Hiking With Murderers Day!

You and your husband met a few guys while hiking and so you all decided to hike together. The guys are murderers who’ve killed several people in this park just today. The police are probably after them but you don’t know that. All you know is they are murderers who are really good at spotting snakes and identifying flowers.

“It’s so beautiful,” you’ll say while staring out over a peak.

“You guys are such a cool couple,” Mark the Murderer will say. “Most people don’t like hiking with us because we’re murderers.”

“We’re not most people,” your husband Lou will say.

“You sure aren’t,” Kevin the murderer will say. His voice will be extra excited because he’ll have just finished strangling a middle-aged hiker who wandered near you.

A police helicopter will appear over the range.

“Come with us to our house!” you’ll shout.

The five of you will escape to your house. You’ll hide the murderers there until the world is ready to accept that some people are different and differences should be celebrated. You’ll hide them there until murderers are no longer seen as second-class-citizens, or until they murder you.

Happy Hiking With Murderers Day!

Captain SpraySpray Day!

You’re a graffiti artist who has kept his identity a secret for years, except now you have a nemesis who wants to expose you. Today he kidnapped Maura, the girl you love but who doesn’t like you because she thinks you’re a house-painter and that you could never be a super-talented graffiti artist. He says unless you come forward and identify yourself as the super-talented graffiti artist, he’ll kill her.

You have no choice but to send Jeff, one of your assistants, to pretend to be you.

“Yup,” Jeff will say. “I’m Captain SpraySpray.”

“Of course you are,” your nemesis will say. “I have no reason to doubt you.”

“You’re as handsome as I always imagined,” Maura will say to Jeff.

Jeff will immediately go home and make love to Maura. They’ll marry hastily and live off of the million dollar contracts to spraypaint the office walls of dotcom companies that want to seem with-it. He’ll hire you on as his assistant and he’ll be very tyrannical.

Happy Captain SpraySpray Day!

Pool Party Day!

You weren’t invited to the big office pool party, so you climbed a tree to watch all your coworkers splash around in their bathing suits, enjoying their time without you. From your vantage point, you’ll see your coworkers swim, tan, drink fruity drinks, and sneak off to make out under the shade of the very tree in which you’re hiding, and the whole scene will make you feel incredibly alone. So alone that you’ll start to cry, and you’ll cry loud enough that your coworkers will hear you and they’ll run to the base of the tree and set it on fire. The flames will rise, forcing you to either jump down to safety where you’ll be humiliated for spying on a party to which you weren’t invited, or stay in the tree and burn to death on its branches, so you stay in the tree and burn to death on its branches.

Happy Pool Party Day!

You’re A Kid Doctor Day!

You lost a patient today.

“I’m only twelve and a heart stopped beating while it was in my hands.”

Your hospital chief surgeon will tell you that you’ll get used to it.

“Excuse me,” you’ll say. You’ll step into an operating room and grab a scalpel to slit your own throat. The chief surgeon will stop you just in time.

“Why are you doing this?” he’ll ask.

Remind him that you’re only twelve and a heart stopped beating while it was in your hands.

“You’ll get used to it,” your chief surgeon will say.

Try to slash your own throat again. Repeat until they stop making you operate on people just because you’re smart, and they put you in an institution because you’re already so very ruined forever.

Happy You’re A Kid Doctor Day!

The Popcorn Factory Deaths Day!

Today you’re supposed to show up at the popcorn factory to commemorate the deaths that took place there two years ago which were your fault. You were making love with a delivery man while you were supposed to be watching the heating facility and the fires spread. You felt bad but the whole thing was shown to be an accident so you weren’t prosecuted.

You’re going to show up late to the memorial today because you’ll be making love to someone you met at a sandwich window. When you finally show up at the memorial everyone will look at you and shake their heads.

“Sorry I was…” you’ll say. “I got some action again.”

“That’s our Martha,” the mother of one of the deceased will say.

Everyone will laugh and then one of the fathers of the deceased will point to your skirt, which is tucked into your stockings.

You’ll sit down and the sister of one of the deceased will whisper in your ear, “Your promiscuity makes me feel so alive.”

You’ll tap her hand and lean forward because you don’t like when strangers get touchy, then you’ll grab some popcorn from your bag and start guzzling it down because you’re starved.

Happy The Popcorn Factory Deaths Day!

Murdertown Day!

A greedy developer wants to buy out Murdertown and build a golf course. You guys need to raise some money.

“Car wash,” you’ll suggest, and everyone will start gathering buckets and sponges.

Cars will come from miles and miles, and before you know it, there will be a line stretching down main street of people waiting to get their cars washed. Unfortunately you and your townsfolk with murder all of them before they can even pay. The rest of the day will be spent disposing of the bodies, but with the money in the victims’ wallets and the money you get from selling the victims’ cars, you raise just enough to keep the greedy developer from buying you all out.

“You’ve won this round,” the greedy developer will say just before you all, predictably, murder him.

Happy Murdertown Day!

Can’t Dance Can’t Be My Boy Day!

You just snapped your leg at the knee. Shannon told you she could never go out with a boy who couldn’t dance, so you took classes. At first it was a hard road, then you broke through and started showing them something. Before long you were getting cast for touring companies, then summer stock, then out-of-towners, then Broadway, until finally you were the guarantee that a show would open and never close. But you still weren’t getting what you got into the game for.

“Gotta go back to Ann Arbor,” you told your producers. They checked their contract and there was a Shannon clause.

You went back and put on a show specifically for her, her name in the title (“Shannon’s Show: The Proof That We’re In It To Win It”) and you put on a hell of a performance until a few seconds ago when you landed wrong and snapped your whole livelihood in two.

“I did it all for you though,” you’ll tell Shannon when she comes backstage to see how you’re doing after the show.

“Yeah well,” she’ll say. “You know the deal. Can’t dance, can’t be my boy.”

You knew the deal. Shannon will leave your dressing room without looking over her shoulder. You’ll go home and get work as an administrator at a youth organization devoted to the arts.

Happy Can’t Dance Can’t Be My Boy Day!

Round Noon Day!

You come in around noon every single day. “I’d like you to sit at the booth over there,” he’ll tell you. “See I handle the counter orders and my wife waits on the booths.” Tell him you like the counter. “My wife waits on the booths,” he’ll say. “It’s better that you sit over there.” You look at his wife, who is scowling at you from the serving station. Tell him there shouldn’t be an issue. That you’re just here to eat food and you should be allowed to sit where you like. “Please sit in that booth over there,” he’ll say. “My wife will take your order.” Go to the booth. When his wife comes by, she won’t say a word. She’ll just wait for you to say “Pancakes” then she’ll bring the slip of paper to the kitchen never weakening her suspicious frown. You thought for sure you kept your feelings a secret. Could she really know the depth of your feelings for her husband just by the way you spoke to him in the twelve words of conversation it took for him to take your order every day? Or did she detect something in his behavior? She must have detected something in his behavior. Now’s your chance. Run to the counter while she’s in the kitchen. “Out back in two minutes,” tell him. “I’ll bring my car around. You bring nothing but your beautiful face, and those two beautiful hands to lay upon my skin.” He’ll say, “Make it 90 seconds or she’ll stop us.” Race out that front door, making sure to grab the cowbell on the hinge so the sound doesn’t draw her back to the floor, then skid around to the back lot and get ready to peel away to a life of fresh, wonderful pancakes, every single morning, sprinkled with a layer of delicious love. Happy Round Noon Day!

You Just Go Downstairs And Ask Him Day!

You say to him look I’ve noticed these 22 years that you’ve been down here living alone just I’ve been living alone in the apartment one flight up. I had my reasons for living that way as I’m sure you have, though I can’t remember what mine were, haven’t been able to remember for about the last ten. Anyway, tell him, I hear the records you play down here and I like almost all of them except for the Steely Dan and the Edie Brickell. Thing is I’m gonna die and you’re gonna die, tell him, and we only got a handful of years left. Figure I could do a lot worse than dying alongside a man with a tolerable music collection so what do you say, you ask.

He’ll ask what he says to what. Guess you didn’t quite full on ask just yet.

Say what do you say to you and me. The two of us. Dying together.

I can’t live without my Dan, he’ll say. Can’t die without em neither.

And the Edie?

He’ll take a breath. She can take a walk, he’ll say.

He’ll step aside in his doorway for you to come inside and live out your final years in his apartment. You’ll take a look around the place, looks like it hasn’t been cleaned since Bill Clinton. Say maybe we should die upstairs in my place. Tell him he can bring the Dan.

Happy You Just Go Downstairs And Ask Him Day!

Apartment Tour Day!

The broker told you to go to the apartment. He’d already given the key to somebody to take a look, but if you get there in time she’ll let you in.

“No.”

“Good God.”

Your ex-wife will be standing in the middle of the empty living room holding the key on its rubber band.

“You’re back?”

She’ll say, “I never left. I just…got into different stuff.”

You’ll make love on the living room floor. There’ll be a knock on the door.

“No,” your ex-wife will say.

The man with the long black ponytail will say, “Good God.”

Your ex-wife will ask him when he got back into town. You’ll recognize him from photos. He was her boyfriend right before you and she met.

“I never left,” he’ll say. “I mean I left. Physically. I went to Alaska. But my heart was always here.”

You, your ex-wife, and her ex-boyfriend will make love in one of the two bedrooms. The more spacious one. There’ll be a knock on the door.

“No,” you’ll say.

The girl you made love to on a soul-searching camping trip, the girl you never thought you’d see ever again will say, “Good God.”

Ask her if she’s always lived in this town.

“I feel like I have,” she’ll say. “Even though, and this is a more direct answer to your question, I’m from Philadelphia born and raised.”

You, your ex-wife, your ex-wife’s ex-boyfriend, and the girl you made love to on a soul-searching camping trip will make love in the second of the two bedrooms. The less spacious one, more of a walk-in closet really. It’s kind of ridiculous. There will be a knock on the door.

“No,” you, your ex-wife, your ex-wife’s ex-boyfriend, and the girl you made love to on a soul-searching camping trip will say.

The real estate broker will already be getting naked.

“Let’s do it in the eat-in kitchen. Totally redone,” he’ll say.

After making love, you, your ex-wife, your ex-wife’s ex-boyfriend, the girl you made love to on a soul-searching camping trip, and your real estate broker will agree to split the rent five ways and share chores and decorating duties for the most erotic and emotionally connected roommate situation to which you’ve ever been party. You’ll constantly argue over who gets the small bedroom, and how much rent its occupant should have to pay, until eventually the group sex isn’t enough and you all move out to find an apartment that isn’t some kind of joke. I mean come on. The window is smaller than the one in the bathroom.

Happy Apartment Tour Day!

You Should Tell Him How You Feel Day!

No matter what you think is the right or proper thing to do, no matter who you’re presently engaged to or whether you think there’s better waiting for you, no matter if you think he’s entirely wrong for you and it’s not fair that your heart should make you feel so much for someone that shouldn’t even register on your radar, you should tell him how you feel.

“I think you’re radical,” say. “Absolutely sick.”

“Bitchin’,” he’ll say. “Get the fuck in my Datsun?”

“Get me the fuck in your Datsun,” say, gathering the train of your wedding gown into your hands.

Your parents will be a bit upset, as will the six hundred guests, not to mention your jilted groom, but the most entertaining weddings are the ones that don’t end up happening. Godspeed to your Datsun.

Happy You Should Tell Him How You Feel Day!

The Ice Couple Day!

They finally unfroze you and you came to before she did.

“You’ve inspired so many with your love,” the scientist says. “Do you remember what your last words to each other were? Were they ‘I love you?’”

Say, “What’s going on? Where am I? What year is it?”

They’ll tell you the year, the location of the lab, the fact that you were unfrozen after many, many years, and that the fact that you were found frozen in a block of ice holding hands with a woman has made many people revive their faith in love. The image has been shared all across the web and on magazine covers across the land. You and your unfrozen lady are the couple of the year.

“Who are you talking about?” you’ll ask.

They’ll show you the photo. You’ll squint.

“Oh wait,” you’ll say. You’ll squint some more. “Oh right. Sarah. Or, Sally? Savannah?”

They’ll tell you she’s in the next room if you want to kiss her while she’s still asleep but with cameras aimed at you for a live feed watched by the entire country.

“You know,” tell them. “It was just a date.”

Love at first sight, they’ll say.

“You know,” tell them. “It wasn’t going well. I kind of decided right away that it wasn’t working out.”

But then the ice age hit and you realized you were in love and that’s why you died holding hands, they’ll say.

“We were holding hands running, but then I was actually kind of trying to let go. Kind of worried that she’d slow me down,” tell them. “I was even worried about how it’d look if we ended up getting frozen together. But she didn’t let go.”

They’ll request that you never repeat what you just said, and that you tell anyone who asks that you’re in love with the girl you were frozen with.

Say, “Nope. It really wasn’t working. She was really into musical theater, and politically I made some jokes about Occupy and she seemed pissed.”

They’ll ask if you can just pretend to be into her.

“Nope,” say. “We didn’t connect.”

When your ice mate wakes up they’ll hold a picture of you in front of her.

“Ew,” she’ll say.

Happy The Ice Couple Day!

Winning Home Run Day!

Today’s the day you hit the winning home run.

“Dad, Dad did you see me hit the winning home run?” you’ll shout to the stands.

“He’s gone,” the other parents will say. “He’s gone and there’s no point in finding him.”

Hold your bat threatening them.

“You tell me where he is. Whatever he told you, it’s not true.”

They’ll look into your nine-year-old eyes with fright but they’ll hold their ground.

“He told us enough. Enough to make us understand his need to head east,” they’ll say. “You can try to terrify us with your words the way you did with your father, but we are many. We are parents. And we protect our own.”

Don’t bother with those fools. You could stay and make them bow, but they already told you everything you need to know. He’s headed East. Virginia. The only place he has kin. Drop the bat and start hitching. Your father has a good couple hours lead on you and that’s it. Catch him, learn him, and bring him back home to raise you through your schooling the way you taught him to raise a child.

Happy Winning Home Run Day!

Dance Marathon Day!

It’s hour 20 in your dance marathon and it’s between you two and this other couple. You’re pretty sure you’re going to win because you smoked meth earlier, so that should keep you awake long enough to win the marathon. Whoops, you just fell down and died so you lost. This was for charity.

Happy Dance Marathon Day!

There Are Only Ten Ways To Fall In Love Day!

Today there are only ten ways to fall in love. They are as follows:

Number 10. You’re a doctor, he’s a nurse. After a long night in the ER, he drives you home while listening to the police scanner on his dashboard. When the dispatcher announces the address of a house fire you both look at each other and smile a smile that says, “Holy shit I finally found someone gets as turned on as I do by watching stuff burn,” and when he floors it you’ll know you just fell in

Number 9. It’s Christmastime and you’re both married when he bumps into you at the department store and knocks your presents out of your hand. So you go out for a drink and you converse like you’ve been friends for years, and you discover that you grew up in the same town and you both watched the same boy drown in a quarry in 1992 and neither one of you did a thing to save him and that’s when you fall in

Number 8. You’re engaged to a wealthy society boy, but you’re having an affair with your Pilates instructor, so you convince your Pilates instructor to murder your fiancé. He pulls it off and then strips down to play in your fiance’s blood and you’re like, “Damn Ted, I thought I was the only one who enjoyed being coated in that gritty slick.” You strip down and embrace in the puddle and that’s when you know you’re in

Number 7. You’re being attacked by dogs and the owner of the dogs comes running up and calls off his dogs by shouting, “No, she’s too beautiful.” When he asks you if you’d like to go to a hospital you tell him you don’t believe in medicine and he says, “Me neither. I only trust in the Lord. But I would’ve have driven you while praying that your soul be spared the fires of hell if you wanted to go. That’s how beautiful you are.” Then you go inside and you find out you both like to spend weekends wearing nothing but rubber, and that’s when you fall in

Number 6. You’re a widow and he’s a cable TV installer. When he asks you how your husband died you say drunk-driver and he says over on 7th and Market and you say yes and he says oh my god that was me I have no choice but to try and fill your life with all the happiness I took from you and that’s how you discovered you still have it in you to fall in

Number 5. You’re both cats. You meet when you’re both adopted by the same owner. You just go right ahead and fall in

Number 4. She’s a bartender. You’re a novelty urinal mint salesman. She never laughs at your urinal mints, so you take a writing class to help you come up with funnier urinal mints, but before you know it you’ve finished a novel and it’s a bestseller and so you quit selling funny urinal mints. The book is all about her, you wrote her life, the one you imagine for her, that sadness you wish you could chase away, all the things you’ve dreamed for those beautiful eyes to see. She comes to a book signing and you go out for coffee where you learn that neither of you can have an orgasm unless you’re listening to the “27 Dresses” soundtrack, and that’s when you fall in

Number 3. He’s just been told he’s got six months to live, and you’ve just been told you were adopted. You meet through an online dating site and at first he’s all, “I have 35 or 40 years to live I mean who doesn’t?” And you’re all “I was raised by my biological parents can you imagine if I wasn’t?” After three dates you both admit your secrets and that you were afraid of scaring each other off, and you also both admit to having extensive collections of slaughterhouse videocassettes shot by actual slaughterhouse floor employees and then and only then do you truly madly deeply fall in

Number 2. You fall down a well. He’s there, been there for years. He teaches you which bugs are edible. That’s when you know it’s

Number 1. Your name’s Pamela. Her name’s Marjory. You’re both walking down the side of a highway during an evacuation because there’s an asteroid on its way. When you find shelter and start making love Marjory’s like, “Call me Stephen. It won’t happen for me unless you call me Stephen.” And you’re like “Oh my God I was just about to tell you to call me Stephen.” You agree to fistfight over who gets to be called Stephen. Marjory knocks you down and you hit your head bad, and in your final moments of life you realize that you’ve just fallen head over heels in love.

Happy There Are Only Ten Ways To Fall In Love Day!

So You Live In That Mini-Van That’s Always Parked On The Street Day!

She’s a rich girl and you just heard her scream inside her rich girl’s house. You run in her house and you pull a guy away from her, a guy in a rubber mask with a crowbar. Just a robber who didn’t think he’d be bumping into anybody and so he grabbed onto her while he tried to figure out what to do. You send him running.

“So you live in that mini-van that’s always parked on the street?” she’ll ask, smoking her cigarette, trying to keep herself together. “You know living in a big house like this doesn’t make me safer. Might even put me in more danger.”

You leave the house without kissing and you go back to your mini-van and wait six hours. In six hours she sneaks away while her husband’s asleep.

“Put the key into the ignition and drive this mini-van headlong into our future,” she’ll say. “Go go go go go go go goooooooooooooooo.”

You put the key into the ignition and you drive.

Happy So You Live In That Mini-Van That’s Always Parked On The Street Day!

Amnesiac Wife Day!

She hit her head and now she can’t remember that she loves you so the doctor is telling you it’s up to you to make her fall in love with you again.

“No way,” tell him.

He’ll say he understands. He guesses that if he were in the same situation, he couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t take the opportunity to start fresh and marry someone new.

“It’s not that,” tell him. “I got her to fall in love with me when we were both in our twenties, when we were both fucking gorgeous, and when we both had nothing but hope for our future. Now look at me. Look in my eyes. Do you see any hope in my eyes?”

The doctor will say he only sees exhaustion and cowardice, the result of having spent years giving up your dreams. But she’s your age, he’ll say. She must have given up some dreams of her own.

“Dreams she doesn’t even remember,” tell him. “I remember the man I wanted to be, and I watched him slip away. She has no memory of the woman she thought she’d be. She has no baggage. No memory of the moments when she chose to compromise and take the safer path. She’s going to come out of that hospital with a completely clean slate. Not only hasn’t she given up on her dreams, she hasn’t even started dreaming her dreams yet.”

Jesus, the doctor will say. He’ll turn around to look at your wife like he was keeping his eye on a dangerous animal.

“She’s basically living the life you only get to live when you’re granted a wish by a genie. How am I supposed to convince someone with that kind of mindset to fall in love with me?” ask him. “When all I feel is jealous of the chance she has.”

The doctor will point out that considering everything you’ve said, it’d be almost cruel to lure her back into your life. Like tricking someone who escaped from prison to get back into her cell.

You and the doctor will take one last look at your wife.

“You married, doc?” ask him.

The doctor will say yes.

“If you love her,” tell him. “Don’t ever let her hit her head. Don’t let her forget all the reasons that made her settle for a guy like you.”

The doctor will look like he’d like to get to a phone and call his wife. He won’t stop you when you turn away from your wife and walk out of the ward.

Happy Amnesiac Wife Day!

The Alien Magician Died Day!

You were abducted by an alien craft several years ago and it’s been unbelievably boring except for the Friday night magic show put on by an extremely talented alien. It was astounding. Instead of the usual sawing a lady in half stuff you would see back on Earth, he would turn people inside-out or make hats come out of rabbits. His best trick was to make everything turn into dogs.

You volunteered at every show and you couldn’t wait for the week to end so that you could see the lights go down on his theater once again. Tonight you arrived in the theater and were told there would be no show.

“He’s gone,” the alien with the weird hands told you.

He took his own life. Apparently he was told he’d have to give up his magic so that he could devote himself to the alien army. He couldn’t do it.

“I’d like to be returned to Earth,” you’ll tell your captors tonight. “This ship is so boring. Now that the one entertaining alien has killed himself, I won’t be able to handle living here anymore. I want to—”

The aliens will cause you to explode into a cloud of gas by thinking about it.

Happy The Alien Magician Died Day!

Dead Hanna Dream Day!

Dead Hanna is going to haunt your dreams tonight. “Yeah there’s treasure. It’s buried under the Maple Tree of my house. Yours.” Ask her why she’s giving you the information about her treasure when she was so popular and you’re just a nerd. “That one time in Chemlab when you were super-smart, I really understood that only smart guys could do right by my treasure.” Wake up and realize that only in a dream would dead Hanna ever tell you where her gold is. Go to school and listen to the quarterback talk about how Dead Hanna gave him all her gold.

Happy Dead Hanna Dream Day!

Death Bed Salesman Day!

You sell death beds because someone has to. People need to die somewhere and why not let their loved ones buy them a bed to die in that’s more comfortable than the ones in which they’ve lived for years. Your wife thinks differently.

“The only death bed in this town is the one him and I sleep in every night!” she’ll shout tonight to your customers.

“She’s upset,” tell the couple who is about to buy a Last Rest Posturpedic.

Your wife won’t rest in her protest.

“He’s dead inside. I married death itself.”

Stand up and shout, “I married life at its ruin. I married woe.”

She’ll come running at you, holding a bag above your head heavy enough to knock you bloody. Duck and tackle her, tumble forward, breaking your neck and cracking her skull, instantly ending your marriage and your lives, together.

On the Serta Eternity Queen you’ll land, dead. Both of you gone, neither of you left behind. You’ll have landed together, your arms around each other, together to the end on your death bed. You finally got one for free.

Happy Death Bed Salesman Day!

The Boxer Marries Day!

You fought a dump fight, showed up as the piece of meat to be beaten by a contender with a shot. You got six grand to get hit stupid. Six grand to marry your lady. You’re at the altar waiting, staring out at what $5,370 can buy.

You wanted to be someone she could be proud of. You wanted to be someone you could be proud of. Things change. You see the line between earning pride and getting fed. There’s a waiting period to get to the kind of place where you can inspire pride. You’re waiting now. She’ll be here.

You didn’t want her to come to the fight. You asked her mother to keep her away. You didn’t want her to see what you knew was going to happen. You were going to be treated like a slight speed bump. You saw her. It made you fight harder, which was a shame. You might have looked a little better today if you’d just hit the canvas when the occasion called. She’s coming.

The cut in your eyelid is open. Stop the bleeding with your shirt cuff. She’s coming.

There’s no way she didn’t know who she was marrying when she said yes. The fight can’t have been that big a surprise. She said yes and she meant yes. Watching you get bludgeoned in front of 700 people can’t have changed things.

The priest has a wristwatch and you catch him checking it. She’s coming. It’s her wedding day. She’s marrying a boxer. She’s coming.

Happy The Boxer Marries Day!

The Guy Who Sells You Your Firewood Wants To Date Day!

He’s always seemed a little bit over-friendly, but he never had the nerve to say anything to you. So today instead of saying it out loud he decided to take a more covert approach. When you start loading your pieces of wood into the fireplace you’ll notice there’s some writing on one of them. It reads “Gay? Into me? Call me tonight.” Then his phone number. You’ll check the other pieces of wood and you’ll see he wrote the same on each. He must have spent all morning writing romantic overtures on pieces of wood waiting for you to come in.

Drive the wood back to his market and tell him that you aren’t gay and you’re not interested.

“But burning the wood with your number on it seemed harsh. Such a callous fire could never warm me. Please take this wood back and sell me some more.”

“But what am I supposed to do with this?” he’ll ask.

Tell him to save it for when the right man comes along. “Soon someone’s going to come in to buy some wood to keep warm, and you’ll know that what he really wants is to keep warm with you.”

He’ll smile and hand you another pile of wood. When you get it home you’ll see that written on each of the logs are the words “Thanks for being cool about this.” You’ll sit by the fire wondering exactly how much time your wood salesman spends writing notes on his wood in anticipation of messages he expects to give to customers, and whether it’s something to be concerned about.

Happy The Guy Who Sells You Your Firewood Wants To Date Day!

Your Diary Is Just Page After Page Of The Word “Titties” Day!

You’ve tried keeping a diary but nothing that’s happened in your life is as interesting as titties. You’ve dated each page so you can go through all the big days of your life and realize that they just didn’t compare to titties. Your high school graduation: “Titties.” The day you met your biological dad and he asked you if you wanted to join his high-end burglary crew: “Titties.” The day you thought you saved a friend from killing himself and then when you went to sleep outside his bedroom door and he ingested a bottle of pills you didn’t know he had and killed himself anyway: “Titties.” The day you first touched some titties: you weren’t keeping the diary way back then.

Happy Your Diary Is Just Page After Page Of The Word “Titties” Day!

Be The Father Of The Navy Seal Who Shot Bin Laden Day!

Today you’re the father of the Navy Seal who shot Bin Laden, and you resent your son because you never did anything memorable with your life.

“Think you’re better than me?” say to him over dinner tonight. “Everything you have is cause of me. You got that?”

“Yeah Dad,” he’ll say, playing with his peas.

“Walk around like you’re hot shit,” tell him. You’re drunk, btw. “Stand up and fight me like a man if you think you’re so tough.”

You’ll hoist yourself out of your chair and your son will remain seated. Slap him in the face.

“Come on Chickenshit,” say. Slap him again.

Your son will jump out of his chair, knocking his cutlery on the floor, and he’ll be sobbing.

“This isn’t about Bin Laden,” he’ll shout, tears running down his cheeks. “This is about Mom! This is about you blaming me for her death. I couldn’t have saved her Dad! You’ve gotta stop punishing me because you miss her.”

His mother killed herself twelve years ago. He would have been home to stop her but he was being trained in silent larynx removal.

“All the other guys on Seal Team Six have dads who are proud of them,” your son will say. “Why can’t you be proud of me? I shot Bin Laden for God’s sake, Dad. Don’t you think Mom would want you to be proud of me?”

You won’t know what to say, so just shuffle away from the table, muttering “Clean this mess up” as you go. Then retreat to your bedroom to drink some more and look at pictures of the woman who brought that boy into the world to make it a safer place.

Happy Be The Father Of The Navy Seal Who Shot Bin Laden Day!

Fistfight Over Leanne Day!

When you spot some random dude walking your old Corgi Leanne you run out of the bar to find out what the fuck.

“I’m just helping out Sharon,” he’ll say. His name’s Mark. “She won’t be home in time.”

“Yeah well you may get to fuck my ex-girlfriend, but you do not get to walk my dog.”

Punch him in the face, then grab the leash and take off with Leanne. Leanne can’t run very fast because she’s a Corgi, so Mark will catch up with you and punch you in the back, sending you rolling on the sidewalk. You’ll get tangled in Leanne’s leash.

Mark will try to tug the leash away from you but it will be wrapped up in your legs. Use his struggle as an opportunity to send a few jabs into his stomach. He’ll double over, and the two of you will be sprawled on the sidewalk with Leanne growling and barking for you to stop.

“So what, you have a key to Sharon’s apartment now?” ask him.

Mark will nod.

Scratch Leanne behind the ears.

“You taking good care of her?”

“I really like Sharon,” Mark will say. “She’s in good hands with me. I won’t hurt her. Promise.”

“I meant Leanne,” tell him. “Sharon’s an asshole and she’ll hurt you way before you get the chance to hurt her. Are you taking care of my dog?”

Mark will say, “I love your dog.”

You and Mark will both pet Leanne at the same time, you on her neck and Mark just above her rear flanks.

“You better,” tell him.

Get up and start to walk away. Mark will shout, “Hey!”

Turn around.

“I take her to the dog run every Saturday at 2,” he’ll say. “Just me. Sharon has a shift then.”

That’s how you and Mark become super-good best friends who remain super-good best friends even after Sharon breaks up with him three weeks from now.

Happy Fistfight Over Leanne Day!

You Discovered Porn Day!

The news vans are parked on your lawn, waiting for your statement.

“Where did you find the porn?” you’ll be asked by Tooty Tong from Channel 6. “Did you find it on a schoolteacher’s computer? Being projected on the wall of day care center’s basement? Did a priest pass it to you while you were in a confessional?”

Tell her, “I found it on my computer.”

They’ll be unsure where you’re going with this.

“You guys,” say to them. “I think this thing is going to be big.”

Dak Drockman will push his mic through the crowd of shoulders.

“What kind of porn did you find?” he’ll ask. “Children? Politicians? A celebrity and some animals?”

“It was a man,” tell them. “And a woman. Both attractive, the woman exceptionally so, but in a kind of cheap way. They were completely naked, and they were definitely making love. I could see everything.”

The microphones will slowly lower from your face. The reporters will exchange glances. They’ll start to walk away, most likely to rush back to the studio to be the first to report on the man who discovered porn.

Go back inside and turn on your computer to see if the porn is still there. It will be, and you’ll notice a link underneath. Click it, then run outside to stop the reporters before they leave.

“You guys!” shout to them. “I found another one.”

They’ll stop in their tracks, turning to you in disbelief.

Tell them, “It’s spreading. This thing…this is gonna snowball.”

Happy You Discovered Porn Day!

So Beautiful You’re Fired Day!

Today the sunset is going to get you fired.

“Everyone come in here,” your boss will shout to the floor. You’ll all crowd into the conference room that faces west, looking out over the water.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” your boss will say, referring to the sunset over the river.

You’ll all silently take it in, until your boss says, “Pam’s fired. Pack your shit Pam.”

You’re Pam. Ask him why.

“You have kids right? You have the most to lose? The beauty of the sunset demanded that someone pay. It had to be you Pam.”

Pack your stuff at your desk. Your coworkers will come by to say goodbye, trying to be sympathetic but ultimately telling you, “It really was a beautiful sunset. Someone had to eat it.”

Agree with them, then go home and tell your kids that you were laid off because the company got hit by the recession. They have no right to know how beautiful the sunset was that you saw today. They can work hard to climb up a skyscraper and see it for themselves, if they want to know so bad. They have no right to know a beauty so powerful it can send a family of three into poverty.

Happy So Beautiful You’re Fired Day!

Ben From That Bar Stool Over There Day!

He’ll say “I’m Ben. Ben from that bar stool over there.”

He’ll point to a stool with his LL Bean jacket draped over it.

“What is it, Ben?” ask him.

Ben will say, “I just noticed that you’ve been here for at least four hours, and you’ve turned away every man who approached you with romantic intent. I just want to say that you’re not going to turn me away.”

Chuckle derisively. “And why’s that Ben?” ask him.

Ben won’t say a word. You’ll look into his eyes and you’ll do a double-take.

“Holy shit,” you’ll say.

“Yup,” Ben From That Bar Stool Over There will say. “Looks like this is it.”

Neither of you will speak for a moment. You’ll both be too busy experiencing the special moment when two people realize that their whole lives have been leading up to this point in time, when they meet in a bar, exchange a glance, and discover that they were meant to spend the rest of their lives together.

“Good God,” say. “So it’s you and me?”

Ben From That Bar Stool Over There will shrug. “No idea why or how, but feel this.”

Ben will kiss you. His kiss will feel familiar and impossible all at once.

“I’m gonna grab my stuff from that bar stool over there.”

Ben will get his jacket and, now you’ll see, a bicycle helmet that he had strapped to the leg of the stool.

“Oh good God,” you’ll say as you watch Ben From That Bar Stool Over There return to your side, stunned that you’re about to welcome him completely and with utter abandon into your heart.

Happy Ben From That Bar Stool Over There Day!

Be The Pyromaniac Everyone’s Looking To All Of A Sudden Day!

No one in this neighborhood has ever appreciated your love and mastery of fire. Of all the thirteen-year-olds in your school district, you’ve set fire to more stuff than anybody, and you’ve done it efficiently, with maximum spectacle and minimal collateral damage. But they’ve only repaid you with juvenile court appearances, school expulsions, and parental disdain.

Until today.

“Benny,” the coucilwoman will say. “There’s a pedophile who just moved to town and the police say he’s got rights. Go torch his house.”

You’ll have trouble hiding your excitement at the thought of burning down a whole house, but you’ll manage to keep a straight face and say, “What’s my end?”

The councilwoman will promise full reinstatement in a school of your choosing within the three districts where she has influence.

Don’t bend just yet.

“What?” she’ll ask. “What’ll it take?”

Tell her, “I wanna burn down Nathan Hale’s house.”

There’s an old landmark in your town where supposedly Nathan Hale slept once, and now it’s the closest thing to a tourist attraction your town has.

“Turn a blind eye and your pedo gets the torch.”

The councilwoman will take a breath, trying to weigh whether she can sell this to the rest of the seats. Then she’ll nod real fast, like she’s trying to convince herself before she has a chance to think it through.

“Deal,” she’ll say.

Shake on it, then ask her for seventeen dollars to fill up your kerosene can. Tonight you’ll burn down the pedophile’s house. By the way, he isn’t really a pedophile. He had sex with a fifteen-year-old when he was seventeen and in your state that puts him on the sex offender roster.

Happy Be The Pyromaniac Everyone’s Looking To All Of A Sudden Day!