Hovertext: Sometimes I get bored twice, if you're up for it.

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 Nice little writeup here, about our show and its "fresh-faced Texan" producer.

You have a date with Loretta tonight but you’re not going to make it on time because you’re going to get kidnapped.

“Please,” you say to the masked men who threw you in their van. “I have a date with a girl I’ve loved from afar for years. This could be the most important night of my life. Please don’t deprive me of it.”

“Godammit Steve,” one kidnapper screams at the driver.

“No real names!” the driver screams back.

“Sorry. Goddammit Kevin! We said no one would get hurt.”

Kevin/Steve yells back, “We’re not hurting him!”

“Standing in the way of true love? I’d say that’s pretty hurtful!”

“He’s got a point Ste– Kevin,” the third kidnapper says.

“Fine,” Steve/Kevin says. “Where’s this date supposed to be?”

They drive you to the restaurant and say they’ll be parked outside all night. If you try to escape they’ll kill you both.

The date goes wonderfully. You talk about your hopes, your fears, your childhoods, and your favorite episodes of Mr. Robot. At the end of the date you walk her home while the van follows. She invites you up and you make love. The next morning you come downstairs, the van still waiting for you.

“Looks like it went well,” one of the kidnappers in the back says. You can see his smile through the hole in his ski mask.

“It did,” you say, blushing.

“Ready to get on with this?” Steve/Kevin says.

“Wait, I told her I’d bring back bagels.”

They follow you to the bagel store and back, and they wait outside while you eat bagels and make love again upstairs.

Hours later, you come back downstairs.

“Now you ready to get on with this?” Steve/Kevin asks.

You nod, staring up at her window. “I am,” you say. “Now that I know my love will be here waiting for me, I’m ready to survive however long a kidnapping you have planned.”

They throw you in the van and speed away. Three days later your rich father delivers the money, but he ignores their demand for no cops. You’re killed in the shoutout. Loretta falls for one of your coworkers at your funeral.

Happy Date With Loretta Day!

Hovertext: Every sociology education should start with an explanation of the Big Bang.

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You don’t get any info about who’s getting married. You get a phone call with the address of the events hall and a one hour window to confirm you’ll take the shift. It’s not until you’re there in the thick of the reception, a tray of canapés held high above your head, that you start recognizing ex-mutual friends’ faces.

“Holy shit, Christine,” one of his work friends says to you.

“This is pretty messed up,” says Clara, who you got really close with but who ceased talking to you when the divorce went through since she’s married to his high school best friend.

“You guys, who’s getting married?” you ask.

A cheer erupts through the room as the double doors to the dance floor open. You see only the top of his haircut through the crowd and you know today is the wrong day to have been available to fill in for Melanie, who has the flu.

“And now the bride and groom invite you to witness their first dance as man and wife,” says the DJ before he spins “At Last.” (Your song was a Sugarcubes song, at your demand.)

The crowd parts and you find yourself standing in the center of the dance floor, holding your tray of tiny food.

He sees you.

She sees you.

They all see you.

“Congrats?” you say to him.

They don’t move. Their first song keeps spinning. You do the only thing you can think to do.

You dance.

It’s an elegant, solo routine. You glide and sway across the floor, occasionally miming someone in your arms, someone whom, over and over again, breaks free of your embrace, leaving you to wave goodbye to the apparition.

The song ends. Your ex and his bride are stunned. A slow clap begins. Your ex’s father. He always liked you. Others clap along, growing louder, faster.

They believe it was planned. A gift to the bride and groom. Before they can dance, his ex must dance him free of her, a farewell spin across the floor. Tonight’s the night the “Ex Dance” is introduced to wedding planners as a new tradition in matrimony. You leave the venue, get in your Corolla, and make a plan to go back to being an office temp in the morning.

Happy Cater Waiter Your Ex-Husband’s Wedding Day!

Hovertext: We're living in a horrifying dystopia too. It's just hard to tell from the inside.

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You and your girlfriend are so in love some guy just died.

“This is the news,” a TV newsman says while you and your girlfriend are kissing for like the hundredth time this hour. “Some guy died today because these two are too in love.”

A photo of the two of you is on the TV. You can’t see it because you’re busy getting naked again. You just put clothes back on. Naked again?

“Apparently this couple’s love is so strong that it needs to feed on the life force of others,” the Newsman continues. Not that you two would know. You’re too busy holding each other’s naked bodies and crying.

“If anyone can think of some way to break these two up,” the newsman says. “Please contact the police with your plan. Before their love comes for us all.”

You’re inside each other as the police meet with several of your respective ex-lovers who are busy detailing your emotional pressure points and relationship deal-breakers that might be exploited to bring an end to your love affair.

“This just in,” the newsman says. “A family of six was just found dead. They were just lying there in their house, like they all just dropped. It’s assumed the mass death occurred when these two came at the same time.”

Your picture on the TV again, not that you’d see it since you’re still marveling at the simultaneous orgasm that just made you both scream at God.

Happy Your Love Just Killed A Guy Day!

Hovertext: Thank you to the four of you who are amused.

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They’re fighting with knives.

“Dads, stop it!”

Your adoptive dad slashes your biological dad across the face. Your biological dad digs his blade deep into your adoptive dad’s gut. Your adoptive dad uses the last of his strength to land his blade in your biological dad’s heart.

“She’s my…daughter,” your adoptive dad whispers.

“No, she’s…my daughter,” your biological dad whispers back. They both die.

You really shouldn’t have gone looking for your real parents.

Happy Your Two Dads Day!

Tonight at the bar, challenge another bar patron to a game of pool. Don’t make any shots.

“Are you losing intentionally?” the other player will ask.

Say yes.

“Then I don’t want to play,” the other player will say.

Tell him you’ll start playing for real, then don’t.

“Were you lying when you said you would play for real?”

Say yes.

“Then I don’t want to play!”

Tell him, okay, you admit that you were losing intentionally and you were lying when you said you’d start playing for real, but it’s just because you like to give yourself big challenges, so you let him get a major lead on you. Now, though, it’s a big enough challenge so you’re going to try to come back from your deficit by playing the best game you’ve ever played.

After your next few shots are just horrible, the other player will say, “Were you lying about that wanting a challenge stuff?”

Say no.

“Are you lying now?” he’ll ask.

Say, “What is truth?”

The other player will beat you with his pool cue until you’re dead. Hooray, you died in a bar, just like you always wanted.

Happy Lose At Pool Day!

Hovertext: Also, happiness just keeps going up and up.

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Thank you Britain, Imperial College, and especially Lloyd. What a BAHFest it was. 

זה לא יהיה ערב שייגמר בחתיכה אחת. The Great Machine יפרקו. Tiny Fingers ירסקו. ואז יעלו All them witches מנאשוויל, טנסי, ויכתשו את מה שנשאר לאבק. אם נמאס לכם מפסיכדליה שמדגדגת ובא לכם פסיכדליה שיודעת לתת בראש, שימו פעמיכם ב-24 בפברואר לבארבי ת"א, שם יופיע הרכב הסטונר-גאראז'-פסיכדלי הכביר All them witches. רוצים כרטיס בחינם? קראו […]

Hovertext: That third panel is the greatest panel I've ever drawn.

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 With apologies to David.

Today you’re King Fun.

“Chop off everybody’s heads,” you tell the people who do whatever you say.

Everyone in your kingdom is lined up and one by one their heads get chopped off. Until one small boy is about to be placed on the chopping block when he says, “For a guy named King Fun, you sure are a downer!”

You think about what the boy said. You take off your crown then hold your head in your hands.

“Oh my God! He’s riiiiight! I am a dooooooowner! I’m supposed to be King Fuuuuuun but instead of I’m King chop off everybody’s heeeeeeeads!”

You cry and cry and cry until everyone gets sick of hearing it and they start asking to have their heads chopped off so they don’t have to hear you anymore.

You wake up the next morning feeling better after having a good cry. You resolve to change your ways and live up to the name King Fun by being a little more positive and fostering an enjoyable atmosphere in your kingdom, but everybody’s already dead. Even the executioner. He cut off his own head. That’s how sucky it is to hear you cry.

Happy King Fun Day!

Hovertext: SMBC merch is, of course, fine.

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 Last day for BAHest tickets! Buy before midnight!

His mom says he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“Not today,” his mom begs. “Please. Just wait a little.”

“I don’t want to break up with your son,” you tell her.

His mom laughs.

“Come on, of course you do,” she says. “You’re so much hotter than him. And he’s so lame. But please, just keep dating him a little while longer?’

"Mrs. Sanford,” you tell her. “I really like your son. And part of me wonders if he could be the one.”

Lance’s mom laughs so hard at that one that she starts to cough. You pour her a glass of water. She thanks you, then hugs you.

“You’re so considerate. Lance doesn’t deserve you,” she says. “Which is why I’ve drawn up an eight-week plan for you to let him down easy. Take a look.”

Lance’s mom unrolls a large calendar across the kitchen table. It lays out exactly when you should start being cold around Lance (week 2), when you should fight with him over something small that represents a larger problem (week 4). Week 6 is when you should suggest that you and Lance spend some time apart. In week 7, you’re supposed to tell Lance you want to go on a date, just like in the beginning. You’re to tell him you want to see what it’s like if the two of you pretend all this fighting and questioning hasn’t been happening, so you can just enjoy each other’s company. In week 8, on the day of the final breakup, you’re to tell Lance how much fun you had on that pretend do-over date, and it reminded you what a great guy he is and why you liked him in the first place. But you also realized a relationship can’t exist within a pretend do-over date. Those weeks of fighting really did happen, and you think it would be better to just cut your losses and cherish what you had.

“Seem doable?” Lance’s mom asks.

“Look,” you say. “I like dating your son. I don’t want to break up with him. And I need you to get through your head that no matter what you think of him—”

You stop talking when Lance enters the kitchen.

“Hey, whatcha doin’?” he says. “Ready to go to the movie?”

He looks down and sees the calendar.

“Oh,” he says. “My mom showed you the eight-week calendar.”

There’s a moment of silence. You don’t know what to say.

“So,” Lance says. “Seem doable?”

Happy Don’t Break Up With Lance Day!

You bought a Voodoo Doll but it’s broken.

“I’ve been stabbing it in the head with needles a million times but Karen’s head’s fine. Doesn’t even have a headache.”

The doll salesman will ask who Karen is. Explain that she’s the woman who sits in the cubicle next to yours at work and she hums too much.

“So I want to blind her. But your doll blows.”

The doll salesman says that you need to hide the doll under Karen’s pillow and have her sleep on it before it will work.

So you break into Karen’s house and hide the doll under her pillow. Then you call in sick the next day so that when she’s at work you can get the doll back.

Unfortunately, when you go to look for the doll, it’s not there. You search everywhere in Karen’s bedroom, then everywhere in her house. You get so tired that you fall asleep on her couch.

Karen shakes you awake, holding the doll up to your face.

“Looking for this?” she asks.

She found the doll last night. So she tucked it away, and when she found you asleep on her couch she slid the doll under the couch pillow you were sleeping on. Now she’s holding a pin to the doll’s head.

“Say you like me as a person,” Karen commands.

“But I don’t,” you say.

She pokes the doll head with a pin. You feel a sharp pain at your temple.

“I like you as a person,” you tell Karen.

“Say it again,” she says.

You do as she tells you. She makes you say it a dozen more times. Then she hands you the doll and lets you go.

“That’s it?” you ask. “That’s all you’re going to use the doll for?”

“No one’s ever said that to me before,” Karen says. “And if I used the doll for worse, you might not like me as a person anymore.”

You leave while Karen cries. Then you go to the doll salesman and tell him his doll backfired big time and now you still have to go into work and listen to Karen’s humming for forever.

“And I had to say I like her as a person,” you tell him. “So gross.”

“Quit and come work for me,” the doll salesman says. “I don’t hum.”

You tell him you don’t want to sell stupid dolls. So the doll salesman holds a flame near the doll you just returned to him and you feel a burning on your skin. You accept the job, and that’s how you embarked on a career selling Voodoo dolls, which you’ll do until you die or you get that doll back from him, whichever comes first.

Happy Voodoo Doll Day!