Ex-Wife On The Roof Again Day!

“Dana,” you say. “Come down. You woke Pam.”

“Tell Pam to pop her tenth Ativan for the day and shut her hole. I need to think.”

You lean back in the window and assure Pam you’re taking care of it. Then you climb out onto the roof with your ex-wife.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you say.

“When you used to piss me off I’d climb out here and figure it out,” she says. “It’s how I decided to leave you. When I said you could keep the house I didn’t realize Stephen would start fucking up worse than you ever did.”

You ask her why she just doesn’t climb out on Stephen’s roof.

“Stephen doesn’t have roof access,” she says. “All we have is a shared yard but the douche who lives below us is constantly throwing meat into his smoker. Like in the middle of the night even.”

You puff up a little. “Guess leaving me wasn’t the fix-it-all move you thought it was.”

“Please,” she says. “You sucked.”

You sit in silence for a bit before telling her, “We’re re-shingling next week.”

“I just need a couple more nights.”

You climb back into the bedroom and fall asleep. In the morning when you go to your car you look up at the roof and Dana’s gone. Chalked into the shingles is a long list of pros and cons of leaving Stephen. The neighbors will probably complain about the profanity but you’re late for work. You’ll wash it off later.

Happy Ex-Wife On The Roof Again Day!

Your Dead Sisters Wrote You A Letter Day!

All your dead sisters wrote you a letter to tell you it’s your fault they’re dead. “You’re absolutely right to feel guilty that we died,” the letter reads. “We’ve been rooting for you to destroy yourself with booze and drugs and to convince others you don’t deserve an ounce of their respect. The way you’ve been lashing out at those who care for you until they turn their backs and split, great fucking work, shitstain. You’ve been doing a fantastic job. Keep it up, fuckdick.”

The letter is written on the inside of your eyelids and it’s only readable in that split-second of darkness when you’ve regained consciousness in the morning but you haven’t opened your eyes yet.

Happy Your Dead Sisters Wrote You A Letter Day!

Everyone At The Car Crash Just Fell In Love Day!

The drunk teen who was behind the wheel fell in love with the paramedic bandaging his head but the paramedic fell in love with the lady cop directing traffic and the lady cop fell in love with the dad who rolled down his window and asked “Hey what happened?” The dad fell in love with the college girl crying because her boyfriend’s cut in half on the guard rail. The crying college girl, now single, fell in love with the highway patrolman who gave her a blanket. The highway patrolman fell in love with both ambulance drivers and the Good Samaritan. Ambo Driver #1 fell in love with the bottom half of the kid cut in half on the guard rail and Ambo Driver #2 fell in love with the top half. The Good Samaritan fell in love with his wife all over again. He sees her in the passenger seat with the traffic lights sliding over her face and he wonders if it’s too late for them to rescue what they have. The Good Samaritan’s wife fell in love with the guy operating the jaws of life because who wouldn’t? No one will ever know who the dead kid cut in half on the guard rail fell in love with, which is why car crashes are sad and you should drive more carefully. Ten and two.

Everyone At The Car Crash Just Fell In Love Day!

Demolition At The Fuck Motel Day!

Last night they all checked in. They signed the waivers. They visited the ice machine and walked around the drained pool and stared out the window at the wrecking ball sitting dormant under the moon.

“You all have sixty seconds,” you say through a bullhorn. “Step outside and shout your joys.”

The doors all fly open and men and women shout over each other. They shout the names of the lovers they met there. The dates on which they occupied those rooms in an erotic quarantine, walled off from their children and temporarily delinquent from the promises they made to their spouses, spouses whose names they also shout. It’s a messy chorus, and when it ends, they one by one step back into their rooms and wait.

It’s a ritual dating back to the Intimacy Laws of the late 1800s. When a Fuck Motel is slated for demolition, former guests may volunteer to spend one last night in the room where they once experienced pleasure that proved elusive for the rest of their lives. Now, they sit on the edge of their beds awaiting the wrecking ball. It will forever bond them to the walls and ceiling and bedside tables that bore witness to their happiest hours.

Happy Demolition At The Fuck Motel Day!