Gawker Stalker Day!

Today you're going to spot George Clooney on the street. In the middle of the street, to be exact. He'll be standing in the middle of a very busy street, sobbing into this hands. Traffic on both ends will come to a halt. The drivers of the cars two and three lengths back will honk their horns incessantly, but the drivers of the cars at the front will keep their horns silent. They'll be thinking, "Hey, look it's George Clooney! Looks like he's having a rough time. Wonder what happened."

George Clooney will continue to cry alone in the middle of the street until Brad Pitt and Matt Damon happen to cross the street by chance. They'll almost walk past him, but Matt Damon will tap Brad Pitt's arm. Brad Pitt will say, "Quit tapping my arm you cunt." Then they'll both turn around and approach George Clooney hesitantly, not quite sure it's their friend.

"Our friend George Clooney?" Brad Pitt and Matt Damon will ask in unison.

George Clooney will stop crying and look up at his friends. He'll look to be explaining to them what happened.

"Quit being such a faggot," Brad Pitt will say to George Clooney. Then Matt Damon will offer George Clooney a sip of his two-liter bottle of Coke. George Clooney will take a sip, then all three of them will walk off together down the sidewalk, Brad Pitt and Matt Damon on either side of George Clooney, their arms around his shoulders while George Clooney continues to drink from the two-liter bottle of Coke.

Happy Gawker Stalker Day!

Quicksand Day!

You got a really good deal on your apartment. It's a nice size in a great location, and it gets a lot of sun in the morning. The only catch is the large pit of quicksand in the center of the living room.

"I can't have any cats," you tell people. "Learned that the hard way. Also, I have to keep a lot of long tree branches and bamboo rods around the house, and that shit can splinter all over the place. But aside from that, it's a really good deal."

Today you're going to come home and find your cousin Rodney trying to claw his way out of the pit of quicksand. You had forgotten he was coming to stay with you today. The super must have let him in.

"Holy fucking shit help me!" he'll scream when he sees you.

He'll grab onto the piece of bamboo you hold out to him and you'll drag him onto the hardwood floor.

"Why didn't you tell me you had a pit of quicksand in your apartment, Cousin?" he'll ask, in between coughing up clumps of soft, wet sand.

"Didn't I?" you'll say.

Your cousin will shower and you'll take his clothes down to the laundromat to wash the quicksand off, then you'll take him out to dinner and let him tell you all about why he dropped out of college. His mother asked you to give him a pep talk, but all he'll be able to tell you is, "Jesus, I almost died back there," and "Your apartment is really stupid, you know that right?"

Happy Quicksand Day!

Judy's On The Rebound Day!

Judy's on the rebound, and tonight, you'll do.

"Don't talk too much," Judy says. "Just pay for drinks and touch me where I say and you'll do just fine."

Nod here.

"You're not Brian and you never will be, so don't even bother trying. Now buy me vodka."

You obey. At the bar, you wonder who Brian could be and why it ended. She'll tell you when you get back to the table.

"He was so fucking full of shit," she'll say, wiping her tears off of her cheeks. "He talked about the future like it was some unknowable mystery where anything can happen. Meanwhile he's worked at the same shit job, lived in the same mess apartment, and complained about the same boring ass shit for the last eight years. The only thing in his life that ever changed was how many bourbons it took to get him wasted. But he claims he can't promise what his life will be like two years from now."

Sounds like Judy gave Brian an ultimatum, and Brian didn't blink. You've got about four days before Judy asks him to come back so you better not waste any"

"Let's go," Judy says. She grabs your head and starts making out with you. When she pulls away, you can see her shaking her head a little bit in disbelief. You assume she's amazed at how inferior your kiss is to Brian's. Hurry into your coat and get her into a cab.

At your apartment, you and Judy have sex. Hectic sex. Lot's of shoving and annoyed grunting, like you're two strangers pushing your way through a crowd to make a train. When it's over, Judy falls asleep immediately. While she's asleep, write your phone number on the back of her hand with a sharpie. Who knows? Maybe tomorrow night she'll decide you were sufficiently not annoying and she'll give you a ring. It's fun to be with someone who doesn't care a damn about what your big fancy plan for yourself might be.

Happy Judy's On The Rebound Day!

Buy Some Beer For A Teen Day!

Today when you go to the liquor store, a teenager will approach you at the entrance and he'll ask you if you can pick up a six-pack for him and his friends.

"We're all underage," he'll say. "But we wanna get drunk and have the time of our lives."

Say, "Well, you will need alcohol you're right about that."

"Is it as awesome as they say?" the kid will ask.

"I've been drinking 42 years now," tell him. "It just keeps getting better every single sip. Sometimes, when I get drunk enough, the world looks so beautiful I have to shut my eyes to keep from crying."

"Wow," the kid will say. "Please mister, help me see what you see."

Tell him, "I want to kid, but how do I know you won't sell me up the river?"

"Pardon?" he'll ask.

"I know how you kids work," tell him. "If you get caught doing something bad, like drinking beer or cheating on a test, you grab the nearest adult and you accuse him of trying to bang you. All of a sudden you're the victim and you get accepted early admission to college while I go to jail on a kiddie raper beef."

"But mister I wouldn't..."

"Now you wouldn't," tell him. "But what about when your parents and the police and your faggot guidance counselor is all hovering over you telling you that it's gonna go on your permanent record? What's to keep you from telling 'em all that you didn't even ask for it, but some pervert outside the market offered it to you if you'd show him your pecker? My momma didn't raise no fool, kid. Well, 'cept for my brother."

"Was your brother falsely accused of child molestation?" the kid will ask.

"Nah, he fucked those kids," say. "But I ain't him! And I ain't gonna fall for it."

"Mister," the kid will say. "If you buy me this six-pack, if you introduce me to the beautiful world contained within those six aluminum cans, it would be impossible for me to betray you. How could I betray the man who opened my eyes to such wonderful sights?"

The kid will have a point.

"You ain't gonna tell nobody that I tried to fuck ya's?" ask him once more. "You swear it?"

"I swear," he'll say. And you'll believe him. Not because you'll think him honest, but because you know the truth found in a sip of alcohol. That truth is bigger than you, than that kid, it's bigger than all your worries and all your cynicism. It's big enough to hold a little faith.

"What kind you want?"

"I heard Busch Lite's real good," the kid will say.

"You heard right," you'll tell the kid. Then you'll go inside and buy him his very first glimpse of the perfect endless sky.

Happy Buy Some Beer For A Teen Day!

Your Real Dad's Just Not That Into You Day!

You ran away from home to go live with your real Dad because your new step-dad won't stop trying to win you over with big stuffed bears and new mopeds.

"He's trying too hard," you'll tell your real Dad. "I hate that."

"But when I ran off when you were four," he'll explain, "It's because I knew I didn't want to raise you."

"That's what I like about you," you'll say. "You know what you want. You're not desperate to make something happen where it can't happen. You just said to yourself I'm not into my daughter so I'm gonna split. Can I stay?"

A girl a few years younger than you will come wandering into the living room. Your Dad will introduce her as his daughter, Carol. Your name's Caroline.

"I see what's going on here," you'll say. "Carol. Caroline. You're totally trying to make her into an approximation of me."

Your Dad will laugh. "Carol's actually my Mom's name. I wanted to name you Carol, but your Mom wanted to make it Caroline."

"Yeah, suuuure," you'll say.

"Really, it's not that I was trying to make her like you. More like I was trying to get it right this time."

You'll burst into tears. Your Dad and half sister will run to console you.

"It's all right," you'll sob. "It's my fault. I'm always chasing after the guy who doesn't want me."

Your half-sister will say, "But that's probably because your Dad ran off. So really, it's his fault. Let her stay Dad."

"But I don't want her to stay," your Dad will tell his daughter. "That's why I ran off, remember?"

"Oh right," your half-sister will say.

Your Dad will suggest that maybe you should just go back and give your new stepdad a shot. "He sounds like a nice guy," he'll say. "Even if he's coming on a little strong."

"Pffft. Nice. Who likes nice?" you'll say.

"She's got a point," your half-sister will say. "Nice guys are gross. I wouldn't want that guy as my step-dad neither."

Your real Dad will blame himself for teaching the both of you to think that a relationship with a man must necessarily involve chasing after his affection.

"Don't worry about it," you'll say. "I'll go back and give it another shot. I mean, he says he'll pay for my college and all, so it might be worth it."

"He's paying for your college!" your half-sister will say. Then she'll start yelling at your real Dad, who'll argue that college is for fags and he spent all his money already. They'll keep fighting while you walk out to the highway, where you'll see by the electronic sign on the median that your lame-ass coming-on-too-strong stepdad had the police issue one of those retarded Amber Alerts about you.

"Okay, I get it! You dig me!" you'll say as you stick out your thumb to hitch a ride home.

Happy Your Real Dad's Just Not That Into You Day!

You Like To Suck On Icicles Day!

Ever since you were a kid, you've always loved to break an icicle off of an awning and suck away at all that frozen winter. Unfortunately, you used to be a cranky school teacher and many of your old students have waited a long time to get back at you for being such a sourpuss and giving out so many detentions. They've been looking for ways to get back at you for many years. Last night they climbed up on the roof of the building from where you like to grab your icicles and they dripped all sorts of terrible liquids over the side to freeze into some of the most digusting and harmful icicles imaginable. They dripped pee, snot, throw-up, and Liquid Plumber. Today, you'll grab the liquid plumber one first and you'll die before having to drink any of the pee, snot, or throwup. Your former students will be a little bummed that they didn't get to giggle about you licking pee, snot, and throwup before you died.

"He was always one step ahead of us," one of your former students will say.

"Oh my God we're murderers," the other of your former students will say.

"He was asking for it," the first student will say. "All those detentions."

The second student will take off running. He'll hide in the hills.

Happy You Like To Suck On Icicles Day!

You Like To Heckle People While They Have Sex Day!

Ever since you blossomed into womanhood, you've never been so sexually gratified as when you get to watch other people have sex and tell them how crappy they are at it. You have to spend a lot of time posting and maintaining your casual encounters ads on Craig's List, but you usually get a response at least once every two weeks. It'd be nice if you could find a couple who would schedule a regular rendezvous with you. The only problem is, you aren't a very articulate heckler.

When you see someone performing what you consider to be lackluster cunnilingus, you'll shout, "You call that cunnilingus? Get some glasses."

If you see anal sex that you don't think is very adept, you'll shout, "You call that anal sex? Get some glasses."

Or, if the people having sex start to kiss each other gently just after finishing, you'll shout, "You call that afterglow? Get some glasses."

Today will be no different, and the couple will grow frustrated with your repetitive heckling. "We're wearing glasses," the woman will say. They both in fact will be wearing glasses. "Can you come up with anything a bit more creative, Ma'am?"

"Yeah I can switch it up," you'll say. Then you'll watch the couple get into position for doggystyle.

You'll shout. "You call that doggystyle? What are you blind?!"

They'll get out of bed and throw you out of their house, reminding you that they don't come down to where you have sex and slap the dicks out of your mouth. You'll remind them that you made it clear in your ad that you only wanted to heckle, and if they want to be able to slap dicks out of someone's mouth, they should place their own ad. They'll tell you that you suck as a heckler, and they'll sick a dog on you.

Happy You Like To Heckle People While They Have Sex Day!

Missile Time Day!

Today, write a children's book that begins when the missiles are in the air and the world has seventy-seven minutes left before obliteration. The kid in the book then spends the duration of the story asking his Mom if he can do all the stuff he was never allowed to do before and she lets him because the end of the world is coming.

Mommy may I climb the big oak tree outside?
Yes you may sweetie, since this will be your only chance.
Mommy may I play with the oven?
Yes you may honeybunch, but be quick about it before the whole world becomes an oven.
Mommy may I drive the car?
Yes you may my handsome boy, just don't go far and don't go fast.
Mommy may I call my Daddy?
Yes you may little man. Here's his phone number. Say goodbye.
Mommy may I pee right here?
Pee whereever you like my baby. It'll all be cleaned up by the scrub-brushes of flame.

The illustrations will show the boy having the most fun he's ever had in his short little life while missiles soar overhead and his neighbors run around packing up their cars or shrieking at the sky in terror. Your book will be celebrated as the first children's book to help kids not be scared of the coming nuclear winter because it'll be a time when they can do anything they want without getting into trouble because all bets are off.

Happy Missile Time Day!

You And Your Social Studies Teacher Drive Over A Cliff Day!

You're twelve and she's thirty-eight, but love don't care. Your parents called the police on her, so she hopped in her Mazda and drove past your place honking the signal for you to climb down from your window with a packed bag. You've been on the run from the law ever since. All because you're in love. (And you murdered a storekeeper's family during a holdup in Tucson.)

They've got you racing towards a cliff now. Not quite the Grand Canyon. But it's big and deep. (Like the hole you made in that crotchety old shopkeeper�s neck when you fired that gun. Blood shot out like the water fountains at school and you liked it.) The police have stopped their cars a hundred yards back. They know they've got you cornered. (The shopkeeper's wife died in a corner. She begged you to let her live. But her pleas only made you thirstier for her blood). They're using the megaphone to ask your social studies teacher to let you go because you're just a boy. (The shopkeeper's son was younger than you. His head came clean off his neck. Why can a gun sometimes make a clean hole and other times make a head come flying off of a neck like that? You wanted to ask your social studies teacher but she was too busy screaming for you to stop.) Your social studies teacher is looking at you now.

"Are you going to let me go?" you'll ask.

"I loved you," she'll say. "Before the robbery."

You'll sit quietly, remembering the shopkeeper's wife.

"You're no good, are you?" she'll ask.

You'll grab at the door handle but it'll be locked. The second it takes you to find the lock is enough time for your social studies teacher to take the two of you over the cliff. You'll be bummed that you have to die right after you found out how much fun it is to kill. In your last seconds, you'll pray to God to let you survive and kill some more. Or at least to let you watch your social studies teacher die. Or even, to let your soul escape your body so that you can watch yourself die. Your social studies teacher will be remembered as a remorseless, homicidal perv. They'll have the perv part right, but if only they knew just how many lives she'll have saved by taking yours.

Happy You And Your Social Studies Teacher Drive Over A Cliff Day!

Desert Men Day!

Today you're going to drop out of society and wander the desert. After wandering for a while, you'll start to meet some other men who had the same idea. Except you're dropping out because you're sick of writing ad copy. They all dropped out because they didn't want to raise their kids or pay child support.

"So I chucked it all and went into the desert," Bearded Max will tell you. "You sure you haven't seen any water? You ain't holding out on me are you?"

"No," you'll say. "Nice to meet you Bearded Max."

They'll all of them have the same story to tell without much variation. Had a child. Got kind of pissed about it. Went into the desert. No hassles ever since.

"'Cept for looking for some fuckin' water!" Dusty Mike will tell you. "You sure you haven't seen any?"

"No Dusty Mike," you'll say.

When you meet Scraggly Brian, he'll be on his way back into society.

"Do you miss your kid Scraggly Brian?" you'll ask.

"Not as much as I miss water," Scraggly Brian will say. "I'm so thirsty I'm about willing to put that kid through college if it'll get me a glass of iced tea."

"Kiss your child once for me, Scraggly Brian," you'll say.

Scraggly Brian will say, "Ew. I have a son. Wouldn't that be gay?"

Shake Scraggly Brian's hand and send him on his way. By nightfall, you'll start to get a little lonely. You'll start to envy all of the other desert men who didn't just run away from a crappy job. They all can live here knowing that back in society there's a little person wondering where they are and if they'll ever come home. Must be nice, you'll think. Then you'll go mad from dehydration and you'll start screaming at a cactus.

Happy Desert Men Day!

Fishing With Mom Day!

Your Mom is going to take you on a fishing trip today.

"I realize since I drove your Dad away when you were two, you never had no Daddy to take you out fishing," she'll say. "So I figure let's do it today and you can get it out of your system."

"But I'm 33," you'll say.

Your Mom will tell you to just shut up and get some rubber pants on.

At the lake, you and your mom will be freezing, but the sandwiches will be tasty and the beer will go down like a toy boat over a waterfall. When you catch your first fish, you and your Mom will jump around and dance like a war just came to an end. Then you'll start to cry.

"What is it pumpkin?" she'll ask.

"I just wish I hadn't had to wait so long to find out how much fun this is," you'll say.

Your Mom will berate you for giving her shit about driving your Dad away again, but you'll tell her you just wish she could have taken you fishing sooner. She'll say bullshit, no one wants to go fishing with their moms, and she'll tell you to find your own way home. Then she'll drive off and leave you there. Way to go.

Happy Fishing With Mom Day!

Evil Superstar Chef Day!

Today you are an evil superstar chef with six hip Manhattan restaurants offering your menus and surviving on your reputation of making delicious food whilst being supremely evil.

Your evil deed for the day will be a phone call reporting your dishwasher as an illegal to the INS. You force all of your dishwashers to have sex with you or risk being fired and/or deported. What you don't tell them is that every time you have sex with one of them, you feel such shame that you can't stand to have them in the same country as you anymore. So you have them deported. Today, it's Alejandro's turn to go home.

It's not difficult for you to send your dishwashers away. Not since Manuel. The shame that followed sex with Manuel was nothing compared to the hunger for another graze of his fingertips upon your skin. You kept Manuel in your employ for six weeks, starting and finishing every day with that man in your arms, one of you perched on the edge of the sinks while the other had his way, trying not to thrust so violently as to make the tower of clean glasses topple to the floor.

Soon people started to talk. Gossip columns started mentioning your hands-on approach to scrubbing the squash from dinner plates. You are no stranger to gossip columns, and you have no issue with being known for making it with the help, but your devotion to one dishwasher in one restaurant meant your other five kitchens were being left unattended, and your investors did not like the sound of that. There was going to be some hemming and hawing when you sought money for your new takeout Sushi/Fried Chicken storefront if you kept it up with Manuel. So you sent him back to Guatemala.

Not a day goes by that you don't think of him. Sometimes you wonder, did the world need a new Sushi/Fried Chicken takeout place with drive-thru and to-go mojitos? Did the world need that more than it needed two people to live the love that they'd found? It's a question you try not to answer.

Happy Evil Superstar Chef Day!

JennyFest 07 Day!

You want to show Jenny how much you love her, so you've organized an all-day music festival in her honor. The trouble is, you don't know how to organize music festivals. You figured this would be a point in your favor, since if you were Ron Delsener of Ron Delsener Productions or some other asshole who puts on big shows all the time, it wouldn't be that big a deal to hold a music festival in a girl's honor. You not knowing how to put on a festival demonstrates just how much work you're willing to put in to make Jenny feel special.

In theory, this would be true. For example, if you learned Japanese so that you could speak directly to your Japanese girlfriend's parents, that would be very impressive. The difference is, if you fail at putting on a music festival, people die. If you fail at learning Japanese, the only person who might die is a Japanese man who is about to get hit by a car while you try to remember how to tell him to look out.

People are going to die today at the all-day music festival you're putting on in your girlfriend's name. Thousands of people. You'll get them to come out by advertising that Radiohead and the White Stripes will be headlining for free. Since you'll hold the festival in upstate New York, the people will be forced to light trash on fire to keep warm. Fights will break out when people push closer to the flames, and several people will be shoved into the fires and will suffer severe burns.

There won't be any bathrooms (you didn't think of that). And there won't be any food or drinks served (you didn't think of that). Those who had the foresight to bring food and water and toilet paper will have to protect themselves from marauding gangs of thieves and looters. Many people will be beaten and robbed of their goods. Several will die this way.

Your security force will amount to a bunch of large wild dogs. Every once in a while, you'll flash on the video screen messages that read: "Behave Or We Will Release The Dogs." Unfortunately, the dogs will get loose and just start attacking the people. Many will die this way.

Radiohead will leave when they see the dogs eating their fans. The White Stripes will never show up in the first place. The only band left will be a reunited School Of Fish (with new singer). They'll play their one hit, "Three Strange Days," and the crowd will calm down enough to enjoy it. For fear of making the crowd angry with a song they aren't familiar with, they'll just play "Three Strange Days" a couple more times before running off stage and taking off in their van.

The crowd will start demanding that either Radiohead or the White Stripes play their set. They'll start throwing burning trash at the stage. The dogs will continue to attack many concertgoers. The ones still alive will chant "Worst! Concert! Ever! Worst! Concert! Ever!" You'll start to panic that in an effort to honor your girlfriend (ex, actually. She broke up with you two days ago because you were spending too much time putting this concert together) you'll have created a disaster that will be remembered for years and years to come as the day thousands of music fans were killed. Without any idea of how to placate the crowd, you'll come on the PA and shout, "And now, ladies and gentleman, for the first time ever, Radiohead and the White Stripes, playing together!"

The crowd will rush the stage, trampling many. They'll be excited, crushing many at the front up against the stage. Several minutes will pass before it becomes clear they were lied to. At this point, people will push toward the stage even harder to try to get to you and hurt you, and many will die. People will throw burning trash at the stage, but many of the throws will fall short and the trash will land in the crowd, setting fire to the clothing of concertgoers, and many will die. The dogs will rush into the meat of the crowd, feeding on as many concertgoers as they can, and many will die. By the time the night is over, in honor of Jenny, you'll have murdered thousands.

You'll take off running into the woods and you'll hide there for several weeks, trying not to freeze to death. When you return to society, you'll be charged and convicted of mass murder in the second degree. You'll serve several thousand consecutive life sentences. Jenny will not visit you in prison. She'll be happily married to Ron Delsener or Ron Delsener Productions.

Happy JennyFest 07 Day!

An Australian Man Is Making Love To Your Wife Day!

At this very moment, an Australian man is making love to your wife. They're in your bed. She's naked and on her back, and he's wearing only a snakeskin vest. Your wife just shouted "yes" and the Australian man just said "Crikey," which means, "this sex is excellent."

They met when your wife was pulling out of the supermarket and she saw him wandering around by the side of the road, looking really lost. Your wife pulled over and asked if he was okay, and he called her a "Sheila," which means "woman." She offered to give him a lift, and he was so adorably naive while at the same time rugged that she couldn't help herself. She brought him home and they began making love.

After they're done, he'll ask her to make him a vegemite sandwich. She'll tell him that she doesn't have any vegemite, and that here in America, men and women are equal and that he should make his own sandwich. He'll say "Crikey," which still means, "this sex is excellent."

Happy An Australian Man Is Making Love To Your Wife Day!

An Abortion Debate Ruins The Pizza Party Day!

Today's weekly pizza party is going to devolve into a battleground for angry rhetoric when someone brings up abortion and how it should be kept legal, and someone else responds with a chortle and an accusation of Godlessness.

"Guys, let's just eat pizza," you'll plead. But it won't work. The delicious pizza pie will be no match for their anger. When you came up with the idea for a pizza party, you had been worried about the intrusion of "the big issues." You wanted to have people over to enjoy pizza and laugh and maybe dance to records without everyone suddenly pulling out their soapboxes to shout at each other as if raising their voices makes their arguments any more cogent or even remotely original. That's why instead of inviting your circle of self-righteous friends, you posted an ad on Craig�'s List.

Weekly Pizza Party Starting Up

Straight, white male seeks male companions for weekly pizza party. All those interested in enjoying pizza, laughing, and maybe dancing to records please send emails introducing yourselves as well as photos so I can determine your race. Only room for twelve, so reply soon! Cant'a Wait'a For'a The'a Pizza'a Pie'a!

You got 200 emails but only eight of them showed any real interest in pizza, and only six of those included a photo of something besides an erect penis. You thought that a random gathering like this would avoid "the big issues" since they wouldn't know each other all that well and they'd be trying to be polite. But talk of abortion will find a way.

"Please guys, the pizza!" you'll beg. They'll ignore you and continue arguing. You'll shout, "I wish the debate over abortion had never been born!" They'll all laugh and pat you on the back. When they do, run to put on a record and get them to dance. Your pizza party has spunk, and it just might be able to survive abortion after all.

Happy An Abortion Debate Ruins The Pizza Party Day!

Tuxedo Man Day!

Today your boss is going to fire you because you wear a tuxedo to work every single day.

"Are you interviewing?" he'll ask. "To be a maitre'd or a ballroom dance instructor or something?"

"I love my job," you'll tell him. "It's just that I was starting to have trouble breathing because it felt like every day I was just a little less alive, so my therapist told me to live every day like it was the most important day of my life. What would you wear on the most important day of your life? Khakis? I think not."

Your boss will regretfully tell you that he wants you to clean out your desk and go because your attire gives the office a kind of party atmosphere. "This is serious business we're engaged in here," he'll say. "And when you walk in, everyone gets thirsty for champagne. Just go."

You'll go home and wait for your wife. She has to pick your daughter up from her school since the teachers think that when you show up in a tux in the middle of the day, you must still be drunk from a late night gallivanting with a crowd of high society types. And since you wear a tux every day, they worry that you've got your morals buried under a bowl of caviar. "We won't leave her alone with him" they told your wife. "The wealthy and bored, in their tuxes and their ball-gowns, they find it harder and harder to be entertained and they're capable of anything, as long as it presents a shot at novelty."

When your wife comes home she'll tell you that she wants to go to her mother's funeral without you. "You don't wear a tuxedo to a funeral," she'll say.

You'll say, "It's black."

Your wife will start throwing stuff at you, including a potted plant, and it will dirty your tuxedo jacket, which means that you'll have to change into another tuxedo (you have twelve) if you want to make it to the funeral in time. When you walk into the church, all of the married men will remember how they wanted to throw a big party, with a pinata even, when their mother-in-laws died, but they figured it'd be insensitive. Find a pew and release a torrent of sobs in tribute to this woman who raised and nurtured your beautiful, loving wife (who is planning to leave you at sunrise).

Happy Tuxedo Man Day!

Your Robot That Carries Drinks From The Kitchen Into The Living Room Is In Love With Your Teenage Daughter Day!

Thanks to the miracles of science, you now have a Cocktail Robot that carries drinks from the kitchen into the living room, and it only cost you eleven thousand dollars. It will even sometimes gather your empty glasses and bring them back into the kitchen, though it doesn't know the difference between "empty" and "still working on it" just yet.

It also doesn't appear to know the difference between a robot composed of wires and circuits and a human teenage girl. Any time your sixteen-year-old daughter Christine walks past, your Cocktail Robot will follow her with its robot eyes, its clunky robot head whirring on its neck until his head has turned all the way around. It will always try to offer Christine a gin and tonic, which she thankfully doesn't accept. And yesterday, you found out that your Cocktail Robot can teach itself words. When Christine passed through the living room, out of nowhere your robot blurted out "Beautiful."

Tonight something tragic is going to happen. While you're out at a ribbon-cutting ceremony, Christine will have her new boyfriend Ronald over. The two of them will order your Cocktail Robot to bring them peppermint schnapps all night long. Then Ronald will get fresh with Christine. She will playfully put up a fight, but your Cocktail Robot won't think she's being playful and it will tear one of Ronald's arms off.

Happy Your Robot That Carries Drinks From The Kitchen Into The Living Room Is In Love With Your Teenage Daughter Day!

You Are A Serial Killer With The Hiccups Day!

Every time you're hidden away in the perfect little nook and you're about to kill some naked teens, the excitement makes you breathe faster and you end up getting the hiccups. The teens hear the noise and they race into their clothes and take off running. This sucks in a big way because, ideally, you'd like to make just a small noise that makes the teens put on towels or pants only and come looking for you, basically walking right up to you as if they were reaching out to shake hands with your nail gun. Instead, they run from your guttural, hellish hiccups and you have to go chasing after them and you end up with a kill rate of around 40%. The only thing less dignified than a serial killer who races after his prey is one who does it while hiccupping like a bitch. The saddest part is, you could get rid of the hiccups if someone would just jump out and scare you, but who's going to try and scare a serial killer? Poor little serial killer with the hiccups.

Happy You Are A Serial Killer With The Hiccups Day!

Red Light Day!

Your boyfriend left a week and a half ago. He left in the middle of the day while you were at work. All he took was one small bag of clothes and his car. The note was brief and heartbreaking.

I'm sorry.
I thought I could do this but I can't.
It's best to just forget about me.

You didn't detect that there was anything wrong in the slightest. In fact, you and he had never been happier. His leaving came so far out of left field, you can't help but assume that a massive lie had been told. He has a wife. He's a fugitive. He's gay. Something.

Today the truth will arrive in the form of a black and white photo. He'll receive a letter from the department of transportation. You'll open it and find a traffic ticket for running a red signal. The violation will have been caught by one of the automated traffic cameras that have been installed at so many intersections. The citation will include four photos of his car crossing into an intersection. The date will be the day that he left.

You'll look closely at the photos creating the stop-motion movie of your boyfriend driving away from you forever. The first photo will be his car approaching the intersection. The second will have his car in the middle of the intersection. The third will be a closeup of his license plate. And the fourth will be a closeup through the windshield of the car. You'll be able to recognize your boyfriend behind the wheel just as clearly as you'll be able to recognize his ex-girlfriend sitting in the passenger seat next to him. Far less recognizable will be what you believe is a gun held in her hand, aimed at your boyfriend's side.

Go to the police and report the kidnapping. Bring the ex's old letters which tell how she can't tolerate knowing he's moved on. He never showed them to you, but luckily you were insecure and went snooping. The police will brush you off, telling you that it could just as well be a cup of Starbucks in her hand and you're just indulging in some wishful thinking. It's going to be up to you to rescue him from his ex.

You're certain that that's a gun in her hand in that photo. You're absolutely sure your boyfriend was kidnapped by his ex. You just better hope you're right, or else this could be really embarrassing.

Happy Red Light Day!

Dig Up The AIDS Meteor Day!

The stories that we�ve been fed about the origin of the AIDS virus were all manufactured by the government to hide the truth about extraterrestrials from us. AIDS was created by aliens and they infected a meteor with it and sent the meteor to Earth. Anyone who fucked the meteor got AIDS. It just makes sense.

The meteor landed in 1977 in the backyard of the house you just moved into. The guy who used to live there fucked it and died. His kids realized the AIDS meteor was a problem and they buried it in the yard, but they couldn't resist fucking it just once before they filled the hole with soil. They then lived long enough to spread the disease to others.

You need to go dig up the meteor and give it to a scientist. If that meteor is the source of the virus, studying it could yield a cure. Just remember not to fuck the meteor once it's dug up. Be careful because the meteor is really attractive. It has that certain... something. If any of your new neighbors asks you why you're digging so many holes in your yard, just tell them you're looking for the AIDS meteor and ask them if they have any idea where it might have been buried. They might know.

Thanks in advance for curing AIDS.

Happy Dig Up The AIDS Meteor Day!