אם הגעתם לכאן וחיפשתם אתר אחר, אז סבלנות.
אנחנו מטפלים בהכל. לאט לאט.
First thing you’ll do when you’re free. The thing you’ve been dying for during this entire abduction.
“For the life of me I don’t know,” you tell your kidnapper. “I think about food I want to eat or places I want to go and it’s like, who cares?”
“You’re depressed,” she says.
“But I’m not. Not right now.”
Your kidnapper starts shaking her head.
“I don’t wanna leave!”
“Don’t make me go back out there.”
“We need this money. We need your dad’s money.”
You know it’s true. So you turn back to your list, trying to think of anything you want to do when you’re free. You write “Drink a milkshake?” then cross it off, crumple up your paper and throw yourself face down on the pull out bed.
Happy Think About What You Want To Do When The Ransom Gets Paid Day!
Hovertext: But, when I look at bees, I don't see caste.
Tonight you’re going to lose at Blackjack and you’re going to lose big. So big that the Blackjack dealer will have a crisis of conscience and quit his job on the spot.
“I can’t be party to the ruin of lives anymore,” the dealer will tell his boss.
“Who cares?” the boss will say in acceptance of his resignation.
Wait outside the casino and when the Blackjack dealer comes out say, “Thanks for quitting for me. I guess we’re boyfriend and girlfriend now.”
Take the Blackjack dealer to the parking lot where all the casino buses empty their port-o-johns. Find a space between the buses and escort him through your many erotic realms.
When finished, take him home and give him a bath and your bed. Spend the next 47 years blissfully happy together until the day of the car crash.
Happy Blackjack Day!
Bake cookies so your mom will be surprised when she comes home. You know she likes ginger cookies, but you don’t have all the ingredients. So bake chocolate chip cookies. She’ll still be impressed that her little girl baked cookies all on her own.
Once you’ve got three dozen, set them out to cool and go upstairs to change into something nice before your mom comes home.
You hear the front door open while you’re changing, so you hurry up into a dress then you run downstairs to find your big brother inhaling the cookies on the counter.
“Those are for mommy!!” you scream as you throw yourself on his back trying to knock the cookies out of his hand. “They’re for mommy!”
He spins around, trying to shrug you off.
“Stop it!” he yells. “Get off!”
“They’re for mommy!”
He spins again and slams his head into the corner of the cabinet. You fall off his back as he slumps down to the floor moaning. Cookies are everywhere.
“You ruined it!” you cry.
“It’s okay,” he says, holding his head.
“No you ruined it!” You try to gather the broken cookies but they keep falling apart.
“It’s okay,” he says. “She’s not coming back. She doesn’t deserve your cookies because she’s not coming back. She doesn’t want us.”
You give up collecting the crumbs and you cry into his sweatshirt.
“They were good cookies,” your big brother says. “I’m glad she didn’t get any. I’m glad she doesn’t get to enjoy all the good things you can do. She doesn’t deserve to.”
When your dad comes home he finds the two of you on the kitchen floor, surrounded by the mess. He doesn’t say a word. Just goes to his room and shuts the door behind him like every night since she went away.
Happy Bake Cookies Day!
Hovertext: I eagerly await your email about how, actually, the rock must contain radioactive elements.
He was found several towns away. It’s a miracle. Someone’s driving him up your driveway right this minute.
“Starsky!” you shout as he slides out of the car.
You run down the driveway and wait on your knees with open arms. Starsky trots up the driveway towards you.
“Come on, Starsky!” you shout.
Starsky slows as he approaches you. His shoulders fall. His head bows, reluctant. But also, ashamed.
You hold your arms out, but you don’t know if Starsky wants your embrace.
He halts just a few steps before you. Finally, he looks up and meets your eyes with his own.
You see it then. This runaway. It was no accident. Starsky wasn’t lost.
Your arms lower. You nod at him.
“It’s okay,” you say. “It’s okay boy. I understand.”
Starsky turns from you. He trots away. The man who returned him to you moves to stop him but you raise your palm to tell him to let the dog go.
You know when it’s over. You know when someone’s done with you.
Happy Your Dog Ran Away Day!
Hovertext: Anyone wanna teach an ethics class called And Why is *This* SMBC Wrong?
“I just felt an instant, mutual connection,” he says.
You stand stock still, waiting as your soul rises out of your body.
“I hope I don’t jinx this by talking about it.”
Say to him, “Well, that’s nice.”
Remember that you have power of attorney so his money’s locked down. If he wants to start a new relationship at the age of 82 now that your mom’s been in the ground for over a year, so be it.
“So is she around your age? Younger?”
Hold on to something, steady yourself. The back of a chair. Something.
“And when did you meet her?”
He’s never been to Spain.
“You might have dreamed this whole thing.”
“I don’t think so.”
You let it go.
“Just don’t tell my son about this okay, Pete?”
You’re his son. Your name’s Lance.
Happy Your Dad Says He’s In Love With One Of The Aides At His Home Day!
Hovertext: Also comb your hair. That's not for revenge, but you should still do it.
Hovertext: Behold! As the show continues, entropy inexorably increases!
Your boss noticed you’ve been looking tired.
“You doing okay?” she asks.
Tell her, “I stopped sleeping. My dreams have gotten as bad as my waking panics. Worse, some nights. I haven’t tried giving up sleep yet. They say I’ll go mad but I’m already mad so maybe a madness I know the cause for will be a better madness than the one that showed up one day and wrapped me in its great dark arms promising to never let me go. It’s been eleven days now and I can’t quite see anything but blurred shapes and I can’t quite hear anything but elderly people’s sobs but trust me that’s an improvement.”
Your boss will say that’s all, then she’ll go home and throw away her bed hoping for lack of sleep to overtake her lack of will to do anything but curl up in a ball and moan faintly.
Happy You Stopped Sleeping Day!
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.
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.
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.