Pinky Needs Two Stamps Day!

The letter with your pinky inside is going to be returned to you today for insufficient postage. Apparently, a pinky weighs more than an ounce. You'll be happy to discover that the envelope will be clean and free of blood. The sealed plastic bag in which you wrapped the pinky did the trick. Except for the odor. It will smell terrible. And when you squeeze the envelope, it will be difficult to locate any bone. Just a lot of mush.

You'll have to send it back out right away though. Just include a note that says, "This is my left pinky." And send it Fed Ex. Otherwise your old elementary school homeroom teacher will receive your fingers out of order, and the whole thing will look sloppy. This morning, he received your letter that read, "When I was your pupil, your words tore me apart. I thought you might like to have the pieces." So he's gotta receive the pinky tomorrow. Otherwise there'll be a wait between getting the letter and then getting your marriage finger, and he might misinterpret the whole thing as you saying you're a swinging single or something. Send it priority overnight and check the box for Saturday delivery or you might as well just throw your body pieces into the gutter.

Happy Pinky Needs Two Stamps Day!

Soap Star Day!

Tonight's your big date with a superhot soap star. He's dashing, he's effeminately handsome, and he's a terrible actor. He's not going to like you though, because he was hoping for someone who isn't too caught up in soaps. He's sick of soaps and he wants to meet one of the "real people" on the other side of the TV. He'll know you're wrong for him by the way you refuse to drink anything at the table. When he asks why you won't even drink the water, you'll tell him that it's just a simple precaution considering how many times he's been poisoned.

"You think the soap opera is real, don't you?" he'll say.

"I know they embellish somewhat," you'll tell him.

He'll just stare at you, then he'll say he has to go to the bathroom and he'll bring his coat with him. When he doesn't come back, you'll assume he was kidnapped by a rival oil company.

Happy Soap Star Day!

What Makes Marshmallows So Soft Day!

Today on the bus a little girl is going to poke you on your knee and make put down your newspaper.

Say to her, "What would you like to know, young lady?"

The girl will ask, "What makes marshmallows so soft?"

You'll look around at the other adults on the bus, but they'll all just shrug. They're never any help with anything. You don't want to give her the wrong answer and look stupid. So just say, "You mean you don't know? Duh!"

The girl will say, "I know. But I don't think you do."

It's make or break time. Take a guess. "Crushed kitten whiskers. Ripped from kittens who are too happy and playful and cute."

The girl will start to cry, and you'll realize you were supposed to guess something like "love" or "Dads who don't leave." Everyone on the bus will be pissed at you for having made the girl cry, so you're going to have to get off at the next stop and walk the rest of the way to work just like yesterday (you farted and everyone laughed and it was too much to take).

Happy What Makes Marshmallows So Soft Day!

Van Detail Day!

You're a married man now and you have a good job selling insurance that people need for their peace of mind. You and your wife have been talking about kids too.

Looks like it's about time to take the detail of Topher Grace's face off of the side of your van.

We all have to grow up one day. You enjoyed all the highs that came with being a superfan of a network sitcom star (and movie star of late). But you're taking clients out to lunch these days. Do you really want to start all of your meetings by fielding questions like, "Isn't that the kid from Win A Date With Tad Hamilton?" Or, "Did you like Win A Date With Tad Hamilton?" Or, "So you're superqueer then?"

You don't want to waste time explaining to clients what the youthful everyman demeanor of Topher Grace has meant to you. You want to try to get them to sign on the dotted line from the minute you shake their hands. So take Gracie Boy off of the van. You can go the easy route and just paint over him with a solid coat. But just because you're growing up, there's no reason your van should stop being bitchin'. Go down to the Van Detail place and see if they can play with the Topher image and do something new. Like maybe some seals sitting on rocks staring at a pirate ship under the moonlight. Topher Grace already kind of looks like some seals sitting on rocks staring at a pirate ship under the moonlight. If you tilt your head when you look at him, sure.

Happy Van Detail Day!

On Mushrooms Day!

Today your temp is going to come into work high on mushrooms. This is nothing new. The tasks you bring in temps for are all menial and thoughtless, and it isn't long into the assignment before one of your temps thinks, "I could do this fucking shit high on mushrooms, so I'm going to."

You had a daybed put into your office so that you could have someplace for your temps to recline while you talk them down from their high. Today it'll be Marcus. That you won't have expected. It's usually the young ones who do mushrooms before work, and Marcus is fifty-two. But age isn't a factor when someone thinks there are mites all over his face.

You'll calm him down with a wet washcloth and lots of, "Look at me, we're here in this room together and we'll stay together until you come down." Everything will seem fine until Marcus lowers his voice into a growl and begins channeling your dead Grandfather. You'll know it's him when he says, "There's some butterscotch for my stick of butter."

"Grandpa?" you'll ask with your hands held inches from Marcus' skin. You'll be afraid to touch him while your grandfather is talking through him. "Grandpa? Where are you?"

"I'm in hell. Be a good girl and you won't end up like I am. Oh the hellfire."

Say, "You're lying, aren't you grandpa? You're in heaven and you're just trying to scare me into behaving better, even though I'm 38."

Your grandfather will say through Marcus, "Yeah. You're a smarty. Bye bye for now."

Say to Marcus, "Bye bye grandpa." Then back away. When your grandfather leaves Marcus it will set his arms flailing and scratching at the fabric of the daybed.

Happy On Mushrooms Day!

Get Into Somebody's Will Day!

It's pretty clear by now that the only way you're ever going to get your hands on more than forty bucks at a time is if someone wills that money into your hands. That's why today you have to get yourself written into somebody's will. The best way to go about this is hang around a park and be the only one who'll listen to a well-dressed old man's boring stories about when he was stationed in Korea. You have to show up and listen to him on a regular basis in order to trick him into thinking that even though you're penniless and you smell terrible, you're the son he wishes he had instead of that never-visiting, never-calling captain of industry with his house on a hill someplace. Make sure he's well-dressed though. You don't want to get written into the will of some guy who has nothing to pass down through the generations but an oscillating fan and an empty birdcage. Keep your eye out for golden-handled walking sticks. Or if he has trouble buying a roll from the street vendor to feed the birds with because, "All I got is a twenty-thousand dollar bill," he's rich. But if you don't spy any jewelry or money and his skin is yellow from head to toe, keep moving. You need to make this count. Your wife and six sons expect you to provide.

Happy Get Into Somebody's Will Day!

Cat In The Carrier Day!

Today you'll be happening down the block on your way to start drinking (Noonish) when you'll come upon a boy and a girl (mid-thirties) yanking back and forth on a cat carrier full to the bring with a moaning, mewling and hissing housecat. There'll be furniture and boxes full of books all over the sidewalk.

Settle this.

"Hoooo there," say to them. "What's the problem."

"She'll leave our home, but she'll not be taking Funnyface to be raised by that woeful man!" the boy will say.

"It was I who rescued Funnyface from that deplorable shelter. Long before I ever made the mistake for which I can never forgive myself, the mistake of falling in love with you," the girl will retort.

Say, "Sounds like the lady's got dibs."

The boy will use one hand to point a finger at the girl. "Her morals are wretched. She is leaving me for a failed rock and roll musician. She invited him into our bed while I was watching my father die in a hospital in Des Moines, waiting for him to awaken in order that we could share one civil word before he passed. But he never awoke; he died with my hand clasped in his without ever having regained consciousness. And I returned with darkness in my heart only to find that my love had packed put her share of our life into boxes, which were being carted down the steps by a skinny child with died black hair and more than likely genital warts."

The horn of the parked moving van will sound and the skinny child behind the wheel will wave to you upon hearing his introduction.

Wave back, then say to the girl, "Sounds like he's got some pretty valid grievances. What about you, pretty?"

"He's boring," the girl will say.

"Well I'm stumped," tell them. "Why don't you take the cat out of the box, place it on the sidewalk between the two of you, and whomever it runs to first will be the rightful caregiver."

The boy and the girl will warily release their grips on the cat box and you'll place it on the ground and open the gate. The cat will crawl from the box and without looking at anyone he'll race down the block and disappear into a construction site.

The boy and the girl will burst into tears and run into each other's arms to kiss. The kid in the van will take off with all the girl's stuff in it. He'll sell it all and buy an amp. Your work will be done, and you'll finally head off the bar and not a moment too soon because the last time you waited until one o'clock for your first drink you had a series of mini-strokes and lost the hearing in your left ear.

Happy Cat In The Carrier Day!

Pickpocket In The Planetarium Day!

The signs all over the planetarium warn you not to just look up the whole time. "That's just what he wants you to do," the sign says. "Despite our best efforts, we just can't seem to catch the Planetarium Pickpocket (It's really dark in here). Watch your wallets."

Today while staring up at the rings of Saturn, you're going to feel some scuffle along your backside, where your wallet is hanging out of your jeans. You'll check and your wallet will be gone, replaced by a slip of paper that reads, "Out back. Ten minutes."

You'll sneak off from your class and run out to the alley behind the planetarium. There you'll see the pickpocket, a boy with shaggy brown hair dressed in denim from head to toe, except for the tight white tee shirt underneath his denim jacket.

"Are you gay?" you'll ask.

"No!" he'll shout.

"Sorry," you'll say. "All that denim. So you're the pickpocket. Sounds pretty exciting."

"It can be," he'll say. "I guess you want your wallet back."

"What do I have to do to get it?" you'll ask.

He'll say, "All you gotta do is be my girl."

You and the pickpocket will make out up against the back wall of the planetarium and you'll let him feel your breasts through your coat. He'll go on pickpocketing in the dark and you'll meet him there after school behind the planetarium to kiss and be his girl until you go to college or he gets arrested and tried as an adult, whichever comes first. Teenage years are lonely.

Happy Pickpocket In The Planetarium Day!

You Work In A Major Corporation Day!

You visit executives' offices when summoned and you shine their shoes. Most of them leave the shoes outside their doors for you to bring downstairs to the boiler room and shine them when convenient. It's the ones who keep their shoes on their feet while you shine them; they're the ones who want to talk to you about girls.

"How do I know if my wife likes me?" one will ask. Tell him that if she asks him to give her another child, that means she's got the hots for him.

"How can I tell my mistress that I know people who'll kill for money and that she should just take the eighty thousand and go?" another will ask. Tell him to say it in a public park in the summertime, when she can't wear enough clothes to hide a wire.

"I'm being indicted," another will say. You'll look up from your shine, baffled. "What do I know about legal stuff?" ask him.

He'll say, "The prosecuting attorney's a girl and she's really pretty. Should I buy her a Porsche?" Now that's your area of expertise. Say, yes, buy her a Porsche, but not before the sentencing.

The worst are the heartbroken ones. And their shines always take the longest because the leather has been worn down with tears. Jenkins in suite 9156, he's got it bad.

"We were married for twenty one years," he'll tell you again today. "How can she just throw it all away and take off in the night like that? How do I get her back?"

Tell Jenkins what you always tell him. Tell him no one can say why they go. The only thing he can know for sure is when she goes, she's gone.

You never accept a tip from the heartbroken ones. People tip to be lied to. No one should tip for having to hear the truth.

Happy You Work In A Major Corporation Day!

Earplugs Day!

You work nights as an admitting nurse, so you have to sleep during the day. But your live-in boyfriend is unemployed and likes to light firecrackers in the living room all day long, seeing what little knickknacks and toiletries do when a firecracker is lit underneath them (they usually jump up in the air and shatter). You tried to come up with some kind of a compromise. You suggested that he only light his firecrackers in the house at night after you go to work, or that he doesn't light his firecrackers in the house at all. He accused you of trying to cage him in, so you bought earplugs instead.

Today your boyfriend is going to accidentally blow his entire left hand off of his wrist. He'll go into shock and will be unable to speak or move, and since you'll have your earplugs in you'll sleep peacefully for a bit as his blood drains out onto the living room carpet. You'll luckily wake up after only a few moments. You're used to those dull thuds of the firecrackers that you hear through the muffler of your earplugs, and when they stop your body will be startled awake. You'll find your boyfriend unconscious and pale and you'll call the ambulance just in time.

When he comes to, he'll tell you that your selfishness made you wear those earplugs and he nearly died because of it. With a missing hand, he'll be able to receive disability and he'll leave you and finally be able to light firecrackers all day in his own place. Things will pick up for you once he's gone.

Happy Earplugs Day!

You Sell Flatscreen TVs Day!

Today a young man is going to come into your store looking for a traditional, small and boxy color television that can fit on top of a dresser so that his pregnant girlfriend can have a TV to watch during her bed-rest after the delivery of the baby.

"Congratulations," say to him.

"Oh, it was kind of an accident," he'll say. "But I'm cool with it."

You'll be showing him some 13" TVs for under a hundred dollars when his pregnant girlfriend will come to his side and take his arm. As it turns out, his pregnant girlfriend will have been your prom date in high school.

"Oh my God," she'll say.

"Look at you," you'll say.

"Fucking weird," her boyfriend will say.

She'll hug you and you'll feel her belly touch yours.

She'll laugh, "Guess you're glad that I didn't let you go all the way after prom!"

Say, "Am I?"

Then start your pitch. Drag them away from the tiny televisions and begin your song-and-dance about the emergence of plasma technology and what a newborn baby deserves.

"Do you really want him to one day ask you why the Johnsons down the block have a better TV than you do? Of fucking course not."

Then tell them about 0% financing. Your prom date will stand by her boyfriend's side, watching you exercise your craft. When your boyfriend points to a 46" plasma screen wall unit and he says "I'll take it," there will be a smile on his face. Send him over to the financing desk.

"You're really good at your job," your prom date will tell you. "Really�"

"Graceful?" say. "This is nothing compared to the tenderness and grace that I would have bestowed upon your joyous flesh had you only given me the chance that night in our shared motor lodge room."

"I can see now that I made a mistake then," she'll say.

"Too late for that," tell her. Sulk a bit.

"I cannot entertain regret," she'll say. "I have a child on the way and my child will not have a mother who wishes things could have been different. My child will not grow up knowing his mother thinks she should have slept with her prom date but chose not to out of fear."

"Your child will have a liar for a mother," tell her.

She'll say, "So be it, Television Salesman."

Her boyfriend will come back with his finished paperwork and you'll direct them to the back of the store where they can pull up their car to pick up their unit. Not long after they are gone, several members of the nominating committee of the secret neighborhood treehouse, which you were never invited to join because they said you sounded gay when you talked, will enter the store looking for someone to sell them a set of modestly priced stereo speakers. Vengeance is yours.

Happy You Sell Flatscreen TVs Day!

In The Back Of The Ambulance Day!

Today when you finally get up the nerve to ask Jenny to the dance, you'll only get as far as, "Um, Jenny I was wondering if you'd�" before you get shot by a drug dealer's stray bullet. Jenny will kneel beside you and hold your head in her hands and scream for help. She'll ride in the back of the ambulance with you.

In the back of the ambulance, with your breath short and blood all over your stomach, tell her that you've had a crush on her for the longest time and that all you ever wanted was to take her to the dance, and now you're so angry because you might die before you ever get to dance with her. Jenny will tell you to hang in there because she's really counting on you to take her to that dance. She wants nothing more in the world than for you to take her to the dance, she'll say. That's when you should ask her if you can have a kiss in case you don't make it. She'll say that it won't be necessary since you are going to make it. Cough a little and bring your heart rate down so that the heart monitor's beeping changes in pattern (not sure how to do this). Jenny will panic and she'll plant one on you and you'll have just kissed Jenny, the girl you're gonna go to the dance with.

When you wake up in the hospital, your mother will be by your bedside, but Jenny won't be anywhere to be found. Your mother will tell you that Jenny seemed like a nice girl. She'll also relay the message from Jenny that everything that happened in the back of the ambulance happened because you were in the back of an ambulance, and that it doesn't count. Your mother will also tell you that Jenny said she is going to the dance with Greg Kelly, a varsity forward on the Lacrosse team. Greg will come by later and he'll tell you that you're lucky you got shot because if you had kissed his girl when you were healthy he would have beat your ass. Out of respect for you having gotten shot by a drug dealer's stray bullet, he'll just give you an Indian burn.

Happy In The Back Of The Ambulance Day!

Your Wife And The Portraitist Day!

For her fortieth birthday, you commissioned a portraitist to paint your wife's portrait. Naturally, they ran off together. Today you'll find on the mantelpiece her finished portrait covered in brown paper, and a note that reads:

"It might come as a shock to you, but to us it feels inevitable. Look at the painting, see what he sees, and you'll understand why I've left."

You'll rip the paper from the frame and stare into your wife's face rendered in oil. The portrait will be a kind of allegory, with the ring on her ring finger painted to look like a bear trap and in her hands scraps of paper painted to look like a ripped up photo of you and your wife on your wedding day. Copious tears will be pouring from her eyes, and above her head will float a cartoon thought bubble and a speech bubble. The thought bubble will have an image of you as a big fat man with a giant red "X" overtop of him, next to an image of the portraitist naked with generous genitals between his legs and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. In the speech bubble will be the words "Oh how I loathe my husband and long for my portraitist."

You'll let the image seep in and a tear will roll down your cheek. You'll think, "How could I have been so blind to all of this? I should have at least noticed that tattoo on her bicep that reads, "I've made an enormous mistake."

You'll quickly write them a check for enough money to pay for the portrait and to get her started on her long-overdue new life. The life with her portraitist that you've selfishly prevented her from enjoying all of these years, all because you felt the need to cling to your precious little "marriage to the only woman you've ever loved" cock of poo.

Happy Your Wife And The Portraitist Day!

Your Old Skeletor Doll Day!

Your daughter loves to hold little tea parties with her dolls. She loves it almost as much as you love watching her sit with her dolls at the table, changing the tone of her voice as she changes roles, speaking the parts for each of her dolls as the tea party conversation unfolds.

Today you'll hear her up in her room making those cute little voices. High-pitched, then deep and growly, then prim and proper. You'll run upstairs and peek into her door and you'll see that she's got three of her dolls sitting at her little tea table, and the fourth seat will be occupied by your old Skeletor doll that she must have found in one of the boxes in the basement.

Scream at your daughter, "Juuuuuu-lieeeeee whaaaat haaaaave yoooooou doooooone?!!!"

Dive for the table to wrestle Skeletor to the ground. Your daughter will scream and run underneath her bed. As you fly through the air, Skeletor's eyes will light up and flash at your daughter's dolls, turning them to piles of melted plastic. You'll grab for the Skeletor doll, but you'll only grip his empty chair. Skeletor will be gone, set free from his basement grave. He will have embarked on his journey to the hills, laying waste to all who stand in the way of his reclamation of the Power of Grayskull.

"Daddy?" your daughter will whimper from under the bed. "What's happening?"

"I have to go away for a little while baby," tell her. "I have to go get my doll back."

"When will you come home?" she'll ask.

Say, "I don't know baby. I don't know."

Happy Your Old Skeletor Doll Day!

Build A Prison Made Out Of Lincoln Logs Day!

Put your cat in it and say, "For the crimes you have committed against the sleeping habits of your owners, you are hereby remanded to Lincoln Log Prison until 6 PM or until you get very hungry, whichever comes first."

Your cat will appear to accept her sentence with dignity, but the first chance she gets she'll shiv you in the belly three times and bust through the wall of lincoln logs, making a run for the space behind the toilet where she likes to hide. Luckily, your roommate will be able to take her down with his AK. This is dedicated to everyone on the inside. Come home soon.

Happy Build A Prison Made Out Of Lincoln Logs Day!

Portly Pete Day!

Today you're going to be rescued by Portly Pete, a big fat superhero.

A group of corporate embezzlers will yank you into an alley and start kicking the living shit out of you. They'll clearly be high on crank. You'll scream for help and that's when Portly Pete will sound his call of warning.

"I'm gonna fall on you guyyyyyyyys!" he'll shout from down the block. The embezzlers will look at the majestic mass of Portly Pete straining and panting to quicken his pace all the way down at the end of the block and they'll start laughing while they continue kicking the shit out of you.

Portly Pete will stop once or twice to keep from fainting. The embezzlers will be merciless in their beatdown. Finally, Portly Pete will enter the alley, his face red and sweaty. He won't be able to catch his breath to threaten the embezzlers.

"You want some of this?" one of the embezzlers will say when he pulls a switchblade from his sock.

At that Portly Pete will faint on two of the embezzlers, killing them instantly. The other three will try to roll Portly Pete off of their friends, but they will succeed only in rolling Portly Pete over top themselves. They will die of asphyxiation.

You'll get up and thank Portly Pete, but he'll be unconscious, his lips turning blue. Call an ambulance.

Happy Portly Pete Day!

Roll The Dice Day!

Today, when you're at the craps tables and you're deeper in the hole than you ever thought you could be, a rich man will approach you and your husband with a proposition.

"One roll of the dice," he'll say. "If you roll a seven, my henchmen kill your husband with rocks. If you roll any other number, I give you one million dollars."

You and your husband will look at each other, then you'll both say, "Deal."

The rich man will lead you to a dark alley and he'll hand you some dice. You'll roll a four, and then you and your husband will jump up and down in each other's arms. When you look to the rich man for payment, he'll say, "Double or nothing?"

Say, "You mean if I roll anything but a seven, I win two million. But if I roll the seven, we're even and me and my husband walk away empty-handed?"

The rich man will say, "No. If you roll the seven, I get to kill your husband. If not, you get two million."

Say, "Deal!" and roll the dice before your husband objects. You'll roll a four again and you'll jump up and down. But your husband won't join you.

The rich man will say, "Try for four million?"

Say, "Deal!" You'll roll and win. Roll and win. Roll and win over and over again, doubling your money up to 32 million before you roll a seven and your husband is killed. As they drag him off to pound in his skull with rocks, you'll hear him shout, "You have a very bad gambling problem! It's very bad!" Then you'll hear him shout some other things that are too horrible to describe.

Your husband is right. Get to a Gamblers Anonymous meeting. You sure will have a hell of a story to tell them when you hit 30 days.

Happy Roll The Dice Day!

Apple Farmer Day!

Today you are an apple farmer and some super-big pharmaceutical company wants to build over your farmland. They're going to try to convince you to sell with the following argument:

"An apple a day isn't enough anymore, White Witch. People need pills and lozenges. Give us the space to make our medicine, and sickness and disease will be sent packing."

Say, "I never wanted to make people stay sick�"

The pharmaceutical company representative will say, "Then maybe you should yield."

Say, "I just always thought my apples kind of helped the healthy ones to stay healthy."

The pharmaceutical representative will ask if eating one of your apples can cause boners and you'll be so ashamed you'll sign whatever they put in front of you.

Happy Apple Farmer Day!

Your Dinner Party Murder Mystery Will Be A Disappointment Day!

After the lights come back on and the 80 year old art collector Mr Billingsby is discovered to be dead in his chair, you'll quickly lock the doors to the mansion and demand that no one leave until the killer is named. Over the next few hours, the majority of dinner guests will argue that Mr. Billingsby could not have been murdered because there is no wound. You'll respond that he might have been poisoned. Why else would he suddenly die right when the lights went out? The other guests will unanimously argue that there is no need for the lights to be struck in order for a man to be poisoned. They will further argue that perhaps Mr Billingsby was merely startled by the storm and his weak heart gave out. You'll begin to argue that that's exactly what the killer would like everybody to believe, but you'll be interrupted when paramedics come barging in to tend to the body. Someone will have called them, since it will have been decided very early on that your murder mystery idea was just the work of a very bored individual who has no qualms about wasting people's time in order to avoid being lonely.

Happy Your Dinner Party Murder Mystery Will Be A Disappointment Day!

Bounced Check Day!

Tonight, in the middle of your first date with a girl you like, your veterinarian will come to your table and tell you that the check you gave him to have your cat put to sleep bounced. He'll joke with your date that she'd better be prepared to go Dutch, and that if she ends up marrying you she'd better hope that she doesn't one day need a $700 medical procedure because you'll probably end up taking the eighty dollar option and have her destroyed. Then the vet will lean in real close and tell you to make good on the check or he'll sick a collection agency on your ass, which will make you wish you were where poor little Whiskers is today. The vet will return to his table, and your date won't talk to you for the rest of the meal. You'll split the bill.

Happy Bounced Check Day!

Skywrite Only Truth Day!

You're a skywriter who makes very little money because so much of what people want you to write is treacly drivel. "Marry Me Kristy." "Congratulations Mom." "Plattsburgh Plymouth Blowout Sale." It's enough to make you crash your plane into a barn.

You decided long ago that you wouldn't whore out your instrument any longer. Only in the service of poetry, of truth, or of absolute urgency would you employ your talent for Atmospheric Calligraphy as you like to call it. It's caused you to go many weeks without any income, and you're close to hanging up your pilot's scarf.

Today you're going to start cashing in when a brilliant unpublished novelist who has turned to kidnapping hires you to skywrite all of his eloquently composed ransom notes for the next few weeks. He won't be able to pay you until he receives the ransom, but the notes will be so perfectly expressive of the desperation that can grip a man in modern America that you'll feel indebted to him just for allowing you to pen those sentences in your elegant trails of white. When you go to prison, you'll still be able to hear the sputter of the propellers as you would scribble the novelist's words into the sky. It will have been worth it just to get his voice up there.

Happy Skywrite Only Truth Day!

Ghost Farts Day!

The ghosts in your house think it's fun to hold your head down on the couch and fart on your face. The farts smell like attics and wet spiderwebs. They've been holding you down on the couch for five days straight so far, which is nothing to them since they face an eternity in the spirit-world. They haven't let you eat or drink anything so you're just barely alive. If you don't want to die, you're going to have to help them pass over into the next world. They most likely held a kid down and farted on his face in a playground and accidentally killed him at some point. Go and tell that kid's parents that the ghosts are sorry. If that doesn't work, slip them some Ghost Bean-O.

Happy Ghost Farts Day!

Trick Some Stupid Kids Into Painting A Fence For You Day!

You're required to paint a fence today as part of your work release program, but fuck if you're gonna actually do it. Trick some kids into painting it for you instead. Just grab the first group of kids who walks past and offer them each a dime if they'll paint the fence for you. If they say no because a dime is not enough money for all that hard work, point to a church belltower and tell them that the man who lives up in that belltower is very sad because girls always tell him he's gross and he hates to see children refuse random chores from strangers. Tell them that the man went up to the belltower because he knew if one more girl told him he looked gross, he'd start crying and never stop. Same thing goes for kids who refuse random chores from strangers. While the belltower protects the man from girls who might tell him he's gross, he can still see all the children in the town and if any children refuse a random chore from a stranger, the man in the belltower might never stop crying.

This should get the kids to paint the fence. Just make sure they paint really fast because if you get caught farming out your work-release assignments, you're going back inside.

Happy Trick Some Stupid Kids Into Painting A Fence For You Day!

Map Of Your Pants Day!

Today your boyfriend is going to show you a treasure map that he made. It's basically a line drawing of a pair of jeans that you own. There's a big "X" at the crotch, which according to him indicates that there's some treasure there.

"What are these?" you'll ask, pointing to little circles surrounding the pants.

"Piranhas," he'll say. Then he'll introduce you to his crew of bloodthirsty pirates.

"So you have a boat and everything?" you'll ask.

"Got a truck," he'll say. He'll point his thumb out the window at a dirty white pickup truck. You'll point to your jeans, the ones depicted in the map, which will be slung over a chair in the corner of your room.

He'll give you a fierce look and you'll realize he doesn't want you to let on to his crew that the map might be wrong. You'll beg him not to leave because it's only a matter of time before his crew discovers that the captain has gone mad and is leading them on a fool's quest.

"They'll mutiny," you'll pant in his ear. But you'll know all along that you can't hold onto him. He's a pirate, and no matter what you say or do, nothing will keep him from walking out that door and climbing into the back of that pickup truck (he doesn't drive).

Happy Map Of Your Pants Day!

Your New Robotic Arm Day!

Your new robotic arm arrives today. It was really expensive and it is guaranteed not to short out every time you touch the "cook" button on a microwave like your last arm would. This robotic arm is state of the art, built by engineers who left the Department of Defense to appease their consciences.

Unfortunately, they continued to order their parts through the same suppliers they dealt with at the DOD. Your robotic arm has been fashioned from circuits that were pulled out of the dismantled prototypes for the super-secret Cyber-Soldier program that was scrapped due to the prototypes being "too aggressive" and "too bloodthirsty" and "too likely to do whatever they want just to kill a little bit more" and "too into hurting children specifically; when the Cyber-Soldier enters a family dwelling where parents and children reside together, the children are always murdered first, then on up age-wise, and we never programmed them to do that, it's as if they rewired their own circuits to generate their own commands, which soon became the only commands that they would follow. These robots want to kill, if that hasn't been made clear. It's in their circuitry, if that hasn't been made clear either."

It's a shame you won't know all of this ahead of time. And it's a shame that immediately after attaching your new robotic arm to your shoulder, you'll see the paperboy riding by on his bicycle. Your robotic arm will start to whir and come apart so that a grenade launcher can lift from inside its casing and fire on the boy. After your street is laid waste in a storm of fire and smoke, you should call Sharper Image and ask them what the fuck.

Happy Your New Robotic Arm Day!

Have Sex With Boys Until Your Parents Aren't Divorced Anymore Day!

Your parents' divorce has hit you pretty hard, but you can't complain about it since it's clearly all your fault. You've tried to be a better daughter. You've made a point of not asking for money or new clothes or dinner. You've cleaned the house until it's so clearly immaculate your Dad will have no choice but to move back in. But no matter how long you stare out the window, his car just never pulls into the driveway.

None of your efforts have worked, so you decided the best way to heal the rift between your parents was to constantly have sex with boys. The plan is, every time you take off your clothes and lay down in the back seat of a car or behind the water heater in a basement rec room, it will make your parents love each other, and you, just a little bit more. Whether you want to have sex with the boy or not, giving the boy what he wants will hopefully be sacrifice enough to make up for not being a good daughter. Or maybe having sex with boys you don't like will be a good example for your parents. "See?" you'll say. "I hate this boy and yet he's inside of me. Now you try!"

Today, you're going to conceive your first child. The question is, do you abort quietly and continue to heal your parents' rift through casual and rampant teen sex, or do you have the baby so that your Mom and Dad will be brought together as grandparents? It's a tough one kiddo, but you're mature enough to make the right decision.

Happy Have Sex With Boys Until Your Parents Aren't Divorced Anymore Day!

"Okay So Who's This Joker?" Day!

Your Sunday mornings always start off the same way. You wake up in the throes of a head-splitting hangover so pronounced you feel like sunlight might turn your eyeballs to stones. You summon the strength to turn your head on its side and check out the guy lying next to you. Then you ask the question you ask yourself every Sunday morning without fail.

"Okay so who's this joker?"

Without waking him for an answer, you go into the kitchen and fix a pot of coffee, trying to down a few cups before he comes in and introduces himself again. You savor those first few cups. You drink them while you're coming back to life. It's after those cups are drained that you have to actually try and live again, and that's when you start to worry over all the wasted hours lost to alcohol and friends whose company you don't enjoy.

After those two cups, he'll shuffle into kitchen, rubbing the sight into his eyes, still managing to muster up a naughty smile. That's when you'll ask your second question of the morning.

"All right so what's your story, Smartguy?"

Happy "Okay So Who's This Joker?" Day!

Date A Profiler Day!

Over margaritas, he'll tell you that he became a profiler of serial killers because two of his former girlfriends went to jail for serial murder. One killed six ice cream truck drivers over the course of nineteen years, and the other would lure junkies into a secret studio apartment she had rented solely for the purpose of having a place to bring back junkies and dismember them while on the nod.

"It's funny," he'll say. "Since she was my second serial killer, I must have had an instinct for it. When I discovered all of those checks paid towards rent of this other apartment, I didn't even think that she might be cheating on me. I just thought, that's where the bodies are."

Say to him, "So you became a profiler so as to determine sooner whether someone you find attractive might be a serial killer?"

"It gave me some tools that I need," he'll say. "But ultimately, it's become clear that the best way I can tell whether someone is a serial killer is whether or not I find them attractive."

You'll remember how much you used to love pounding in the skulls of neighborhood cats when you were a child and you'll ask, "Do you find me attractive?"

He'll grab hold of some silverware and raise it in a defensive posture. "Very attractive," he'll say.

Place your hand over his and lower it down to the table. He'll let go of the utensils and he'll wrap his fingers up in yours.

Say, "Guess that means I'm dangerous."

The heat between you will be palpable. "An earthly evil," he'll say. If the table weren't there you'd be on top of him already.

"Come home with me," say to him.

He'll tell you yes. There's a man in your life now. Perhaps bringing him to your bed will quiet the shrieking chorus of voices in your skull that has been growing louder lately. Always, talking about "the infected ones" and "lance the boils." Blah blah blah.

Happy Date A Profiler Day!

Rob Your Doctor Again Day!

The last time you went in for a physical, you robbed your doctor at gunpoint. You didn't ask for any cash that the office might have collected. You just demanded his wallet, his wedding ring, and his blackberry. Since he had all of your personal information, he sent the police to your house to arrest you. You did six months.

Today you have another appointment for a physical. You called him when you got out, and at first he said he never wanted to be your doctor again. But you convinced him that you couldn't trust any other doctor. You told him that some things happened while you were inside and you felt it was important that he check you out soon. He felt bad for you since he's the one who sent you to jail, so he agreed to give you a checkup.

"Just don't rob me again!" he said. You promised him you wouldn't.

Today's the appointment. You're going to have to use a knife this time since he'll probably demand that you strip before he enters the examination room with you, so there won't be any place to hide your gun. But you could keep your socks on and stash a knife in the elastic band, held to the back of your calf. He won't make you remove your socks because he wants to trust you. He wants to make sure you're healthy. He's a total mark.

Happy Rob Your Doctor Again Day!

Elderly Action Day!

Today you and your wife are going to try to remember when the last time you had sex was. One of you will say that it happened in 1991, and the other will bet on 1990, and since neither of you will agree you'll have to settle for your last time having occurred in 1965, when your youngest son was conceived. It's the only one that's got some evidence backing it up.

"Man that was fantastic," you'll say.

"How can you remember?" your wife will ask.

"Think I'd forget the last time we had sex?"

She'll ask how she was. You don't remember, but just make stuff up until she falls asleep. I know it's hard to keep from falling asleep before her, but this is a special moment. Stay awake, and tell her how she touched you.

Happy Elderly Action Day!

The Cleaning Lady's Get Well Card Day!

Your office cleaning lady's appendix burst and she went into the hospital for about ten days. When the news hit the floor, a "Get Well" card was passed around for everyone to sign. Unfortunately, you had called in sick that day so you never heard anything about any card.

At 3:00 today you're going to find the cleaning lady standing behind you. She's going to thank you for the card, and you're going to assume she's confusing you with someone on the floor who has a name that is similar to yours. She'll explain that she's referring to the card that everyone signed. Your face will go blank for a moment, than you'll try to save the situation and you'll say, "Don't mention it."

The cleaning lady will go and take another look at the card and when she discovers that your signature is not on it, she'll run back to your desk crying and calling you a liar who doesn't care about the little people. Everyone else on the floor will listen in and word will quickly spread that you did not bother to sign the cleaning lady's "Get Well" card but that you took credit for it anyway.

You'll try to explain to whomever will listen that you would have been happy to sign the card, had you been in the office that day. You'll send around an office-wide memo explaining that you only pretended to have signed the card because you didn't want to create an awkward situation by telling her you never signed the card. No one will pay heed to your explanations, so you'll have to pay someone to kidnap the cleaning lady's daughter so that you can pretend to rescue her and return to your workspace a hero. You must win their hearts and minds.

Happy The Cleaning Lady's Get Well Card Day!