The world is more tangible. Your senses are alive. The colors are brighter. The smells more pungent.
You.
Feel.
Everything.
When you smile it’s because you’re pleased, not polite. When you laugh, the truth of a joke has reached into your body and yanked the laughter from you. When you cry, you know exactly why you’re crying.
Plain as day.
Slip into your fat pants and the veil is torn from in front of your eyes. Life is lived, directly. The plastic, protective coating of your too-tight jeans have been shed. You’re in your true skin. You’re in truth.
You’re in your fat pants.
Repeat after me:
“I live my true life, as my true self, occupying my true space in the world.
The lies are in my hamper.
I am wearing my fat pants, the pants that fit the person I am, not the person I wish I could be.
I am wearing my fat pants.
I wear the universe in a relaxed fit style.”
Happy Slip Into Your Fat Pants Day!
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Survivors Day!
Tell her, “I keep thinking that we were meant to be together ever since we survived that crash.”
She’ll say, “What crash? Who are you?”
Remind her that you were her seatmate on the doomed Flight 363 to Phoenix.
“That flight landed fine,” she’ll say.
“Fine?” you force a laugh. “It was pretty bumpy.”
“It was turbulence!” she’ll say. Then she’ll shout into her house, “Jeff!”
Jeff will come to the door. “You bothering my wife?”
“He’s trying to date me because we were on a bumpy plane together.”
“And we survived!” you remind her. “Why were we put there and allowed to make it safely to land if we weren’t meant to be together?”
Jeff will think about it. “I’ll go pack my bags.”
“Jeff!”
“He’s got a point, honey,” Jeff will say. “You and I never had no shared experience like that. What’s holding us together? You can keep the kids.”
Jeff will pack his car while you unpack yours and bring your things into the bedroom. Once all your stuff is inside you’ll sit down for dinner and eat what’s left on Jeff’s plate. Your seatmate from Flight 363 will cry in the kitchen.
Happy Survivors Day!
She’ll say, “What crash? Who are you?”
Remind her that you were her seatmate on the doomed Flight 363 to Phoenix.
“That flight landed fine,” she’ll say.
“Fine?” you force a laugh. “It was pretty bumpy.”
“It was turbulence!” she’ll say. Then she’ll shout into her house, “Jeff!”
Jeff will come to the door. “You bothering my wife?”
“He’s trying to date me because we were on a bumpy plane together.”
“And we survived!” you remind her. “Why were we put there and allowed to make it safely to land if we weren’t meant to be together?”
Jeff will think about it. “I’ll go pack my bags.”
“Jeff!”
“He’s got a point, honey,” Jeff will say. “You and I never had no shared experience like that. What’s holding us together? You can keep the kids.”
Jeff will pack his car while you unpack yours and bring your things into the bedroom. Once all your stuff is inside you’ll sit down for dinner and eat what’s left on Jeff’s plate. Your seatmate from Flight 363 will cry in the kitchen.
Happy Survivors Day!
Monday, July 29, 2013
Falafel Restaurant Day!
Today you are a falafel restaurant. You’re called “Chick Pea” or “Tahini” or “Pita Town” or some other completely unimaginative name based on one of the ingredients you offer. The name serves only to warn people that you do not bring pleasure to their lives.
“I ruin dinners,” you confess to your therapist, a bowl of olives. “One person who has terrible ideas about what dinner should be will tell his or her significant other, ‘Let’s go to the falafel place.’ The significant other will agree either because they picked the restaurant yesterday or they don’t think they deserve joy, and they’ll come to me and eat my food and it’s always among the least pleasurable experiences of their lives.”
“You could always kill yourself,” the bowl of olives tells you.
Tomorrow police will be baffled when they find a falafel restaurant hanging from the side of a neighboring apartment building. Written on the sidewalk in tahini sauce: “I’m sorry.”
Happy Falafel Restaurant Day!
“I ruin dinners,” you confess to your therapist, a bowl of olives. “One person who has terrible ideas about what dinner should be will tell his or her significant other, ‘Let’s go to the falafel place.’ The significant other will agree either because they picked the restaurant yesterday or they don’t think they deserve joy, and they’ll come to me and eat my food and it’s always among the least pleasurable experiences of their lives.”
“You could always kill yourself,” the bowl of olives tells you.
Tomorrow police will be baffled when they find a falafel restaurant hanging from the side of a neighboring apartment building. Written on the sidewalk in tahini sauce: “I’m sorry.”
Happy Falafel Restaurant Day!
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Breakup Sex Day!
“Want to have some breakup sex?” ask him.
He’ll protest that you aren’t broken up yet.
“I know,” say. “I want to break up while having sex.”
In between kisses, tell him it’s just not working out. As he fondles your breasts, explain that you’re really busy right now and you need to focus on your work. Perform oral sex on him, then tell him he never really gave you what you needed emotionally while he reciprocates, using his mouth to bring you to orgasm (your usual order of things is you have an orgasm orally before intercourse since you can’t via intercourse). During intercourse, he’ll beg for another chance, panting and thrusting while insisting he could be a better man. You’ll feel full with him, like you’re consuming him, as you tell him he’s a great guy and there’s a girl out there who’s right for him but it’s just not you, then he’ll climax.
As he goes into the bathroom to remove his condom, start gathering your things from his room. When he comes back out, both of you still naked, give him a weak hug goodbye.
“Breakup sex is so hot,” whisper in his ear as you give him a light back-pat. After you pull on your clothes, block him from your phone and unfriend him on Facebook.
Happy Breakup Sex Day!
He’ll protest that you aren’t broken up yet.
“I know,” say. “I want to break up while having sex.”
In between kisses, tell him it’s just not working out. As he fondles your breasts, explain that you’re really busy right now and you need to focus on your work. Perform oral sex on him, then tell him he never really gave you what you needed emotionally while he reciprocates, using his mouth to bring you to orgasm (your usual order of things is you have an orgasm orally before intercourse since you can’t via intercourse). During intercourse, he’ll beg for another chance, panting and thrusting while insisting he could be a better man. You’ll feel full with him, like you’re consuming him, as you tell him he’s a great guy and there’s a girl out there who’s right for him but it’s just not you, then he’ll climax.
As he goes into the bathroom to remove his condom, start gathering your things from his room. When he comes back out, both of you still naked, give him a weak hug goodbye.
“Breakup sex is so hot,” whisper in his ear as you give him a light back-pat. After you pull on your clothes, block him from your phone and unfriend him on Facebook.
Happy Breakup Sex Day!
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Your Husband Could Die Otherwise Is The Addictive New Game For Smartphones Day!
Giraffes are trying to break into a house, the house that your husband’s in. You need to fight off the giraffes with balloons. Your husband could die otherwise.
“Honey we’re going to be late,” your husband shouts.
“BUT YOU COULD DIE!” you shout back as you continue to play on the toilet.
The game has been sweeping the nation, as has a rash of husband deaths thanks to wives who suck at smart-phone gaming. Millions of husbands across the country are being buried every week, and the census bureau is worried that their most recent numbers are already meaningless.
“That game’s so addictive,“ the census bureau says. "We could see less than 10% of American households with a proper father-figure by 2015, which means crime.”
But you’re not going to let your husband die.
“You quit your job?” he asks.
You shout that you didn’t quit. You just didn’t show up so they fired you. Then a giraffe knocks out the back window of the house and you tell him to talk to you about it later.
“I’m having an affair,” your husband says. “You haven’t been there for me.”
You tell him you’d be happy if he slept with the whole neighborhood, as long as he was alive, as long as it wasn’t you that let him die.
You finally beat the game and your phone automatically downloads Your Husband Could Die Otherwise Rio!
Happy Your Husband Could Die Otherwise Is The Addictive New Game For Smartphones Day!
“Honey we’re going to be late,” your husband shouts.
“BUT YOU COULD DIE!” you shout back as you continue to play on the toilet.
The game has been sweeping the nation, as has a rash of husband deaths thanks to wives who suck at smart-phone gaming. Millions of husbands across the country are being buried every week, and the census bureau is worried that their most recent numbers are already meaningless.
“That game’s so addictive,“ the census bureau says. "We could see less than 10% of American households with a proper father-figure by 2015, which means crime.”
But you’re not going to let your husband die.
“You quit your job?” he asks.
You shout that you didn’t quit. You just didn’t show up so they fired you. Then a giraffe knocks out the back window of the house and you tell him to talk to you about it later.
“I’m having an affair,” your husband says. “You haven’t been there for me.”
You tell him you’d be happy if he slept with the whole neighborhood, as long as he was alive, as long as it wasn’t you that let him die.
You finally beat the game and your phone automatically downloads Your Husband Could Die Otherwise Rio!
Happy Your Husband Could Die Otherwise Is The Addictive New Game For Smartphones Day!
Friday, July 26, 2013
Undercover Lovers Day!
You were just infiltrating the high school to find a dealer. You never expected to fall in love.
“You’re just so mature,” you tell Veronica. “You’re not like these other kids.”
Veronica tells you don’t.
You tell her, “I can’t help it.”
Veronica tells you it’s wrong.
You tell her, “It’s never felt so right.”
Veronica tells you you don’t know who she is. But she knows who you are.
You pull away. “I’m just a transfer student. Looking to buy some of the pot, if you know a dealer. Wait, who do you think I am?”
Veronica says, “You’re Officer Pendleton, Narcotics Division.”
Your cover is blown.
“Veronica please,” you beg her. “If my identity is found out, I could be demoted. And my life could be in danger. If you love me as much as I love you, please don’t tell anyone I’m a cop.”
Veronica promises she won’t. Blowing a fellow officer’s cover would boot her off the force.
“What are you saying, Veronica?” you ask.
“My name isn’t Veronica,” she says, pulling out her badge. “It’s Officer Royce, IAD. I was sent her to investigate undercover officers establishing inappropriate relationships with students.”
She’s here to bust you. Even though she’s not a student, you didn’t know that when you professed your love to her.
“Write what you want in the report,” you tell her. “I don’t care about my badge anymore. Discovering that you’re old enough for me to have a legitimate relationship with has made me the happiest man on earth.”
Officer Royce asks what you’ll do for work after she takes your badge. She can’t support the both of you on an IAD income.
“I was thinking of becoming a high school teacher,” you say.
The two of you laugh. The two of you kiss. You kiss deeply. A kiss that lasts all through the days of IAD hearings and shameful newspaper coverage to follow.
Once your badge and gun are taken away, you move into Officer Royce’s apartment and begin studying to get your teacher’s license. You’re going to need that income quick, what with a the half-IAD, half-disgraced former narc baby in Officer Royce’s belly.
Happy Undercover Lovers Day!
“You’re just so mature,” you tell Veronica. “You’re not like these other kids.”
Veronica tells you don’t.
You tell her, “I can’t help it.”
Veronica tells you it’s wrong.
You tell her, “It’s never felt so right.”
Veronica tells you you don’t know who she is. But she knows who you are.
You pull away. “I’m just a transfer student. Looking to buy some of the pot, if you know a dealer. Wait, who do you think I am?”
Veronica says, “You’re Officer Pendleton, Narcotics Division.”
Your cover is blown.
“Veronica please,” you beg her. “If my identity is found out, I could be demoted. And my life could be in danger. If you love me as much as I love you, please don’t tell anyone I’m a cop.”
Veronica promises she won’t. Blowing a fellow officer’s cover would boot her off the force.
“What are you saying, Veronica?” you ask.
“My name isn’t Veronica,” she says, pulling out her badge. “It’s Officer Royce, IAD. I was sent her to investigate undercover officers establishing inappropriate relationships with students.”
She’s here to bust you. Even though she’s not a student, you didn’t know that when you professed your love to her.
“Write what you want in the report,” you tell her. “I don’t care about my badge anymore. Discovering that you’re old enough for me to have a legitimate relationship with has made me the happiest man on earth.”
Officer Royce asks what you’ll do for work after she takes your badge. She can’t support the both of you on an IAD income.
“I was thinking of becoming a high school teacher,” you say.
The two of you laugh. The two of you kiss. You kiss deeply. A kiss that lasts all through the days of IAD hearings and shameful newspaper coverage to follow.
Once your badge and gun are taken away, you move into Officer Royce’s apartment and begin studying to get your teacher’s license. You’re going to need that income quick, what with a the half-IAD, half-disgraced former narc baby in Officer Royce’s belly.
Happy Undercover Lovers Day!
Thursday, July 25, 2013
You’re A Bad Boy Chef Day!
You have a faux-hawk and you wear concert shirts for bad boy rock bands like AC/DC and Stone Temple Pilots that you bought at a department store and you say fuck a lot when talking to your staff and you enjoy the drug cocaine.
When your restaurant closes you ride a motorcycle to restaurants owned by other bad boy chefs and you and the other bad boy chefs drink all night and talk about the busy nights you had cooking food for people as if they were bar fights you got into but really all you were doing was cooking food for people.
Like moms do.
You and the other bad boy chefs talk about waitresses you fucked in your respective restaurants’ bathrooms none of you letting on that all you did was grope waitresses in your respective restaurants’ bathrooms because when it came time to fuck the drug cocaine prevented you from maintaining erections.
Sometimes your asthma acts up.
You like to talk to waiters as if you were telling them how the world works and how if they want to make it in this world they’d better do what you say because you’re the baddest bad boy chef in the whole city but then the waiters quit to pursue their futures because it was just a job serving people food anyway and when you find out they quit you remember all you do is cook food.
You get scared on your motorcycle so you don’t ride it very much.
Happy You’re A Bad Boy Chef Day!
When your restaurant closes you ride a motorcycle to restaurants owned by other bad boy chefs and you and the other bad boy chefs drink all night and talk about the busy nights you had cooking food for people as if they were bar fights you got into but really all you were doing was cooking food for people.
Like moms do.
You and the other bad boy chefs talk about waitresses you fucked in your respective restaurants’ bathrooms none of you letting on that all you did was grope waitresses in your respective restaurants’ bathrooms because when it came time to fuck the drug cocaine prevented you from maintaining erections.
Sometimes your asthma acts up.
You like to talk to waiters as if you were telling them how the world works and how if they want to make it in this world they’d better do what you say because you’re the baddest bad boy chef in the whole city but then the waiters quit to pursue their futures because it was just a job serving people food anyway and when you find out they quit you remember all you do is cook food.
You get scared on your motorcycle so you don’t ride it very much.
Happy You’re A Bad Boy Chef Day!
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Ask Your Teacher For Help Talking To Boys Day!
Say to her, “Miss Wallace, I like Derek but I don’t know how to tell him. What should I say?”
“Tell him he’s allowed to walk all over you until he gets what he wants out of you sexually and tosses you aside for someone in a lower grade,” Miss Wallace says.
The next day Miss Wallace is replaced by a sub and your class is told that she’ll be taking time off until things with Mister Wallace are settled.
You’re glad you got to ask her for advice before she left. You use her advice on Derek and he says he likes you too. “But it’s not like Miss Wallace said,” Derek insists. “I really like you and want to be your boyfriend forever.”
Derek breaks up with you two days after you let him get boob.
Happy Ask Your Teacher For Help Talking To Boys Day!
“Tell him he’s allowed to walk all over you until he gets what he wants out of you sexually and tosses you aside for someone in a lower grade,” Miss Wallace says.
The next day Miss Wallace is replaced by a sub and your class is told that she’ll be taking time off until things with Mister Wallace are settled.
You’re glad you got to ask her for advice before she left. You use her advice on Derek and he says he likes you too. “But it’s not like Miss Wallace said,” Derek insists. “I really like you and want to be your boyfriend forever.”
Derek breaks up with you two days after you let him get boob.
Happy Ask Your Teacher For Help Talking To Boys Day!
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
You Had Each Other’s Husbands’ Kids Day!
You slept with Richard, your next-door-neighbor Kelly’s husband, when you helped him carry his cooler home from one of your summer cookouts. Kelly saw the two of you go off together and she could sense something was up, so she asked your husband, Nat, to give her a tour of your remodeled second floor. Kelly, Nat, you, and Richard were all having sex at almost the exact same moment with a pink summer sunset pouring in through your respective bedroom windows.
Nine months later, just days apart from each other, you and Kelly both gave birth to baby boys.
No one’s spoken of it. No one’s admitted even to the possibility. Neither of your marriages were sexless so there’s still a very good chance that you had your husband’s child, and Kelly had hers. But your son, Hank, is starting to develop Richard’s round pug nose. Kelly’s son, Oliver’s blonde hair is starting to turn Nat’s shade of red.
It’s not certain, but you know. So does Kelly. It’s time your husbands did too.
Tonight you’re out on your lawns at dusk, you and Nat in lawn chairs, Kelly and Richard on their porch swing. Hank and Oliver play together on your shared lawn. All four of you watch them play, watch them argue like siblings.
The ball bounces up onto Kelly’s and Richard’s porch. Oliver shouts, “Daddy, throw it here.”
Kelly says, “Throw it to Hank.”
Richard looks at Kelly, then at Hank, then at Kelly.
Kelly, again, “Throw it to Hank.”
Richard drops the ball, walks across the lawn and pulls Hank into a hug.
Nat looks to you. You nod, a confirmation, as sure as a paternity test.
Nat bursts into tears, crosses the lawn, takes Oliver by the shoulders. When he finds himself in the boy’s eyes, he embraces him.
As your husbands kneel in the grass holding their sons for the very first time, you and Kelly raise your glasses to each other in a toast from across the property line. Thanks to one hot July night a few years prior, this neighborhood is finally a family.
Happy You Had Each Other’s Husbands’ Kids Day!
Nine months later, just days apart from each other, you and Kelly both gave birth to baby boys.
No one’s spoken of it. No one’s admitted even to the possibility. Neither of your marriages were sexless so there’s still a very good chance that you had your husband’s child, and Kelly had hers. But your son, Hank, is starting to develop Richard’s round pug nose. Kelly’s son, Oliver’s blonde hair is starting to turn Nat’s shade of red.
It’s not certain, but you know. So does Kelly. It’s time your husbands did too.
Tonight you’re out on your lawns at dusk, you and Nat in lawn chairs, Kelly and Richard on their porch swing. Hank and Oliver play together on your shared lawn. All four of you watch them play, watch them argue like siblings.
The ball bounces up onto Kelly’s and Richard’s porch. Oliver shouts, “Daddy, throw it here.”
Kelly says, “Throw it to Hank.”
Richard looks at Kelly, then at Hank, then at Kelly.
Kelly, again, “Throw it to Hank.”
Richard drops the ball, walks across the lawn and pulls Hank into a hug.
Nat looks to you. You nod, a confirmation, as sure as a paternity test.
Nat bursts into tears, crosses the lawn, takes Oliver by the shoulders. When he finds himself in the boy’s eyes, he embraces him.
As your husbands kneel in the grass holding their sons for the very first time, you and Kelly raise your glasses to each other in a toast from across the property line. Thanks to one hot July night a few years prior, this neighborhood is finally a family.
Happy You Had Each Other’s Husbands’ Kids Day!
Monday, July 22, 2013
The Weather Girl Is Blaming You For The Heat Day!
Turn on the news. You’re on it.
“If you’re angry about yet another day of sweltering heat, blame this guy,” the weather girl, your (newly) ex-girlfriend is saying as an unflattering photo of you in cargo shorts appears over the map.
“Wait, Cailey, are you saying that man is single-handedly responsible for the heat wave?” Sue, the anchorwoman, asks. You cheated on Cailey with Sue. “How is that possible?”
“Go fuck yourself, Sue,” Cailey says. “As I said folks, this guy is why it’s so hot outside. Here’s his address.”
Your address is on the screen. You turn off the TV just as the first brick flies through your window. There must be a hundred people outside, all of them sick to death of this heat and excited to finally do something about it.
Happy The Weather Girl Is Blaming You For The Heat Day!
“If you’re angry about yet another day of sweltering heat, blame this guy,” the weather girl, your (newly) ex-girlfriend is saying as an unflattering photo of you in cargo shorts appears over the map.
“Wait, Cailey, are you saying that man is single-handedly responsible for the heat wave?” Sue, the anchorwoman, asks. You cheated on Cailey with Sue. “How is that possible?”
“Go fuck yourself, Sue,” Cailey says. “As I said folks, this guy is why it’s so hot outside. Here’s his address.”
Your address is on the screen. You turn off the TV just as the first brick flies through your window. There must be a hundred people outside, all of them sick to death of this heat and excited to finally do something about it.
Happy The Weather Girl Is Blaming You For The Heat Day!
Sunday, July 21, 2013
You Want To Talk About The Murders Day!
You’re new in town and you want to meet people, so go knocking on doors in your area to see who’s home. When someone answers, say, “I want to talk about the murders.”
If there were any murders in that house, you’ll be invited in for a long, intense conversation about them, and those people will become your lifelong friends. If there aren’t any murders to talk about, you’ll be sent on your way.
Unfortunately, doing this means you run the risk of someone inviting you in to talk about a murder, and only after you’re talking about it for a while will you realize that the murder being discussed hasn’t happened yet. At that point you’ll conclude you’re the victim of the murder that’s about to happen, and you’ll jump up and stab the homeowner with the fork you were just using to eat a pastry.
With his last breath the homeowner will smile and say, “I’m glad we got to talk about the murder,” and you’ll realize he was talking about himself being murdered, that he was talking about you being the murderer, that he knew the minute you walked in you were going to be the murderer.
Still, aside from that one guy, you will make some friends.
Happy You Want To Talk About The Murders Day!
If there were any murders in that house, you’ll be invited in for a long, intense conversation about them, and those people will become your lifelong friends. If there aren’t any murders to talk about, you’ll be sent on your way.
Unfortunately, doing this means you run the risk of someone inviting you in to talk about a murder, and only after you’re talking about it for a while will you realize that the murder being discussed hasn’t happened yet. At that point you’ll conclude you’re the victim of the murder that’s about to happen, and you’ll jump up and stab the homeowner with the fork you were just using to eat a pastry.
With his last breath the homeowner will smile and say, “I’m glad we got to talk about the murder,” and you’ll realize he was talking about himself being murdered, that he was talking about you being the murderer, that he knew the minute you walked in you were going to be the murderer.
Still, aside from that one guy, you will make some friends.
Happy You Want To Talk About The Murders Day!
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Bed & Breakfast Day!
You and your husband stayed in the most adorable B&B 30 years ago on your honeymoon and tonight you’re returning for your anniversary.
“I hope I find the barrette I lost that night,” you joke as you climb the porch. Your husband doesn’t laugh.
When you walk in the front door, the very same woman who was running it way back then is still there waiting to check you in.
When she sees you, you’re shocked that she recognizes the two of you just like you recognize her. She looks stunned.
“You’re back,” she says.
“We are,” you say.
“I am,” your husband says.
She seems flustered, like she’s suddenly forgotten how to run the B&B she’s devoted her entire life to.
“The place hasn’t changed a bit,” you say, trying to lighten the mood.
“It looks exactly the same, after all these years I’ve been away,” your husband says. “Thirty years.”
“To the day,” the innkeeper says.
Your husband must have told her it was your anniversary when he made the reservation.
“I suppose you can have your old room then,” the innkeeper says. She hands your husband the key. She looks furious.
Up in the room, you’re shocked to find the bed unmade, everything covered in dust. It’s like no one’s been in the room in…
“Thirty years!” the innkeeper shouts as she bursts into the room. She runs to your husband and starts pounding his chest with her fists. “Thirty years I was left wondering, waiting, hoping, and accepting that you would never return. Thirty years!”
“I couldn’t,” your husband shouts back, to your complete confusion. “I’d just been married. I’d just exchanged vows.”
“You guys, what is this?” you ask. They wave you off.
“Every year I thought, maybe this will be the year I end it,” your husband tells the innkeeper. “This will be the year I go back to the B&B. This will be the year I start my life with the lover I was meant to love. But something always came up.”
“If it was real, you would have come. But you didn’t. So it wasn’t real, was it?”
“Guys?” you ask.
“It was real,” your husband says. “The minute I saw you today, I knew it was real.”
They kiss. Right in front of you. They kiss the way your husband has never kissed you. Ever.
“Guys!” you scream.
They stop kissing, annoyed.
“Oh for God’s sake,” your husband says. “When we came here the night of our honeymoon I fell in love with the innkeeper and she fell in love with me, but we never acted on it and I spent the last thirty years with you living a lie.”
“And I spent them waiting for him to return,” ” the innkeeper says. “I even refused to clean your room after you left. The fluids he left on those sheets are all I had left of him.”
That explains the dust and—ew, those are the sheets from your honeymoon!
“Those are the sheets from our honeymoon!” you exclaim, moving away from the bed.
They kiss again. You pry them apart.
“So are you saying you’ve been cheating on me?” you shout at your husband.
He says no. He just told you they never acted on it, remember?
“Then how did you know you were in love all these years?” you ask.
The innkeeper rolls her eyes. “We knew. We looked each other in the eye, and we both knew. One look. That was enough to keep our love alive over great time and distance.”
You’ve never felt that with your husband. When you look him in the eye he always seems to be looking off elsewhere and—Oh Christ they’re kissing again. You try prying them apart.
“Stop fucking up our first kiss!” your husband shouts. “Look, sorry, but it’s over.”
Your husband asks the innkeeper if there’s another room the two of them can go to. She starts to drag him to the master suite.
“What about me?” you ask.
“You can have this room,” the innkeeper says, then the door slams behind her.
As you listen to your husband have loud sex with the love of his life, you notice something shiny on the floor. It’s the barrette you lost. You reach down to pick it up but a rabid raccoon that’s been living under the bed bites you. You leave your husband behind and rush to the hospital where the handsome doctor who treats you looks in your eyes and you look in his and you both just know, so that worked out.
Bed & Breakfast Day!
“I hope I find the barrette I lost that night,” you joke as you climb the porch. Your husband doesn’t laugh.
When you walk in the front door, the very same woman who was running it way back then is still there waiting to check you in.
When she sees you, you’re shocked that she recognizes the two of you just like you recognize her. She looks stunned.
“You’re back,” she says.
“We are,” you say.
“I am,” your husband says.
She seems flustered, like she’s suddenly forgotten how to run the B&B she’s devoted her entire life to.
“The place hasn’t changed a bit,” you say, trying to lighten the mood.
“It looks exactly the same, after all these years I’ve been away,” your husband says. “Thirty years.”
“To the day,” the innkeeper says.
Your husband must have told her it was your anniversary when he made the reservation.
“I suppose you can have your old room then,” the innkeeper says. She hands your husband the key. She looks furious.
Up in the room, you’re shocked to find the bed unmade, everything covered in dust. It’s like no one’s been in the room in…
“Thirty years!” the innkeeper shouts as she bursts into the room. She runs to your husband and starts pounding his chest with her fists. “Thirty years I was left wondering, waiting, hoping, and accepting that you would never return. Thirty years!”
“I couldn’t,” your husband shouts back, to your complete confusion. “I’d just been married. I’d just exchanged vows.”
“You guys, what is this?” you ask. They wave you off.
“Every year I thought, maybe this will be the year I end it,” your husband tells the innkeeper. “This will be the year I go back to the B&B. This will be the year I start my life with the lover I was meant to love. But something always came up.”
“If it was real, you would have come. But you didn’t. So it wasn’t real, was it?”
“Guys?” you ask.
“It was real,” your husband says. “The minute I saw you today, I knew it was real.”
They kiss. Right in front of you. They kiss the way your husband has never kissed you. Ever.
“Guys!” you scream.
They stop kissing, annoyed.
“Oh for God’s sake,” your husband says. “When we came here the night of our honeymoon I fell in love with the innkeeper and she fell in love with me, but we never acted on it and I spent the last thirty years with you living a lie.”
“And I spent them waiting for him to return,” ” the innkeeper says. “I even refused to clean your room after you left. The fluids he left on those sheets are all I had left of him.”
That explains the dust and—ew, those are the sheets from your honeymoon!
“Those are the sheets from our honeymoon!” you exclaim, moving away from the bed.
They kiss again. You pry them apart.
“So are you saying you’ve been cheating on me?” you shout at your husband.
He says no. He just told you they never acted on it, remember?
“Then how did you know you were in love all these years?” you ask.
The innkeeper rolls her eyes. “We knew. We looked each other in the eye, and we both knew. One look. That was enough to keep our love alive over great time and distance.”
You’ve never felt that with your husband. When you look him in the eye he always seems to be looking off elsewhere and—Oh Christ they’re kissing again. You try prying them apart.
“Stop fucking up our first kiss!” your husband shouts. “Look, sorry, but it’s over.”
Your husband asks the innkeeper if there’s another room the two of them can go to. She starts to drag him to the master suite.
“What about me?” you ask.
“You can have this room,” the innkeeper says, then the door slams behind her.
As you listen to your husband have loud sex with the love of his life, you notice something shiny on the floor. It’s the barrette you lost. You reach down to pick it up but a rabid raccoon that’s been living under the bed bites you. You leave your husband behind and rush to the hospital where the handsome doctor who treats you looks in your eyes and you look in his and you both just know, so that worked out.
Bed & Breakfast Day!
Friday, July 19, 2013
Your Birth Video Day!
You found the videotape of your birth so you decide to watch it and see what your first moments of existence were like. When finished, you call your mom.
“Why didn’t you tell me that just before I came out of your womb, a dark, mist escaped from your vagina in the shape of the devil’s face and he shouted at everyone in the operating room, ‘He is mine and I will return and take him when the time is right?’”
Your mom explains that a lot of things happen during a delivery that no one plans for. “It doesn’t make you any less of a miracle,” she tells you.
You ask her about the crows.
“The nurses couldn’t leave the delivery room because several dozen crows had somehow entered the hospital and gathered in front of the doors of the room, creating an impenetrable black wall with their fluttering wings,” you remind her.
Your mom says that happens with those big revolving doors. Birds get in.
“And why did everyone in the room who was wearing a crucifix start screaming when the crucifixes grew hot and scorched their skin?”
Your mom begins to explain, but your Dad grabs the phone from her. “Oh for the love of Pete,” your Dad shouts. “We let some Satanists summon the devil to have sex with your mother,” he shouts. “They offered us ten grand, and we needed a new car. The Caprice’s transmission was shot. Now stop asking questions and let your mother finish bringing dinner to the table. It’s lasagna night!”
Happy Your Birth Video Day!
“Why didn’t you tell me that just before I came out of your womb, a dark, mist escaped from your vagina in the shape of the devil’s face and he shouted at everyone in the operating room, ‘He is mine and I will return and take him when the time is right?’”
Your mom explains that a lot of things happen during a delivery that no one plans for. “It doesn’t make you any less of a miracle,” she tells you.
You ask her about the crows.
“The nurses couldn’t leave the delivery room because several dozen crows had somehow entered the hospital and gathered in front of the doors of the room, creating an impenetrable black wall with their fluttering wings,” you remind her.
Your mom says that happens with those big revolving doors. Birds get in.
“And why did everyone in the room who was wearing a crucifix start screaming when the crucifixes grew hot and scorched their skin?”
Your mom begins to explain, but your Dad grabs the phone from her. “Oh for the love of Pete,” your Dad shouts. “We let some Satanists summon the devil to have sex with your mother,” he shouts. “They offered us ten grand, and we needed a new car. The Caprice’s transmission was shot. Now stop asking questions and let your mother finish bringing dinner to the table. It’s lasagna night!”
Happy Your Birth Video Day!
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Party ‘Til You Die Day!
The news just announced that several hundred asteroid, all of them the size of Texas are going to hit the earth and wipe out all human life.
“Oh God what should we do?” one of your buddies asks.
“Nothing else to do,” you respond. “We party ‘til we die! Woooooo!”
You all crack open beers. Before your beer cans touch your mouths the asteroids hit and you are instantly obliterated. Way to go out partying though.
Not to draw attention away from your party-to-the-end badass-ness, but it’s really shocking how quickly the human endeavor is brought to an end. It’s like humanity was something that was drawn on an Etch-a-Sketch, and some little kid came along and shook it. Never existed. Clean slate. Poof. Why did we bother with any of it? Religion. Rome. British imperialism. The Friday the 13th series of films. Six Flags theme parks. Lunchables. Every monument to human toil, lost to time with a quick shake. What were we so excited about all these years?
Anyway, fun party.
Happy Party Till You Die Day!
“Oh God what should we do?” one of your buddies asks.
“Nothing else to do,” you respond. “We party ‘til we die! Woooooo!”
You all crack open beers. Before your beer cans touch your mouths the asteroids hit and you are instantly obliterated. Way to go out partying though.
Not to draw attention away from your party-to-the-end badass-ness, but it’s really shocking how quickly the human endeavor is brought to an end. It’s like humanity was something that was drawn on an Etch-a-Sketch, and some little kid came along and shook it. Never existed. Clean slate. Poof. Why did we bother with any of it? Religion. Rome. British imperialism. The Friday the 13th series of films. Six Flags theme parks. Lunchables. Every monument to human toil, lost to time with a quick shake. What were we so excited about all these years?
Anyway, fun party.
Happy Party Till You Die Day!
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Keep Away Day!
You and your coworkers went too far and now you’re all in the hospital emergency room, waiting to get stitched up. A policeman is asking you questions.
“We were just bored so we decided to have some fun,” you tell the policeman.
“Fun,” the policeman repeats.
“Our boss was looking for his staple remover,” Mary adds, holding a napkin to the bloody gash in her forehead. “So Louis found it and he shouted, ‘Keep away!’”
Louis says, “I didn’t expect it to go the way it did.” Louis’s arm is definitely broken. He’s constantly sucking in air from the pain and can barely speak.
“How did it go?” the policeman asks.
Louis threw the staple remover to Mary. Mary threw it to you. You threw it to Louis. Then repeat that a few times, with your boss chasing the staple remover from person to person.
“Then he kind of lost it,” you say.
Your boss first punched you in the stomach. Then he grabbed Mary by her hair and slammed her head into a desk. Then he grabbed Louis’s arm and twisted it up behind his back and dropped him to the floor.
“He was crying the whole time,” Mary says. “Yelling, ‘No fair!’ And just sobbing uncontrollably.”
“Over a game of Keep Away!” Louis exclaims.
The policeman shoots Louis a look. “Keep Away is not a joke,” he says. “Keep Away among adults is lethal. It’s the leading cause of non-alcohol related violent assaults. You can’t dredge up that kind of childhood feeling of exclusion and expect to walk away unscathed.”
“We’re sorry,” you all three say.
“Tell that to him,” the policeman says, pointing to your boss, still crying in the examination room. You can’t hear him through the glass, but you can see he’s telling the other officer, “No fair! They were playing Keep Away.”
The three of you go inside to apologize to your boss for playing Keep Away. He says he accepts your apology, but he doesn’t stop crying. He never stops. In the years to come, when you’ve all left for different jobs, you’ll stay in touch, making sure at least one of you visits your boss in the hospital every week where he continues to cry and repeat, “No fair.” You just sit by his bed and tell him he’s right, it’s no fair. It was no fair at all.
Happy Keep Away Day!
“We were just bored so we decided to have some fun,” you tell the policeman.
“Fun,” the policeman repeats.
“Our boss was looking for his staple remover,” Mary adds, holding a napkin to the bloody gash in her forehead. “So Louis found it and he shouted, ‘Keep away!’”
Louis says, “I didn’t expect it to go the way it did.” Louis’s arm is definitely broken. He’s constantly sucking in air from the pain and can barely speak.
“How did it go?” the policeman asks.
Louis threw the staple remover to Mary. Mary threw it to you. You threw it to Louis. Then repeat that a few times, with your boss chasing the staple remover from person to person.
“Then he kind of lost it,” you say.
Your boss first punched you in the stomach. Then he grabbed Mary by her hair and slammed her head into a desk. Then he grabbed Louis’s arm and twisted it up behind his back and dropped him to the floor.
“He was crying the whole time,” Mary says. “Yelling, ‘No fair!’ And just sobbing uncontrollably.”
“Over a game of Keep Away!” Louis exclaims.
The policeman shoots Louis a look. “Keep Away is not a joke,” he says. “Keep Away among adults is lethal. It’s the leading cause of non-alcohol related violent assaults. You can’t dredge up that kind of childhood feeling of exclusion and expect to walk away unscathed.”
“We’re sorry,” you all three say.
“Tell that to him,” the policeman says, pointing to your boss, still crying in the examination room. You can’t hear him through the glass, but you can see he’s telling the other officer, “No fair! They were playing Keep Away.”
The three of you go inside to apologize to your boss for playing Keep Away. He says he accepts your apology, but he doesn’t stop crying. He never stops. In the years to come, when you’ve all left for different jobs, you’ll stay in touch, making sure at least one of you visits your boss in the hospital every week where he continues to cry and repeat, “No fair.” You just sit by his bed and tell him he’s right, it’s no fair. It was no fair at all.
Happy Keep Away Day!
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Hammock Day!
Your boyfriend doesn’t understand why you won’t have sex with him in the hammock. You try to tell him it just won’t be that comfortable, but he’s not buying it. It’s your last day in the rental cabin and he wants to make sure the two of you get the most out of it.
“Come on,” he says. “We’ve had sex in the lake. In the outdoor shower. At the top of the hiking trail. Even in the papasan chair in the cabin. The only place left is the hammock.”
“Godammit!” you scream at him. “I just don’t want to!”
Your boyfriend goes and mopes by the fire pit. It’s not his fault he wants to have sex with you in the hammock. He just wants to celebrate how much he loves you. You’d better go to him and tell him the truth.
“My Dad died in a hammock,” you tell your boyfriend. “He fell asleep. Then he had a nap nightmare, twisted himself up in the hammock and choked to death. We found him there, wrapped up and blue.”
Your boyfriend hugs you close. He apologizes. Had he known, he never would have suggested it. He should have been more sensitive.
“No,” you say, pissed at yourself for ruining the vacation. “No I need to get over this. My dad dying can’t affect my relationship with hammocks forever. It’s time for me to move on.”
You drag your boyfriend by the hand to the hammock and you take off his clothes, then yours. Gingerly, you climb in, then he climbs in after you. You kiss, carefully, trying to maintain your balance, then before you know it, you’re making love. Passionately, wonderfully. You can’t believe you feared the hammock for so many years. You’re having better sex than you have had all week, until you’re just about to come, and the hammock flips in on itself trapping you both in its net. You’re both dead within seconds.
Happy Hammock Day!
“Come on,” he says. “We’ve had sex in the lake. In the outdoor shower. At the top of the hiking trail. Even in the papasan chair in the cabin. The only place left is the hammock.”
“Godammit!” you scream at him. “I just don’t want to!”
Your boyfriend goes and mopes by the fire pit. It’s not his fault he wants to have sex with you in the hammock. He just wants to celebrate how much he loves you. You’d better go to him and tell him the truth.
“My Dad died in a hammock,” you tell your boyfriend. “He fell asleep. Then he had a nap nightmare, twisted himself up in the hammock and choked to death. We found him there, wrapped up and blue.”
Your boyfriend hugs you close. He apologizes. Had he known, he never would have suggested it. He should have been more sensitive.
“No,” you say, pissed at yourself for ruining the vacation. “No I need to get over this. My dad dying can’t affect my relationship with hammocks forever. It’s time for me to move on.”
You drag your boyfriend by the hand to the hammock and you take off his clothes, then yours. Gingerly, you climb in, then he climbs in after you. You kiss, carefully, trying to maintain your balance, then before you know it, you’re making love. Passionately, wonderfully. You can’t believe you feared the hammock for so many years. You’re having better sex than you have had all week, until you’re just about to come, and the hammock flips in on itself trapping you both in its net. You’re both dead within seconds.
Happy Hammock Day!
Monday, July 15, 2013
The Temps Aren’t Hitting It Off Day!
Bring them into your office and let them know their assignment is ending.
“But I was told this was temp-to-perm,” Larry, the boy temp says.
“And I’ve received no complaints about my work thus far,” Lesley, the girl temp says.
Explain that it’s not about their work. The work is beside the point.
“We were just hoping you two might fall in love,” explain. “Or at least, that you might have a nice steamy fling that we’d all get to watch ignite and them flame out.”
Tell them that everyone in your office is married or hopelessly single, and you’ve all already mixed and matched each other, engaging in every possible workplace affair that can be dreamed up and there’s just no one left to excite the imagination anymore.
“So we were hoping a couple young temps might be brought in here, share a cubicle, maybe share some lunches,” you say. “Before we knew it, you’d be shooting each other dirty looks across the conference table and we’d all be reminded of what it’s like to be young and still feel anything below the waist.”
“So,” Lesley says. “You, like, wanted to watch us have sex?”
“God no,” tell her. “We’re not pervs. We just wanted to share some floorspace with two people hungering for each other. Unfortunately, you two were a bust.”
“We were just being professional,” Larry protests.
“Yeah, I noticed,” tell him. “I mean, I noticed until I got so bored that I clocked out and went home to be with my kids. How boozed up did you two get on Beer Fridays, and not so much as a grope?”
“We thought we were here to help out with the Emerson account,” Lesley says.
“Nah we made that up,” tell them. “You’ve just been refilling old files we pulled out of storage to pretend we had something for you to do. We assumed it’d be so dull that you’d have no choice to but seek stimulation in each other’s pants, but no dice.”
Lesley leans across her chair and starts kissing Larry. She massages his chest awkwardly. Larry tries to reciprocate.
“Embarrassing,” tell them. “Sorry, I been married 24 years and I know what it looks like to fake it.”
Stand up and escort them out of your office.
“Don’t feel so bad,” tell them. “Chemistry isn’t something you can manufacture. Good luck finding a real job.”
After they go, head down the hall to see if those legal proofreaders are feeling any sparks. They’ve been on contract for only a week, but last time you walked past their cubes you thought you heard the girl giggling. Things could be heating up.
Happy The Temps Aren’t Hitting It Off Day!
“But I was told this was temp-to-perm,” Larry, the boy temp says.
“And I’ve received no complaints about my work thus far,” Lesley, the girl temp says.
Explain that it’s not about their work. The work is beside the point.
“We were just hoping you two might fall in love,” explain. “Or at least, that you might have a nice steamy fling that we’d all get to watch ignite and them flame out.”
Tell them that everyone in your office is married or hopelessly single, and you’ve all already mixed and matched each other, engaging in every possible workplace affair that can be dreamed up and there’s just no one left to excite the imagination anymore.
“So we were hoping a couple young temps might be brought in here, share a cubicle, maybe share some lunches,” you say. “Before we knew it, you’d be shooting each other dirty looks across the conference table and we’d all be reminded of what it’s like to be young and still feel anything below the waist.”
“So,” Lesley says. “You, like, wanted to watch us have sex?”
“God no,” tell her. “We’re not pervs. We just wanted to share some floorspace with two people hungering for each other. Unfortunately, you two were a bust.”
“We were just being professional,” Larry protests.
“Yeah, I noticed,” tell him. “I mean, I noticed until I got so bored that I clocked out and went home to be with my kids. How boozed up did you two get on Beer Fridays, and not so much as a grope?”
“We thought we were here to help out with the Emerson account,” Lesley says.
“Nah we made that up,” tell them. “You’ve just been refilling old files we pulled out of storage to pretend we had something for you to do. We assumed it’d be so dull that you’d have no choice to but seek stimulation in each other’s pants, but no dice.”
Lesley leans across her chair and starts kissing Larry. She massages his chest awkwardly. Larry tries to reciprocate.
“Embarrassing,” tell them. “Sorry, I been married 24 years and I know what it looks like to fake it.”
Stand up and escort them out of your office.
“Don’t feel so bad,” tell them. “Chemistry isn’t something you can manufacture. Good luck finding a real job.”
After they go, head down the hall to see if those legal proofreaders are feeling any sparks. They’ve been on contract for only a week, but last time you walked past their cubes you thought you heard the girl giggling. Things could be heating up.
Happy The Temps Aren’t Hitting It Off Day!
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Public School Kids Day!
When she transferred out of private to public school, you thought it best to let her go. She’d fallen below your class. It was time for you to find someone new.
You didn’t count on missing her.
You started showing up at her new school after the bell. She’d come into your Jeep and you’d talk and you’d tell her you might have been wrong.
The poor kids from her public school were always watching. Especially one kid. A guy. He couldn’t take his eyes off the two of you. You asked her about him, but she said he’s just a boy named Jack.
“Does he like you?” you asked.
She shrugged. She blushed a little.
One day when you arrived, a crowd of poor kids swarmed your Jeep. They told you to stop coming around.
“She belongs here now,” they said. “She belongs with Jack. And you’re in the way.”
You laughed at them. You admit it, you looked down on them. Public school kids. You told them you’ll come and see her until she says not to. You told them she’d be a fool to stay with the likes of them when a private school kid was giving her a second chance.
They said you were confusing things for her. She belongs at their public school, and she and Jack are in love. She just can’t let it happen until you’re out of the picture.
“Out of the picture?” you asked with a laugh. They didn’t laugh with you. Eventually, she got in the Jeep, confused by all the classmates surrounding it. When you pulled away you glanced up at one of the classroom windows and you saw him, Jack, staring down at you.
A few days later, a Friday, you were driving home from your private academy and you noticed a car following you. It made turn after turn with you, until you finally stopped on an empty street and the car sped up and rammed your rear bumper.
You got out. You went to look at the damage. You saw the driver, one of the public school kids, a girl, who crowded around your Jeep. You called her a bitch. She stepped on the gas and crushed your legs against your Jeep.
The girl got out of her car and stood over you, pinned between the two bumpers.
“She’s a public school girl now,” the girl said. “She belongs to Jack. Stay away from her if you don’t want to lose the top half too.”
Now you’re in a hospital room. You won’t ever be able to walk again. She hasn’t come to visit. You spend your nights alone, wishing to God you had never tried to get in between the love of a couple of public school kids.
Happy Public School Kids Day!
You didn’t count on missing her.
You started showing up at her new school after the bell. She’d come into your Jeep and you’d talk and you’d tell her you might have been wrong.
The poor kids from her public school were always watching. Especially one kid. A guy. He couldn’t take his eyes off the two of you. You asked her about him, but she said he’s just a boy named Jack.
“Does he like you?” you asked.
She shrugged. She blushed a little.
One day when you arrived, a crowd of poor kids swarmed your Jeep. They told you to stop coming around.
“She belongs here now,” they said. “She belongs with Jack. And you’re in the way.”
You laughed at them. You admit it, you looked down on them. Public school kids. You told them you’ll come and see her until she says not to. You told them she’d be a fool to stay with the likes of them when a private school kid was giving her a second chance.
They said you were confusing things for her. She belongs at their public school, and she and Jack are in love. She just can’t let it happen until you’re out of the picture.
“Out of the picture?” you asked with a laugh. They didn’t laugh with you. Eventually, she got in the Jeep, confused by all the classmates surrounding it. When you pulled away you glanced up at one of the classroom windows and you saw him, Jack, staring down at you.
A few days later, a Friday, you were driving home from your private academy and you noticed a car following you. It made turn after turn with you, until you finally stopped on an empty street and the car sped up and rammed your rear bumper.
You got out. You went to look at the damage. You saw the driver, one of the public school kids, a girl, who crowded around your Jeep. You called her a bitch. She stepped on the gas and crushed your legs against your Jeep.
The girl got out of her car and stood over you, pinned between the two bumpers.
“She’s a public school girl now,” the girl said. “She belongs to Jack. Stay away from her if you don’t want to lose the top half too.”
Now you’re in a hospital room. You won’t ever be able to walk again. She hasn’t come to visit. You spend your nights alone, wishing to God you had never tried to get in between the love of a couple of public school kids.
Happy Public School Kids Day!
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Fist-Bump Forever Day!
You and your buddy Greg are best friends and you always have been best friends and last night you both died in a car wreck. Your wives just found your wills.
“Greg’s will has a weird request,” Greg’s widow tells your widow.
“Oh God, his too?” your widow tells Greg’s widow.
You and Greg, in a fit of friendship one night, went to an all night lawyer and had your wills changed to read that if you and Greg both die at the same time, you’d like to be buried in a two person coffin with your right fists sewn together in a fist-bump.
“This way if we ever get dug up by grave-robbers or archeologists, future generations will know we were bros forever,” your wills read.
“Do you think they committed suicide just to make this happen?” your widow will ask.
“This is embarrassing for us,” Greg’s widow says. “Everyone at the funeral will think they loved each other more than us.”
“Oh God, it’s—“
Greg’s widow confirms with a nod. “Bros before hos.”
Your widows, feeling angry and betrayed, honor your request nonetheless, and everyone in the funeral pays their respects to your fist-bumping corpses, frozen in an eternal bro-out.
Your widows remarry hastily.
Fist-Bump Forever Day!
“Greg’s will has a weird request,” Greg’s widow tells your widow.
“Oh God, his too?” your widow tells Greg’s widow.
You and Greg, in a fit of friendship one night, went to an all night lawyer and had your wills changed to read that if you and Greg both die at the same time, you’d like to be buried in a two person coffin with your right fists sewn together in a fist-bump.
“This way if we ever get dug up by grave-robbers or archeologists, future generations will know we were bros forever,” your wills read.
“Do you think they committed suicide just to make this happen?” your widow will ask.
“This is embarrassing for us,” Greg’s widow says. “Everyone at the funeral will think they loved each other more than us.”
“Oh God, it’s—“
Greg’s widow confirms with a nod. “Bros before hos.”
Your widows, feeling angry and betrayed, honor your request nonetheless, and everyone in the funeral pays their respects to your fist-bumping corpses, frozen in an eternal bro-out.
Your widows remarry hastily.
Fist-Bump Forever Day!
Friday, July 12, 2013
All Of Them Cheaters Day!
Today Sam’s cheating on Joan with Mary, a library science grad student he met at a Chipotle. Joan’s cheating on Sam with Morris, some guy who owns a gun store and who is cheating on Luanne, an attorney who doesn’t realize her firm reps the mob yet. Luanne’s cheating on Morris with Kevin, a major beltway insider who is cheating on Debbie, a homemaker with a limp. Debbie is cheating on Kevin with this motherfucker with a big-ass beard who hangs out at the Muddy Deuce (they don’t use names) and who is cheating on Vivian (advertising copywriter). Vivian’s cheating on the motherfucker with a big-ass beard who hangs out at the Muddy Deuce with her favorite Starbucks barista, Pam, who’s cheating on Lisa, currently unemployed but big into clowning. Lisa’s cheating on Pam with Oliver, a guy who sells weed at the Sunoco, who is cheating on Geraldine, a disaster preparedness expert who is cheating on you. You’re not cheating on Geraldine. You love her and don’t want anyone else but her and you don’t know what you’d do if you ever found out she wasn’t true to you.
Happy All Of Them Cheaters Day!
Happy All Of Them Cheaters Day!
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Dance Lessons Day!
She doesn’t understand.
“He thinks bad things happen when he dances,” she tells the instructor.
“Everyone’s nervous the first time they try to dance,” the instructor says to you. “But we all have the movement of the wind in our limbs. We just need to grow comfortable with allowing it to take control.”
You tell the instructor it’s not the first time you danced. You tell them both, bad things happened the last time.
“So are we not supposed to have a first dance at our wedding then?” your fiancé pouts.
“Don’t disappoint her,” the instructor says. “I’ll help you. Now first, let me just put on this waltz and see what you do.”
You insist that they need to take you seriously. They roll their eyes.
“Fine,” you say. “But both of you need to move to the other side of the room while I dance alone.”
The music begins. You take a step. Then another. Then another. Then you raise your arms. And you spin.
When you come out of the spin your fiancé and the instructor are naked and ravenously fucking while growling like dogs. The mirrors have all been scorched a solid black as if by fire. Out the window you see people covering their ears to block the sound of police horses yowling like housecats in heat. It’s 2 pm, but the sky is night. The floor of the dance studio opens and Satan rises from the gap like a geyser of black oil gushing in slow motion to form a many-winged beast. The walls of the studio explode outward and Satan releases a howl that instantly sends everyone within a thousand miles into madness. The reckoning has commenced.
You stop dancing and say to your fiancé and the instructor, “See?”
Happy Dance Lessons Day!
“He thinks bad things happen when he dances,” she tells the instructor.
“Everyone’s nervous the first time they try to dance,” the instructor says to you. “But we all have the movement of the wind in our limbs. We just need to grow comfortable with allowing it to take control.”
You tell the instructor it’s not the first time you danced. You tell them both, bad things happened the last time.
“So are we not supposed to have a first dance at our wedding then?” your fiancé pouts.
“Don’t disappoint her,” the instructor says. “I’ll help you. Now first, let me just put on this waltz and see what you do.”
You insist that they need to take you seriously. They roll their eyes.
“Fine,” you say. “But both of you need to move to the other side of the room while I dance alone.”
The music begins. You take a step. Then another. Then another. Then you raise your arms. And you spin.
When you come out of the spin your fiancé and the instructor are naked and ravenously fucking while growling like dogs. The mirrors have all been scorched a solid black as if by fire. Out the window you see people covering their ears to block the sound of police horses yowling like housecats in heat. It’s 2 pm, but the sky is night. The floor of the dance studio opens and Satan rises from the gap like a geyser of black oil gushing in slow motion to form a many-winged beast. The walls of the studio explode outward and Satan releases a howl that instantly sends everyone within a thousand miles into madness. The reckoning has commenced.
You stop dancing and say to your fiancé and the instructor, “See?”
Happy Dance Lessons Day!
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
You’re The Captain Of A Cruise Ship Day!
“Captain,” your first mate says. “All of the passengers are gone.”
“Gone?” you ask. “We’re in the middle of the ocean.”
“I’ve looked everywhere,” he says. “All 1,426 passengers are missing.”
Walk around the ship yelling, “Passengers! Passengers, where are you?” No one will answer.
“Well fuck!” you shout when you return to the Captain’s deck. “Everyone on shore is gonna be so mad!”
You return to shore and apologize for having lost so many family members and colleagues. You say you understand if no one ever wants to board one of your ships again.
Overnight your next cruise sells out.
“You’re our golden goose,” the chairman of the cruise company says. “Everyone assumes you sailed through a door to the next dimension. People want to know what other realms of existence are possible. You’re going to travel the exact same coordinates as you did when all your passengers went poof.”
The cruise line changes their advertising to specifically sell journeys into the unknowable. Cruise after cruise sells out until most of the North American population has disappeared and the cruise line goes bankrupt. You spend the rest of your life feeling lonely because everyone’s gone.
Happy You’re The Captain Of A Cruise Ship Day!
“Gone?” you ask. “We’re in the middle of the ocean.”
“I’ve looked everywhere,” he says. “All 1,426 passengers are missing.”
Walk around the ship yelling, “Passengers! Passengers, where are you?” No one will answer.
“Well fuck!” you shout when you return to the Captain’s deck. “Everyone on shore is gonna be so mad!”
You return to shore and apologize for having lost so many family members and colleagues. You say you understand if no one ever wants to board one of your ships again.
Overnight your next cruise sells out.
“You’re our golden goose,” the chairman of the cruise company says. “Everyone assumes you sailed through a door to the next dimension. People want to know what other realms of existence are possible. You’re going to travel the exact same coordinates as you did when all your passengers went poof.”
The cruise line changes their advertising to specifically sell journeys into the unknowable. Cruise after cruise sells out until most of the North American population has disappeared and the cruise line goes bankrupt. You spend the rest of your life feeling lonely because everyone’s gone.
Happy You’re The Captain Of A Cruise Ship Day!
Tuesday, July 09, 2013
Get A Room You Two Day!
Meet him at a parade, it doesn’t matter which one or what it celebrates (nothing racist). You’ll both be alone. You’ll grow comfortable with his appreciation of certain floats, his awe at certain balloon designs, his disappointment with certain marching brigades of local organization members.
“Knights of Columbus need to step up their game,” you’ll say to him, and he’ll high five you. You’ll let your palm linger on his for a second too long, a moment too right.
“Let’s go,” tell him.
In the room, agree to stay on either sides of the bed for at least an hour. Discuss television favorites and your online social networking policies—what earns your add, what makes you unfollow—until you feel you know each other well enough to kiss. Then kiss.
Retreat back to opposite sides of the room, this time switching placement. Share a secret you’ve kept from someone indispensible in your life—a parent, a spouse if you have one, a pet. Tell each other what you can’t say to the one you can’t live without. Now strip.
Stand up and study each other’s bodies for thirty seconds, then sit down on bath towels. If you have anything that’s a dealbreaker during the act, make it known now.
One full minute of no talking. Just waiting. Anticipating. Panting for the starting gun.
The minute complete, move to the center of the bed, take each other’s naked bodies in each other’s arms, stimulate each other (with full consideration of each other’s dealbreakers) until you’re both ready to commence intercourse (unless “no intercourse” was a dealbreaker for either of you). Finish up. The entire act should take between three and seven minutes.
After, spend ten minutes telling each other stories about your childhood. Then shower separately.
Get dressed and decide who leaves first. The person who leaves second should be the one whose credit card was given for incidentals, just to be sure the other person won’t take the opportunity to rack up a huge minibar bill.
Don’t kiss goodbye. Share a smile from five feet away. Remember that just a few hours ago you were strangers. You may never see each other again. You might walk out and forget all about each other, or you might become obsessed with each other and today will completely upend the rest of your lives. In this moment, it’s just a shared smile.
You know each other as well as anyone could expect you to know each other after a single afternoon in a hotel room. You’ve done all you can. It’s out of your hands now.
Happy Get A Room You Two Day!
“Knights of Columbus need to step up their game,” you’ll say to him, and he’ll high five you. You’ll let your palm linger on his for a second too long, a moment too right.
“Let’s go,” tell him.
In the room, agree to stay on either sides of the bed for at least an hour. Discuss television favorites and your online social networking policies—what earns your add, what makes you unfollow—until you feel you know each other well enough to kiss. Then kiss.
Retreat back to opposite sides of the room, this time switching placement. Share a secret you’ve kept from someone indispensible in your life—a parent, a spouse if you have one, a pet. Tell each other what you can’t say to the one you can’t live without. Now strip.
Stand up and study each other’s bodies for thirty seconds, then sit down on bath towels. If you have anything that’s a dealbreaker during the act, make it known now.
One full minute of no talking. Just waiting. Anticipating. Panting for the starting gun.
The minute complete, move to the center of the bed, take each other’s naked bodies in each other’s arms, stimulate each other (with full consideration of each other’s dealbreakers) until you’re both ready to commence intercourse (unless “no intercourse” was a dealbreaker for either of you). Finish up. The entire act should take between three and seven minutes.
After, spend ten minutes telling each other stories about your childhood. Then shower separately.
Get dressed and decide who leaves first. The person who leaves second should be the one whose credit card was given for incidentals, just to be sure the other person won’t take the opportunity to rack up a huge minibar bill.
Don’t kiss goodbye. Share a smile from five feet away. Remember that just a few hours ago you were strangers. You may never see each other again. You might walk out and forget all about each other, or you might become obsessed with each other and today will completely upend the rest of your lives. In this moment, it’s just a shared smile.
You know each other as well as anyone could expect you to know each other after a single afternoon in a hotel room. You’ve done all you can. It’s out of your hands now.
Happy Get A Room You Two Day!
Monday, July 08, 2013
Convenience Store Rescue Day!
You signed up your convenience store to be on a show called Convenience Store Rescue, on which the host, a loud, alpha male who claims to be a convenience store expert, helps store owners turn things around for their businesses.
“What’s the problem with the store?” he asks in the parking lot.
“It’s been kidnapped,” you tell him. You point to the spot on the ground where the store used to be. “They said they want a million dollars or the store gets killed.”
The host walks around the parking lot. “First of all, you need to repaint the spaces on this parking lot.”
You tell him your wife was working in the store when it was kidnapped. She’s still inside it and time is running out.
“Also, that sign. You got the wrong bulbs in there. Lighting is key to get people on the road to pull in and check you out.”
You tell him that they put the store on the phone earlier and it was screaming.
“I can get you a deal on Techsmoke Electronic Cigarettes. You need new, younger clientele. E-Cigs are the way to go.”
You ask him if he’s going to do anything to rescue your store from kidnappers, or if he’s just going to make marketing suggestions.
“Don’t worry,” he says as a helicopter lands. He hops inside and picks up a machine gun. “I’ll rescue your store. And I’ll make sure they pay for what they did.”
“Think you Convenience Store Rescue Man!” you shout as he flies away, en route to bring your store back safe, ready to make those kidnappers feel worse than the hot dogs on your store’s spinning heat rollers.
Happy Convenience Store Rescue Day!
“What’s the problem with the store?” he asks in the parking lot.
“It’s been kidnapped,” you tell him. You point to the spot on the ground where the store used to be. “They said they want a million dollars or the store gets killed.”
The host walks around the parking lot. “First of all, you need to repaint the spaces on this parking lot.”
You tell him your wife was working in the store when it was kidnapped. She’s still inside it and time is running out.
“Also, that sign. You got the wrong bulbs in there. Lighting is key to get people on the road to pull in and check you out.”
You tell him that they put the store on the phone earlier and it was screaming.
“I can get you a deal on Techsmoke Electronic Cigarettes. You need new, younger clientele. E-Cigs are the way to go.”
You ask him if he’s going to do anything to rescue your store from kidnappers, or if he’s just going to make marketing suggestions.
“Don’t worry,” he says as a helicopter lands. He hops inside and picks up a machine gun. “I’ll rescue your store. And I’ll make sure they pay for what they did.”
“Think you Convenience Store Rescue Man!” you shout as he flies away, en route to bring your store back safe, ready to make those kidnappers feel worse than the hot dogs on your store’s spinning heat rollers.
Happy Convenience Store Rescue Day!
Sunday, July 07, 2013
Get Kissed Day!
Today on the plane ride home the woman in the seat next to you is going to kiss you. She’s just going to lean over the armrest and plant her bright red lipstick on your mouth.
“I’m married,” tell her.
“Not anymore,” the flight attendant will say. She’ll be holding a special sky phone out for you to take. “It’s your wife. She knows.”
You take the phone and your wife tells you she wants the house, but custody of the kids should be shared pretty evenly. “The kids need both of us. There’s no reason they should have to suffer because you accepted that kiss.”
You hang up the phone, newly single. You lean over to kiss the woman in the next seat. She pulls away. “The moment’s passed,” she’ll say. “Besides, I don’t want to be the step-mom trying to win your kids’ affection.”
When the plane lands, a divorce attorney is waiting at the gate for you to sign papers.
“Hope getting kissed was worth it,” he’ll say.
You don’t wash the lipstick off your mouth for at least a month. That kiss is all you have left, and you don’t want to let it go.
Happy Get Kissed Day!
“I’m married,” tell her.
“Not anymore,” the flight attendant will say. She’ll be holding a special sky phone out for you to take. “It’s your wife. She knows.”
You take the phone and your wife tells you she wants the house, but custody of the kids should be shared pretty evenly. “The kids need both of us. There’s no reason they should have to suffer because you accepted that kiss.”
You hang up the phone, newly single. You lean over to kiss the woman in the next seat. She pulls away. “The moment’s passed,” she’ll say. “Besides, I don’t want to be the step-mom trying to win your kids’ affection.”
When the plane lands, a divorce attorney is waiting at the gate for you to sign papers.
“Hope getting kissed was worth it,” he’ll say.
You don’t wash the lipstick off your mouth for at least a month. That kiss is all you have left, and you don’t want to let it go.
Happy Get Kissed Day!
Saturday, July 06, 2013
Take Him Day!
Burst into his parents’ house at dinnertime.
“He’s mine,” tell Mr. Herbert. “All mine.”
Mr. Herbert will drop his cutlery to his plate with a clank.
“The boy is going to run the hardware store,” Mr. Herbert will say.
“The boy is going to come to the city with me and marry me,” tell Mr. Herbert.
“The boy is going to do what I did and my father did before me,” Mr. Herbert will say. “The boy is a Herbert.”
Step to the table. Pick up a piece of pork chop off of Mr. Herbert’s plate. Take a bite. Drop the chop, then grab Mr. Herbert’s knife and hold it to Mrs. Herbert’s throat.
“Marilyn!” Mr. Herbert will shout. “Marilyn stay calm!”
“Let him go or Marilyn meets her maker,” shout.
“Just let the boy go!” Mrs. Herbert will shout.
“The boy will run the store, Marilyn!”
Press the knife deeper.
“For God’s sake, Lewis,” Mrs. Herbert will shout. “I want more years with you!”
“Please let my wife go,” Mr. Herbert will shout. “And let me keep my boy.”
Tell him it’s over. “And you know it,” say. “He’s going, and you can’t stop him. He’s going to leave with me, he’s going to love me, and he’s going to one day try to hold on to a boy of our own the way you’re trying to hold on to him, but he’s going to settle for holding on to me.”
Mr. Herbert will sink into his seat, let his head drop, and nod slightly.
Remove the knife from Mrs. Herbert’s throat. She’ll throw her arms around her husband. Grab the boy’s hand and yank him from his seat. Drag him out the front door and put him in the car. As you pull away, he’ll try and wave to his parents.
“Don’t wave,” tell him.
He’ll stop waving.
Happy Take Him Day!
“He’s mine,” tell Mr. Herbert. “All mine.”
Mr. Herbert will drop his cutlery to his plate with a clank.
“The boy is going to run the hardware store,” Mr. Herbert will say.
“The boy is going to come to the city with me and marry me,” tell Mr. Herbert.
“The boy is going to do what I did and my father did before me,” Mr. Herbert will say. “The boy is a Herbert.”
Step to the table. Pick up a piece of pork chop off of Mr. Herbert’s plate. Take a bite. Drop the chop, then grab Mr. Herbert’s knife and hold it to Mrs. Herbert’s throat.
“Marilyn!” Mr. Herbert will shout. “Marilyn stay calm!”
“Let him go or Marilyn meets her maker,” shout.
“Just let the boy go!” Mrs. Herbert will shout.
“The boy will run the store, Marilyn!”
Press the knife deeper.
“For God’s sake, Lewis,” Mrs. Herbert will shout. “I want more years with you!”
“Please let my wife go,” Mr. Herbert will shout. “And let me keep my boy.”
Tell him it’s over. “And you know it,” say. “He’s going, and you can’t stop him. He’s going to leave with me, he’s going to love me, and he’s going to one day try to hold on to a boy of our own the way you’re trying to hold on to him, but he’s going to settle for holding on to me.”
Mr. Herbert will sink into his seat, let his head drop, and nod slightly.
Remove the knife from Mrs. Herbert’s throat. She’ll throw her arms around her husband. Grab the boy’s hand and yank him from his seat. Drag him out the front door and put him in the car. As you pull away, he’ll try and wave to his parents.
“Don’t wave,” tell him.
He’ll stop waving.
Happy Take Him Day!
Friday, July 05, 2013
Kid Bunker Day!
You’re on Day 34 of shooting on the reality show Kid Bunker, where a bunch of kids live together in a bunker deep underground, completely unsupervised, and none of you know that the world ended on the surface last week.
“Jeff had better watch his step,” you’re telling the camera during your Confession Session. “If he plays with my PSP once more without asking, I’m going to break his dumb face.”
You and Jeff have been going at it from day one, and when there were still viewers of your show, before everyone was incinerated in a nuclear blast, fans of the show sided with you.
“I don’t know why Jeff thinks it’s okay to be a poophead, but he does.”
“Poophead” is your signature dis. It was sweeping the nation almost as fast as the wall of hot white light and flame stormed from sea to sea after the silos were remotely infiltrated and detonated. Thousands of people bought “Poophead” t-shirts and wore them proudly. All those t-shirts are ash now.
“I think today I might tell Emily I like her,” you say to the camera, your face turning red.
Emily is a ten-year-old brown-haired girl who likes to draw with you. You two have been having an adorable will-they-won’t-they relationship. Before millions of pairs of eyes burst like grapes in a heat that rivaled that of the sun, all eyes were planted on the screen whenever you two played together, waiting for one of you to lean over and plant a kiss on the other’s cheek.
“Okay that’s all I have to say. Bye mommy I miss you!”
She used to love watching you sign off all your confessions with that.
Happy Kid Bunker Day!
“Jeff had better watch his step,” you’re telling the camera during your Confession Session. “If he plays with my PSP once more without asking, I’m going to break his dumb face.”
You and Jeff have been going at it from day one, and when there were still viewers of your show, before everyone was incinerated in a nuclear blast, fans of the show sided with you.
“I don’t know why Jeff thinks it’s okay to be a poophead, but he does.”
“Poophead” is your signature dis. It was sweeping the nation almost as fast as the wall of hot white light and flame stormed from sea to sea after the silos were remotely infiltrated and detonated. Thousands of people bought “Poophead” t-shirts and wore them proudly. All those t-shirts are ash now.
“I think today I might tell Emily I like her,” you say to the camera, your face turning red.
Emily is a ten-year-old brown-haired girl who likes to draw with you. You two have been having an adorable will-they-won’t-they relationship. Before millions of pairs of eyes burst like grapes in a heat that rivaled that of the sun, all eyes were planted on the screen whenever you two played together, waiting for one of you to lean over and plant a kiss on the other’s cheek.
“Okay that’s all I have to say. Bye mommy I miss you!”
She used to love watching you sign off all your confessions with that.
Happy Kid Bunker Day!
Thursday, July 04, 2013
Shower Cam Sheldon Day!
It’s 2046 and you’re in a nursing home. Someone is standing in your doorway. A woman in her 50s.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she says. “I was visiting my father down the hall, and I noticed your name written on the chart outside your room. Sheldon Pendleton?”
“Pretty nosey,” tell her.
“Sheldon Pendleton,” she repeats. “Many years ago, and excuse me if I’m wrong, but did you ever go by the name…Shower Cam Sheldon?”
Oh great.
“Look, what I did when I was young and needed money I’m not going to apologize for,” tell her. “You’ve never done anything to make ends meat?”
The woman will leave without saying a word. She’ll return holding a balloon. The balloon will read “THANK YOU.”
“Where’d you get that?” ask her.
“Gift shop,” she’ll say. She’ll step into your room, cross to your chair, and hand you the balloon.
“You gave a lot to me,” she’ll say. “When I was in my first marriage, a marriage I had no business being in. In the years following my first divorce…”
“You got off to me,” say. “You’re welcome.”
“Yes, occasionally,” she says. “But most of the time, I was just grateful to be invited in. Watching you shower and masturbate on camera, it was an escape from the unbearable confines of my own life into the intimate, closed off, completely anonymous confines of someone else’s. When I turned on your shower feed, I felt like a little kid sick of her parents fighting and running off into a tree-house.”
You’ve been recognized off and on through the years, but most people just think it’s a lark to meet someone from the world of porn. They see you as a tourist attraction. This is different.
“Do you have family?” she asks.
You shake your head, no.
She’ll visit you weekly. Every time she visits her father, she’ll spend an hour with you. Then after her father dies she’ll continue to visit you. She’ll be there on the day that you die.
“Why did you visit me all these years?” you’ll ask her with some of your final breath. “Was it pity?”
“It was selfishness,” she’ll tell you. “Through your shower cam, I felt I knew you, intimately. I felt I had a friend in you. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted you to know me. When I found you here, Shower Cam Sheldon, all these years later, it gave me the opportunity to make you know me. I took it.”
You feel her hand tighten around yours. The room is graying. You seem to go in and out of sleep. You can’t know how long it takes you to respond to her when you say, “I’m glad you did.”
Happy Shower Cam Sheldon Day!
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she says. “I was visiting my father down the hall, and I noticed your name written on the chart outside your room. Sheldon Pendleton?”
“Pretty nosey,” tell her.
“Sheldon Pendleton,” she repeats. “Many years ago, and excuse me if I’m wrong, but did you ever go by the name…Shower Cam Sheldon?”
Oh great.
“Look, what I did when I was young and needed money I’m not going to apologize for,” tell her. “You’ve never done anything to make ends meat?”
The woman will leave without saying a word. She’ll return holding a balloon. The balloon will read “THANK YOU.”
“Where’d you get that?” ask her.
“Gift shop,” she’ll say. She’ll step into your room, cross to your chair, and hand you the balloon.
“You gave a lot to me,” she’ll say. “When I was in my first marriage, a marriage I had no business being in. In the years following my first divorce…”
“You got off to me,” say. “You’re welcome.”
“Yes, occasionally,” she says. “But most of the time, I was just grateful to be invited in. Watching you shower and masturbate on camera, it was an escape from the unbearable confines of my own life into the intimate, closed off, completely anonymous confines of someone else’s. When I turned on your shower feed, I felt like a little kid sick of her parents fighting and running off into a tree-house.”
You’ve been recognized off and on through the years, but most people just think it’s a lark to meet someone from the world of porn. They see you as a tourist attraction. This is different.
“Do you have family?” she asks.
You shake your head, no.
She’ll visit you weekly. Every time she visits her father, she’ll spend an hour with you. Then after her father dies she’ll continue to visit you. She’ll be there on the day that you die.
“Why did you visit me all these years?” you’ll ask her with some of your final breath. “Was it pity?”
“It was selfishness,” she’ll tell you. “Through your shower cam, I felt I knew you, intimately. I felt I had a friend in you. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted you to know me. When I found you here, Shower Cam Sheldon, all these years later, it gave me the opportunity to make you know me. I took it.”
You feel her hand tighten around yours. The room is graying. You seem to go in and out of sleep. You can’t know how long it takes you to respond to her when you say, “I’m glad you did.”
Happy Shower Cam Sheldon Day!
Wednesday, July 03, 2013
Make Love To Your Husband’s Old College Roommate, Dave Day!
Your husband’s old college roommate Dave is staying with you for a week. You’re sick of hearing them reminisce about college. You wish you had something to reminisce with Dave about that your husband could be sick of. Your husband’s at work today, so you should make love to Dave.
“Why?” Dave will ask.
“We just should,” tell him.
“I need a reason,” he’ll say.
“You’re here. I’m here,” you say, taking off your top. “My top’s off. Boobs.” You point to one of your boobs.
“You’re just reciting details about the present,” he’ll say. “Not why we should have sex.”
He drives a hard bargain.
“You knew my husband when he was younger so you represent a part of his life that I don’t know,” tell him. “Having sex with you will let me lay a claim of my own on that part of his life.”
“So it will bring you closer to him?” Dave will say. “Well, if it helps my old college buddy’s marriage, okay.”
When your husband comes home early and finds Dave inside of you, he’ll pull you both into a group hug.
“I hated you not having some claim of your own on that part of my life,” he’ll shout.
Later, your husband and Dave will reminisce about college, and you and Dave will reminisce about the sex you had earlier, and everything will be even.
Happy Make Love To Your Husband’s Old College Roommate, Dave Day!
“Why?” Dave will ask.
“We just should,” tell him.
“I need a reason,” he’ll say.
“You’re here. I’m here,” you say, taking off your top. “My top’s off. Boobs.” You point to one of your boobs.
“You’re just reciting details about the present,” he’ll say. “Not why we should have sex.”
He drives a hard bargain.
“You knew my husband when he was younger so you represent a part of his life that I don’t know,” tell him. “Having sex with you will let me lay a claim of my own on that part of his life.”
“So it will bring you closer to him?” Dave will say. “Well, if it helps my old college buddy’s marriage, okay.”
When your husband comes home early and finds Dave inside of you, he’ll pull you both into a group hug.
“I hated you not having some claim of your own on that part of my life,” he’ll shout.
Later, your husband and Dave will reminisce about college, and you and Dave will reminisce about the sex you had earlier, and everything will be even.
Happy Make Love To Your Husband’s Old College Roommate, Dave Day!
Tuesday, July 02, 2013
Herbert Day!
He’s in the shower. Take the bag you packed and run down into the basement and find the cat. Put the cat into the carrier then run back upstairs and say goodbye to your daughters.
“Your dad sucks,” explain.
“Can we come?”
Tell them you don’t have the money.
“You’re taking Herbert?”
Nod. “You want mommy to have something to keep her company don’t you?”
They ask if you could maybe just date.
“I feel like I need to be off the dating scene for a bit,” tell them. “Your dad really soured me on dudes.”
They suggest that you could find a support group or something.
“Look, I want the goddamn cat,” tell them.
They’re crying now. Weird, you’d think if they liked the cat so damn much they would have changed the box once in a while. Wait. Wait, tell them that!
“Funny,” you say. “If you liked Herbert so much, maybe you should have expressed your appreciation by changing his cat box every once in a while.”
Burn.
“Leave the cat,” your daughter, Laura, says. “Or I’ll run upstairs and tell Daddy you’re going.”
“You wouldn’t,” tell her.
She would.
“Herbert stays, or you both do,” Laura says.
You open the carrier and set Herbert free. Then you climb out of your daughters’ window.
You’ve never been prouder of your ten-year-old girl. She’s not going to be pushed around by men like you were. She’s going to get what she wants.
Happy Herbert Day!
“Your dad sucks,” explain.
“Can we come?”
Tell them you don’t have the money.
“You’re taking Herbert?”
Nod. “You want mommy to have something to keep her company don’t you?”
They ask if you could maybe just date.
“I feel like I need to be off the dating scene for a bit,” tell them. “Your dad really soured me on dudes.”
They suggest that you could find a support group or something.
“Look, I want the goddamn cat,” tell them.
They’re crying now. Weird, you’d think if they liked the cat so damn much they would have changed the box once in a while. Wait. Wait, tell them that!
“Funny,” you say. “If you liked Herbert so much, maybe you should have expressed your appreciation by changing his cat box every once in a while.”
Burn.
“Leave the cat,” your daughter, Laura, says. “Or I’ll run upstairs and tell Daddy you’re going.”
“You wouldn’t,” tell her.
She would.
“Herbert stays, or you both do,” Laura says.
You open the carrier and set Herbert free. Then you climb out of your daughters’ window.
You’ve never been prouder of your ten-year-old girl. She’s not going to be pushed around by men like you were. She’s going to get what she wants.
Happy Herbert Day!
Monday, July 01, 2013
Time To Be Honest With Your Roommate Day!
Say, “Roommate, I am in love with you.”
Roommate will say, “This is music to my ears. I have loved you since the day you were added to the lease.”
You’ll go to him, but he’ll push you away. Even while refusing your embrace, his hands on your shoulders still make your heart flutter.
“What of the Roommate oath?” he’ll say. “Whether spoken or not, we entered into it the day we began sharing a living space. We will bring shame to this apartment if we engage in romantic relations.”
“Then let’s get rid of the apartment,” tell him.
Thirty minutes later your apartment building is engulfed in flame. You pulled the fire alarm to try and get everyone out (only four perished). Your apartment is gone. There’s nothing left to be shamed by your love.
“We’re free,” you say. “With no apartment, we’re no longer roommates.”
“Free to love,” he’ll say. “With no roommate oath to stand in our way.
“My Alice!” an old man will cry upon realizing his wife didn’t make it.
Happy Time To Be Honest With Your Roommate Day!
Roommate will say, “This is music to my ears. I have loved you since the day you were added to the lease.”
You’ll go to him, but he’ll push you away. Even while refusing your embrace, his hands on your shoulders still make your heart flutter.
“What of the Roommate oath?” he’ll say. “Whether spoken or not, we entered into it the day we began sharing a living space. We will bring shame to this apartment if we engage in romantic relations.”
“Then let’s get rid of the apartment,” tell him.
Thirty minutes later your apartment building is engulfed in flame. You pulled the fire alarm to try and get everyone out (only four perished). Your apartment is gone. There’s nothing left to be shamed by your love.
“We’re free,” you say. “With no apartment, we’re no longer roommates.”
“Free to love,” he’ll say. “With no roommate oath to stand in our way.
“My Alice!” an old man will cry upon realizing his wife didn’t make it.
Happy Time To Be Honest With Your Roommate Day!
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