GIRLS ARE PRETTY

After four days hiding from the shelling in your foxhole, some guy pokes his head in and says, “There is no God. Shove over.”

You shove over, then you say, “I thought there weren’t any atheists in foxholes.”

The guy says there’s one in this foxhole so guess that settles that. “Also, your whole religion is a fairy tale,” he says. “Old guy with a beard sittin’ on a cloud givin’ a crap about your life. GIVE ME A BREAK!”

You ask him what God ever did to him and he says, “He took my wife and kids away from me. Couldn’t believe in the guy after that.”

You start to ask him how it happened, but he doesn’t get the chance to tell you about the drunk driver who crashed into his car. The whistle of a bomb streaks undeniably straight for your location, and without thinking the atheist pulls you on top of him and shields himself from the explosion with your body. You’re killed instantly and the atheist decides God delivered you unto him so that you could give your life to spare his and his belief in and love for God is restored. And thus your death was necessary to keep that “No Atheists In Foxholes” rule alive and well. You’d agree it was worth it if your torso wasn’t soup right now.

Happy There’s An Atheist In Your Foxhole Day!

After four days hiding from the shelling in your foxhole, some guy pokes his head in and says, “There is no God. Shove over.”

You shove over, then you say, “I thought there weren’t any atheists in foxholes.”

The guy says there’s one in this foxhole so guess that settles that. “Also, your whole religion is a fairy tale,” he says. “Old guy with a beard sittin’ on a cloud givin’ a crap about your life. GIVE ME A BREAK!”

You ask him what God ever did to him and he says, “He took my wife and kids away from me. Couldn’t believe in the guy after that.”

You start to ask him how it happened, but he doesn’t get the chance to tell you about the drunk driver who crashed into his car. The whistle of a bomb streaks undeniably straight for your location, and without thinking the atheist pulls you on top of him and shields himself from the explosion with your body. You’re killed instantly and the atheist decides God delivered you unto him so that you could give your life to spare his and his belief in and love for God is restored. And thus your death was necessary to keep that “No Atheists In Foxholes” rule alive and well. You’d agree it was worth it if your torso wasn’t soup right now.

Happy There’s An Atheist In Your Foxhole Day!

Your Dad just got offered a great new job with a huge raise. It’s really going to set up your whole family for life. Unfortunately, the job requires that you all move to Santa Fe. You’ve tried to explain that this is really inconvenient for you, but they just brush your concerns off, saying you’re only twelve and you’ll make new friends. They’re not taking you seriously.

Today’s the day of the big move. The truck is in the driveway, almost full. One thing not in that truck is your suitcase.

“I’m not going with you, Mom and Dad,” you’ll tell them. They’ll be in the kitchen making calls to arrange for various deliveries and utility transfers.

“Not now,” they’ll say.

Drop your suitcase and shout, “No. Now!”

They’ll hang up their phones and turn their attention to you.

“I have built a life here. I have friends. I have my soccer. I have a girlfriend who just let me kiss her for the first time last Friday afternoon. You can’t ask me to just give all that up and run off with you because you got a new job!”

Your parents will sit down on boxes and they’ll speak in calmer tones.

“You have to understand we’re only thinking about what’s best for all of us.”

Tell them, “What’s best for me is that I finish what I start. That I live the life I’ve been living. My life. Not yours.”

“Where will you live? What will you do for money?” your mother will ask.

“I have my route,” you’ll say. You distribute coupon circulars throughout the neighborhood on a weekly basis. “My school lunches are subsidized by local taxes. I’ll get by.”

“But we’re a team,” your dad will say.

“You can’t be a team if you don’t let your players play their best game.”

Your parents will know then that they’re not going to talk you out of this. “How can we reach you?” your Mom will ask.

“I’ll be staying in the fort me and my friends built out in the woods. I don’t get mail there yet, but if you send word people in this town will know how to find me.”

Your Mom will hug you and your dad will walk you outside. “This girlfriend. She pretty?” he’ll ask.

“She’s okay,” you’ll say.

Your Dad will tell you how he split up with his parents for a girl when he was ten and he never looked back. “You do what you gotta do.”

Your Dad will tousle your hair and wish you luck. You’ll head to the curb and stick out your thumb to hitch your way into the future.

Happy Tell Your Parents You Can’t Move To The New Town With Them Day!

Your Dad just got offered a great new job with a huge raise. It’s really going to set up your whole family for life. Unfortunately, the job requires that you all move to Santa Fe. You’ve tried to explain that this is really inconvenient for you, but they just brush your concerns off, saying you’re only twelve and you’ll make new friends. They’re not taking you seriously.

Today’s the day of the big move. The truck is in the driveway, almost full. One thing not in that truck is your suitcase.

“I’m not going with you, Mom and Dad,” you’ll tell them. They’ll be in the kitchen making calls to arrange for various deliveries and utility transfers.

“Not now,” they’ll say.

Drop your suitcase and shout, “No. Now!”

They’ll hang up their phones and turn their attention to you.

“I have built a life here. I have friends. I have my soccer. I have a girlfriend who just let me kiss her for the first time last Friday afternoon. You can’t ask me to just give all that up and run off with you because you got a new job!”

Your parents will sit down on boxes and they’ll speak in calmer tones.

“You have to understand we’re only thinking about what’s best for all of us.”

Tell them, “What’s best for me is that I finish what I start. That I live the life I’ve been living. My life. Not yours.”

“Where will you live? What will you do for money?” your mother will ask.

“I have my route,” you’ll say. You distribute coupon circulars throughout the neighborhood on a weekly basis. “My school lunches are subsidized by local taxes. I’ll get by.”

“But we’re a team,” your dad will say.

“You can’t be a team if you don’t let your players play their best game.”

Your parents will know then that they’re not going to talk you out of this. “How can we reach you?” your Mom will ask.

“I’ll be staying in the fort me and my friends built out in the woods. I don’t get mail there yet, but if you send word people in this town will know how to find me.”

Your Mom will hug you and your dad will walk you outside. “This girlfriend. She pretty?” he’ll ask.

“She’s okay,” you’ll say.

Your Dad will tell you how he split up with his parents for a girl when he was ten and he never looked back. “You do what you gotta do.”

Your Dad will tousle your hair and wish you luck. You’ll head to the curb and stick out your thumb to hitch your way into the future.

Happy Tell Your Parents You Can’t Move To The New Town With Them Day!

Your buddies Nick and Booter are buzzing your apartment. They’re on their way to work at Knutzens Tire Junction, but they just wanted to stop off and let you know that you’re beautiful.

“I’m not!” you shout into your intercom.

“You is too!” Nick shouts back. “Don’t you fuckin’ say otherwise.”

“I’m ugly! I am ugly!”

“You fuckin’ piece of shit!” shouts Booter. “All throughout high school you were always the most attractive one of our crew. Whenever we’d do whippits, all the girls would fight over who gets to suck on the tube after you.”

“And the waitresses always used to give you free cokes at Cracker Barrel,” Nick adds.

“So don’t fuckin’ tell us you’re not beautiful!” commands Booter. “Forget what Stacy Knutzen says.”

“She’s lonely and she’s drunk with power,” says Nick. “Wants to pretend she’s Cleopatra.”

Stacy Knutzen took over control of Knutzen’s Tire Junction after her father died. She’s a 26-year-old junior college grad with not a lot of brains. She announced on her first day on the job that she was firing “all the girls and the not-hot guys.” You got the axe.

“There’s no accounting for taste,” Nick adds.

“What if I exercised?” you ask them. “If I lost like fifteen pounds? Got back down to my hockey weight?”

Nick and Booter hesitate. Then they shout, “Um, yeah! Sure! You could—” But you release the listen button and go back to bed. That moment’s hesitation told you everything. You’ll never be hot enough to get hired back into that tire shop. It’s all over for you.

Happy Your Buddies Just Stopped By To Let You Know You’re Beautiful Day!

Your buddies Nick and Booter are buzzing your apartment. They’re on their way to work at Knutzens Tire Junction, but they just wanted to stop off and let you know that you’re beautiful.

“I’m not!” you shout into your intercom.

“You is too!” Nick shouts back. “Don’t you fuckin’ say otherwise.”

“I’m ugly! I am ugly!”

“You fuckin’ piece of shit!” shouts Booter. “All throughout high school you were always the most attractive one of our crew. Whenever we’d do whippits, all the girls would fight over who gets to suck on the tube after you.”

“And the waitresses always used to give you free cokes at Cracker Barrel,” Nick adds.

“So don’t fuckin’ tell us you’re not beautiful!” commands Booter. “Forget what Stacy Knutzen says.”

“She’s lonely and she’s drunk with power,” says Nick. “Wants to pretend she’s Cleopatra.”

Stacy Knutzen took over control of Knutzen’s Tire Junction after her father died. She’s a 26-year-old junior college grad with not a lot of brains. She announced on her first day on the job that she was firing “all the girls and the not-hot guys.” You got the axe.

“There’s no accounting for taste,” Nick adds.

“What if I exercised?” you ask them. “If I lost like fifteen pounds? Got back down to my hockey weight?”

Nick and Booter hesitate. Then they shout, “Um, yeah! Sure! You could—” But you release the listen button and go back to bed. That moment’s hesitation told you everything. You’ll never be hot enough to get hired back into that tire shop. It’s all over for you.

Happy Your Buddies Just Stopped By To Let You Know You’re Beautiful Day!

You slept through yesterday. You slept a full 36 hours. You don’t know why. You weren’t drugged. You weren’t sick. You just didn’t wake up.

You’ll go to the doctor and he’ll tell you that there’s nothing wrong with you.

“You were sleepy,” he’ll say.

“Do I look different to you?” you’ll ask. “Like maybe yesterday was a big sleep to prep for me turning it all around in my life? Do you think maybe from here on in I’m really gonna make it happen?”

You doctor will flash his pen light in your eyes.

“Only time will tell,” he’ll say.

When you go home from the doctor, you’ll sit still on the couch, waiting for your new resolve to kick in. After about an hour, you’ll turn on the TV and watch three Law & Order SVU’s, then you’ll crank call your ex.

Happy You Missed Yesterday Day!

You slept through yesterday. You slept a full 36 hours. You don’t know why. You weren’t drugged. You weren’t sick. You just didn’t wake up.

You’ll go to the doctor and he’ll tell you that there’s nothing wrong with you.

“You were sleepy,” he’ll say.

“Do I look different to you?” you’ll ask. “Like maybe yesterday was a big sleep to prep for me turning it all around in my life? Do you think maybe from here on in I’m really gonna make it happen?”

You doctor will flash his pen light in your eyes.

“Only time will tell,” he’ll say.

When you go home from the doctor, you’ll sit still on the couch, waiting for your new resolve to kick in. After about an hour, you’ll turn on the TV and watch three Law & Order SVU’s, then you’ll crank call your ex.

Happy You Missed Yesterday Day!

Most serial killers just want to kill people in order to dress up in their skin. You think that’s selfish. You never kill someone unless you think they have enough fat inside them to fill a queen sized comforter. So you’re kind of like Dexter. He only kills people who deserve it. You only kill people whose deaths can help others stay warm.

“It’s better than goose down,” you tell the rich people at the entrepreneur fair where you’re hoping to find investors. “It’s squishy, so the blanket oozes around your form, covering you like a womb.”

“But doesn’t human fat decay after not too long?” they ask.

“Yes,” you say. “But for a day, or at least most of an afternoon, you are snug as a bug in a rug. A rug made of human fat.”

“How much would you charge for these rapidly deteriorating blankets?”

“Well, obtaining the fat isn’t easy, but the customer is lucky in that I love the process,” you say. “Fifty grand per blanket.”

“I’d like to invest in your product sir!” one of the rich people shouts. “I will provide full funding! Whatever you need!”

Everyone at the entrepreneur fair applauds because they all know a small-business owner’s dreams just came true. Unfortunately, the man who claims to be a wealthy investor is actually the younger brother of one of your victims and he’s about to chloroform you and spend the next few days sawing you apart, slowly though so you can feel it. You try to explain to him how his older brother helped keep you warm on a cold winter’s night so his death wasn’t for nothing, but this a-hole only cares about himself.

Happy You Make Comforters Filled With Human Fat Day!

Most serial killers just want to kill people in order to dress up in their skin. You think that’s selfish. You never kill someone unless you think they have enough fat inside them to fill a queen sized comforter. So you’re kind of like Dexter. He only kills people who deserve it. You only kill people whose deaths can help others stay warm.

“It’s better than goose down,” you tell the rich people at the entrepreneur fair where you’re hoping to find investors. “It’s squishy, so the blanket oozes around your form, covering you like a womb.”

“But doesn’t human fat decay after not too long?” they ask.

“Yes,” you say. “But for a day, or at least most of an afternoon, you are snug as a bug in a rug. A rug made of human fat.”

“How much would you charge for these rapidly deteriorating blankets?”

“Well, obtaining the fat isn’t easy, but the customer is lucky in that I love the process,” you say. “Fifty grand per blanket.”

“I’d like to invest in your product sir!” one of the rich people shouts. “I will provide full funding! Whatever you need!”

Everyone at the entrepreneur fair applauds because they all know a small-business owner’s dreams just came true. Unfortunately, the man who claims to be a wealthy investor is actually the younger brother of one of your victims and he’s about to chloroform you and spend the next few days sawing you apart, slowly though so you can feel it. You try to explain to him how his older brother helped keep you warm on a cold winter’s night so his death wasn’t for nothing, but this a-hole only cares about himself.

Happy You Make Comforters Filled With Human Fat Day!

You’ve been trying to come up with a fun catchphrase to use at work, at home, and on the racquetball court. Well throw away the drawing board, because from here on in you’re going to be the “Is that all there is?” guy!

Some examples for usage:

The big sales meeting has ended. You’ve just learned that your division’s profit is up by 6% and the merger with London is almost guaranteed to go through. When everyone is ready for you to give them the sign to break for lunch, take a moment. Place your hands on the conference table and stare down at the floor, not blinking so that your eyes turn a little red. Then look up, stare deep into the distance and ask, “Is that all there is?”

You and your wife have just finished dinner. You worked together in the kitchen to make a delicious plate of lamb chops and cauliflower. The candles are still burning. There’s just a nick of wine left in the bottle and the bedroom is calling your names. Take a moment. Stare down at the remains on your plate, then look up and into the candle flame. Look at it like you can see the next fifty years of your life contained in that tiny flame. Ask, “Is that all there is?”

You’ve just been in a car accident. Your car was totaled but you’re fine. The other car exploded with its passengers inside. They are presently running frantically along the median, engulfed in flame. Stare past their firey chaos and ask, “Is that all there is?”

Your first child was just born! Your wife is sobbing. The doctor is laughing, holding the healthy baby boy up for the both of you to see. Let go of your wife’s hand, stare past the baby and ask, “Is that all there is?”

You only have one package of Oreo Cakesters left in the cabinet. Stare past the single package and ask, “Is that all there is?”

You’ve just been told there’s nothing the doctors can do for you and you’ll be dead within the hour. With your final breaths, gasp and wheeze your hilarious catch phrase one last time. “Is… [cough cough] that… [vomit blood, vomit bile, some more blood] all… [die]

Happy Is That All There Is? Day!

You’ve been trying to come up with a fun catchphrase to use at work, at home, and on the racquetball court. Well throw away the drawing board, because from here on in you’re going to be the “Is that all there is?” guy!

Some examples for usage:

The big sales meeting has ended. You’ve just learned that your division’s profit is up by 6% and the merger with London is almost guaranteed to go through. When everyone is ready for you to give them the sign to break for lunch, take a moment. Place your hands on the conference table and stare down at the floor, not blinking so that your eyes turn a little red. Then look up, stare deep into the distance and ask, “Is that all there is?”

You and your wife have just finished dinner. You worked together in the kitchen to make a delicious plate of lamb chops and cauliflower. The candles are still burning. There’s just a nick of wine left in the bottle and the bedroom is calling your names. Take a moment. Stare down at the remains on your plate, then look up and into the candle flame. Look at it like you can see the next fifty years of your life contained in that tiny flame. Ask, “Is that all there is?”

You’ve just been in a car accident. Your car was totaled but you’re fine. The other car exploded with its passengers inside. They are presently running frantically along the median, engulfed in flame. Stare past their firey chaos and ask, “Is that all there is?”

Your first child was just born! Your wife is sobbing. The doctor is laughing, holding the healthy baby boy up for the both of you to see. Let go of your wife’s hand, stare past the baby and ask, “Is that all there is?”

You only have one package of Oreo Cakesters left in the cabinet. Stare past the single package and ask, “Is that all there is?”

You’ve just been told there’s nothing the doctors can do for you and you’ll be dead within the hour. With your final breaths, gasp and wheeze your hilarious catch phrase one last time. “Is… [cough cough] that… [vomit blood, vomit bile, some more blood] all… [die]

Happy Is That All There Is? Day!

You are SICK of always chasing the Japanese! What God decided that all toilet innovation must come from the East? Everyone in the world needs toilets, but only one people is willing to sink the bucks into the research to make those toilets the strangest and best that they can be.

“People don’t like a lotta doodads crawling all over em when they take a poo,” your boss tells you.

“People lack imagination,” you tell him right back.

You’re betting the first time an idea of an automated car wash was put on the table it drew a whole lotta gasps. And look at the automated car wash now! Well your toilet design has all of the same elements of the automated car wash and then some. The jiggly rags, the squeegee walls, the multiple high-pressure jets of soapy water. If someone in this country would just take a chance on you, people would finally get the clean they deserve.

Today you’ve got another lunch meeting with yet another toilet R&D veep at a competing company. If your boss ever finds out you’ll be out on your ass. But you have to get your vision out to the people. There are a lot of hurtles, one big one especially.

“Your design has a straight razor?” is the question you always get midway through the presentation.

“Multiple straight razors,” is the answer you always give, which never helps to put anyone at ease. “Grooming down there is more popular than ever.”

People often accuse you of being juvenile for referring to human genitalia as “down there,” but just because you happen to design innovative toilets you don’t think that should preclude you from being a gentleman.

Happy You Are An American Designer Of Toilets Day!

You are SICK of always chasing the Japanese! What God decided that all toilet innovation must come from the East? Everyone in the world needs toilets, but only one people is willing to sink the bucks into the research to make those toilets the strangest and best that they can be.

“People don’t like a lotta doodads crawling all over em when they take a poo,” your boss tells you.

“People lack imagination,” you tell him right back.

You’re betting the first time an idea of an automated car wash was put on the table it drew a whole lotta gasps. And look at the automated car wash now! Well your toilet design has all of the same elements of the automated car wash and then some. The jiggly rags, the squeegee walls, the multiple high-pressure jets of soapy water. If someone in this country would just take a chance on you, people would finally get the clean they deserve.

Today you’ve got another lunch meeting with yet another toilet R&D veep at a competing company. If your boss ever finds out you’ll be out on your ass. But you have to get your vision out to the people. There are a lot of hurtles, one big one especially.

“Your design has a straight razor?” is the question you always get midway through the presentation.

“Multiple straight razors,” is the answer you always give, which never helps to put anyone at ease. “Grooming down there is more popular than ever.”

People often accuse you of being juvenile for referring to human genitalia as “down there,” but just because you happen to design innovative toilets you don’t think that should preclude you from being a gentleman.

Happy You Are An American Designer Of Toilets Day!

Today’s the big day. The first day of Dannemora State Prison’s new morale-building program, “Rock n’ Roll Mondays.” From now on, every Monday morning when the gates are pulled back on the cells, the inmates will hear pumped over the PA system several hours of classic Rock music. You picked the first song yourself. “Twist and Shout” by the Beatles. You can’t wait to see the faces of your inmates as they groove their way out of their cells to make their way to work detail.

You’re pretty sure the inmates refer to you as the “Cool Warden.” You’ve been doing everything you can to make clear that there’s really not all that much difference between you and your inmates. As you like to say at your weekly “Rap Sessions” with randomly selected groups of five inmates, they’re people just like you. They just happened to make a big mistake. Could’a happened to anyone.

“Hey, I got a little wild in my day too,” you like to tell them. “We all gotta get a little wild every now and then, am I right? But nowadays when I wanna get wild, I take it out on my ax.” Then you break out your electric guitar and play them some Thorogood. They love that.

You once even bunked in a cell with some inmates for a night, just to let them know you’re not one of those uptight wardens who’d never step foot in one of those cells except for during inspections. Sure, it ended with the inmates taking you hostage and attempting to escape, only to get their heads shot off by snipers, but you’re still pretty sure you reached them that night.

Unfortunately, Warden, today’s not going to be as fun as you’d hoped. Rock n’ Roll Mondays is going to have to be postponed when your guards find that three hacks were quietly beheaded last night. Retribution from the White Supremacists against the Born Agains for stealing one of their “Mouth Dolls” (new inmates who are abducted by a gang, and whose teeth are knocked out of their gums so that there is no bite-down risk when they are forced to perform fellatio on gang members). You’d better help everyone cool off with a mandatory “Chill Out Session” (basically, lockdown). Sometimes, even the Cool Warden has to act like a square.

Happy You’re The Cool Warden Day!

Today’s the big day. The first day of Dannemora State Prison’s new morale-building program, “Rock n’ Roll Mondays.” From now on, every Monday morning when the gates are pulled back on the cells, the inmates will hear pumped over the PA system several hours of classic Rock music. You picked the first song yourself. “Twist and Shout” by the Beatles. You can’t wait to see the faces of your inmates as they groove their way out of their cells to make their way to work detail.

You’re pretty sure the inmates refer to you as the “Cool Warden.” You’ve been doing everything you can to make clear that there’s really not all that much difference between you and your inmates. As you like to say at your weekly “Rap Sessions” with randomly selected groups of five inmates, they’re people just like you. They just happened to make a big mistake. Could’a happened to anyone.

“Hey, I got a little wild in my day too,” you like to tell them. “We all gotta get a little wild every now and then, am I right? But nowadays when I wanna get wild, I take it out on my ax.” Then you break out your electric guitar and play them some Thorogood. They love that.

You once even bunked in a cell with some inmates for a night, just to let them know you’re not one of those uptight wardens who’d never step foot in one of those cells except for during inspections. Sure, it ended with the inmates taking you hostage and attempting to escape, only to get their heads shot off by snipers, but you’re still pretty sure you reached them that night.

Unfortunately, Warden, today’s not going to be as fun as you’d hoped. Rock n’ Roll Mondays is going to have to be postponed when your guards find that three hacks were quietly beheaded last night. Retribution from the White Supremacists against the Born Agains for stealing one of their “Mouth Dolls” (new inmates who are abducted by a gang, and whose teeth are knocked out of their gums so that there is no bite-down risk when they are forced to perform fellatio on gang members). You’d better help everyone cool off with a mandatory “Chill Out Session” (basically, lockdown). Sometimes, even the Cool Warden has to act like a square.

Happy You’re The Cool Warden Day!

Tonight’s your third date with Susan and you really think she might be the one for you so you’re going to have to tell her the truth.

“I’m not the owner of several night clubs in New York, Miami, and Sao Paolo,” you’ll say to her over dessert. “I sell old Playboys on the sidewalk. On a blanket.”

“A blanket?” she’ll ask. “You don’t have a folding table?”

“Saving up for one,” tell her.

“Why did you lie to me?” she’ll ask.

Tell her, “I just like you so much. You look just like Miss July, 1970.”

She’ll blush. “The one where she’s in the hammock?”

You’ll stare at her for a second, stunned by what you just heard.

“That’s Miss September, 1971 for Christs sake! How could you get that wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Susan will say. “I must have got them confused.”

You were all wrong about Susan. Get the hell out of there.

Happy You Sell Old Playboys Day!

Tonight’s your third date with Susan and you really think she might be the one for you so you’re going to have to tell her the truth.

“I’m not the owner of several night clubs in New York, Miami, and Sao Paolo,” you’ll say to her over dessert. “I sell old Playboys on the sidewalk. On a blanket.”

“A blanket?” she’ll ask. “You don’t have a folding table?”

“Saving up for one,” tell her.

“Why did you lie to me?” she’ll ask.

Tell her, “I just like you so much. You look just like Miss July, 1970.”

She’ll blush. “The one where she’s in the hammock?”

You’ll stare at her for a second, stunned by what you just heard.

“That’s Miss September, 1971 for Christs sake! How could you get that wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Susan will say. “I must have got them confused.”

You were all wrong about Susan. Get the hell out of there.

Happy You Sell Old Playboys Day!

Hypnotist sex is terrible because after it’s over you can never remember any of it so it’s time to go find someone new.

“I’m through with you,” you’ll say to your hypnotist girlfriend. “I want someone who can give me a sexual experience that I can remember.”

“You are getting sleepy,” your hypnotist girlfriend will say to you while swinging a necklace in front of your eyes right before having sex with you again exactly the way she likes it. Tomorrow you’ll try to break up with her again but the same thing will happen. And don’t try to just make a run for it to the bus station. The minute you try and buy a ticket you’ll start clucking like a chicken until the police are summoned.

Happy Hypnotist Sex Day!

Hypnotist sex is terrible because after it’s over you can never remember any of it so it’s time to go find someone new.

“I’m through with you,” you’ll say to your hypnotist girlfriend. “I want someone who can give me a sexual experience that I can remember.”

“You are getting sleepy,” your hypnotist girlfriend will say to you while swinging a necklace in front of your eyes right before having sex with you again exactly the way she likes it. Tomorrow you’ll try to break up with her again but the same thing will happen. And don’t try to just make a run for it to the bus station. The minute you try and buy a ticket you’ll start clucking like a chicken until the police are summoned.

Happy Hypnotist Sex Day!