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!
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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!
"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!
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换ip软件是非常有必要的-迅速:2021-6-15 · 伕理ip市场现在非常火热，因为很多市场对于ip资源的使用需求都是非常大大。 随着互联网的发展，越来越多的业务转移到网络中，比如一些网络营销的业务就经常会使用到伕理IP，我伔常见的有注册、投票、抢购，其实发帖也可众使用，其实在论坛一些网站上发过帖子的人都知道，有时候我伔的 ...
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!
"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!
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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!
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!
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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!
"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!
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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!
"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!
KK云机场vpm-快连加速器app
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!
"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!
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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!
"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!
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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!
"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!
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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!
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!
Wednesday, March 01, 2017
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!
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!
Friday, February 24, 2017
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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!
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!
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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)
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)
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
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!
"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!
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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!
"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!
Sunday, January 08, 2017
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!
"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!
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"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!
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!
Wednesday, December 28, 2016
You Teach American History In The Caves And You're Starting To Fall For One Of Your Students Day!
You're only 25! Fighting for water and weapons has made these boys look so much older than 17! And since society has fallen and members of the resistance have been chased underground to preserve what life was before the End, doesn't it make sense that some of those old customs might have fallen away in the retreat under the soil? Specifically, age of consent laws? The life expectancy down here is 38!
Brandon is adorable with an anxious stare into the distance that's not like all the other anxious stares into the distance that occupy the eyes of the other boys you teach. Like Brandon can see something more than fires and armored squads pulling people from their homes and putting them onto military carrier vehicles retrofitted for civilian policing. Like Brandon can see a moment of tenderness he still remembers from the Before. Perhaps it's the last moment of tenderness he ever experienced.
You want to give him another.
You're supposed to teach them what was. You're supposed to teach them about trusted leaders and peaceful streets and social compacts that said neighbors should never report each other to the Registrars. You're supposed to teach them about the childhoods they never had. And you do. And you want to.
Except for Brandon. For Brandon you want to expand your syllabus and teach him what it means to be touched by a woman and feel everything else in the world fall away.
Yes you're 25 and yes he's 17 but dammit, you're his history teacher! You teach history so your students can make a better one for themselves. Where is the harm in you and Brandon sneaking away, finding your own special private nook somewhere in these filthy caves, and using every inch of your bodies to shape a tiny little pocket of history together?
Happy You Teach American History In The Caves And You're Starting To Fall For One Of Your Students Day!
Brandon is adorable with an anxious stare into the distance that's not like all the other anxious stares into the distance that occupy the eyes of the other boys you teach. Like Brandon can see something more than fires and armored squads pulling people from their homes and putting them onto military carrier vehicles retrofitted for civilian policing. Like Brandon can see a moment of tenderness he still remembers from the Before. Perhaps it's the last moment of tenderness he ever experienced.
You want to give him another.
You're supposed to teach them what was. You're supposed to teach them about trusted leaders and peaceful streets and social compacts that said neighbors should never report each other to the Registrars. You're supposed to teach them about the childhoods they never had. And you do. And you want to.
Except for Brandon. For Brandon you want to expand your syllabus and teach him what it means to be touched by a woman and feel everything else in the world fall away.
Yes you're 25 and yes he's 17 but dammit, you're his history teacher! You teach history so your students can make a better one for themselves. Where is the harm in you and Brandon sneaking away, finding your own special private nook somewhere in these filthy caves, and using every inch of your bodies to shape a tiny little pocket of history together?
Happy You Teach American History In The Caves And You're Starting To Fall For One Of Your Students Day!
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Upgrade To Love Day!
He comes in with a reservation for Economy.
“You deserve better,” you tell him.
“No one ever told me that before,” he says.
You hit some keys on your keyboard. You hit more than you have to in order to keep him there at your counter a little longer.
“You deserve Standard at minimum,” you say. “Premium even.”
He shakes his head.
“You don’t know what I’ve done,” he says. “You don’t know who I’ve hurt.”
You reach across the counter and grab him by the lapels of his J Crew pea coat.
“Everybody gets hurt,” you say. “It’s how we know we’ve loved.”
He is startled. He is silent. He waits patiently for whatever your next word might be.
“I’m upgrading you to Luxury,” you say. “With a catch.”
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“Wherever you go. I’m getting into that car with you and you are taking me wherever you go. Because you standing on the other side of this counter tonight feels like I finally found the reason I took this job eight years ago.”
You tell him to initial next to the part of the contract that says he can never let you go.
“Thank you for choosing Avis,” you tell him before leaping your hips over the counter and falling into his arms, then leading him to the Cadillac XTS Or Similar that will drive the two of you down that long and bumpy highway to lifelong love.
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
You're In Some Girl's Trunk Day!
She put you in there and said you had to stay there until she could find a good place to park for the two of you. It's nice in the trunk. Every few hundred miles she stops for gas and opens the trunk to throw you some hot dogs and Sprites she bought from the gas station. She looks really pretty with the blue sky around her reddish brown hair when she throws you hot dogs and Sprites. The spare tire works as a pretty good pillow for when you get sleepy. And there's a bag of her clothes in there that she must have intended to give to Good Will so you like to pull those out and smell her on them. She smells nice.
One time she got pulled over and so you kicked at the trunk until the cop made her open it. He looked at you, then at her, and he said even though it's probably a crime you two make such a good couple that he'll let it slide and slammed the trunk shut. Who are you to argue with law enforcement?
She kissed you in Utah. Pulled over at a Scenic Overlook, opened the trunk, grabbed your face and kissed it until she was done. You've been hoping for another every time the car comes to a stop. Maybe this next one.
It's been a good seven weeks now. A good nine or ten thousand miles. She still hasn't found a place to park for the two of you. You're starting to wonder if she ever will. You're starting to worry that she might just let you out and drive away.
Or maybe she just wants to drive. That'd be fine if she just wants to drive. Things weren't working out so well for you before, so being there in her trunk, smelling her clothes, sleeping on her tire, hoping for one more kiss, that'd be fine if she just wants to drive.
Happy You're In Some Girl's Trunk Day!
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Co-op Board Meeting Day!
The last time you saw her she was twenty-six years old and screaming at you from across a rest-stop parking lot, waving down a truck to give her a ride. When she walks into the co-op board meeting she's thirty-eight and she has hips now. Good God she looks good with hips now.
She sees you and her face goes white and she rushes for the door to run but she jiggles the knob and accidentally locks herself in. Panicked she finds a far corner and puts a trash can between herself and you.
You jump out of your chair and leap row after row to the rear of the room to get as far away from her as you can.
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"So did I you dumb fucking piece of shit!" she shouts back. "I fucking hitched my way here after leaving you at that Roy Rogers you asshole. You followed me!"
"You followed me!" you counter. You grab a stapled packet of meeting minutes and throw it at her. She grabs a paper bag out of the trash can and throws it at you. A partially eaten sandwich falls out of the bag and hits Manny from 11D in the chest.
"You two know each other?" Paul the board president asks.
"I think they used to date," Natalie from 2B says. "I think they broke up and each of them moved across the country thinking the other would stay put, but they ended up in the same city and now she's trying to move into the same building as him, into, um, which unit?"
"4C," Paul the board president says.
"That's right next door to mine!" you shout. "No fucking way! I vote no."
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You take a step away from the wall. "Withdraw your offer."
She comes out from behind the trash can. "Fuck you," she says. "I'm already in escrow. You can move."
You're feeling bold. It's been twelve years. You're older, sadder, the tissue of your heart's gone hard. You can face her without falling for her. You can take another step closer.
"You can live anywhere you want," you say. "Anywhere but here."
She moves to the center aisle. She's moving toward you. You try to stay strong but she has hips now dear God she has hips now.
"Sell your place, move back to Baltimore," she says. You see a slight wobble in the next step she takes. She's weakening too. "I'll buy your unit and I'll knock down the fucking wall."
"That would have to be approved," Paul the board president says.
You take another step toward her. And another. You're no longer moving toward her of your own volition. You're being pulled. You can feel her taking over. Already, still a few steps away, you can feel her in your veins.
"Jess," you plead. "I was doing so well, Jess."
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You take one step. She takes the second. The third you take together and you're in each other's arms and on the ground and your neighbors are ducking as your clothes go flying about the room.
Paul the board president bangs the gavel he bought himself and adjourns the coop board meeting, yielding the room to your reunion. A month later you'll both return to the meeting to request to knock down the wall between your apartments. Six months after that you'll both disappear without warning leaving all your possessions behind.
Happy Co-op Board Meeting Day!
Friday, July 29, 2016
Here's a little info about this here blog.
The following is an amended version of what I posted on girlsareprettyforever.tumblr.com, the tumblr where Girls Are Pretty lived for the past few years. I'm putting it here too because I want people who come here to read it if you didn't.
I started Girls Are Pretty back in 2002, updating it every day for several years before I slowed down and focused on other stuff. Because I’m bad at bothering to do things right, I moved the blog around a bunch of times, and the entries have ended up scattered about many different platforms. First it was on blogger. Then when I put a lot of the entries into my first book Happy Cruelty Day, I paid a friend to design a full-on website. Then for God knows why I went back to a blogspot blog for a few years, until I moved over to Tumblr, a platform I never really understood or enjoyed at all.
Jumping around like that meant the archives in every location were incomplete. I’m now going back to the days of its infancy and just posting it here as a Blogger blog again. And I’ve managed to gather every single entry from all the different incarnations into this blog's archive.
So if you’re new to this blog and you want to read the thousand or so entries you might have missed, Girlsarepretty.com now has every single Girls Are Pretty Day since “Tell People You Took A Friend For An Abortion Day” on March 26, 2002. All 2,637 posts are there in the right column, and the search thing at the top works if you remember one you want to find again for whatever reason.
I’ll continue to update it sporadically, usually whenever I hate whatever else I’m writing or I’m particularly filled with heartsickness or I want to passive aggressively address people in my life with missives too long for a subtweet. The design is as generic and ugly looking as the very day it started, back when I was living in an illegally converted office space in Los Angeles and discovering all the wonders a dial-up connection could deliver unto me.
I’ll keep everything here from now on. Even though I don’t update it that much, I like Girls Are Pretty. I like that it’s been around for so long and there’s so much of it and I like that all those posts are in one place again.
As long as I’m being sentimental, two people were really helpful to the site in the early days and I want to type their names onto the Internet now. A few months after I started it, Leslie Harpold contacted me out of the blue and actually just went ahead and registered the damn domain for me. Even though we’d never met in person she walked me through moving off of Blogger and making things look more legit. And Chloe Weil created a gorgeous design for the fancy site it lived on for a while. They’re both missed.
In closing, all my stuff is here now if you want to read it.
Also, buy the book version, Happy Cruelty Day. It’s got at least 50 entries that were never on the web, and when you buy it I get money.
PS: When I update it I'll tweet the link out from @girlsarepretty1 if you want to follow that. I'll probably tweet it from @bobpowers1 too I mean who are we kidding?
I started Girls Are Pretty back in 2002, updating it every day for several years before I slowed down and focused on other stuff. Because I’m bad at bothering to do things right, I moved the blog around a bunch of times, and the entries have ended up scattered about many different platforms. First it was on blogger. Then when I put a lot of the entries into my first book Happy Cruelty Day, I paid a friend to design a full-on website. Then for God knows why I went back to a blogspot blog for a few years, until I moved over to Tumblr, a platform I never really understood or enjoyed at all.
Jumping around like that meant the archives in every location were incomplete. I’m now going back to the days of its infancy and just posting it here as a Blogger blog again. And I’ve managed to gather every single entry from all the different incarnations into this blog's archive.
So if you’re new to this blog and you want to read the thousand or so entries you might have missed, Girlsarepretty.com now has every single Girls Are Pretty Day since “Tell People You Took A Friend For An Abortion Day” on March 26, 2002. All 2,637 posts are there in the right column, and the search thing at the top works if you remember one you want to find again for whatever reason.
I’ll continue to update it sporadically, usually whenever I hate whatever else I’m writing or I’m particularly filled with heartsickness or I want to passive aggressively address people in my life with missives too long for a subtweet. The design is as generic and ugly looking as the very day it started, back when I was living in an illegally converted office space in Los Angeles and discovering all the wonders a dial-up connection could deliver unto me.
I’ll keep everything here from now on. Even though I don’t update it that much, I like Girls Are Pretty. I like that it’s been around for so long and there’s so much of it and I like that all those posts are in one place again.
As long as I’m being sentimental, two people were really helpful to the site in the early days and I want to type their names onto the Internet now. A few months after I started it, Leslie Harpold contacted me out of the blue and actually just went ahead and registered the damn domain for me. Even though we’d never met in person she walked me through moving off of Blogger and making things look more legit. And Chloe Weil created a gorgeous design for the fancy site it lived on for a while. They’re both missed.
In closing, all my stuff is here now if you want to read it.
Also, buy the book version, Happy Cruelty Day. It’s got at least 50 entries that were never on the web, and when you buy it I get money.
PS: When I update it I'll tweet the link out from @girlsarepretty1 if you want to follow that. I'll probably tweet it from @bobpowers1 too I mean who are we kidding?
Monday, June 27, 2016
Tell Seamless To Leave Your Food And Beverages In The Bucket You Lower To The Sidewalk On A Rope Day!
The delivery guys are used to it. They know when a couple starts fucking, sometimes they get scared to put clothes back on and go back outside because outside is where people make them do stuff like work or have conversations, basically do things other than fuck or lay around grazing each other’s skin with the backs of their fingertips.
You brought this guy into your bedroom like 5 weeks ago and you’re hoping to get at least 4 more weeks of uninterrupted nudity on the books before you rejoin society. To keep from having to even go to the front door to get your food, just use the special delivery instructions field to tell the delivery guys how you want it done: “A bucket will be dangling from a rope outside my building. Please leave the burritos and Jarritos sodas in the bucket, then yank on the rope to ring the bell affixed to it so we know you’ve arrived. If you hear me screaming ‘Holy shit! Holy shit!’ it means we’re still fucking and you’ll need to ring the bell a few more times to be heard over the sound of this dude rocking my shit hard enough to shatter the wood of my futon frame. Please hurry we’re starving and need burritos in order to keep up our current pace.”
Before technology like Seamless, acquiring food and drink was one of the only reasons couples had to interrupt a fuck sesh and interact with non-naked people. Those days are over so stay where you are as long as you need. Though your roommates are starting to complain about the smell so maybe turn on a fan.
Happy Tell Seamless To Leave Your Food And Beverages In The Bucket You Lower To The Sidewalk On A Rope Day!
You brought this guy into your bedroom like 5 weeks ago and you’re hoping to get at least 4 more weeks of uninterrupted nudity on the books before you rejoin society. To keep from having to even go to the front door to get your food, just use the special delivery instructions field to tell the delivery guys how you want it done: “A bucket will be dangling from a rope outside my building. Please leave the burritos and Jarritos sodas in the bucket, then yank on the rope to ring the bell affixed to it so we know you’ve arrived. If you hear me screaming ‘Holy shit! Holy shit!’ it means we’re still fucking and you’ll need to ring the bell a few more times to be heard over the sound of this dude rocking my shit hard enough to shatter the wood of my futon frame. Please hurry we’re starving and need burritos in order to keep up our current pace.”
Before technology like Seamless, acquiring food and drink was one of the only reasons couples had to interrupt a fuck sesh and interact with non-naked people. Those days are over so stay where you are as long as you need. Though your roommates are starting to complain about the smell so maybe turn on a fan.
Happy Tell Seamless To Leave Your Food And Beverages In The Bucket You Lower To The Sidewalk On A Rope Day!
手机如何上外网
They’re Vacuuming Around You Now Day!
The air conditioning turned off hours ago.
It’s Friday evening and the only employees still in the office are currently sitting on this two-seater lobby couch.
The maintenance guy needs you to lift your feet so he can vacuum under them. You both laugh as you do it, your legs up in the air like you’re on an invisible amusement park ride or like you’re both fucking a ghost. The man pushing the vacuum runs it back and forth eight times, making you keep your legs up in the air long enough that he hopes your abs will give in and you’ll go home to your respective spouses.
Forever.
“You have anything lined up?” you ask him.
“I might take some time off for a bit,” he says. “But I’m bad at time off.”
You nod, staring at his fucking wedding ring.
“If I hear my consulting firm has any spots to fill, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks,” he says, staring at your fucking wedding ring.
It was six months ago that you got assigned to work alongside him on a data migration, and for the last four you’ve been unable to think of anything but him. You’re pretty sure he feels the same but you’ve never said a word, choosing only to hang on every one of his.
“It’s not fair,” you say.
He looks at you, very interested in what you’ll say next.
“It’s not fair that full time staff gets cut to save money. Soon the workforce will be nothing but us consultants.”
His shoulders fall. He looks away.
“We should stay in touch,” you say, your voice reduced to a whisper. You’re having trouble speaking at an audible pitch, like you know you’re going to say goodbye soon and your voicebox is powering down to prevent you from saying it.
“We should,” he says.
You won’t.
All you’d have to do is say “Let’s go” and you’d be in a hotel room within the half hour but you won’t. This isn’t someone you can be casual about. This is someone you would destroy everything for if you let yourself but you won’t.
The maintenance man is buffing the floors now.
He says something that you can’t hear. He leans closer to you on the couch and says it again but you still can’t hear.
He yells, “Maybe we should get going.”
You scream, “No!” You scream it loud enough that the maintenance man turns off the buffer to find out what’s wrong. He shoots you an irritated look.
“I’m not fucking leaving this couch,” you tell the maintenance man.
The maintenance man drops the handle of his floor buffer and stomps away.
It’s quiet now. He’s staring at your face from his end of the couch but you look straight ahead. If you turn and look him in the eye, even for a second, you’ll burn your whole life to the ground. So you just sit there next to him and look straight ahead, and you stay there, keeping one eye on the clock to make sure you don’t miss the last MetroNorth train home.
Happy They’re Vacuuming Around You Now Day!
It’s Friday evening and the only employees still in the office are currently sitting on this two-seater lobby couch.
The maintenance guy needs you to lift your feet so he can vacuum under them. You both laugh as you do it, your legs up in the air like you’re on an invisible amusement park ride or like you’re both fucking a ghost. The man pushing the vacuum runs it back and forth eight times, making you keep your legs up in the air long enough that he hopes your abs will give in and you’ll go home to your respective spouses.
Forever.
“You have anything lined up?” you ask him.
“I might take some time off for a bit,” he says. “But I’m bad at time off.”
You nod, staring at his fucking wedding ring.
“If I hear my consulting firm has any spots to fill, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks,” he says, staring at your fucking wedding ring.
It was six months ago that you got assigned to work alongside him on a data migration, and for the last four you’ve been unable to think of anything but him. You’re pretty sure he feels the same but you’ve never said a word, choosing only to hang on every one of his.
“It’s not fair,” you say.
He looks at you, very interested in what you’ll say next.
“It’s not fair that full time staff gets cut to save money. Soon the workforce will be nothing but us consultants.”
His shoulders fall. He looks away.
“We should stay in touch,” you say, your voice reduced to a whisper. You’re having trouble speaking at an audible pitch, like you know you’re going to say goodbye soon and your voicebox is powering down to prevent you from saying it.
“We should,” he says.
You won’t.
All you’d have to do is say “Let’s go” and you’d be in a hotel room within the half hour but you won’t. This isn’t someone you can be casual about. This is someone you would destroy everything for if you let yourself but you won’t.
The maintenance man is buffing the floors now.
He says something that you can’t hear. He leans closer to you on the couch and says it again but you still can’t hear.
He yells, “Maybe we should get going.”
You scream, “No!” You scream it loud enough that the maintenance man turns off the buffer to find out what’s wrong. He shoots you an irritated look.
“I’m not fucking leaving this couch,” you tell the maintenance man.
The maintenance man drops the handle of his floor buffer and stomps away.
It’s quiet now. He’s staring at your face from his end of the couch but you look straight ahead. If you turn and look him in the eye, even for a second, you’ll burn your whole life to the ground. So you just sit there next to him and look straight ahead, and you stay there, keeping one eye on the clock to make sure you don’t miss the last MetroNorth train home.
Happy They’re Vacuuming Around You Now Day!
Friday, March 18, 2016
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!
“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!
Thursday, March 17, 2016
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!
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!
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
电脑怎么上国外的网络
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!
Everyone At The Car Crash Just Fell In Love Day!
Tuesday, March 08, 2016
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!
“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!
Monday, February 29, 2016
You’re The Governor Of A Whole Goddamned State Day!
“Fuck!” you shout. “I wanted to date more. Put myself out there. I can’t do that if a whole Goddamned state is looking to me every goddamned time they need shit.”
Your assistant gets up from her chair and slaps you across the face.
“I am sick of hearing you make excuses for why you’re still single!” she says. “So you’re the Governor. Big fucking deal. Everyone has a job. If you want to meet someone you have to make time to get out there and meet them! I won’t hear any of this ‘I’m too busy thwarting a public employee strike’ or whatever the fuck.”
You look deep into your assistant’s eyes.
“Maybe I don’t need to date,” you say. “Maybe the one I’m supposed to be with is right here under my nose, but I’ve just been too blind to–”
She slaps you again.
“You’re not going to pussy out of this,” she says. “You need to put in the work. Quit looking for the quick fix!”
“Fiiiiine!” you moan.
Your assistant clears your schedule and commands you to spend the next hour Tindering.
Happy You’re The Governor Of A Whole Goddamned State Day!
Your assistant gets up from her chair and slaps you across the face.
“I am sick of hearing you make excuses for why you’re still single!” she says. “So you’re the Governor. Big fucking deal. Everyone has a job. If you want to meet someone you have to make time to get out there and meet them! I won’t hear any of this ‘I’m too busy thwarting a public employee strike’ or whatever the fuck.”
You look deep into your assistant’s eyes.
“Maybe I don’t need to date,” you say. “Maybe the one I’m supposed to be with is right here under my nose, but I’ve just been too blind to–”
She slaps you again.
“You’re not going to pussy out of this,” she says. “You need to put in the work. Quit looking for the quick fix!”
“Fiiiiine!” you moan.
Your assistant clears your schedule and commands you to spend the next hour Tindering.
Happy You’re The Governor Of A Whole Goddamned State Day!
Saturday, February 27, 2016
Cremains Day!
Everyone in your family is fighting over who gets to keep your dad’s cremains. Your sisters are grabbing at the urn and then it spills and the ashes land on the prayer card you were given at the church service.
“It’s sizzling,” one of your sisters says.
The prayer card turns black and floats up to the ceiling.
“Did Dad sell his soul to Satan?” you ask.
Your sisters remind you of all the get rich quick schemes your dad was into.
“Wouldn’t put it past him,” your sister Janet says.
Then the blood pouring from the light fixtures drowns you all and you die wishing you had a dad with better business sense.
Happy Cremains Day!
“It’s sizzling,” one of your sisters says.
The prayer card turns black and floats up to the ceiling.
“Did Dad sell his soul to Satan?” you ask.
Your sisters remind you of all the get rich quick schemes your dad was into.
“Wouldn’t put it past him,” your sister Janet says.
Then the blood pouring from the light fixtures drowns you all and you die wishing you had a dad with better business sense.
Happy Cremains Day!
Friday, February 26, 2016
Just The Mattress Now Day!
His stuff’s all been put into storage. He moves into his roommate situation in two days.
Your stuff’s in the middle of the floor at Harold’s. You’ve yet to begin blending your things together.
It’s just the mattress now. That’s all that’s left from your three years in this one bedroom together.
“Nowhere else to sit,” you say as you take your place on what’s always been your side of the bed.
“Harold excited to have you all to himself now?” he asks.
“Don’t,” you say.
He says no. He says it’s okay. He says he’s curious.
“Harold’s happy I’m moving in,” you say.
“You’re still moving in?” he says. “I thought you were already fully in there.”
“He’s in Singapore until Thursday,” you say. “And you and I still have two days on this lease.”
“So for the next two days…”
“Technically, yes.”
“We still live together.”
“Technically,” you say again. “Yes.”
He pulls a beer from the six pack sitting on the floor by his side of the bed. Hands it to you.
“So,” you say. “What should we talk about?”
“How this was?” he suggests. “How we did? Three years living together. Five years dating. Lot of ground to cover.”
“Like a post-mortem?”
“If you’ve got the time.”
You take a sip of your beer. Two days later you finish talking and head off to the rest of your lives.
Happy Just The Mattress Now Day!
Your stuff’s in the middle of the floor at Harold’s. You’ve yet to begin blending your things together.
It’s just the mattress now. That’s all that’s left from your three years in this one bedroom together.
“Nowhere else to sit,” you say as you take your place on what’s always been your side of the bed.
“Harold excited to have you all to himself now?” he asks.
“Don’t,” you say.
He says no. He says it’s okay. He says he’s curious.
“Harold’s happy I’m moving in,” you say.
“You’re still moving in?” he says. “I thought you were already fully in there.”
“He’s in Singapore until Thursday,” you say. “And you and I still have two days on this lease.”
“So for the next two days…”
“Technically, yes.”
“We still live together.”
“Technically,” you say again. “Yes.”
He pulls a beer from the six pack sitting on the floor by his side of the bed. Hands it to you.
“So,” you say. “What should we talk about?”
“How this was?” he suggests. “How we did? Three years living together. Five years dating. Lot of ground to cover.”
“Like a post-mortem?”
“If you’ve got the time.”
You take a sip of your beer. Two days later you finish talking and head off to the rest of your lives.
Happy Just The Mattress Now Day!
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