You Hurt Some People Day!

Their names are

Pam
Lauren
Henry
Ragini
Ben
Freedie
Jamie
D.
Laraine

You hurt  them. You know you hurt them. They will never forgive you and you have no reason to expect them to. You don’t like that you hurt them and you don’t think you’re that great a person because of the pain you caused.

“But I’m going to try harder to be a better per--”

“No you won’t,” your support group shouts in unison.

You sit back down. You won’t, and you come here to have a bunch of people remind you that you won’t. You need others to let you know that any hope you have of being a better person is nothing but an empty dream.

“This is it!” you all shout while holding hands. “The people we are now is all we’re going to be and we just have to try not to ruin much stuff before we die.”

Moment of silence, then a bunch of you run off to have damaging sexual encounters that set you all back emotionally and financially for years.

Happy You Hurt Some People Day!

You're Living On Their Fire Escape Day!

You're pretty sure he's living with the wrong lady so you moved your stuff to their fire escape to wait it out.

"I don't know how to get rid of her!" he yells to his lady during one of their fights.

"You can't, dumbass," she yells back.

It's chilly out on the fire escape but they've been fighting more often. You think it should only be another couple of months.

"All I did was talk to her at a coffee shop," he whines. "I didn't tell her to move in out there."

They read the lease to see if they have recourse to get rid of you but it's standard boilerplate that the fire escape remains under control of the landlord and they almost never have people removed if they're waiting for tenants in a bad relationship to realize their mistake and part ways.

"You have to see this from my perspective," his landlord tells him. "When you two split up, If you keep the place and that one on the fire escape moves in, rent stays covered. If I clear her off the fire escape then you'll both have to move out and I gotta find new tenants. Always a crapshoot."

Over the next few weeks you develop bronchitis and it gets pretty bad but you don't leave your home of rusty steel and squirrels. Love is too important.

"The real issue," the lady inside says one sleepless night, "is what that lady out there is sensing about us. A lady doesn't brace the elements like this unless she detects a relationship in its death throes."

"So she's like one of those nursing home cats?"

That's what you're like. You're like one of those nursing home cats, the ones that sit on the beds of old people a few days before they croak. Except your bronchitis is getting bad. You yelp some doctors but none of them will climb the fire escape for a house call.

"I'm sick of her coughing," the lady inside says finally. "I keep the dog."

She packs up and walks out with a suitcase in one hand and the dog carrier in the other.

He opens the window and you crawl inside. You're weak and shivering since the bronchitis has turned to pneumonia, but it doesn't matter because you're inside now and he's kissing you as he lays you down lovingly, just in time for you to die in his bed.

Happy You're Living On Their Fire Escape Day!

You Can Play It It's Fine It Doesn't Matter Anymore Let The Song Play Day!

You ask her if she wants a water, she says she's good. You ask her if she's been in the city long, she says too long. She asks you if you've been driving long, you tell her how long. The Sirius launches into a new song.

"What do you think of this rain?" you ask.

She's silent, focused.

"Might not ever stop," you say. "Busier for me though."

After another 20 seconds she says, "Fuck."

You ask if there's something wrong and she says it's the song. You ask if she hates the song she says it's not that. She says she hasn't heard it in over three years.

"People think it's a love song," you say. "But I read it was actually about Bowie."

Her face is pained.

"Takin' you back, huh?" you say.

She says no, in fact no it's not at all. She says it was the song he played on the jukebox the night they first kissed. She says it's the song they'd put on at least once during the early-going Saturdays they'd spend all day in bed. She says it's the song she played on repeat in the months after he was gone until she swore to never ever play it again.

"I'll turn it off," you say.

She says no, don't bother.

"I pride myself on my star rating," you say. "If the song is upsetting you I'll--"

"It's not upsetting me," she says. "It's not doing anything to me."

"Are you sure?"

"Quit making me say it out loud!" she screams. "It's hard enough as it is."

It's like the song never played while she was burying her face in his hair, like they never put it on the rental car stereo when they were driving around her hometown to escape from her parents at Thanksgiving, like she never played it while trying to bring herself to replace the Brita pitcher he took with him when he moved out.

"How about a new station," you say.

"You can play it," she whispers. "It's fine. It doesn't matter anymore. Let the song play."

That's when she starts swearing and punching the back of your seat and slamming her palms against the car window. You hardly ever give a passenger a bad rating but you can't have someone becoming violent and treating your vehicle like that, no matter how hard it is to discover that even the pain a lover leaves behind will eventually go away. The window rattles a little now.

Happy You Can Play It It's Fine It Doesn't Matter Let The Song Play Day!

You're Going To Lose Your Job Working The Front Desk Of That Hip Downtown Hotel Day!

She hates champagne.

It's a fact. You know this fact. And if it's your job to give guests a peerless experience, catering to their every whim and desire, should you not speak up when you know something won't be to their liking?

"And send us up a bottle of champagne okay?" the guy says.

You wink and say no problem, continuing to punch into your keyboard. The first name on his credit card is "Dirk." You didn't know anyone was actually named that. You make no mention of it.

"Or make it two bottles," he says.

You give him a smile and a nod. It's going to be a big night for him. You'll make sure he has the necessities.

"Can we get late checkout?" he asks.

You don't see why not. Since he's stayed before you can even wave the fee. You're a good front desk clerk who's ready to give a preferred customer all the time he needs to get to know his new acquaintance.

"There you are," he says as she returns from the bathroom and takes his arm. "They do have rooms, we're all set."

You pause in your typing to look at her, then at him, then at her again. She gasps, loosens her grip on his arm.

"I'll cancel the champagne," you say.

Dirk's confused. "No we want the champagne."

"It's cancelled," you say.

Dirk places his hand on the desk. "Listen, what is this?"

She's staring at the ground, her hands at her sides now, a purse in one of them. She looks both gorgeous and shattered.

"She hates champagne, Dirk," you say.

Dirk looks to her, and then you. He signals your manager behind you.

"I'm trying to order champagne for the room but this guy's being a dick about it."

Your manager asks you what this is about and you say you're just trying to give the guests what they want, and you happen to know that the lady on Dirk's arm does not want champagne.

"She hates it so much we considered serving something else," you say. "Almost went with a signature cocktail, a fizzy grapefruit thing, but the wedding venue would have tacked on $1500 and we realized we were just complicating things."

"Wait, you're married?" Dirk says to her, but she ignores him.

"I didn't know you worked here," she says.

"Just started two weeks ago," you say.

"Give him the champagne," your manager says.

"I got your letter," you tell her. "Your maid of honor handed it to me while I was still at the altar, but I didn't read it 'til I got to Aruba."

"I've added the champagne order back to your room, sir," your manager says, typing into a neighboring terminal.

"It wasn't right," she says. "Did you think it was right?"

"Go to my office and wait there," your manager says. "I'm sorry about all this, sir. The champagne is comped."

"Don't forget the late checkout," you tell your manager. "They think they've got something special and they want all the time they can get to really explore."

"My office!" your manager says.

You move to the back but she stops you.

"Wait!" she says.

The room falls into a pause.

"Was the resort nice?" she asks. "Aruba?"

You shrug. "Lot of pools," you say. "Too many kids though. The kids would have annoyed you."

You head back to the office and wait to be fired while she and Dirk head up to room 718. You assigned them that room because you knew she'd like it. It's got a perfect view of the park where you proposed.

Happy You're Going To Lose Your Job Working The Front Desk Of A Hip Downtown Hotel Day!

Maybe You Should Look Up Some Old High School Friends To Fuck While Visiting Your Dying Brother Day!

He's got cancer but you've got needs.

"Jeff," you type into Facebook chat. "I know I unfriended you a while back so thanks for reaccepting my friend request. I'm in town and could come to you."

Jeff says his ex-wife just let him move back in and he'd better not screw this up since he doesn't have rent money for a place of his own but sorry about your brother.

"Murray," you message on Google Plus, the only social network he seems to be on which means he must be in a cult. "I don't care who your God is, Murray. I still taste you from homecoming and I'd like another bite."

Murray says he's got a workshop this weekend that you should attend so you block him and change your passwords.

Your brother wakes up for a second, lets out a morphine scream that fades to a whimper about your mom. You hit Tinder and match with your prom date's little brother.

"He'd hate it if we hooked up," you tell him.

He says your prom date can't hate anything anymore since he committed suicide his senior year of college.

"In his memory then?" you plead. Radio silence.

You throw your phone and lay your head on a free stretch of your brother's hospital bed. Your dad comes in to relieve you.

"I'm sure you have someplace to go," he says.

You look at your brother, his shoulder blades so pronounced you can spot the fracture he took in JV lacrosse.

"I don't have anywhere to go," you say.

You put your head back on the mattress and listen while your Dad reads from Stephen King's "The Tommyknockers," a book your dad remembers your brother saying he enjoyed. They had a copy on the hospital lending shelf.

Happy Maybe You Should Look Up Some Old High School Friends To Fuck While Visiting Your Dying Brother Day!

Shopping For Beds Day!

You met this guy just now and you both agree you want to go to bed together so it's time to go shopping for beds.

"How about this bed?" you ask, pressing down on a mattress with your palms.

"Too firm," he says. "I like to bounce when I fuck."

You move through the Sleepy's to a pillow top.

"Eh?" you say, jumping up and landing on the bed a couple of times so he can see how high you bounce.

"Could work," he says. "Do you tend to fuck lengthwise or do you like to spread out across the width?"

"I fuck lengthwise," you tell him. "I told you I'm from Michigan. We go by the book."

He kisses you once while you're both sitting on the edge of the bed you're going to buy and fuck on. It's your first kiss. It's nice.

"Split it down the middle," you tell the bed salesman when you both hand him a credit card.

"How fast can you deliver it?" he asks the bed salesman. "Like, I think we want it as fast as possible."

"Because you're gonna fuck on it?" the bed salesman asks, not looking up from his monitor.

You laugh. "Soon as we can!" you say.

"Shipping time depends," the bed salesman says. "Where is it being delivered?"

Time to go shopping for houses!

Happy Shopping For Beds Day!

Your Clown College Professor Is Done Denying What's In His Heart Day!

He never sleeps with his students, no matter how strong a bond he feels with them.

"In the past," he says. "I didn't want anything to get in the way of my students' developing their clowning craft and bringing the art of clowning into society. But now, with the way things are in this country—"

"There might not be any society to clown in very soon," you say, your breath growing short.

"No amount of happy clown makeup can hide the longing I feel for you," your clowning professor says.

You move close to him, stepping up onto his giant shoes so your face is just an inch from his.

"It's unethical," he says. "But watching the world crumble around me, knowing we never made love when we had the chance, that's unthinkable."

He takes off his nose. You take off yours. You trigger the flower on his lapel so it sprays your face, drenching it to remove some of the makeup, the water dripping onto your shirt causing it to cling to the shape of your breasts. He takes off one of his giant gloves and you place his hand over your right breast. When you kiss, your black lipstick and his blue lipstick mix to form a color reminiscent of the night sky. You kiss frantically, tangling your wigs until they both rip from your heads in a clatter of bobby pins. You grip his behind and cause the horn attached to his pants to honk. He grips your behind and an airbag pops and shoots confetti out from what crowds are meant to think must be your anus. Your struggle out of your rotund clown suits and fall to the floor of the classroom and make love, the mess of wigs and floppy shoes and squeeze horns serving as your bed for this one ecstatic moment when there are no happy clowns, there are no sad clowns, there are no drunk children's party clowns, there is only flesh.

When it's over, you hoist yourself back into your clown suit and he does the same. Once your suits and horns and props are in place and your makeup is immaculate, it's like nothing ever happened. You're once again two clowns, amusement is your sole purpose n this earth, and if underneath your artifice there is any stirring of passion for each other, the makeup hides it well.

Happy Your Clown College Professor Is Done Denying What's In His Heart Day!

Tell The Court Which Parent You Prefer To Continuing Living Off Of Until The App You're Developing Gets Accepted Into The iTunes Store Day!

It was a tough blow when your parents came down to the basement to tell you they're getting a divorce.

"We wanted to wait until you got out of college," your Mom said.

"Then we decided to wait until you finished grad school," your Dad said.

"Then when it was clear you weren't going to get any teaching positions anywhere, we decided to wait until you finished that 14 week coding school," your Mom said.

"Which we also paid for," your Dad added.

Once you were out of coding school, they decided you were mature enough to handle the news of their split.

"But your honor," you say. "It's hard for me to pick one of my parents to continuing living off of since this decision to divorce at this point in my life is so typically selfish of both of them."

"Objection!" both of your parents shout.

"Overruled," the judge says. "Continue."

"Even though I'm done with college and grad school and coding school, my parents know this is a very intense time for me. I'm waiting to iron out the kinks in my new app so I can send it in to the iTunes store and see if they accept it," you explain. "How am I supposed to handle all that stress on top of this new stress of finding out their love is a lie?"

The judge, crying now, asks your parents if they realize what kind of harm they're doing to their 34-year-old son.

Your mom addresses the court. "We considered his feelings your honor, and we weighed them against our desire to live the lives we choose to live before we—"

"His app's stupid!" your dad interrupts.

"It's not stupid!" you shout back. Then to the judge, "It's not stupid, your honor. I put my life into this app."

"He put his life into his app," the judge says, still crying. "Why won't you support him?"

"It's called 'DachHunt.' It's an app that tells you how far you are from the nearest Dachshund," your dad says. "It hinges on Dachshund owners allowing their dogs to be chipped so Dachshund fans can track them down via GPS."

The judge looks your way.

"People love Dachshunds," you shrug. "But they might never have the app they need if I am too emotionally wounded to complete the app and get it to iTunes."

"So your parents aren't hurting only you, but Dachshund lovers everywhere," the judge says, glaring at your parents now.

"This court sucks," your mom says.

"It sucks bad," you dad says.

"Yeah well you suck too," says the judge. "Now then, which parent do you want to continue living off of?"

You think for a second.

"Both," you say. "They can get a divorce but they have to continue living together in my childhood home and let me sleep in the basement until my app is finished."

The judge bangs his gavel.

"You heard the boy," the judge says. "If you don't like it, maybe next time think twice before falling out of love."

Your parents are devastated that they aren't legally allowed to separate but you don't care because you're going away with some friends on a ski trip this weekend.

Happy Tell The Court Which Parent You Prefer To Continuing Living Off Of Until The App You're Developing Gets Accepted Into The iTunes Store Day!

You Finally Got Up The Nerve To Ask Out Your Doctor Day!

Your doctor has cared for you since you were a baby. He was your parents' primary physician, so once you and your siblings were born he looked after your whole family. It's safe to say he knows you more intimately than anyone, even your wife! It's time to take this relationship to the next level.

"But I'm married," he'll say. "So are you. We're both married to women."

You concede that your marriages are great, but you also know that you only go around once in this life, and with your family history of heart disease you might only have another 20 or 25 years to do what you really want to do.

"And what I really want to do," tell him, "is take you out to a nice romantic dinner and see where this goes."

That night at dinner you're both nervous, but you break the tension with a joke about how you'd better watch what you order since he knows exactly what your cholesterol levels are. You both laugh pretty hard at that.

"I like your blazer," you tell him, picking some lint off his shoulder.

"Thanks," he says. "My wife helped me pick it out. She was excited that we're going out after I've talked so much about you."

You're thrown.

"You talked about me?"

"Didn't you talk about me to your wife?"

You say sure, but you thought your crush was one-sided.

"You never let on," you say to him.

Your doctor places his hand on your knee, the knee he hits with the little rubber reflex hammer during every physical he's every given you.

"I was being professional," your doctor says.

After dinner you go back to your doctor's office and you both take a cocktail of pills that he says will make your orgasms more powerful. Boy does he end up being right about that.

In the coming months your innocent crush turns to an animal need to make love to your doctor every chance you get. The two of you take more and more pills, and after the sex is over, the comedown from those pills is so great that he starts prescribing pills to get you back on track, giving you a boost so you can go back to work or go home and be a father to your children.

Your wife notices a difference in you. You're sluggish, easily set off, and you soon lose interest even in sleeping with your doctor. You just want the pills.

Your doctor is having trouble with the pills too. He says it's been a challenge for him his whole career. One night he swallows one too many and goes into cardiac arrest right there in your arms. You get him to the hospital but he's 78 and his years of drug abuse have taken their toll. He dies with you by his bedside.

With your doctor gone, you have to find your pills on the street. You empty your bank account, your kids' college fund, all the money you can find to get what you need. Your wife leaves you just before you're caught embezzling from your firm.

Detoxing in prison is easier than you would have expected, and though you've lost everything, you're overjoyed to have your mind back. It's nice to have a clear head again so you can spend your days stretched out on your bunk, losing yourself in memories of those sensuous afternoons you spent in complete surrender to your insatiable, ravenous hunger for your family physician.

Happy You Finally Got Up The Nerve To Ask Out Your Doctor Day!

Ask Him If He's Scared Day!

You've had your eye on the guy who lives in the building across the street. You see him in line when you get your morning coffee and you see him down the platform when you're waiting for a train and you see him chatting with the bartender when you're getting a drink but you haven't come up with a way to start talking to him.

Just ask him if he's scared. All guys are.

He'll appreciate being asked since guys want to reveal that everything's scary but they don't like to bring it up with strangers because strangers are scary too. So you'll have to broach the subject.

Since he might get scared if you just walk up to him out of nowhere and start talking, ask him if he's scared by writing "SCARED?" on a brick and throwing it through his window.

He'll pick up the brick and it over to the blank side and write "YEAH THANKS FOR ASKING I REALLY AM GOD IT'S LIKE I JUST WISH I COULD HIDE UNDER MY BED FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN" in really small letters, then he'll throw the brick back at you.

When the brick hits your head he'll have to choose whether to be a hero and run downstairs and carry you to the hospital or stay inside and let you bleed out because hospitals are scary. If he carries you to the hospital, he was lying about being scared and you shouldn't date him. Don't date a liar.

Happy Ask Him If He's Scared Day!

Make Conversation With The Woman You Sometimes See Pissing On One Of The Neighboring Graves Day!

You show up every week to piss on the grave of the loan officer who foreclosed on your father's house when you were ten, resulting in your father committing suicide not long after he moved you and your mom into a two-bedroom apartment across town. You like coming here to piss on the loan officer's grave because, first of all, the loan officer deserves to have all totems and monuments to his life defiled with as much human waste as you have time to expel. Second of all, it's always good to have an excuse to get outdoors on your lunch break. The loan officer's grave is in a very pretty part of the cemetery, so sometimes you take a scenic walk on your way to his tombstone. Even with your bladder overflowing from all the coffee and water you filled up on before you got out of the car, you don't like to rush such a pretty walk through nature.

Every once in a while you've spotted a woman squatting over a grave just a few rows back. You've nodded hello once or twice when your eyes have met, but you haven't said anything since you know the act of pissing on a grave can be very meditative and you wouldn't want to disturb her mental repose. But one day you catch her while she's still downing some Snapples and she raises one of the bottles to you in a "Cheers!" gesture before guzzling it down.

"Mary Wiggims," you say, reading the name on the gravestone she's getting ready to piss on. "What'd she do, if you don't mind my asking?"

"She was my sister," the woman says. "Poisoned my mother's mind with lies when she was in a home with dementia, convinced her to cut me out of the will. I wasn't even allowed to attend her funeral."

You give the gravestone the finger. "My guy over there tricked my dad into a crap mortgage. Took our house, my dad's pride, ultimately his life."

The woman gives your dad's loan officer's stone the finger in turn. She tells you her name is Alice.

"Lucky for us they were buried in such a nice part of the cemetery, right?"

You nod. "I like to park far away just to have more of a walk."

Alice downs her last bottle of Snapple, then tosses it to the soil in front of her sister's grave, letting you know she's at go-time.

"I'll leave you to it," you say. "It was nice meeting you, Alice."

You take a few steps away, then you stop and think about how rare it is to meet someone who shares your interests. You turn and catch Alice before she's entered her squat.

"Hey, I hope this isn't too forward," you say. "But maybe we could meet up sometime beforehand, get to know each other over some diuretics?"

Alice nods, her thumbs resting on the waistband of her pants.

"I'd like that," she says.

After that you and Alice get together every week to share some conversation over coffee, beer, and various other bladder-filling beverages before you both head out to defile your respective graves. Soon you move in together and marry, and when the time comes you find a gorgeous joint burial plot right in between your father's loan officer and Alice's sister, so you can spend eternity side-by-side in the soil muddied week after week with your co-mingled urine.

Happy Make Conversation With The Woman You Sometimes See Pissing On One Of The Neighboring Graves Day!

Hide Under The Bakery Day!

You're hiding in the basement under the bakery for the next few hours until things calm down. The baker already saw you down there when he came down for a sack of flour. He nodded in your direction, then he went back upstairs.

Next time he comes down, he leaves a loaf of bread and a pat of butter and some water and you eat. You were starved. You didn't know you'd have to hide today so you didn't get to eat first. You also didn't get to go to the bathroom.

"Bathroom top of the stairs," is the first thing the baker says to you when he comes down an hour later. He heads upstairs leaving the door open for you. You assume it's safe for you to show yourself above ground. If the baker wanted to hand you over he could just go ahead and do that, so going upstairs shouldn't put you in any more danger than you're already in. You head up and the bathroom's right outside the basement door, to the right.

When you head back downstairs there's a plate of cookies waiting for you. Another glass of water. Also a rolled up apron placed as a pillow at the head of a sack of flour. You eat the cookies then lay down and you sleep.

When you wake the baker is standing over you. "Now or never," he says and he leads you upstairs and out the door where you see it's just before dawn. You climb into the back of his van, into the space he's made between cake box flats and sacks of flour. He moves a couple laundry sacks of dirty aprons over you to block you from any curious eyes then you lay still while he drives to the people who'll keep you safe.

Happy Hide Under The Bakery Day!

If you get out of bed even once this week, bad things will happen

Monday

There are a lot of big events this week, including discounted bullets at the rifle range, an 80’s themed yoga class, and at least three middle school fistfights behind the 7-11. But you’re going to miss them all because if you get out of bed, something terrible will happen.

“What do you think will happen?” your boyfriend Dennis will ask.

“I don’t know,” tell him. “But what if it’s something that happens to you? I couldn’t live with myself. Get in the bed where it’s safe.”

Dennis is supportive so he’ll first go out and buy you a bucket to go to the bathroom into. Then he’ll climb into bed with you and stay there.

Tuesday

Your mom will come by on your second day in bed and tell you you’re just depressed because your father was distant when you were a little girl.

“It’s not that, Mom,” you’ll say. “I mean, he never said he was proud of me, but this is a whole other thing. By the way, this is my boyfriend, Dennis. At least he’s supporting me in this.”

“Oh and I’m not supportive?”

Your mom will climb into bed and shake Dennis’s hand.

“I like him,” your mom will whisper, spooning you while Dennis hangs over the edge of the bed using the bucket.

Wednesday

Your old high school field hockey coach will come by on Wednesday for a pep talk.

“You think hiding in bed under the covers with your mom and your boyfriend is the way to win?!” your coach will yell. “Come on, get back in the game!”

Your mom will tell the coach he’s pushing you too hard. “You were always too hard on our girls!” your mom will say.

Crying, the coach will crawl into bed with all of you to apologize. He’ll snore when he sleeps.

Thursday

By this point, your mom and your field hockey coach will have admitted to noticing each other on the field, always wondering. They’ll be under the covers pawing at each other when your coworkers come by to check on you after almost a week of absence. You’ll be glad when they decide to climb on with you and make it a team-building thing, distracting you from the noises your mom and your coach are making.

Friday

The bed will be close to buckling when your book club comes by and hops on to discuss the novel The Interestings while drinking several jugs of Chablis. No one will want to leave for fear of being the one something bad happens to, so in order to fit everybody, you’ll all start stacking on each other like Lincoln Logs.

Saturday

Your dad will come by and sit on the floor, staring at the stack of bodies arrayed before him.

“This is my fault,” he’ll say. “I was distant when you were a little girl. I was distant to your mother too, which is why I can hear her and that coach of yours moaning from level three of the body stack. You think that since I withheld myself from you, the way to live your life is to withhold yourself from the world. Well if something bad is going to happen to somebody, I want it to be me. I deserve it.”

Your dad will stay there on the floor all night, bringing people water when they ask and occasionally emptying the bucket.

Sunday

While everyone in the stack is still asleep, you’ll realize your dad is right. Living your life in bed underneath a pile of friends and colleagues isn’t living at all. Bad things are part of life. You can’t have good things unless you risk the bad.

“Come on out,” your dad will whisper, as if he’s reading your mind.

You’ll carefully wriggle free so as not to disturb the stack, and you’ll first swing one leg over the edge of the bed, then the other. Then you’ll stand up.

“See,” your dad will say. “Nothing bad happened.”

“But something bad did happen,” you’ll tell him. “Nothing changed. At least if something bad happened I’d know I have an effect on the world.”

“You have an effect on me,” your dad will say. “You made me proud. Now let’s go get some pancakes.”

You’ll smile and take your dad’s hand, and the two of you will tiptoe out of the bedroom to go find yourselves pancakes while the pile continues to sleep the day away.

(Originally appeared on AdultSwim.com)

Get Out Of That Break Room Day!

You and your coworker Louise always end up in the Schlotsky's break room at the same time and you never do anything but sit around reading your phones.

"Let's get the motherfuck outta here Louise!" you shout. "We got 15 minutes lets make the most of it!"

"You're right!" Louise says. "Let's go kill my husband and make it look like an accident!"

You and Louise head over to Louise's house and find her husband making her a special romantic dinner.

"Who's this?" her husband asks, seeing you. "I can set a third seat at the table."

Louise looks at the clock.

"We have to be back at our registers in 8 minutes," Louise says.

You and Louise grab her husband, drag him upstairs, then throw him down the stairs so it can look like he fell by accident but all he does at the bottom of the stairs is get up and ask what's wrong.

Louise checks the clock. "Six minutes!"

You grab her husband, drag him outside and throw him in front of a moving car, but the car brakes to a stop before hitting him.

"5 minutes!" Louise shouts.

You start whispering in her husband's ear all the sad things in the world, all the injustices, the feeling that existence is nothing but pain, and humanity happened only to exact cruelty on the world. You whisper all this hoping he'll run inside to kill himself but instead he runs inside to look up some charities where he can volunteer his services.

"We have 4 minutes!" Louise shouts. "Forget it!"

Louise kisses her husband goodbye and he tells her to pick up something for dessert when she's done with her shift.

"Motherfucker won't die," you say when you're both back at your registers.

Louise nods, tears running down her cheeks. "That's why I love him," she says. "I test him and I test him to try to make him go but he never does. I don't deserve him."

Louise composes herself to sell someone a sandwich. Your manager tells you both that there's a new rule that employees aren't allowed to leave the premises during a break, even if it's to commit an attempted murder. Tell him this is bullshit.

Happy Get Out Of That Break Room Day!

Someone Found Your Dad Day!

He wandered into their backyard and started eating apples from their apple tree.

"What do you want us to do with him?" they ask.

You tell them to give him a bath.

"Okay we did," they say. "What do you want us to do to your dad next?"

You tell them to send him to a dance party.

"He had a good time," they say. "What do you want us to do to your dad next?"

You tell them to go to the beach and lock him in one of those lifeguard sheds where lifeguards go to have sex with other lifeguards.

"There were lifeguards having sex inside but once they were done we locked him inside," they say. "He's still there."

You become furious. You tell them you didn't tell them to leave him there. He gets scared of lifeguard sheds. You tell them to get him out.

"He chewed his way out," they say. "We found him squatting on a houseboat. He destroyed the inside with his bare hands."

You tell them to give him another bath.

"He's too powerful now," they say.

You order them to give your fucking dad another bath.

"He's too powerful now," they say. "He can't be stopped."

The water in your glass starts to shake. You hear the footsteps. Soot falls all around your kitchen as the roof is ripped from the walls.

Your father is very upset with you.

Happy Someone Found Your Dad Day!

Pinch Your Elbow While Saying Goodbye And She'll Be Gone Forever Day!

You meet this genie at a bar and you and him start talking and you hit it off so he gives you one for free.

"One wish?" you ask. "For real?"

The Genie says go for it. Normally you'd have to free him from a lamp but he likes you.

"There's this asshat I can't stop thinking about and I wanna stop thinking about her," you say. "But every time I decide she's out of my head, I bump into her. I want her completely out of my life so I can think about stuff besides her."

The Genie asks what kind of stuff you wish you could think about besides her and you can't think of anything.

"That's the point," you say. "Make her go away and I'll find out."

The Genie says the next time you say goodbye to her, pinch your elbow while you do it.

"She won't die," the Genie says. "She'll still be out there. Somewhere. But your paths will never cross. And you'll never even hear about her through friends. Even though she might be sitting a few rows behind you in a movie theater, you'll never turn your head at the correct angle to catch sight of her."

You ask him which elbow and he says he's not telling.

You bump into her the very next day and your heart shoots out your mouth and she touches your hand once and that spot where she touches it glows you can feel it.

"Okay bye," you say while squeezing your left elbow. You walk away three steps then you turn around but she must have already gone around the corner.

You spend the next few days looking for her just to make sure the spell worked. With every passing hour of not bumping into her, instead of confirming the effectiveness of the spell, it only makes you wonder more and more if you pinched the correct elbow. You haven't seen her yet, sure, but if you didn't pinch the correct elbow she could pop up at any given moment. No matter how long you go without seeing her, you could still bump into her tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or the one after that. If you didn't pinch the correct elbow.

You grow obsessed with finding her. You look for her in crowds. In the windows of office buildings. On the subway. On your television during local news segments. In the reflections in shop windows. On the inside of your eyelids.

"I pinched my left elbow," you tell the Genie after tracking him down at a cigar bar. "Is that the correct elbow?"

The Genie blows some smoke through a smile.

"This is one of those Genie wishes where I wish something and my wish ends up making the opposite happen?"

More smoke, bigger smile.

"I wished she'd disappear from my life but now because I can't be sure if the spell worked, I can't stop wondering if I'm going to see her," you say. "It's worse than before."

The Genie chuckles.

"Best part of this one," the Genie says. "Is if you bump into her, you'll know which elbow is the correct one to pinch. But after searching high and low, when you finally see her again, do you think you'll pinch the correct elbow this time?"

That's how this ends. After about five months you see her at a bar and you two are the only customers there and she's really happy to see you and you're stunned that she's really there. And then you realize that you now know which elbow is the one that works but you probably won't pinch it I mean you spent all that time looking for her even though you tried to make her disappear you two probably aren't supposed to be apart.

Happy Pinch Your Elbow While Saying Goodbye And She'll Be Gone Forever Day!

You And This Guy Dan You Both Make Engines Day!

"There's someone I'd like you to meet," your friend Karen says. "His name's Dan. He makes engines too."

You ask her what kind of engines.

"Who cares."

Dan lives on the other side of the country so you ask for a couple vacation days, buy the $700 plane ticket, and fly out to meet this guy Dan.

"Karen says you make engines too," you say.

Dan nods.

"What kind you make?" you ask.

Dan spends a couple hours telling you what kind of engines he makes, then you spend the next couple hours talking about the kind of engines you make.

After a moment of silence when you're both sipping your beers and staring at the TVs, Dan says, "Guess we're friends now."

"Best friends I guess," you respond.

You fly back home, feeling excited to get back there, elated really, knowing that you have a best friend now.

"Thanks Karen," you say to Karen when you meet up with her. "Dan's a good guy."

Karen loses it on you and everyone else in the bar screaming about how no one ever bothers to fucking find her a new best friend even though she's fucking delightful everyone says so and she's always going out of her motherfucking way to help everybody else, "But does anyone ever goddamn think to return the fucking favor nooooooooooooooo oh noooooooooo not for good old Karen she can take care of herself well I fucking can't take care of myself you all hear me do you need to shake the fucking beer out of your ears I can't do this alone I need a goddamn best friend goddammit!"

Happy You And This Guy Dan You Both Make Engines Day!