Congratulations on Ruining Your Sister's Wedding!

The moment your fork touches glass everyone in the room will wince.  It won't be that your tapping was particularly loud or irritating, it'll be that you're the one who's tapping that glass, the one who is inviting herself to make a toast.  Still, the room will quiet down respectfully.  After all, this occasion, and it is quite an occasion, is open to everyone, and if there's one thing your sister never stops saying about you, it's that she loves you, and that you deserve the same shot at redemption that everyone else in the world gets, no matter how many times you blow previous shots at redemption in the back of cabs on the way home like so many previous sister's fiancés.

So when you open your mouth she'll still be beaming at you, even as everyone else looks at one another, rolling their eyes preemptively.  When you start talking about love and family and memories, they'll feel a little shitty, but it won't last long.  Three sentences in, you'll have already begun the pitch for the scarves you make on Etsy that prominently feature whales from popular culture doing the tricks they're famous for, and before long everyone will start to feel pretty redeemed.  Once you get to the price listings for your scarves, taking care to announce that a number of limited edition (and ergo more expensive) scarves are currently on sale commemorating this joyous occasion, even your sister will look crestfallen.  She'll be so upset that she'll push back her chair with a loud scrape and run away from the table to go cry in the Women's bathroom, just like she always does.

It'll take all your focus to finish up your pitch, but when you're done the faint applause you hear will let you know you did good - even if you don't sell one scarf tonight, even if your sister doesn't talk to you for two or three years, even if only your insufferable bipolar mother still talks to you after tonight, you'll know you did good, that you did what was right, and that you really made your sister's day a special one by making sure that people knew they could buy scarves you made on the internet to commemorate her special day, and how special you are every day.

Congratulations on Ruining Your Sister's Wedding!

Congratulations on Exposing Yourself to Your Niece!

When she asks you you won’t hesitate. You’ll sit right up on the kitchen counter and flip up your skirt, exposing your bare vagina. Underwear, you’ve always said, is for sissies. You’ll be groomed, but not bare, because you always expect that you’ll have to do something like this and you don’t want to scar young women, but you also don’t want to teach them that they shouldn’t care about their bodies in general.

You’ll point to your vagina, which will be pretty clean and clear to external observation.

“This is a vagina, or pussy. Sometimes, it bleeds,” you’ll explain.

She’ll be horrified. “What? What the fuck? Why?”

“Well, your uterus will occasionally shed its lining in order to rid itself of an unfertilized egg as part of your monthly cycle. It’s part of the system of human reproduction, and it essentially makes your body into a nightmarish hellscape for a week every month.”

“That sounds terrible!” she’ll exclaim, putting her face uncomfortably close to your vagina.

“It’s nothing compared to the emotional torture that the surges and variance in hormones exposes you to. Expect to become a total wreck for at least three of those days while your brain tries to destroy itself. You’ll simultaneously crave sex and be revolted by it. And the fact that you’re bleeding the whole time doesn’t really help.”

“Is there anything I can do to stop it?” she’ll ask, her eyes pleading with you. You’ll shake your head sorrowfully and she’ll look down, away from your vagina, tears welling in her eyes.

At this point, you’ll decide it’s time to remove your tampon from your vagina. You’ll reach up in there and grab the string and then slam it down on the table, sending drops of blood flying. One will catch her on the nose, turning her sorrow to horror anew.

“What-“ she’ll begin, but you’ll intercede with a shout rising to catastrophony.

“This is a tampon. It’s a wad of cotton you ram into your pussy to keep the blood from pouring out and ruining your underwear.”

“Oh god!”

“Yeah. I’m going to go get another one. Then we’ll go out and buy some more.” With that you’ll hop down from the counter and stride into the bathroom to get a replacement tampon. When you return to the kitchen your niece will be holding the tampon and staring at it with fascination. She’ll look up as you re-enter the room with an enchanted look on her face.

“Thanks for explaining all this to me,” she’ll murmur. “I know you’re off the clock, but I really appreciate it.”

You’ll shrug. “A sex-ed instructor’s work is never done.” Then you’ll take the tampon from her hand, toss it into the trash and take your niece by the hand, leading her to the car, where you’ll drive her to Walgreens (literally) and womanhood (symbolically).

Congratulations on Exposing Yourself to Your Niece!

Congratulations on Only Doing a Little Crack!

You’re a great dad most of the time, much like yesterday’s erotic cake dude, but you’ve got one serious problem. You’re hooked on crack. But because you’re such a great dad your wife is willing to work through it with you, help you go through the steps and even offering to help you ease on to just smoking pot as a group so you can still party as much as you like to.

But there’s a problem. Crack is super addictive and you’re not good at making difficult sacrifices. Even though you love your wife and daughter a ton you sort of love crack more, until you’ve recently had crack and then you’re wondering why you did all that crack just now and maybe if there’s any more that you could do in a little bit.

But with your wife’s help and with benefits from your recent firing (you’re a black Eskimo and even though they fired you for smoking crack while driving a school bus the district didn’t want to risk a lawsuit) you’ve been seeing a therapist who suggested that you not try to quite cold turkey, but rather just fellate men for crack to smoke and then smoke it in a filthy alley with the taste of semen on your breath a little less often, and maybe smoke a little less until you barely feel like smoking it at all.

Today you’re going to put her plan into action. You’ll only agree to give your dealer a handjob in exchange for a smaller than usual amount of crack, and when you smoke it it will already have lost some of its luster, because the horrible scent won’t be blotting out the flavor of semen on your tongue. Instead it’ll cover up the odor of your wife’s perfume with an offensive smell akin to burning styrofoam.

As you sit there, letting it rush into your lungs and course through your veins into your mind you’ll feel a little sad, which will kind of ruin the whole crack experience for you and make you wonder just how good at her job your therapist really is.

Congratulations on Only Doing a Little Crack!

Congratulations on Misusing 9-11 in Conversation!

This happens to all of us. I don’t mean people in general. I mean our staff. Here in the office we’ve seen the end of man, and compared to the shit you people are going to have to deal with 9-11 is just what we treat it as – a laughable footnote in human history, a minor tragedy used to justify horrors. It’s only fitting to giggle uncontrollably when someone says “Never forget!” following a discussion about the Khmer Rouge.

But the thing is, we don’t really have families or friends. The few of us who aren’t horribly mentally ill are asocial freaks who no longer speak to any who can’t see the writing on the wall of the universe. We don’t deal with “normals” so there’s no risk in making these jokes for us. You’re not so lucky.

So when you tell your aunt that you thought she’d never forget you probably shouldn’t keep pushing the joke. You shouldn’t tell her that if the Bush administration had put as much effort into finding Osama as she was putting into finding her purse they would’ve found him by now. And you defiinitely shouldn’t tell her that she should check Afghanistan.

When she stares at you like you’re a fucking idiot you definitely shouldn’t hold up your fingers and then bring them down in a gesture miming the tower’s collapse, all the while making soft screaming and exploding noises. It’s just in poor taste.

And you shouldn’t be surprised when your uncle punches you in the face and he and your cousin haul you away from the Thanksgiving table and hurl you out of the front door into a snow drift. You also shouldn’t be surprised when you feel cold, because you won’t have a jacket on. You were, after all, sitting and eating Thanksgiving dinner, not expecting to be injured and ejected from your parent’s home by your extended family.

But this is what happens when you don’t know how to make jokes appropriate to the people you’re around. You end up in the hospital for hypothermia.

Congratulations on Misusing 9-11 in Conversation!