and draw some people in. What better way to do that than to go down to the finish line of a marathon and dole out some water?
You've been to the finish line of a marathon before. As they come in, the runners are all clamoring for water because they're thirsty and their legs are covered in shit and blood.
That’s where you come in. You'll sidle up with your aluminum bucket and drinking straw and you'll say, "Drink up." The runner will gulp down half the bucket, and with the other half he'll scrub his feces from the part of his legs that he chafed raw so that he can properly dress his wounds. When he looks at you to thank you for essentially saving his life, say, "I'd be up for a bite to eat if you are. I'm new in town."
The runner will smile and wink at you, which is the symbol for "You want to have sex with me don't you?" If you smile and wink back, that's the symbol for "Yes, I want to have sex with you. Really hard." Don't smile and wink back unless you want to have sex with the runner.
If he sees that you haven't smiled and winked back at him, the runner will say, "Oh, so just a friendly bite?"
Say, "Yes. I saved your life pretty much just now."
The runner will agree that you did and he'll say, "It'll be a day or so before I can hold down solid food. But I'd be willing to sit on the grass over there and talk. If you don't mind me passing out from time to time."
Unless you mind him passing out from time to time, take him up on his offer. You just might have yourself a new friend if the runner doesn't turn out to be a cock.
Happy Water For The Marathon Runner Day!
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Give Her Back Her Secret Admirer Letter Day
Give Her Back Her Secret Admirer Letter Day!
She'll gasp when she sees you pull it from your jacket pocket. Hold it out to her and say, "I knew this was you the minute I started reading it."
She'll blush and tell you that she was just writing what she felt for you.
Say, "I'm good at matching up handwriting to people. I know people pretty well. And I am a pretty visual thinker."
She'll ask you what you thought of the letter.
Say, "When I realized it was a secret admirer letter, I was like, I bet I can tell who wrote this within the first paragraph. And I was right! Before I even got two sentences in I thought, Mary totally wrote this."
She'll tell you that everything in there was true. That she just opened up her heart and let it flow out to you.
"That's probably why I had such an easy time guessing," say. "Man, I should be a detective or something."
She'll ask how you feel about all of this.
"Proud," tell her. "Proud of my abilities. It says something that I can grasp people's personalities so well that I can see their personalities expressed in their script."
She'll be about ready to burst now. "Do you want to be my boyfriend?" she'll blurt out.
Say, "Sure, you're pretty. Now let me show you how that lilt you have to your voice makes itself known in the loops of your H's."
Then open up the letter and show her the loops of her H's.
Happy Give Her Back Her Secret Admirer Letter Day!
She'll gasp when she sees you pull it from your jacket pocket. Hold it out to her and say, "I knew this was you the minute I started reading it."
She'll blush and tell you that she was just writing what she felt for you.
Say, "I'm good at matching up handwriting to people. I know people pretty well. And I am a pretty visual thinker."
She'll ask you what you thought of the letter.
Say, "When I realized it was a secret admirer letter, I was like, I bet I can tell who wrote this within the first paragraph. And I was right! Before I even got two sentences in I thought, Mary totally wrote this."
She'll tell you that everything in there was true. That she just opened up her heart and let it flow out to you.
"That's probably why I had such an easy time guessing," say. "Man, I should be a detective or something."
She'll ask how you feel about all of this.
"Proud," tell her. "Proud of my abilities. It says something that I can grasp people's personalities so well that I can see their personalities expressed in their script."
She'll be about ready to burst now. "Do you want to be my boyfriend?" she'll blurt out.
Say, "Sure, you're pretty. Now let me show you how that lilt you have to your voice makes itself known in the loops of your H's."
Then open up the letter and show her the loops of her H's.
Happy Give Her Back Her Secret Admirer Letter Day!
Monday, October 03, 2005
Shopaholic Day
Shopaholic Day!
Because you're a shopaholic, tonight you're going to rifle through your son's desk drawers looking for coupons.
Your son will wake up bleary-eyed, spot you scrabbling about amongst the contents of his desk strewn across the carpet, and he'll say, "Daddy, why can't you just love us?"
Say, "I will. Right after I hit triple coupon day at the Sav-On."
Your son will roll his eyes comically and say, "Promises, promises!"
That's when you should slap your son in the mouth and accuse him of hiding his coupons so that he can keep them all for himself. Then apologize, fall on the floor, and start crying.
"I'm weak, boy," say.
Your son will start shouting "Cry-Baby" like Richard Dreyfuss' son did in Close Encounters. Except, since your son is seventeen, he'll also kick your ass. He'll beat you as hard as you used to dream of beating on your own father. He'll even pull a boot onto one foot just so that he can kick you in the teeth with it.
Happy Shopaholic Day!
Because you're a shopaholic, tonight you're going to rifle through your son's desk drawers looking for coupons.
Your son will wake up bleary-eyed, spot you scrabbling about amongst the contents of his desk strewn across the carpet, and he'll say, "Daddy, why can't you just love us?"
Say, "I will. Right after I hit triple coupon day at the Sav-On."
Your son will roll his eyes comically and say, "Promises, promises!"
That's when you should slap your son in the mouth and accuse him of hiding his coupons so that he can keep them all for himself. Then apologize, fall on the floor, and start crying.
"I'm weak, boy," say.
Your son will start shouting "Cry-Baby" like Richard Dreyfuss' son did in Close Encounters. Except, since your son is seventeen, he'll also kick your ass. He'll beat you as hard as you used to dream of beating on your own father. He'll even pull a boot onto one foot just so that he can kick you in the teeth with it.
Happy Shopaholic Day!
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Eat The End Of Your Family Line Day
Eat The End Of Your Family Line Day!
Your only son is dead and you and your wife are beyond childbearing years. You could adopt, sure, but an adopted child would not carry on your bloodline. It has been an American tradition since 1989 that should parents outlive the son who would be the last hope of carrying on their family name and bloodline, those parents must eat the body of their child. You may prepare his body any way you wish.
"Even on one of those sizzling plates that makes everyone else in the restaurant envy you with all the heart they have left inside of them when they hear it being carried to your table?" you'll ask.
The answer is yes.
"Will this make us miss our son any less?" you'll ask. "The pain is unbearable."
Rather than provide an answer to that, Girls Are Pretty turn and walk in the opposite direction, very slowly.
Happy Eat The End Of Your Family Line Day!
Your only son is dead and you and your wife are beyond childbearing years. You could adopt, sure, but an adopted child would not carry on your bloodline. It has been an American tradition since 1989 that should parents outlive the son who would be the last hope of carrying on their family name and bloodline, those parents must eat the body of their child. You may prepare his body any way you wish.
"Even on one of those sizzling plates that makes everyone else in the restaurant envy you with all the heart they have left inside of them when they hear it being carried to your table?" you'll ask.
The answer is yes.
"Will this make us miss our son any less?" you'll ask. "The pain is unbearable."
Rather than provide an answer to that, Girls Are Pretty turn and walk in the opposite direction, very slowly.
Happy Eat The End Of Your Family Line Day!
Saturday, October 01, 2005
You Won A Motorcycle Day
You Won A Motorcycle Day!
You won’t need to waste time hanging out with your wife and your brother anymore (he’s unemployed and had to give up his place). You won a motorcycle!
After dinner (dinner sucks!) hit the open highway. Wear white, because you want to be seen at night. And make sure to blow your whistle when you go through intersections. Repeat nightly.
A month from now, your wife is going to come out to the driveway while you’re working on your motorcycle and she’s going to speak to you for the first time in a month.
“What’s with all this motorcycle shit?” she’ll ask. Tell her that she can’t cage you in anymore. Nobody can.
“What if I did this?” She’ll spit on the motorcycle seat.
Wipe her spit from the leather and then say, “We’re through.”
“Where you gonna get the money to pay my alimony?” she’ll shout at your back. You’ll be walking to the garage to wax your helmet. She’s not gonna break your routine. “And what about your brother? I’m tellin’ you, if you leave me alone with him I’ll kill him tonight. You know I wanna!”
Your brother will hear that and he’ll take off out the back door and over the fence, so no worries.
Turn to her and say, “I’ll have your money. The bike will show me the way.”
She’ll go marching back into the house to break your things. When you’re finished waxing your helmet, go for a ride. Tonight, die by jumping your bike through the belly of a gasoline truck.
Happy You Won A Motorcycle Day!
You won’t need to waste time hanging out with your wife and your brother anymore (he’s unemployed and had to give up his place). You won a motorcycle!
After dinner (dinner sucks!) hit the open highway. Wear white, because you want to be seen at night. And make sure to blow your whistle when you go through intersections. Repeat nightly.
A month from now, your wife is going to come out to the driveway while you’re working on your motorcycle and she’s going to speak to you for the first time in a month.
“What’s with all this motorcycle shit?” she’ll ask. Tell her that she can’t cage you in anymore. Nobody can.
“What if I did this?” She’ll spit on the motorcycle seat.
Wipe her spit from the leather and then say, “We’re through.”
“Where you gonna get the money to pay my alimony?” she’ll shout at your back. You’ll be walking to the garage to wax your helmet. She’s not gonna break your routine. “And what about your brother? I’m tellin’ you, if you leave me alone with him I’ll kill him tonight. You know I wanna!”
Your brother will hear that and he’ll take off out the back door and over the fence, so no worries.
Turn to her and say, “I’ll have your money. The bike will show me the way.”
She’ll go marching back into the house to break your things. When you’re finished waxing your helmet, go for a ride. Tonight, die by jumping your bike through the belly of a gasoline truck.
Happy You Won A Motorcycle Day!
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