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!