Underdog Day!

Nobody thinks you can win the big game because you just got hit by a car and you're lying in the street with a broken back and dilated eyeballs. You've got them exactly where you want them. You've got them underestimating you. They're all watching the blood puddle underneath your head and they're thinking, "No way can he take us to State." That's what they said about your Dad, Ol' Number 34 who took the team all the way in 1972 even though he had been shot twice in the chest five minutes before gametime. He proved them wrong because he wasn't trying to prove anything to anybody but himself. Do the same. Prove it to yourself, and you'll give them all something to believe in. Now quit flat-lining and get to the stadium, Champ.

Happy Underdog Day!

Be A Surrogate Mother Day!

Working at the Store 24 sucks it. So why not let a rich dentist pay you to get pregnant? You'll get to move out of your sister's living room and go and live in a nice guest bedroom in a big house in the suburbs. It will be kind of a drag to have the dentist's wife hover over you and make you eat a whole lot of stuff that she read about. But you can get her to leave the room and cry if you just say something to make her feel inadequate for not being able to carry her own child. On the whole though, you just have to watch TV and not drink or smoke for nine months and you'll walk away with like twenty grand, which is kind of like hush money to keep you from objecting to the crime against nature you�re going to commit when you give birth to your child and hand it over to a woman who, according to God and all he created, has no business raising this baby she did not sire herself.

If when you have the baby you find you just can't give it up, not to worry. Simply tell the dentist and his wife that you didn't realize it would be this hard and you're sorry. They'll be destroyed and might never recover, and you'll be jobless and penniless with no way of raising a child.

In sum, motherhood will triumph.

Happy Be A Surrogate Mother Day!

Carter The Unstoppable Unsolicited Massage Machine Day!

Your friend Carter is a little touchy. Not to say he's overly sensitive. Though he could be. You can't know who's crying behind closed doors when the nighttime comes. No, to say Carter is touchy means that he likes to touch girls with whom he has not previously had intimate relations of any sort. Many of these are girls that he has wooed without success. Many others are girls he has just met within the hour. To touch a girl who has not previously given her permission to be touched requires a strategy if one is to not be scolded or arrested. Carter's strategy is to come up from behind the girl he wishes to touch (surprise!) and without warning (again, surprise!) place his hands upon the girl's shoulders and commence a massage of the girl's shoulder and upper back tissue. Since a massage is normally a non-sexual service that relieves stress and is often paid for by the recipient, Carter may hide behind the apparent generosity of his providing such a service for free and without even needing to be asked. However, Carter has not been trained in the art of massage, and his technique often does more harm than good. Additionally, any fool can see that Carter's motivation is not to relieve the stress of the recipient. Carter administers these massages because he likes to give himself wood. And he doesn't like to wait until he's attained the consent of whoever might aid in this wood-getting. It's innocent enough and doesn't leave many scars, but nonetheless, all of your mutual female friends have caucused and they've decided that tonight they will forcibly remove Carter's hands from his wrists. They will use a hacksaw that they plan to buy later today at the hardware store. Don't get in their way, as they'll be forced to harm you as well. But be ready to take Carter to the hospital. Cover your backseat in plastic sheeting. Maybe you could go with your mutual female friends to the hardware store and buy a roll of plastic sheeting when they buy their hacksaw. Make a day of it.

Happy Carter The Unstoppable Unsolicited Massage Machine Day!

The Van Full Of Baby Penguins Is On Fire Day!

But first...

Happy Cruelty Day! is in stores today!

Check out HappyCrueltyDay.com for details and excerpts, or click on the amazon link below to buy a copy. And when you go to the Amazon page, do your best to skip past the truly heinous review from Publisher's Weekly and read the much nicer reviews just below it. And when you get a chance, post a review on the Amazon page yourself.

I've also seen the book on display (Face Out!) at several Barnes & Noble stores, usually in the humor section. If your bookstore doesn't have it, ask them to order it, even if you don't plan to buy it there. It makes them keep copies on-hand, I'm told.

I'm very excited about this book and I hope all of the fans of this site are as happy with it as I am. Be sure to hit the contact page and drop me an email to tell me what you think. Today's post is below the Amazon box...



A mother penguin and her baby penguins came into town this autumn and it wasn't long before the mother penguin got herself shot, leaving the baby penguins to fend for themselves. They've been living in a rotted out van on the far side of the creek. Right now the van is on fire and all those baby penguins are trapped in there. Get the door to the van open and save them. If they make it out alive, tell them to get out of town.

"The only thing this town did for you is it took your momma," tell them. "Now it's trying to cook you up. Seems this town wants your kind out of here. Be smart."

The baby penguins will leave by the end of the day. Tonight the town will throw a party for you for finally having gotten those godforsaken penguins to hit the goddamn highway.

Happy The Van Full Of Baby Penguins Is On Fire Day!

Escaped Prisoners Day!

Some inmates escaped from the maximum security prison up the road and they're all downstairs in your basement raping each other and having a grand old taste of Christmas freedom. They're holding your cat hostage (MR JUMBLEBELLY NOOOO!) and they warned that if you call the police, the cat gets it. They promised not to hurt Mr. Jumblebelly as long as you leave them alone to have fun on the best Christmas they've had in 20 to life.

They're goodhearted prisoners. None of them ever killed anybody who wasn't asking for it. 'Cept for that one family of four who walked in on Ol' Cozzy when he was robbing the safe, but they reminded Ol' Cozzy of the suburban life he used to dream about when he was growing up on the streets, so he had to take them out just to wipe the existence of that kind of life off the face of the earth.

They're banging on the basement ceiling. That means they want you to put one of your stereo speakers face down on the floor so they can hear Christmas carols too. In an hour or so, Mr. Jumblebelly is going to come sauntering into the living room, having wandered away from them when they weren't looking. You'll hold him to you and check him for injuries, but he'll be fine. Even though there won't be anything stopping you, you're still not going to call the police. Not just yet. By the sound of all that shouting and moaning and begging for dear life, those prisoners are just having too good a time to ruin their Christmas with a bunch of grinchy old policemen.

Happy Escaped Prisoners Day!

Snakefancy Magazine Day!

Ever since the launch of your pet-lover's niche magazine, Snakefancy!, you've been getting kicked in the crotch on circulation by Catfancy, Dogfancy, even Tarantulafancy has a wider readership. It's time to make some changes. From now on, no more cutesy photos of snakes leaning on remote controls so it looks like they're watching TV. Starting today, the only photos you should print are the ones sent in by readers that show a snake with a big lump in its body in the shape of whatever living thing it just ate and is trying to digest. It's about knowing your base.

Happy Snakefancy Magazine Day!

Welcome To The World Of Strep Throat Day!

She didn't seem that sick when you met her at the bar last night. But when you wake up this morning, her side of the bed will be empty. There will be crumpled up tissues everywhere. You'll look around the apartment for her, but no dice. She clearly split while you were asleep. You'll try to shrug it off. This isn't the first one-night stand you found yourself in, but it still stings. You'll go into the bathroom and turn on the light, and that's when you'll learn why she went home with you last night. Written on the mirror in lipstick, the long, jagged, blood-red letters will read:

WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF STREP THROAT!

You've heard about this kind of thing happening to friends of a friend, but you always figured it was just a kind of urban myth. Could there be women out there who go home with men just to infect them with strep throat? Are there strep throat patients who feel so violated at having been infected that they need to exact revenge on the entire sex of the person who infected them? You start to wonder at the politics of sex and romance and whether things have sunk to such a sad level. Then you'll cough a bit. You'll hold your fingers to your throat and you'll have your answer. The glands are swollen.

Hope you enjoy having severe trouble swallowing for the next three days.

Happy Welcome To The World Of Strep Throat Day!

Give Them Back Their Neighborhood Day!

You've been spending a few days in the basement of a sample home in a middle class Milwaukee suburb. The neighborhood would be idyllic except that it's become overrun by teenage street gangs who crowd the streets all night smoking cigarettes, riding their motorcycles back and forth, and dancing in a ribald manner. The neighborhood crime watch tried to stand up to them, but they backed down when the street gangs set fire to the crime watch leader's kids. You're going to have to help them take back their neighborhood.

"Forget what you used to dream about having a family and a big house with a tree," tell the crime watch members. "The more you think that's what life's supposed to be like, the more they're taking from you. To fight these gangs, you have to admit that you live in their world. That way, you have just as little to lose as they do. Don't fight to take back your streets. Fight because you just wanna crack their heads open. That's the way they fight. Think they're defending their honor? Think they care about anything like that? They fight for kicks. They steal for fun. They ruin your lives just because they ain't got the money to go to the movies. We gotta come at them with the same thrill-killing thirst for blood that they have. Let's do it, but let's make sure we're doing it for the fun of watching a bunch of wayward youths die."

When you're done your speech, the neighborhood crime watch will be revved up to go. Train them in hand-to-hand combat and weaponry for a half-hour or so, then lead them into the streets for the big brawl.

Before the fight begins, you'll recognize the leader of the street gang. The two of you will chat about the old times a bit, then the fight will start and the neighborhood crime watch will kick the street gang's ass. The street gang will take off running, but now that they've gotten the taste in their mouths, the neighborhood crime watch will want more blood. So they'll start invading neighboring housing developments, breaking windows and stealing lawnmowers and smacking down anyone who tries to stand in their way.

Seems like every time you try to help you only manage to make things worse. Your daughter better be glad you ran off.

Happy Give Them Back Their Neighborhood Day!

Reconstructive Surgery Day!

You have some extra money, so it's about time you treated yourself and got your face surgically reconstructed so that you look just like a young Rutger Hauer.

"I never really liked my face all these years," you'll explain to the doctor. "I look a lot like my Dad and man alive is he ever a son of a bitch!"

The doctor will say, "I don't want your life story. It's really depressing. We gonna do this?"

After the surgery, you'll spend some time with your head wrapped up in gauze so that you look like a big Q-Tip. Once the bandages come off, you'll race over to your sister's to celebrate Christmas with her family.

"Oh my God you don't look like Dad anymore! Merry Christmas to anyone who lays eyes on you!"

"But he does look like a young Rutger Hauer," a beautiful woman standing behind your sister will say. The beautiful woman is your sister's co-worker. She's single and really loved the movie Blind Fury starring Rutger Hauer. You and her will really hit it off and 2007 will be a year of enchanting romance. And not a day will pass that you won't thank your lucky stars that you made enough money last year so that you could pay to cut off your face.

Happy Reconstructive Surgery Day!

Jump Out Of A Plane Day!

You'll be the first to jump. The girl you love who only sees you as a really close friend is supposed to be next, but the skydiving instructor is really cute so while you're free-falling, they'll start to do it. You'll keep looking up trying to find the girl you love (but who only sees you as a really close friend) because you want her to catch up to you so the two of you can share this moment together. You won't see her, and you'll wonder what's taking so long. The beauty of the free-fall will take over for a moment, and you'll forget all about your futile efforts to win the girl you love. For just a second, the world will feel no larger than you and the pocket of wind containing you as you soar towards the Earth. It will be a magnificent moment of grace. Then you'll worry that the girl you love (but who only sees you as a really close friend) is still up in the plane because she's doing it with the skydiving instructor (she is). You'll whip your head up again to see if she's jumped and the wind will cause your neck to snap. You'll land, already dead, without your parachute having opened. The girl you love (but who only sees you as a really close friend) will stop having sex with the instructor when the pilot announces that your parachute never opened. They'll land the plane and run to you. She'll cry in the instructor's arms.

Happy Jump Out Of A Plane Day!

There's A Senator At The Door Day!

There's a United States Senator at your front door. He needs to use your phone. He caught a flat tire and his cell phone doesn't work around here.

"Think I could use your phone? You see I'm a very important man and I..." He'll trail off when he looks in your eyes and suddenly forgets about the flat tire, and Capitol Hill, and whatever ridiculous bill he voted through today simply because it pours some cash into the pockets of all the fatcats who put him into office, and the only thing in the world that will matter to him will be you and the 25 inches of space he needs to cross to take you.

"Senator!" you'll exclaim. But you won't put up a fight. It's right as rain.

"I gotta get some of that into my constituency," the Senator will say as he drags you through the house trying to find the bedroom. You won't stop kissing for a second. You'll feel like your whole life you've been waiting for the Senator to show up on your doorstep, you just didn't know it until he knocked. This is the start of something big. The Senator doesn't know yet that you're one of those high school teachers who was prosecuted for sleeping with her teenage students, and when he finds out (front page of The Washington Post on Tuesday, a pic of you and him kissing at a fundraiser under the headline "Senator Canoodles With Teen-Loving Teach"), boy is he gonna be peeved.

Happy There's A Senator At The Door Day!

Toboggan Day!

You're in a coma in a hospital bed because you and your wife tried to do it on a moving toboggan. You've been married for fourteen years now and things have been pretty terrible for the last two. Your wife has been pointing out all the fantasies and dreams that have gone unfulfilled, and yesterday she mentioned the toboggan.

"We never boffed on a toboggan while it sped downhill," she said. "You promised."

"How's tomorrow sound?" you replied.

After fourteen years together, you and your wife have very little sex as it is, let alone on a speeding toboggan. But you were pretty sure if you don't start coming through for her she's going to ask for a divorce. So this morning you dug the toboggan out of the garage and you and she drove to the big hill at Pullman's Creek.

You got there early enough to beat the school closing announcements so you were the only ones there. After finishing your coffees in the car, you and your wife started making out to try and get in the mood, or at least, near the mood. Once you got close enough, you both went outside and laid down on the toboggan to commence intercourse. Then you gave a push and started flying downhill while inside your wife. It wasn't long before you were thrown from the toboggan and you slammed headlong into a tree.

Now you're in a coma in a hospital bed, and you're terrified of waking up. After that horrible display on the toboggan, you're certain your wife will announce her decision to divorce you the minute you open your eyes. So you hope you stay in your coma for decades, forcing her to sit by your side waiting for you to come to. You wonder if she's there right now, holding your hand perhaps. Sometimes you think you can hear her voice, but that could be wishful thinking. Maybe she's not even there. It's possible that she just took off and she hasn't even come to visit you. It's possible. The only way to not find out is to not wake up.

Happy Toboggan Day!

Create A New And Super-Powerful Fuck Spray Day!

Lately it seems like there's a million new men's perfumes that you're supposed to spray on your body and when women breathe it in it makes them take off their clothes and get really violent. There's AXE and there's SLAP and there�s GOOMBAH and there�s MENTALLY RETARDED and there's LET'S GO, THIS PLACE IS FULL OF ASSHOLES and of course, there's the most successful of them all, I TOLD YOU I DON'T WANT A DRINK! I'M WITH SOMEBODY! DID YOU JUST CALL ME A LESBO?!

The market is crowded but every single one of these fuck sprays is a runaway success with no sign of slowing down. Today's the day to make and market your own.

Just take a plastic spray bottle, fill it with gasoline and some Altoids, then go outside and get a homeless mother of two to weep a few tears into it. Shake it up and slap a label on it: YOUR SUICIDE WOULD BE GOOD FOR EVERYBODY For Men. Then make a bunch of posters that show guys who should kill themselves - but who for some reason won't - surrounded by a dozen naked women who have started snapping each other's necks to try to be the first one to get the guy. Sell it for six bucks a bottle at video arcades and you'll be rich by Easter.

Happy Create A New And Super-Powerful Fuck Spray Day!

The Santa Who Wasn't Day!

Today, when your alarm goes off at 7 AM, you'll take a second to remember why you set your alarm in the first place (the last time you had to wake up early was six weeks ago for a court date). You'll spot the Santa Claus suit hanging on the back of your closet door and your heart will break. Your Uncle got you the job as a favor, and you need the cash since your unemployment runs out in two weeks and you have nothing on the horizon. Nonetheless, you're not going to go to the Boscov's and start work as a department store Santa today. Instead, you're going to lay in bed awake for a couple of hours, occasionally swearing at the Santa suit when you catch sight of it. By 9:30, you'll get up and take the Santa suit off the back of the closet door and toss it into the living room so it's out of your sight. You'll stay in bed until 1 PM, listening to the voicemails from the store as they come in. One voicemail tells you that they can't open Santaland until you get there. Another hopes that you're okay. The last one tells you that they need the Santa suit back, and that you can get your 30-dollar deposit back if you bring it in.

You bring the Santa suit in at 4 PM and the Boscov's HR person tells you can't have your deposit back since you prevented Santaland from opening. You feel stupid. Of course they told you you'd get your deposit back. They wanted you to return the suit and they knew you wouldn't if you thought you'd get stiffed. Sitting in the chair while the HR woman explains her policies, you think about all the things you could have done with that Santa suit if you had kept it. For example, you could have worn it on Halloween next Autumn.

Before you leave the Boscov's HR office, you decide to work up some tears to see if that will get you your deposit back. You really need that thirty dollars badly and you really don't care if some lady who works in the back office of a Boscov's sees you cry. You're surprised though when a torrent of real tears starts to flow. You tell the HR woman you're sorry and that you've had some personal issues lately that prevented you from making it to the Boscov's on time, and that you're sorry the kids didn't get to see Santa Claus today. By the time you're done begging, your sobs are so powerful that you're panting for breath. You're clearly letting out a whole lot more than just your sorrow over a lost thirty dollars. You're not even sure if you can stop crying.

The HR woman tells you she can't do it and sends you on your way. You cry all the way to the car and for the whole ride home. When you get home and get into bed, you continue to sob for several hours while watching TV. Eventually, you pass out and sleep for a full day.

When you wake up two days from now, you'll forget what day it is and you'll expect to find the Santa suit on the back of the closet door, but it will be gone.

Happy The Santa Who Wasn't Day!

Girl With A Gun Day!

The plan was for Cecilia to get the cash from the teller and then to grab you from your wife's side and take you hostage, announcing that if anyone tried to stop her she'd shoot you. Then you and Cecilia would race away to an airport in the next state and board a plane to Fiji, where you would live out your days together on the stolen cash.

"I just can't cast my wife aside," you told Cecilia. "I can't let her know. You have to make it look like I had no choice."

Cecilia said that's fine. The only thing you didn't count on was your wife's self-defense class not being a total joke. Just as Cecilia grabs your arm and announces that you're coming with her, your wife will wrench her gun arm behind her back and pin her to the floor (Cecilia really doesn't know how to hold that gun). Cecilia will be arrested and sentenced to five years in jail.

You'll visit monthly for the first year. But your wife's heroism will have reinvigorated your marriage. You just want to forget about Cecilia, but you know that if you stop visiting, she'll squeal about the plan. It would break your wife's heart and you would likely go to jail for conspiracy. But Cecilia will turn into something kind of monstrous in jail, and you'll start to worry over whether she'll still be expecting to see you romantically when she gets out. Ultimately, you'll decide that your only way out will be to go ask the mafia to have Cecilia killed in prison, but boy is that gonna open a whole other can of worms (the Mafia will start demanding a cut of your business. You own Vivendi/Universal).

Happy Girl With A Gun Day!

Spoiler Alert Day!

Colonel Mustard in the dining room with the candlestick. That's how the game of Clue you're going to play tonight will end. You'll win, because you just read this. Marcy Baker, the woman of the house (your car will have broken down on a snowy road and the Bakers will have kindly taken you in and invited you to spend the night since a tow truck won't make it through that storm), will sneak into your guest room and climb on top of you. She'll be naked and she'll lock you into a passionate kiss before you have a chance to protest. You'll tell her that you understand how attractive you must seem, having just won a children's board game, but what she feels for you is fleeting and what she and her husband share is forever. Marcy will try to convince you that the flame has been extinguished between her and her husband, that there might never have been a flame, and that you winning at Clue really has nothing to do with anything. Tell her she needs to go before her husband finds out. She'll let loose a peal of terrible sobs, the kind that are borne from a place of hopelessness. After she leaves, you'll hear the front door of the house open and close.

A few hours later, Louis Baker, the man of the house, will come into your room and stand by the door. You'll ask him where Marcy is and he'll tell you that she sometimes likes to go for long walks in the middle of the night. You'll suggest that maybe the two of you should go find her and that she seemed kind of upset earlier. Louis won't say anything. That's when you'll see that he has his hand in his pajama pants and he appears to be masturbating to you. "I'll put you in my mouth," he'll say. You'll tell him that he's only feeling this way because you have the glow of a man who just won at Clue. He'll insist that it's not that. He'll tell you that you don't know what sort of hell he's been living in all these years. That every word and deed of his adult life has been a lie. You'll tell him he might think it's that, but really it's because you won the board game. He'll pause in stroking himself to suggest that maybe you give a little more weight to winning at Clue than most people. He'll ask if you've ever won anything before. You'll give him your answer by turning your back to him and staring out the window. You'll hear him resume his stroking.

Who the hell is he to talk about winning? He doesn't seem like such a champ, standing in his guest room in the middle of the night masturbating over a stranger. You could have won more stuff. You just never felt like competing. You'll see Marcy coming up the walk but you'll keep it to yourself. A few minutes later, she'll come in and find her husband masturbating to the man in the guest bed. They'll divorce soon.

Happy Spoiler Alert Day!

You Have Parasites Day!

You recently ingested something that you shouldn't have (you found some lamb) and now you have parasites. Lots of them. They're indestructible and they grow to be as big as cockroaches. Even though they're eating away at you, you'll actually gain weight because the parasites retain a lot of fat and they'll get very heavy. Soon, they'll grow so big that it will be too crowded inside your body so the parasites will crawl out and live on your couch, crawling back into your body only when they're hungry. If you try to get the parasites to stop crawling in and out of your body, they'll guilt-trip you by telling you you're really selfish and if the roles were reversed, you can bet they'd let you crawl in and out of them. You'll agree to let them continue only after they promise to limit their eating away at you to three times a day. "Five max, dude," the parasites will say. Eventually your girlfriend will stop wanting to come over because of all the parasites on your couch 24-7. You'll beg the parasites to make themselves scarce when she comes over, and they'll agree to crawl inside your body and stay there until she's gone. So it'll eventually all work out.

Happy You Have Parasites Day!

The Orphans Got Loose Day!

There's either a rat in your basement or an orphan got in. Ever since the orphans escaped from the orphanage last month, the whole town has been warned to keep their doors and windows locked tight and to call the police if you see any children you don't recognize wandering around your house.

They like to sneak into houses and pretend they live there and are part of the family. They stay hidden mostly because they know if they're seen the dream will die. But eventually, they just can't resist revealing themselves in the deluded hope that the families will somehow welcome them into the fold. Some imagine that the families will size them up and decide, "We've been looking for an orphan about your height. Let's go sledding." Others hope that they can just kind of blend in without anyone realizing they didn't grow up there. You'll just be hanging around in your living room and all of a sudden this kid with a fucked up haircut you never saw before will walk past you like he knows where he's going. It never works out and it's always quite heartbreaking, just like nearly everything that has to do with orphans.

Go downstairs and check behind the water heater. That's where they like to hide. If you see an orphan, don't report him. Just scare him out the basement window by waving your arms a lot and shouting "WOOP! WOOP! WOOP!" The orphan will quickly rummage through his pockets and stick a lollipop in his mouth, trying hard to look cute in a hurry. He'll still have hope that you'll see a ragged innocence in him and he'll be too irresistible for you to send away. If he still refuses to leave, spritz him with ice water. They hate ice water. It's what the nuns at the orphanage make them take baths in.

Once the orphan is gone, you'll want to put up some razor wire. They hate razor wire even more than they hate ice water. Before you join your family for dinner, pull the shades down on all the windows in the house. Orphans like to press their noses up to people's windows and watch them eat dinner or watch TV together, and it'll make you feel like hell if you catch him peeking. Just like the orphan tried to pretend he lived there, you need to pretend that the whole experience with the orphan never even happened. If you let yourself remember that you sent an orphan back out into the cold where he'll probably be rounded up by the Squads, you'll try and make up for it by punishing your own kids and depriving them of things. It'll ruin Christmas.

Happy The Orphans Got Loose Day!

Fishing Buddies Day!

Go fishing today with Ned, your fishing buddy, and he'll try to take the relationship to a new level.

"What are you doing?" you'll ask.

Ned will look down at the bottle of whiskey in his hand. "Havin' a drink," he'll say.

"You're my fishing buddy, Ned," tell him. "I have a drinking buddy. His name's Pounder and he lives above a gas station. Now let's fish."

You and Ned will sit quietly with your lines in the water for what seems like an eternity but is in reality only around thirty seconds before Ned lights up a joint.

"What are you doing?" you'll ask. "Ned, you know that I already have a smoke buddy. His name's Chancellor Buzzforth and he runs a pottery studio in the Gay section of town. Put that thing out."

Ned will put out his joint and start knitting a sweater.

"Allison, Kim, Laura, Marie and Beatrice. They're all my buddies in my knitting circle and we don't need a seventh, Ned. Stow that stuff."

Ned will put away his knitting and he'll take out some porn and start masturbating.

"I've had the same circle jerk buddy since ninth grade. You've even met Joey, Ned. How could you?"

Ned will stir some brownie batter.

"GOD FUCKING DAMMIT! Baking Buddies?! Rex may be in prison for another four months but when he gets out you can bet we'll make one hell of a batch of cookies and I won't stab him in the back for you while he's gone!"

Ned will conjure a Phoenix.

"Sorcery Buddies?! You'd better hope Maximilian Of Gorgon is too busy with a potion to sense how you're trying to move in on me."

In quick succession, Ned will draw up plans for exacting punishment on everyone who's had it coming, he'll lust after his mother then put his eyes out, and then real fast-like he'll throw a Frisbee at a tree and then shout hole in one.

"No no no! I have a Payback Buddy. My Oedibuddy and I have been like two peas in a pod for over a decade now. And I am not looking for a Frisbee Golf buddy! Let's just fish, goddammit."

Ned will sit still for a moment, staring at the water. Then he'll say, "I need more of you."

The next eleven hours of fishing will be awkward.

Happy Fishing Buddies Day!

You Have A Very Specific Kind Of Telekinesis Day!

You can make people do cartwheels with your mind. That's it. You can't make inanimate objects fly around the room and you're not able to set stuff on fire without matches. Your talents are limited to being able to look upon a person in your presence, and if you will it to be so, the person will do a cartwheel.

Up until today, you will only use this ability on women who are wearing skirts so you can get a look at their underwear, if they're wearing any. You try to be respectful by only willing a cartwheel upon a woman if it�s clear that only you will see it. Never would you force a career woman out for lunch with colleagues to all of a sudden flip forward on her hands and expose herself to everybody. You did that once and the woman's companions just stopped in their tracks and stared. They didn't laugh or applaud. They stared for a moment, then they continued walking, forcing the woman to catch up. You can't help but think you caused an irreparable setback in that woman's career, and you've been far more selective of your cartwheel indulgences ever since.

Lately, you've been feeling rather dissatisfied with the sort of man you're turning out to be. You're thirty-eight years old and the one thing you have going for you is you get to find out what kind of panties women are wearing whenever you feel like it. Unfortunately, that doesn't get you any closer to some health insurance. The only time you demonstrate your character is when you refrain from making a very attractive woman in a dress do a cartwheel because she happens to be walking with a funeral party at the time. You feel the need to do more. Today you'll get the chance.

While you're waiting at a stoplight today, you'll spy a child running down the block across the intersection. A bus will be speeding towards the corner and the child will most definitely be crushed under the bus if he isn't stopped. At the same moment, a woman in a long paisley dress will be crossing the street perpendicular to the child�s path. If you make that woman do a cartwheel at exactly the right moment, she'll end up landing one of her twirling legs firmly on the child's chest and he'll be slammed to the sidewalk just as the bus comes screaming past. The child's sobs will let you know that he's alive. You'll continue your day, happy with the knowledge that for once you brought some good into the world. It will more than make up for the fact that the woman in the paisley dress was wearing a pair of bicycle shorts underneath.

Happy You Have A Very Specific Kind Of Telekinesis Day!

Do What Joan Jett Does Day!

Today you should go to the grocery store and stuff a steak under the coat of your five year old son and walk out like that. You learned it from that Joan Jett movie with Alex from "Family Ties" playing the goody-two-shoes who thinks he could ever in a million years tell Joan Jett what to do. In the movie, she's a broke rocker on tour with her kid and in order to bring home some dinner she shoves some meats under her son's clothes. She gets away with it, of course. But Alex catches her doing it and gets all "You're a bad mom" on her afterwards. What he should have been saying is, "You're motherfucking Joan Jett and that's a fact. Shit." If when you're in the store Alex from "Family Ties" walks up to you and tries to tell you that something you've done is wrong, show him your identification in order that he can be remembered who the fuck he thinks he's talking to. Then thank him for that campaign commercial he made. It helped.

Anyway, using a kid to shoplift from a store was bitchin' enough for Joan Jett, so it's bitchin' enough for you. Just make sure your kid doesn't complain about how cold the meat is when you're checking out or they'll find the steak and take him away from you forever. Social Services doesn't understand what it means to rock.

Happy Do What Joan Jett Does Day!

Double-Decker Tour Bus Full Of Witnesses Day!

Today after breakfast when you stab your husband in the chest with a steak knife, a double-decker tour bus full of visitors to your fair city will have just stopped in traffic and the full to the brim second tier of the bus will be at eye level with your second floor apartment window. They'll all turn to peek inside your kitchen just as you land the knife in his chest. They'll gasp when you pull the blade out and your husband slides from his chair to the floor. They'll yelp when you spit on his still-warm corpse. And they'll be frozen stock still when you turn to them and show them your eyes. In that instant, be sure to communicate with your eyes, your posture, and the shake of your head just how low your husband has made you feel these past twenty years. With the way your shoulders rise and fall when you breathe, let them know about the cheating and the terrible words and, even worse, the silence you've been forced to endure for two decades. When you drop the knife to the ground, show them how he never gave you a child. How he forbade an adoption. Show them in the way you close your eyelids how you discovered that he's been tricked by a mistress into raising her child, but you've never confronted him about it for fear of his rage.

With all of your being, show the passengers on the tourbus the entire history of your imprisonment with this man and you can bet every one of them will voluntarily tell the authorities of the man who brutally lunged at his wife with a steak knife and how, by a stroke of luck, the wife managed to get control of the knife and the man ran towards her and impaled himself on the blade. Every single one of those curious souls from out of town will be sure to tell the interrogating officer to pass along their prayers to the woman who tragically lost her husband this morning in an accident that was entirely his own doing. When the investigation is closed and you're cleared of all suspicion, move to a less historically significant neighborhood, or invest in some nice curtains, Knifey.

Happy Double-Decker Tour Bus Full Of Witnesses Day!

Shoot The Singer Day!

He's held sway over your heart for far too long. With just a quiver of his voice around an unintelligible lyric, the singer has the power to cast you into a world where hearts that break can't ever be healed, where people say goodbye before they should, where the only thing that makes any sense is when someone disappears. Just like a king with too much power, no one can expect to wield such omnipotent control without those under his reign getting it in their heads to rise up and ovethrow because they know they don't have anything to lose. The singer did himself in, really. Since you never knew anything to be true until he sang it for you, ultimately it will have to have been his song that told you to raise your gun above the crowd and pull the trigger and kill the singer. If it wasn't him that told you to, who then?

Who then?

Happy Shoot The Singer Day!

The Crackerjack Kids Day!

The Crackerjack Kids have been getting together to eat boxes of Crackerjack once a week for the past forty years. They've watched each other get married, divorce, climb corporate ladders and drop into pits of financial ruin only to climb back out again to find that nothing ever need be the definitive end of a man. And through all those years, the weekly meeting of the Crackerjack Kids has remained the one never-changing thing that they can all count on.

They're meeting again today. The designated gathering point this week is the men's room of the Roy Rogers at the intersection of Baltimore Pike and Founders Way. If you sneak into the bathroom to eavesdrop on them, make sure to hide in a stall and lift up your feet because they'll look underneath the doors to make sure they're alone. If they catch you hiding in there, God help you.

As with every meeting, the Crackerjack Kids will wait in silence until all have arrived. Then they will each pull his box of Crackerjack from his coat pocket and extend it into a circle so that all of the boxes touch. Then each of the Crackerjack Kids will guess what the prize in his box of Crackerjack might be.

'I bet I'll find a little bit of kindness inside my box of Crackerjack,' the first of the Kids will say.

'When I open up my box of Crackjack, I bet I will see the very face of God,' the next will say.

'I bet I'll find a decoder ring inside my box of Crackerjack,' the next Kid will say. This Kid will have made a realistic guess because today he really thinks it will be a decoder ring.

'I bet when the prize inside my box of Crackjack reveals itself, it will be a large bubbling bucket of tits,' the next will say. He will make his guess with utmost gravity and no one will laugh.

'My box of Crackerjack contains the name of my future wife,' the last Kid will say. 'That's my guess and I'm sticking to it.'

Then, if you managed to hide in the stall, you'll hear the Crackerjack Kids rip into their boxes and fish for their prizes. You won't be able to see what the prizes turned out to be. You'll just listen to them murmur little grunts of acknowledgement and disappointed 'Hm's'. Then they'll chomp into their caramel covered popcorn without speaking again. One of them will be weeping. You'll be pretty certain. The others will slap his back in comfort. Then, once all of the contents have been eaten, the Crackerjack Kids will drop the empty boxes to the floor where they're standing and they'll open the Men's room door and leave.

If you managed to hide in the stall, you'll walk out to where the Crackerjack Kids were and you'll see scattered among the boxes the little plastic-wrapped prizes that they each found. A toy car. A temporary tattoo. A superball. A mini-kaleidoscope. And sure enough, a decoder ring. You can only assume that the one who got the decoder ring was not the one who guessed it. But the assumption is unfounded. It's not likely that had any of them guessed right, they would have exclaimed or even acknowledged the premonition. The Crackerjack Kids don't do it for the sake of getting a guess right. They just wanna get together and hold a tradition tight.

Happy The Crackerjack Kids Day!

Consummate And Die Day!

Immediately after marrying the love of your life, a madman is going to trap the two of you in a pressure-controlled chamber and he'll slowly suck the oxygen from the chamber until the two of you are dead. You need to breathe as little as possible so you have more time to figure out how to get out of there. The trouble is, you're overcome with love for each other and you have been saving yourselves for marriage, thinking that it would be better if you waited. If you choose to consummate your marriage, all that panting and swearing will surely use up far more oxygen than is being allotted you and you'll likely die just after climax. But if you manage to remain chaste in the interest of staying alive long enough to escape, you might fail in your escape attempt and you'll die without ever having physicalized your love. There's no point in telling you what to do since you're both going to be naked and barking in each other's faces in the time it takes to read the first sentence of this post. To each his own, and be sure to pack a lifetime into every touch.

Happy Consummate And Die Day!

Happy Clown Beat Up Sad Clown Day!

Today in the ditch out behind the circus tent, Steve the Happy Clown beat up Maggie the Sad Clown. He beat her up pretty bad too. She's going to sit out the next few shows. And Steve the Happy Clown is being brought up on charges. He won't be coming back to the show before you pull up stakes and move on to Duluth. Which means...THIS IS YOUR BIG CHANCE! No more spending the whole show running around shooting off confetti bazookas while Steve and Maggie hog the limelight. You're gonna be front and center starting tonight so shine those big floppy shoes and thank your lucky stars that Steve the Happy Clown is such a goddamn maniac. When that big top gets introduced to Marty the Stupid Clown tonight, they'd better be ready to OD on hilarity even faster than Libby the Languorous Clown OD'd on H last month!

Happy Happy Clown Beat Up Sad Clown Day!

You Made The Movie 'Deck The Halls' Day!

Today, you are the creator, screenwriter, director, producer and chief financier of the movie Deck The Halls, starring Matthew Broderick and Danny Devito. Additionally, for today only, you are Matthew Broderick and Danny Devito. Within the confines of these 24 hours, you are solely and completely responsible for the existence of a major motion picture about Christmas decorations. From you came the scene in which Matthew Broderick slides off of a roof and lands in the snow at the foot of a fake elf. From you came the part where Danny Devito takes a giant ceramic Prancer right in the testicles. From you came that one scene where they're in a car about to drive off of a cliff or into a lake or through the bay window of a crowded school for children with multiple sclerosis and instead of trying to turn they both just stare out the windshield and release in unison a hilarious gaping-mouth scream. You are the only reason that this movie exists, and therefore, within the confines of these 24 hours, you are the most detested person on the face of the Earth. And yes, your unparalleled depravity glows so bright, we can even see it from space.

Happy You Made The Movie 'Deck The Halls' Day!

Car Chase Day!

He�s chasing you because you�ve got his wife in your backseat. She�s trying to put her clothes on, but you�re weaving and swerving so much that she keeps getting thrown around back there. You�re driving naked. That�s what you were wearing when her husband pulled into the shopping center parking lot where you and her were doing it and he came running at your car with a tire iron. He shattered one window and created a spider-web on the windshield and you can barely see out of it.

�Pull over,� his wife is saying now. She�s in her clothes and she�s staring through the rear windshield at her husband. �Pull over,� she�s saying because she doesn�t care about what happens you. She never thought her husband would keep chase with such determination just to kill the man who laid a hand on her. She�s watching his car and she�s afraid her husband is going to have a change of heart and pull off at an exit any minute now. She�s terrified of it being too late. �Pull over,� she�s saying.

Her clothes are on and she�s speaking to you without taking her eyes off the car behind her. She�s trying to see his face. Her clothes are on and you�re all alone.

�Sorry,� you say.

You�re on the highway now. You�re doing seventy-five and he�s right behind you. He�s not trying to ram you off the road. He�s just keeping pace with you, letting you know that no matter how far you decide to drive, he�ll be right behind you. Cars run out of gas eventually, and he�ll be right behind you when you do.

Happy Car Chase Day!

Marching Into The Sun Day!

Today the bus carrying a high school marching band to a competition in California will break down in the middle of the desert. The overweight virginal band-members will pour out of the bus and immediately succumb to panic under the blinding hot sun. The bassoon player will find a bush with berries and he'll call his band-mates over and they'll all quickly strip the bush of its fruit. The berries will turn them mad and they'll become savage. Now communicating only through a language created by the music from their instruments, the band will slaughter the bus driver and strip his body of its meat, which they'll eat by fire tonight.

Soon the fathers will come searching for them. They'll hear the sounds of their children's instruments playing from far across the desert. They'll follow the sound, which will be a loud steady hum as they get closer, into a dark cave. Once inside with no idea how to turn back, the fathers will discover that the instruments are sitting in a drafty chamber of the cave and they were being played only by the wind flowing in and out. That's when the marching band will descend from the walls and slaughter their fathers. They'll strip their fathers' bodies of their meat.

The marching band will survive for many decades, luring rescue teams and nature lovers into the cave with the sound of their instruments, and then slaughtering them and stripping the bodies of their meat. They'll finally disband when a development company levels their cave so that they can open a hotel on it.

Happy Marching Into The Sun Day!

That Guy You Went Home With Last Night Gave You Rabies Day!

As far as you knew, he was just a nervous guy drinking alone on a Sunday night while soused revelers were partying all around him. You didn't know he had been cleaning his basement earlier that day and when he reached behind the water heater he got bit by a raccoon. The warning signs were there you suppose. As the night wore on, his movements grew more and more jerky and he sort of started growling. And he kind of spat when he talked. Though he didn't really start foaming at the mouth until you were in bed together. Once in bed, he really turned furious. Not just the nibbles on your skin, but he would bury his head in your shoulder like he was trying to shove your bone out of its socket with his forehead. And afterwards, he just got dressed and took off. You thought he was just that type, but you now know he must have needed to rush off and find something fleshy to tear apart in his teeth.

You just had defrosted some hamburger and ate it raw with your hand. You can't stop drooling all over yourself, and you're kind of barking. You made a date to go see Volver with Laura, but you'd better cancel. Tell her that guy you went home with last night gave you rabies. Laura will tell you that that happened to her once and that the guy ended up taking her to the hospital and held her hand while she got her shots. That will make you feel more alone than ever. When Laura asks you if you need her to go to the hospital with you, you'll lie and tell her that the guy you went home with last night is taking you. You could use Laura's company, but you and her are always kind of competing and you don't want her to know that the guy who gave her rabies cared more about her than the guy who gave you rabies cared about you.

Happy That Guy You Went Home With Last Night Gave You Rabies Day!

Happy Baby Your Butthole Gets Me So Hot If I Found Out It Had Previously Been Used As An Indian Burial Ground I'd Just Go Ahead And Move The Headstones Without Even Digging Up The Bodies If It Meant I Could Get Up There Faster Day!

Today one of the kids you used to babysit is going to approach you in a bar and give you a very potent pickup line that makes it clear that not only does he not recognize you, but that all the times you used to let him stay up late and watch Poltergeist really had an effect on him.

'Milton?' you'll say. 'Remember me?'

'Laura?' he'll say. 'Oh my God this is so embarrassing.'

'Jesus,' you'll say. 'I used to change your pajamas when you wet the bed.'

Milton will say, 'Oh my God do you not find that hot?'

You'll concede that it is kind of hot.

'I have Poltergeist II back at my place,' hell say.

'I bet you do,' you'll say. 'I have to know though, would you really just move the headstones? Or was that just a line?'

Milton will move real close so that you can taste his breath when he pants, 'I wouldn't even move the headstones.'

That's when you'll know you've just begun a superhot affair with the kid you used to babysit who apparently grew up to be one hell of a ghost-story lover/ass-freak.

Happy Baby Your Butthole Gets Me So Hot If I Found Out It Had Previously Been Used As An Indian Burial Ground I'd Just Go Ahead And Move The Headstones Without Even Digging Up The Bodies If It Meant I Could Get Up There Faster Day!

Fall In Love With A Prophet Of Doom Day!

You can see him standing on his street corner in sunshine and in rain, waving his sign to warn his neighbors of the coming end. He has a few different signs with varying copy. He picks which one to wave each day according to how he's feeling that particular morning. If he's feeling particularly generous, he'll go with 'Repent For The End Is Nigh.' If he's in a funk and he really doesn't have much hope for the capacity of the human soul, he'll go with 'The End Is Nigh. Justice Is Come For The Sinner.' And then he's got, 'The End Is Nigh: Haha!' for when he's really pissed.

Most people give him a wide berth, thinking he's just a loon off his meds. But you can see something deeper there. There's his dedication to task for one thing. He certainly works harder at warning the populace of the coming doomsday than your last boyfriend worked on that 'novel' he claimed to be writing. You're pretty sick of guys who are all about 'tomorrow.' I'll change your light bulbs tomorrow. I'll look for a job tomorrow. What if today I have an orgasm and I give one to you tomorrow.

Maybe it's time to get yourself a guy who believes that there isn't going to be a tomorrow.

'The end of the world is nigh!' he'll be shouting when you spot him outside your office today. 'Repent! The end of the world is nigh.'

Sounds like he's in a good mood. Approach him.

'The end of the world is nigh,' he'll say. Then he'll spot you smiling at him. He'll look into your eyes and he'll say just to you, 'The end of the world is nigh.'

Say, 'Then let's make the most of it.'

'Now that's what I call a prophecy,' he'll say. Then he'll toss his sign in the trash, grab you by the hand, and pull you into a tango. You'll dance on the sidewalk and into the oncoming traffic, your feet barely touching the ground as your sage flings you this way and that, sending you twisting towards the gathering crowd only to yank you right back to cuddle up against his many filthy overcoats. When he gets thirsty from the activity, he'll drag you into a liquor store and he'll hold a hunting knife to the counterperson's neck while you take your time picking out several bottles of the finest champagne. Night will be falling and off you'll both go into the dark and dangerous city, running and screaming and drinking from the bottle as you dance in and out of velvet adorned clubs and the most romantic of private lounges. The next dozen hours will be a blur of laughing, kissing, dancing and champagne. Not a single moment will pass wherein you don't feel your prophet's hand in yours. It will be clear he's been waiting for someone like you for as long as you've been waiting for someone like him.

At sunrise, when you're laying in the middle of a rooftop garden you broke into, staring off at the cityscape with your head in your prophet's lap, you'll ask, 'Is the end really nigh?'

'I sure hope so,' he'll say. 'If the world ends tonight I'll die the happiest man on the face of the planet.'

You'll kiss your prophet and he'll wrap his arms around you tight, and you will be overcome with such bliss that when the storm of hellfire rises up and incinerates the world, the world will react with a loud and unanimous shriek of terror and pain, but the two of you won't be able to add anything to the chorus beyond a single soft and contented sigh.

Happy Fall In Love With A Prophet Of Doom Day!

You're Marrying The Wrong Guy Day!

Today your wedding will not be interrupted when the guy you should be marrying shows up and makes a big scene to stop the ceremony and convince you that you're making a mistake. Instead, he's going to wake up next to a girl he sometimes sleeps with when the two of them are both bored and wasted. He went out with some friends last night to try to take his mind off the fact that you're getting married to the wrong guy. They went to a big drugged out party in his old neighborhood and he saw a lot of people he hasn't seen in quite a while because whenever he sees them he always ends up getting a little too ill. The girl he sometimes sleeps with was there, and they went home to her place.

Her place is awful, and today he's going to wake up there, next to her. Instead of taking off immediately like he normally would, today, because you're marrying the wrong guy, he'll stick around and let her make him breakfast and they'll play-act like they're a couple with a chance in hell. Though, it won't take very long before she drops a frying pan on her foot and runs into her bedroom to get high and stay there. He'll put on his clothes and leave.

He'll walk home, trying to keep from being in any one place where he can be found. While you're getting into your dress, he'll be at a record store looking at CDs that he intends to buy on another day. While you're having your hair done, he'll be at a Subway Sandwiches Shop eating a footlong Italian BMT while reading a free newspaper. When your mother comes in to tell you that you look beautiful and to complain about what your Dad's new wife said to her, he'll have bought a pack of cigarettes for the first time in eight months. Since you're marrying the wrong guy, he decided to start smoking again today. It's the kind of thinking where he can rationalize, 'Hey this is a mistake, but it's nowhere near as dangerous as what she's doing.'

Don't worry that he forgot about you. No matter where he is or what he does today, he'll be thinking about what he could have said the last time he saw you to make you call off the engagement. He told you he missed you and he warned you that he would need to avoid you in the future because it hurt to see you anymore. But he never said, 'Don't marry him.' He can't put it all out there like that.

Just like he's not able to burst into a crowded church right after a priest asks the congregation to speak now or forever hold their peace. He couldn't imagine standing there with 300 heads turned around to get a look at him and hear what he's got to say. And then, with everyone looking at him, he'd have to say that he loves you and he's dying without you and he'd have to say that the guy you're marrying is no good for you with the guy standing right there staring at him. That's insane! I mean who would do that?

As far as he's concerned, he blew it. And when the priest asks the congregation to speak now or forever hold their peace, he'll be playing one of those roller-ball video golf games at a bar where it's okay to come in during the day and drink because they show sports on the TV. When the priest says, 'You may kiss the bride,' he'll be on the sidewalk smoking his first cigarette in eight months. You'll have already filed for divorce before he quits again.

Happy You're Marrying The Wrong Guy Day!

Shut Down The Factory Day!

Today you and some of those miserable hippie fucks you hang out with should go and shut down the factory. Just make a bunch of signs that say POISON and MURDERERS and STOP ASSASSINATING OUR OVARIES WITH YOUR WASTE. If you know what product the factory makes, make signs that read [PRODUCTS] = CHILD-FACE RAPE.

Once you and the rest of the filthy hippie pieces of shit have all your signs misspelled and decorated with peace symbols and daisies and shit, go down to the factory before it opens and form a "human" barricade so that no one can drive into the parking lot without killing at least a couple of you wretched little ungrateful hippie vagrant scum. Even though most of society would jump for joy if they found out a handful of you long-haired drug addicted granola eating shit-dicks had been dragged underneath a car until you�re dead, the United States criminal justice system will still charge your killers with murder because the United States criminal justice system still insists that you�re entitled to the same rights as people who actually work and attend church. So no one�s going to be willing to run you down and risk going to jail for it.

The factory will have to phone up the police to take you away and hopefully beat you with night-sticks. But when the police come, the media won�t be far behind, and that�s when your oh-so-very-noble crusade will really make some big strides. The media will portray you as concerned citizens, not leeches sucking on the neck of society, because the media, well let's not even get started on those prostitutes. Once you're all made to look like a bunch of angels, local government figures will be forced to launch an investigation into the accusations you�ve made with your signs. With any luck, the factory will be shut down within six months and the whole town will be out of work just like you and your lice-ridden, unbathed, free-love practicing hobo commie friends. Except unlike you, the whole town was hoping to feed their kids something besides a plate of cheetos and old dandelions, but I suppose you'll be setting the menu for God-fearing Americans from now on, won't you. Congratulations reprobate.

Happy Shut Down The Factory Day!

Funeral For Your Forbidden Love Day!

You and Kevin fell in love even though you're poor and Kevin's rich. But Kevin's parents wanted him to marry Bunny, a rich girl who was really boring but was at least Kevin's Dad's friend's daughter. So she was vouched for and whatnot. It wasn't a total cold-call.

But still, you're the one that he loved, so it was really hard for him to go ahead with the wedding. His Dad knew he had to get you out of the picture or Kevin would never agree to marry Bunny. So he offered you a hundred grand to tell Kevin that it was over between the two of you, and to stay away from him forever. You took the money because you're really poor, and so you told Kevin to give up the dream and he went ahead and married Bunny.

Everyone figured that would be the end of it. Kevin and Bunny would be rich and raise a family in a loveless home and you'd use your hundred grand to start a car service or a whorehouse or something. But Kevin ended up feeling so distraught over his lost love that he went ahead and turned on his car with the garage door closed and just sat there. Today's his funeral. You should go and say a few words.

The family will probably try to keep you from getting into the church, so be sure to wear a big hat with a veil. In between eulogies, just get up from the pew and march up to the pulpit as sure as if your name was in the processional program. Keep your eulogy brief. Just say something along the lines of how Kevin's Dad paid you to break his son's heart and while the money really came in handy, it was wrong of Kevin's Dad to offer it to you and therefore Kevin's death is his Dad's fault. If someone suggests that you are just as much to blame for taking the money, tell them that you were perfectly content with getting Kevin's Dad's money by marrying Kevin and making him happy for the rest of his life. You probably would have gotten a lot more if it had worked out that way, you should add. But Kevin's dad wanted to keep it to a hundred grand and who are you to tell someone what to do with his money. So it's Kevin's Dad's fault.

Once everyone at the funeral starts nodding their heads as if to say 'that makes sense' or 'she has a point,' you can go back to your pew and mourn some.

Happy Funeral For Your Forbidden Love Day!

Virgin Sacrifice Day!

You and your friends had a de-virginization race and you lost. So today you're going to be ritually sacrificed. Rules are rules.

'Isn't there any other way?' your mother will ask.

'Sorry mom,' you'll say. 'I couldn't close the deal. As the last and only virgin in my social circle, I have to be lain upon an altar and have my arteries opened up so that I may bleed into buckets.'

'Of course there's no other way,' your Dad will shout at your mom. They don't get along, and this sacrifice thing is especially hard on them. 'Didn't you ever go to high school? He's the last virgin for God's sake!'

Your Dad will grab you behind your neck and look into your eyes. 'I'm proud of you boy,' he'll say. 'You hear me? When I was growing up the virgins would pack up and head to Canada or Mexico. Cowards they were, had no problem choosing to live a life without honor. I'm sorry that you have to die, but I'd be even more sorry if you had to live like a coward.'

'Oh there must be something we can do!' you mother will shout.

'The virgin surrenders his blood so that at homecoming we may drink from him and taste of lost purity!' your father will bark. 'Jesus, didn't you ever go to high school!'

Your mother will continue blubbering while your father will murmur something about how your mother was probably one of the 'brainiacs' who never had sex and never took part in any sacrificial rituals. Then the doorbell will ring.

Standing on your front step will be Casey, the girl you like.

'I wanted to say goodbye,' she'll say. 'I'm sorry I couldn't help you.'

You'll nod.

'Look,' she'll say. 'I had a little brother who died when he was six. My parents still haven't gotten over it, and it would kill them if they lost me or my brother too. So I had to make sure that wouldn't happen. If I had had sex with you, it would have been like I was helping my brother lose the de-virginization race. I couldn't risk him being the last one to lose his virginity.'

'I kinda figured that was why,' you'll say. 'But if there wasn't any chance of your brother being sacrificed, would you have done it with me?'

'But that's silly. There's always to be a sacrifice.'

'WOULD YOU HAVE DONE IT WITH ME!' you'll explode, shaking her by the shoulders.

'Of course! Of course!' she'll scream. 'I wanted my first time to be with you. Only with you! I loved you!' She'll turn around and run from your house.

You'll close the door and find your Dad waiting with a white tunic in his hands.

'This was what your Uncle Martin wore when he was laid to rest on the altar,' he'll say. 'I was as proud of him as I am of you. I always knew you were just like my little brother. Will you wear his tunic?'

Say, 'With pleasure Dad.'

You'll don the decades old garment and when you get in the car and wait for your father to drive you to the sacrifice, you'll have a big satisfied smile on your face. You may be about to have your blood drained out of you into some buckets, but you got your answer. Casey, the girl you've liked since fourth grade, has admitted that she would have had sex with you if you lived in a world where sex wouldn't hasten her own brother's murder. And everyone in high school knows that if you can imagine a world in which you would have been able to have sex with somebody, well, it kind of counts.

Happy Virgin Sacrifice Day!

The Mafia Wants A Piece Of Christmas Day!

Today you're going to set up your trees in the parking lot, officially launching the Christmas season. Not long after you stack the last tree for display, the mafia will come into the lot and set all your trees on fire. Then they'll tie you up in garland, stuff a Christmas ball in your mouth, and stick an angel to the top of your head with duct tape. They'll tie you to a signpost by the street so that everyone can see you wrapped up like a human Chistmas tree with the fires rising behind you. That'll let everyone who sees you know that no one sells Christmas trees in this town unless the mafia says so.

Before the mafia leaves, you'll start to hum 'Hark The Herald Angels Sing' through the Christmas ball in your mouth. The mafia will look a little confused at first. Then they'll get angry and start telling you to stop. You'll hum louder, switching songs into 'Silent Night,' and they'll get even angrier. Soon they'll be punching you and cracking at your knees with a club, but you won't stop it with the Christmas carols. By the time you're humming 'Frosty The Snowman,' you'll be covered in blood. The mafia will be out of breath, but you'll notice that they'll also have tears on their cheeks. They'll continue to slap and strike you, but with lighter blows. Until they stop hitting you altogether, and they all just stand there by the side of the road, panting, and listening intently as you hum 'Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer.'

A few of them will drop to their knees, exhausted in body and in spirit. They'll scream at the sky, how have we let ourselves become who we are? What has brought us to this? Finally defeated by the spirit of Christmas, one of them will go to you and yank the Christmas ball out of your mouth.

'I'm sorry,' he'll say. 'We're all sorry for what we've done. We shouldn't be messing around with Christmastime.'

You'll tell him it's okay.

'Sing 'The Christmas Song,' he'll say.

You'll shake your head, letting him know you don't know that one.

'Chestnuuuuts'roasting on an open fire'' he'll start. The rest of the mafia will sing along. He'll turn again to you and you'll shrug.

'Never learned it,' you'll say.

He'll suddenly whip his gun out and point it at your forehead. Then he'll say, 'Bang!' and start laughing like a drunk man. The mafia will free you from your bonds, then they'll teach you the Christmas song. You'll join the mafia as they go door-to-door caroling. They'll make lots of money because they're the mafia, and anytime someone slams the door in their faces or tells them it's too early in the year, you'll help the mafia set their houses on fire and drag the fathers out into the street to be beaten in front of their children and wives. 'Serves them right,' you'll think. 'Slamming the door on Christmas.'

Happy The Mafia Wants A Piece Of Christmas Day!

You're Sick And Tired Of Being Jerked Around Day!

Tonight on your way home you'll, remember that you need to pick up some kitty litter from the pet store. You'll arrive at the pet store at 9:40 PM, but the store will have closed at 9, as it does every night. Because you are sick and tired of being jerked around, you'll pick up a trashcan from in front of a neighboring building and toss it through the storefront window, which will show them. The burglar alarm will clang as you climb through the window, find your bag of litter, and climb back out onto the sidewalk, because this is America. Before you reach the end of the block, a police squad car will skid to a halt beside you and the two officers will jump out and point their guns at you, demanding that you drop the litter and put your hands up.

'Figures,' you'll say. Then you'll do as they command and you'll be taken to the station and charged with destruction of private property, burglary, and theft, because that's how they like to screw people like you.

You'll attend your trial with your mouth sealed with the duct tape that you put there yourself, and when you stand for sentencing, you'll keep one fist upraised at all times. The judge will concede that this is your first criminal offense of any kind, and if you were to take the tape off and perhaps say a few words of contrition, it might be beneficial. You'll roll your eyes, because you know that taking your tape off and speaking in your own defense is exactly what they'd love for you to do, because they never get tired of sticking it to ya. The judge will sentence you to nine months in jail and 100 hundred hours of community service. As he reads your sentence, you'll hum 'Amazing Grace' from behind your duct tape very loudly.

When the judge finishes reading your sentence, he'll sit in silence for a moment to listen to your humming and try to figure you out. Finally, he'll shake his head ruefully and signal the bailiff to take you away. That night, the judge will rant to his two sons at dinner about how a lot of people are starting to feel like they aren't getting a fair shake when it comes to stores refusing to stay open later than they claim they will and policemen arresting people for committing crimes. His two sons will giggle because the judge has a very pronounced speech impediment and now that they're old enough, they know how funny it is.

Happy You're Sick And Tired Of Being Jerked Around Day!

Fundamentalist Starbucks Day!

Your local Starbucks is like a living room away from home for you. You love to go there and slip on some headphones and get lost in a good book, forgetting all about your two roommates for a little while. Your local Starbucks would be perfect if it wasn't for the creepy church group that's always hanging out there.

They don't preach to the other customers. They don't even talk all that loud. It looks like they just go there at night to chill out after a meeting of some kind. At first you thought they were just another AA after-crew, but then you saw one of them absently folding one of the poorly illustrated pamphlets that talk about Christ as if he were a lovable cartoon dog.

As soon as you found out they were a church group you were suddenly unable to relax. You haven't been able to concentrate when you read because you're always looking over at them to see if they're going to pray or hold hands or something. Whenever one of them starts whispering to another, you get goosebumps. You can't quite explain why, they just creep you out and you want them to go. Here's how to do it.

Approach their couches and say, 'Listen Christians, lets make a deal. One of you comes out back with me and we have ourselves a fistfight. If I win, you all have to find another Starbucks where you can sit around and get all caffeinated while basking in the light of the Lord. If you win, I'll go over to the Dunkin Donuts across the street and you'll never see me again. Deal?'

The Christians will say 'Deal!' Then they'll nominate Martin, a tall blonde man who looks a little older than you, to represent their group in the fistfight. When you get out back, Martin will shake your hand and say, 'May the best man win.' Then he'll kick your fucking ass.

After the fight, Martin will help you up and you'll say that a deal's a deal and you'll go pack up your stuff. The Christians will demand that you stay at the Starbucks. They would feel terrible if they knew they were keeping you from your favorite coffee shop. You'll thank them for being so forgiving.

From then on, whenever you arrive at the Starbucks, the Christians will all shout your name and jokingly call you a Christian-hater and a pussy who got his ass beat by an altar boy. You'll laugh along with them and find yourself a seat that points away from their couches, because even though they proved to be really cool and really tough, they're still a church group and you just can't help it. They make you nervous.

Happy Fundamentalist Starbucks Day!

Heaven, Room 103 Day!

Today you are going to be bludgeoned to death in a motel room. You only went there because a man you met at a truck stop told you he had some crank, and he said if you come back to his room with him the two of you could have a party. Even though ninety-nine percent of such encounters end in a bludgeoning just like yours, you never saw it coming.

When you arrive in Heaven, the talking puppy at the gate will look up your name and find your accommodations. 'Ah, you're staying in the Eastern Pass. Would you like to go to your room immediately, or would you care to drop into the Room 103 Reunion Party?'

'The Room 103 Reunion Party?' you'll ask.

'The Room 103 Reunion Party,' the talking puppy will say. 'They're expecting you.'

The talking puppy will point one of his paws towards a gathering of clouds off to the right where perhaps three dozen people are laughing and sipping from goblets like they're at some sort of medieval cocktail party. The talking puppy will say, 'Go on. They can't wait to meet you.' Then he'll roll over and bark once.

As you walk towards the gathering of people, you'll remember that 103 was the number of the hotel room where you were killed. Before you reach the gathering, everyone will turn to you and shout your name with open arms.

As they welcome you into their circle, they'll hand you a goblet of frozen mango margarita and they'll introduce themselves and point on their bodies to where they were shot, stabbed, or beaten with hammers. This is the Room 103 Reunion Party, and the only way anyone's getting on the guest list is if they die tragically in Room 103 at the I-80 Best Western off of exit 33-B Westbound.

'Looks like you took the 103 expressway up!' they'll joke with you, in between tales of how they were lured back to the motel room against their better judgement. You'll meet prostitutes, pimps, drug addicts and dealers, closeted gay preachers, even a couple of night-shift motel operators who were stupid enough to knock on the door to find out if that was a woman's scream they just heard.

'He was my knight in shining armor,' one former prostitute will say with her arms wrapped around a former motel operator. 'According to the coroner report, I was killed instantly, but I swear I saw him in that doorway. The last thing I remember is this here motel operator doubling over after the John unloaded a shotgun in his belly. He heard me scream for help when the John started beating me, and he came knocking to try and save my life. Too bad for you, huh baby?'

The motel operator will say, 'Just doing my job.' The prostitute will kiss his cheek. You'll get the sense they're kind of an item now.

They'll ask for your story, and you'll tell them about the truck stop and the crank and the paranoid shouting that resulted in a telephone being buried in your head.

'He seemed so nice,' you'll say. 'Then he just turned into a monster. I don't know why he did it.'

A voice behind you will say, 'Just got carried away I guess.'

You'll turn and you'll gasp when you see his face. It's him, your killer, but with a pair of crystal clear eyes and a face that looks decades younger, like the years of abuse have been washed away. If this is how he looks, you suddenly want to get to a mirror because you must look fantastic.

'All that crank just kind of fried me,' he'll say. 'I'm really sorry.'

'How'd you get here?' you'll ask.

'I sparked up right next to your dead body and OD'd,' he'll say. 'Heart attack. They found the both of us dead side by side and it took them a while to figure out what the hell happened.'

You'll laugh in spite of yourself. 'I bet,' you'll say.

He'll say, 'No hard feelings?'

You'll lift your goblet and touch it against his. 'To room 103,' you'll say.

The others will hear your toast and raise their goblets in kind. 'To room 103,' they'll shout, and the lot of you will sip from your drinks, feeling a sense of belonging deeper than anything you ever felt while you were still alive.

Happy Heaven, Room 103 Day!

Fuck Boat Day!

Four months ago, right when the papers on your divorce were finalized, you bought a ticket on the Fuck Boat, an orgy cruise of the Caribbean. You figured it was time for you to get back out there, and the brochure said that most of the Fuck Boat's passengers are your age (55) or older. You were really looking forward to it. And then you got the call.

'I miss you,' your now ex-wife said over the phone just twelve hours before your cruise was scheduled to depart.

'I'm going on the Fuck Boat tomorrow,' you said.

'But I want you back,' she said. 'You can take your vacation, but I haven't seen anyone else yet. If you're thinking that we have another shot at it, I'd appreciate if you didn't have sex with anyone else.'

You said, 'But it's the Fuck Boat.'

Today you'll be leaning on the railing surrounding the pool deck, staring out at the sea. Just behind you, eighteen middle-to-senior aged people will be fornicating on series of four-person rafts floating in the pool. One of the women, very pretty and young (41) will join you at the railing and ask you if you'd like to jump in and join the fun.

'I'm still not sure,' you'll say.

She'll smile a pretty smile. 'It's only a four-day cruise,' she'll say. 'Better make your decision pretty quick. But you're not going to get a clear head by depriving yourself of the fun you came here to have.'

The woman will then run back to the pool and dive in. She's right, you'll realize. You bought this trip for yourself as a divorced man, and your decision to ride the Fuck Boat was made with the knowledge that it would affect only you and you alone. If your ex-wife had a change of heart and chose to barge back into your life at a point when she might get hurt, that's her decision. You don't know if her heart will change again by the time you get back, and until you're sure that you want to try again you should live your life the way you want. That's why you're going to stop frowning at the ocean, you're going to pull your swim trunks down around your ankles, and you're going to taking a running leap into the pool full of pale and slack flesh waiting for you. It's only a four-day cruise. Just like you have to decide whether you want to get back together with an overworked tax attorney who is prone to scolding more than cuddling, your ex can decide whether she wants to get back together with a middle-aged biophysicist who just got off the Fuck Boat after a four day cruise, and he spent every day making sure it was money well spent.

Happy Fuck Boat Day!

You Just Inherited Millions From That Lonely Old Man You Robbed Day!

Today a lawyer is going to come to your house and read you the will of that lonely old guy you robbed six years ago, the one who came into the bedroom while you were rooting through his drawers. You tied him up and he started talking a mile a minute while you were there. He asked you all sorts of questions about the modern world and you answered him honestly from your street-smart point of view. He found your candor refreshing and he talked on and on, not even seeming to mind that you were upending his bedroom, just as long as you continued to engage him. Before you left, he called you a wise and honest young man and he thanked you for your time. Then you stuffed one of his socks in his mouth, shoved the chair he was tied to over on its side, and took off. You were never caught.

The lawyer will read, 'To the straight shooter who robbed me six years ago and was more honest and direct with me than all the yes-man assistants I have ever employed, and who was far more endearing than anyone in that terrible family I failed to raise, and who in my final years gave me a glimpse of what it is to truly grasp and grab for an existence, I leave everything.'

You'll jump up and down, waking your baby. Unfortunately, the family will contest the will for years and years. You'll be front page news for a very long time with everyone wanting to know what you and the old man talked about. You'll keep it to yourself until you're given a huge deal to write a book called, 'The Old Man and The Burglar.' You'll recreate the night in that book, throwing in lots of fabricated details about you telling the old man what it's like to grow up in the projects and the old man teaching you about the sacrifice people like him made for their country during World War II. You'll write scenes in which you and the old man cry together, and one scene where you even kiss each other on the lips. It will be a huge hit, and you'll be glad you chose not to tell the real story about how the old man only asked questions about whether modern girls were taking it 'in the pooper' and how long it took before they let you 'put in the pooper' and whether 'the pooper' feels as good as he'd always dreamed it would those 91 years he spent on this Earth. Print the legend.

Happy You Just Inherited Millions From That Lonely Old Man You Robbed Day!

Clip-On Ties Day!

Last week you went to a psychic and she told you to always wear clip-on ties. You told her that you only wanted to find out who you should make a play for at work, but she said the only thing she could see in your future is a need to wear clip-ons. You told her you wanted your money back and she said that in addition to the clip-on thing, if you ask her for your money back you'll end up regretting it. 'I have brothers,' she said. You told her to fuck herself and give you your money back anyway, so she did.

Today one of her brothers will come to kick your ass and you're going to get into a big cliff-side fist-fight with him. You'll end up shoving the psychic's brother over the edge and when he starts to tumble backwards, he'll grab your tie to try and take you with him. Luckily, though you thought she was a charlatan, you'll have taken that psychic's visions to heart and her brother will yank your clip-on right off of your shirt and go flying to his death on the rocks below with the tie still clutched tight in his fist.

After you lean over the cliff and spit on the body, you'll go find that psychic and tell her she is truly a woman blessed with a vision. You'll give her the money you owed for that first reading and you'll tell her she was even right about you regretting taking the money back because if you hadn't, you might not be feeling bad right now about killing her brother in a first-fight.

'You're very honest,' you'll say. 'You obviously knew it was your brother who would grab that tie and you didn't have to tell me to wear a clip-on, but you knew it would save my life so you told me.'

She'll tell you that she had no idea her brother would die in a fight with you. Her brothers are really tough and she assumed they'd beat your ass bloody. She told you to wear a clip-on because when she tried to see into your workplace and figure who you should make a move on, all she could see was you leaning way to close to the paper shredder and your tie getting caught in the blades on the day of your performance review. She'll tell you she wishes she had told you to wear a noose for a tie so her brother could have grabbed the rope and snapped your neck with one quick yank before he died. She'll warn you that she knows a firestarter so don't be surprised if one of these days you're walking down the street and all of a sudden you just explode into a superhot motherfucking fireball.

Then she'll throw your money back at you and say, 'Now go find another psychic who's willing to help you get your candyass laid.'

You'll walk out sad. Once a week for the rest of your life, you'll visit the psychic's brother's grave to lay flowers on the soil. But the rest of your life only lasts five weeks before your belt bursts into flames and burns you in two.

Happy Clip-On Ties Day!

The Butcher's Thumb Day!

Today at the Taste of Italy festival, the butcher you've always had your eye on will be so distracted by your pretty face that he'll accidentally chop off his thumb while chopping up sausage and peppers to make you a sausage and peppers hero. You'll run and buy a sno-cone without any flavoring, then you'll shove the thumb inside the sno-cone and hop inside the ambulance.

On the ride to the ambulance he'll scream and yell about the pain and how if the thumb doesn't get reattached his career will be over. 'No one will buy food from a butcher with a missing digit,' he'll say. 'It makes people think there'll be thumbs and pinkies in everything I sell.'

You'll tell the butcher not to worry, that if he can't get his thumb reattached, you promise to take care of him. He'll say you're damn right you'll take care of him since your pretty face is the reason he chopped his thumb off in the first place. You'll sprinkle ice on his forehead and stroke his hair, all the while secretly hoping that they won't be able to reattach his thumb so that you'll finally have a live-in boyfriend.

After a marathon surgery, they'll reattach his thumb and he'll be overjoyed and excited to go back to his business. You'll be happy for him, but heartsick for yourself. You'll be shocked that it didn't even mean anything to him that you would pledge to take care of him forever as penance for what anyone would see was an accident resulting from the butcher's own carelessness. You'll be furious with him and you'll stay as far away from his butcher shop as possible.

After many months of eating terrible meat, you'll finally return to his butcher shop. When he sees you, he'll stop in his tracks. He'll ignore all of the other customers holding numbered tickets and he'll go straight to you. You'll tell him to wrap you up a rib-eye for one. He'll ask how you are and you'll ask him why he cares. He has his store, his career, everything he wants. You'll ask him again to wrap you up your steak.

He'll cut you a piece of meat and package it up in a bag, then he'll tell you that he hasn't been able to stop thinking about you and that you're more important than any stupid butcher shop. To prove it, he'll chop off his thumb again and he'll say, 'You promised you'd take care of me forever.'

You'll burst into tears of joy, then you'll put the thumb on ice and rush him to the hospital to have it reattached. You'll promise again that you will take care of him forever, but you don't want him to lose his butcher shop because you were hoping to not have to work anymore once you find a fella.

Happy The Butcher's Thumb Day!

Wear A Wire Day!

The police found out that you smoke marijuana (there are cameras everywhere, just like you always said). They made you a deal: you wear a wire and help them catch your dealer, or you go to jail for twenty years.

You'll talk it over with your wife. 'They told me that if I go to jail, they'll talk to some inmates and make sure that my jail-time is really hard on me. Lots of teasing, they said.'

Your wife will tell you that in jail, teasing means that when they come into your cell to rape you, they let you run around and beg and plead for them not to do it first. It tires you out and they feel like it makes the whole affair a little more romantic.

You'll run it by your boss (you are the Chief Financial Officer of Prudential Securities). 'If I don't wear this wire during a drug buy, I'd have to take a pretty long leave of absence. I was wondering, is there any kind of jail-time compensation? Because if not, there really should be. I mean it sends a bad message if the company doesn't take care of anybody unless they get knocked up first. It's like you're condoning unsafe sex.'

Your boss will tell you that you need to talk to HR. 'Let me know what you find out,' he'll say. 'And if you decide to wear the wire, break a leg.'

Finally, you'll ask your daughter's teachers when you pick her up from school. Your daughter's teachers all have a big crush on you because you're rich and you seem to care for your child. They'll tell you to wear the wire. 'They're the police,' your daughter's teachers will say. 'Do what they tell you. The police are good.'

You'll agree to wear the wire tonight when you go to your drug dealer's house. She's a neighbor, an older woman who grows pot in her basement. At first the visit will go like normal. You'll sit down for some crackers and a beer. You'll talk about how your daughter's doing in school and she'll talk about hers. (Your daughters play together sometimes.) You'll talk about politics for a little bit, then you'll look at your watch and you'll ask her if you can buy the pot you came to buy. When she says yes, policemen will fly through her windows and doors and shoot her until her head's gone. For as long as you live, you'll never be able to smoke up without remembering her fondly.

Happy Wear A Wire Day!

You Are An Aspiring Daredevil Day!

It's hard to get up and go to your day job every morning when you know your time would be better spent trying to perfect the stunt where you light a brick wall on fire and crash a motorcycle into it. Keeping your eyes on the prize can be tough when you're spending all day behind a desk answering phones and juggling the calendars for a bunch of multi-millionaire patent lawyers. Everyone has to pay their dues. You just can't help but wonder how long it'll be before you're paid up. Sadly, today is really going to put your resolve to the test.

When you get into work, you'll be summoned to HR where you're told that all of your sick days have been used up and you'll have to take an unpaid leave of absence if you stay out with so much as a cold before the end of the year.

'Maybe you need to allow for the fact that human beings aren't robots!' you'll argue. 'We get ill and we need time off.'

The HR rep will explain that the accrual of sick days works for most employees and you just happen to be unique. 'Three comas in one six-month period can really chew up your bank of days,' she'll say. 'Perhaps if you were more careful?'

'What the hell is that supposed to mean?' you'll ask.

The rep will close her mouth up tight and she'll keep her eyes on your file.

'You knew what I did when I started working here and you said your firm was very supportive of admin employees pursuing other careers.'

'We didn't realize the toll your craft would take on your job performance,' she'll say. 'I admit when you told us you were a daredevil I just thought you were some kind of 'bad boy' magician, or that you went out on the weekends and drank horse semen or something. I didn't know you'd spend every Saturday intentionally setting yourself on fire.'

'What about all the actors and singers who leave for auditions every day?' you'll ask.

'Actors and singers don't have eleven hospital stays a year,' she'll say. 'Do you know that you've single-handedly drained our condolences budget? All those get well baskets we sent you cleaned us out. If any of your coworkers has a death in the family they're not getting any flowers, thanks to you.'

You'll fight it out some more, explaining to her that the firm should be happy to have people with diverse interests on the staff. She'll counter that some clients have remarked on having to stare at the second-degree burns all over your face and how it makes them very uncomfortable while in the waiting room, especially when the bandages have just been removed and all of the wounds are still damp. You'll challenge her to ask you to quit pursuing your career as daredevil, but she won't fall for it, knowing full well that you could have a lawsuit on your hands if they ever let you go for something you warned them about before they hired you. Instead, she'll say 'Pursue your craft as much as you want. Just don't get injured.' Which she full well knows is damned impossible. Any stunt that you can develop without any injuries is a stunt that's not worth you zipping up your silver jumpsuit. It looks like you're going to have to find a more understanding day job.

You'll go home frustrated as always, intending to drink a lot and complain to your girlfriend about what a long hard road it is to that elusive big break. But when you get home, your girlfriend will be standing next to a packed suitcase. She'll say that her back hurts from having to sleep in a chair in your hospital room all the time and that at first trying to have sex through a body cast was sort of new, but lately it's just been a chore.

Say, 'Everyone is conspiring to make me give up my dream!'

She'll say that she just wants a boyfriend who doesn't lose consciousness for three months out of the year. You'll call her selfish and you'll suggest that maybe she should look into why she needs so much attention. Your girlfriend will tell you to blow yourself, and to remember to set yourself on fire first and videotape it.

Happy You Are An Aspiring Daredevil Day!

Tell Matt You Don't Want To Be His Accountability Buddy Anymore Day!

You and Matt met at a church group and you both expressed anger at how easily pornography can be accessed over the internet, and what a sad and lonely thing it is that so many people appease their sexual urges by visiting those sites. Matt suggested that you both install Accountability Buddy software, which is set up so that anytime one of you visits a pornographic website, your computer sends an email to the other with the URL of the adult site. Sounded perfect to you, so you went right home and set it all up.

Today you're going to tell Matt that you don't want to be his accountability buddy anymore. Having the software on your computer has helped you to avoid viewing any online pornography, since you couldn't bare to face Matt if he knew what you'd been looking at. Matt, however, has not been able to stay away. In fact, you immediately started receiving two or three emails a day containing long lists of pornographic URLs that he's visited. As the days passed, the list only seemed to grow. His computer was sending yours so many emails that you ended up just automatically sending them all to your spam folder.

The way it's supposed to work out is after you get one of those emails you were supposed to call Matt and confront him. You did that after the first day or two, but then you were getting so many that you didn't know how to deal with it. That's when Matt would call you and ask, 'Did you get a look at that site?' You'd tell him you found the site repulsive, and he'd say, 'Oh yeah, totally. What about the other one? Did you check that out?' The way he always seemed to be out of breath when he spoke made you suspicious that Matt just set this software up because he gets turned on knowing that someone knows what he's masturbating to. Confront him today.

'Heck yes,' Matt will say. 'There's no hotter way to masturbate. You're the one who talked about how lonely it can be to look at web-porn! This is the answer buddy!'

Tell Matt you're not his buddy anymore. He'll grab your lapels and demand to know what he's supposed to do now. 'Those emails can't just go into the ether, man!'

Give Matt the address of a secular support group for men who are addicted to web porn. 'Go to these meetings,' say. 'They can help you.'

You know the meetings are most likely just a bunch of guys looking for other guys to receive their 'I'm looking at porn, check it out!' emails. But at least it's outside the church. For God's sake, get that man's hands away from Christ.

Happy Tell Matt You Don't Want To Be His Accountability Buddy Anymore Day!