Uh Oh. Looks Like You're Gonna Finally Throw A Cup Of Hot Coffee In A Coworker's Face Day!

Oh well. You knew it had to happen some time. Every morning when you
walk back from the kitchen with your cup of joe (black, half a
Splenda), as you pass that endless lineup of desks with all those
faces you've been seeing every day for almost eight years, the urge
has grown progressively stronger and more undeniable.

They all look up and acknowledge you as you pass. As if they need to
confirm with their own eyes: 'Yup, he's still here. But where would
he go?'

The silent prayer to your higher power starts its frantic refrain in
your head as you try to keep your eyes on the ground and averted away
from that vast sea of poorly shaven and overly bejowled coworker
visage:

"Don't throw hot coffee in someone's face don't throw hot coffee in
someone's face they'll start screaming and clawing at their already
bubbling and peeling skin and they'll fall on the floor and you'll be
dragged away babbling wordlessly and oh dear God it's just got to
happen one morning! But not today. Don't throw hot coffee in
someone's face do NOT THROW HOT COFFEE IN SOMEONE'S FACE OH JESUS
THERE'S JUDYYS FACE IT TAUNTS ME SO!!!"

Looks like you're gonna finally throw a cup of hot coffee in a
coworker's face. Cross that one off the to-do list I guess. By the
way, you'll be charged with felony assault.

Happy Uh Oh. Looks Like You're Gonna Finally Throw A Cup Of Hot
Coffee In A Coworker's Face Day!

You Were On Last Night's Rerun of NCIS Day!

The emails have been pouring in all day long.  "Great job on last night's NCIS!"  "Hey I thought I already saw that episode but I must have missed you the first time!"  "I didn't know you even acted, but last night you were on that show NCIS, which is just like CSI, except there's an N."

You're not an actor.  You sell paint at a Tru Value.  You don't know what everyone is talking about, but apparently someone who looks just like you was on NCIS last night.  The weird part is when CBS forwards a bag of fan mail to you.  It's all from the elderly.

"I think you're very attractive and I'd like to get you naked and tell you what my experience of World War II was like."

You contact the network and you're told that you were indeed on NCIS last night.  "Don't sweat it," the head of CBS' parent company tells you.  "It started happening in season 3.  People just started appearing on the show without having any memory of doing so.  We can't explain it, it just happens.  Eventually, everyone's going to be on NCIS.  At least for a few seconds."

The head of CBS' parent company goes on to explain that it's kind of a great way to get the ratings up, having people find out from out of nowhere that they were on it.  Then he asks you what NCIS because he's never heard of it.

You start tuning in to NCIS regularly, waiting for your rerun.  When you finally see yourself, it's really you.  Standing in the background behind some people who are in the Navy, you're just standing there in clothes you don't own, staring straight into the camera.  You lock eyes with yourself and you can see how sad you look, how disappointed you are in everything you've become.  The you on NCIS looks down at the ground, ashamed.  You get up and turn off the TV.  You can't bear to look anymore.  

Happy You Were On Last Night's Rerun of NCIS Day!

Your Were Supposed To Have That Life Day!

There’s a guy who lives in your building who looks to have the perfect life, the one you used to dream you’d have. He’s got a great job (he’s a flammability tester, lighting stuff on fire all day to see if it will burn and what happens when it does. He even gets to set fire to big screen TVs!). He’s got a great lady (she’s a gorgeous European person who thinks that whatever will be will be). He drives an awesome car (a Prius!). And best of all, Propecia makes hair grow on his head, not on the back of his thighs (you deserve a refund).

You quit your job at the Mortgage brokerage so that you could tail your neighbor during the day because you need to find out there’s some flaw in his life, some shortcoming that will prove that no one has it all. You just need to find out that maybe his boss is the guy who married the ex-wife who he’s still in love with. Maybe his parking space is really far away from the door to his building. Maybe his lady drinks during the day.

You’ve been following him for weeks and so far you’ve been heartbroken to find that his life is just as wonderful as it looks from your kitchen window. You’ve decided today is the day that you just give it up and accept his and your fates for what they are. But when he comes out of his office at the end of the day, instead of heading towards his car he’ll walk straight towards yours holding a blowtorch.

He’ll light the grille of your car on fire and make you run from the safety of your vehicle. Then he’ll grab you by the arm and drag you into his office where a group of doctors are gathered around an operating table. Turns out this whole place is a secret laboratory funded by mad geniuses who want to conduct painful experiments on specific subjects. They’ve been waiting to experiment on a disappointed man to find out how he reacts when his less essential organs are removed without anesthetic, and after seeing your obsessive behavior these last months there’s clearly no better subject but you. You shouldn’t covet.

Happy Your Were Supposed To Have That Life Day!

Go and Save A Boy From Himself Day!

There’s an alcoholic in your life, yes? That one lost cause who never had anything to offer anyone, and could only take and take and take from anyone who ever had the misfortune to have a good heart within his vicinity? The one boy who forced you to choose between him and your dying dad and then just after you chose him your dad died and he took off in the middle of the night with your Mitsubishi Mirage (crashed it into some policemen who were walking by the side of the road looking for clues to crimes).

As it turns out, that boy is running out of time.

He needs someone to come and save him from himself. All he knows how to do is send himself further and further down the spiral, like he made a vow that he won’t take another breath unless there’s a damn good chance that it will be his last. He presently sleeps in a bathtub in an abandoned building holding a plugged in toaster on his chest, the knobs on the faucets spun open wide, hoping that someone in that building will pay a water bill and finally send something besides skinny bugs out of that spout and he’ll be electrocuted in his sleep. The boy is his own nemesis and he needs a hero. Though he is the undeniable reason why you have achieved nothing that you once dreamed you'd achieve, it would be so awesome if you dropped everything and flew across the country to save him from himself. Cool?

The plane ticket is expensive, but the entirety of your savings ought to cover it. Cool?

Happy Go and Save A Boy From Himself Day!

Tug Connection Day!

Go on a game show where contestants jerk it to a particular piece of porn while the audience watches, then the audience gets to vote on who had the strongest connection to the porn they were matched up with. The contestant chosen by the audience is awarded $5,000 so he can quit his job and stay home to jerk off to that piece of porn for like two months.

You’ll do your best, but the porn they give you will be the kind where the cameraman talks while the people are doing it, saying stuff like, “Wow, that looks like a warm place!” It’s a genre called Greek Chorus Porn and you hate it. You need your fourth wall.

You don’t win the money. Go home to find your girlfriend sitting on the couch, next to a suitcase. You’ve disappointed her again. She’s leaving.

“You didn’t even try,” she says.

“The porn was miserable. The cameraman reached out and high-fived the guy in it once.”

“You were thinking about me. I could see it in your face. All of America could see it. You were sitting there jerking off, thinking about how angry your girlfriend will be if you don’t win the money.”

“I wanted to make you happy.”

“If you can’t provide me with the kinds of luxuries that $5000 can buy, I’m going to go out and seduce someone who can. I’m sorry, but I need a man to give me stuff.”

She leaves. Go to the TV and replay the episode on your DVR. She’s right. You do look like you’re faking it. Like you’re a million miles away from your own right hand.

Happy Tug Connection Day!

Ask Your Doctor About The Redhead In The Waiting Room Day!

She’s furious as she browses through a magazine about the elderly, ripping the pages from the staples she’s turning them so hard. You try to make a move.

“I’m going blind. You?”

She looks up from her magazine.

“It won’t work,” she says.

“I’d make it work,” you say.

She tosses her magazine at you then picks up another one. The nurse calls you into the examination room.

“What’s her story?” you ask the doctor. “The angry redhead. I want to spend my last sighted months staring at that face.”

“Oh her, she’s terminal. Six months tops.”

You’re pissed. She’s dying and she thinks you’re not good enough just because you’re going blind? You’re in way better shape than her.

“What the fuck?” you shout at her when you go back out to the waiting room.

“Maybe I don’t want to spend my last six months on earth making some blind guy hold hot meatballs so he knows what the color red is,” she barks.

“That’s only for people who were born blind. You’d just have to deal with me cursing God for taking my eyes.”

“I curse God,” she says. “I threaten him, sometimes. Telling him how I’m going to fuck him up in six months if he doesn’t have a good reason for taking my life.”

“Maybe you could fuck him up some for taking my eyes,” you say.

“Why should I?” she asks.

“Because I’ll be there by your deathbed, whispering into your ear to do that for me. It’ll be the last thing you remember as you pass over. My voice.”

She considers it. Then, “Sorry. I’m gonna be real weak in the final months. I need someone to carry my bedpans to the toilet without spilling them. You gotta have eyes.”

She’s summoned into the examination room. You leave the doctor’s office, fall to your knees in the parking lot and shake your fist at Jesus for being so jealous of you that he had to take away your eyes to make sure you don't get the action you deserve.

Happy Ask Your Doctor About The Redhead In The Waiting Room Day!

Horny Teenage Killers On A Rampage To Hell Day!

Something’s happened to the teenagers in America. They’re all turning into conscienceless beasts who want to do nothing but have sex with each other, drink alcohol, and murder non-teenagers with their bare hands. They travel in packs across the land, gathering in fields for naked dancing, drinking from beer kegs, and setting fire to things. No one goes out at night anymore. The teenagers are out there. The night is there’s. You’re welcome to enter it, but they’ll do what they can to make sure you won’t reach the daytime.

It’s not clear what triggered it. Some say it was the new record by a band called The Stupid Tits that unlocked some part of them that doesn’t worry about getting into good schools. Others think that this was always their true nature, and they’re only showing it just now. Still others blame Rockstar Energy Drinks. Hopefully someone in science is trying to figure out the real cause, and how this change in them can be reversed.

You don’t have time to wait for science though. You have to get across state lines to get your wife an abortion. Her career is going well and she doesn’t want to raise another child right now. Your state has too many hoops to jump through before anyone’s allowed to abort. You’ve got to get to Godless Delaware, where the babies are killed with glee. You have to travel in the night. And you have to bring your daughter Jeannie with you.

Jeannie is twelve, going on thirteen. She won’t have a birthday for another six months, but they become teenagers so fast these days. Jeannie is still very sweet, but she’s become a little more obstinate lately. Just in case something changes in her during the drive, you’ve stashed a hammer underneath your seat. Your wife doesn't know it's there. She would never believe that her beautiful daughter could give her anything to worry about.

Time to go. Stay on lighted roads and watch out for barriers they’ve set up. They’ll be waiting. They can’t wait to drag you out of your car, set you on fire and then have sex on top of your charred bodies.

Drive fast, old man. Drive safe.

Happy Horny Teenage Killers On A Rampage To Hell Day!

Pontius Pilate Day!

You and your coke buddies are having the same old argument you always have about whether Pontius Pilate was gay or just way cool. Your coke buddy Steve thinks Pilate was just way cool and didn’t mind if an orgy got out of hand and he just started fucking a dude without realizing it. Your coke buddy Rohan thinks that Pilate was gay and deeply in love with one of his dressers. “Read the scrolls!” Rohan keeps shouting at you until his nose gushes blood again. Your coke buddy Jennifer thinks that Pilate was gay and, in his heart, celibate, save for a few public dalliances to call off the dogs.

“I think when we’re arguing about Pontius Pilate,” you tell them. “We’re really just arguing about me and who of you has a shot with me.”

They all blush with shame. Go to each of your coke buddies and give them a big kiss. Then pull your gun out of your pants and scream at them to throw all their money and coke on the table, take off their shirts and pants, and then get the hell out of your house. They’ll all sigh and do as you say and in two or three nights they’ll all come back and go through the whole routine again, because they just can’t go too long without seeing your face, or doing coke, again.

Happy Pontius Pilate Day!

Play Your New Drums As Loud As You Can, Until You See Your Dead Husband Again Day!

The house is pretty quiet now that you’re a widow so you bought a new drum set and put it together up in the attic. Go up there today and pound on that shit as loud as those early-golden-year wrists can manage. Punish those drums, find a beat and keep it going for hours and hours, waking up everything that ever even thought about getting some rest. Keep going until you wake the dead.

A cold wind will blow through the attic and you’ll look up and see the translucent, ghostly image of your dead husband standing before you, frowning in judgment.

“Rock music is a direct phone line to the devil,” he’ll say. “You’re thumbing your nose at Jesus.”

Stop your playing for a second and tell your husband, “It really pissed me off that you got all into Jesus the last five years of your life.”

Your husband will shrug. “Times got hard. I needed something to lean on.”

“How’s death?” ask him.

“Easy-peasy,” he’ll say.

Nod and smile. “I’m glad,” tell him. “Save your Jesus crap okay?”

Your dead husband will smile at you the way he used to, back when he was young and all he wanted was to find a basement or a backseat or the crook of a tree where he could get you alone for a few minutes. Kiss the tip of your drumstick and flick it to him. He’ll catch your kiss and disappear back into the other side and you’ll go back to abusing those skins.

Happy Play Your New Drums As Loud As You Can, Until You See Your Dead Husband Again Day!

Plumber With Dead Zone Powers Day!

You’re a plumber and you have an otherworldly power that lets you touch stuff in a particular area and receive a vision of someone who died there. Since so many people slip and die in showers, everytime you fix someone’s bathroom plumbing you have to endure flashes of a former occupant of that bathroom lying naked and dead under running water, blood pouring from their skulls and tub autumnal from their gradually evacuating bowels and bladders. It makes your clients nervous because, though you’re a good plumber, they hate to hear a stranger scream in their home.

Today, finally buy some gloves.

Happy Plumber With Dead Zone Powers Day!

Fools Gold Made 22 Million Dollars This Weekend Day!

Time to finish writing that movie about bathing suits you've been working on. You should call it LAYIN' OUT. It's the triumphant story of a pale girl from the city who never tanned before. She moves to Hermosa Beach because her Dad got transferred there for work, and at first no one likes her because she's never tanned before. But it's not that she can't tan, she just never tried. One of the tannest boys in the school ends up falling for her, and all his friends think he's out of his mind wasting his senior year with some pale girl, but then the pale girl says that she wants to learn to tan. It's not because she has anything to prove to the other kids.

"It's something I have to prove to myself."

They fuck on a boat. It hurts and is magical. They spend most of the next few months laying out like crazy until the pale girl is a deep golden bronze, except since it's her first tan, it's a "Virgin Brown" and it puts her over the top at the tanning competition. She wins and her mom tells her how proud she is of her then dies of cancer.

Happy Fools Gold Made 22 Million Dollars This Weekend Day!