You're a Medical Textbook Model!

You wouldn't describe yourself as "handsome". Baristas have called you "pretty good-looking" with a telling emphasis on "pretty" that made you doubt their sincerity. Your ex-girlfriend certainly found you attractive, but you looked almost exactly like her father whom she'd been dating for several years before breaking it off and going out with you. You had always suspected you were the rebound guy.

But you know what adjective people use to describe you most? Undiseased. People constantly comment about how your face was so healthy-looking, so untouched by exotic skin conditions or tropical parasites. Your mother always said the same thing. She would always bring it up when the two of you were dating.

One day you'll be walking out of the pharmacy when a man will stop you.

"You are the most undiseased man I have ever seen. We need to get you into the studio."

You'll reply that you're flattered but not interested.

"I don't think you understand. I represent some of the biggest names in the industry. Jeffrey Hutton, Roxanna Vasquez, Patricia Mason, all the big names in medial textbook modeling."

Those were impressive names, you'll think. Roxanna Vasquez was a legend. Her clear, unscarred armpits redefined medical textbook modeling in the 1980s. And Jeffrey "The Glans" Hutton had been taking up all the male genital work since he broke onto the scene in 2002.

"But compared to you they're lepers," the agent said. "Come with me and you'll be moderately well-paid beyond your wildest dreams."

He wasn't lying. The six months that followed were a whirlwind of photo shoots, industry parties and anonymous sex with medical student groupies. Your parts were all over all the biggest publications. Your clean, inoffensive body stood in stark contrast to those of your blistered, festering counterparts.

But one day everything changed. You were preparing for a diabetic ulcer of the foot shoot when she walked in. She had the face of an angel, body of a goddess and the foot condition of a plague-ridden leper. You were barely listening to the photographer's directions as you watched her limp to the craft table and help herself to some wet melon.

Her name was Fiona and she obviously knew who you were. You told the photographer to give her your address. That night, as you made love on your futon, you couldn't believe how lucky you were. Your agent would go ballistic over this, but you didn't care. You were in love with the most beautiful woman in the world, a woman who was probably going to lose her foot to diabetes.

YOU'RE A MEDICAL TEXTBOOK MODEL!

You're a Credit Card Company Assassin!

You can't manage your debt because you have an addiction to buying antique scimitars online. Your apartment is full of them and no one likes going to your place for dinner because it looks like the set of an Arab porno. Plus you always make people watch Arab porno while they eat which no one likes.

But now you're deeply in debt to who knows how many credit card companies with no hope of paying them back. You meet with a debt consolidation service agent who laughs at your file and calls over the other agents to laugh at you. You wish you had a scimitar with you right now, but the local police have made it abudantly clear that this is not okay.

After he's done wiping his giggle tears away, he tells you what you already know.

"You will never be able to pay this off. Not in a hundred years."

"I know," you'll say, "But I need a way out. I'm in love with the barista at the coffee shop on the corner and I know that if I can just get my hands on a few more scimitars I'll be able to ask her to marry me."

"I understand," he says. "I think I have your answer. Come with me."

You follow him into the inner offices and down some stairs. He scans a card and punches in a code on a keypad which opens a heavy metal door. Inside is a training area with lots of yelling and running and flames and people wearing black and shit.

"Wow," you'll say.

"Wow is right," the guy says. You never got his name and it's too late to ask, so he's just "the guy".

"You're going to become a credit card company assassin. You'll pay off your debt with the blood of the wicked until you are free. Then you can marry your precious barista."

You sign some papers and begin your training. Six month later you are in Paraguay, living in a burnt-out factory waiting for orders. You keep yourself sane by writing letters to your beloved. She'll never get them, though, because you'll send them to the coffee shop and she'll have quit two days after you left for training to work at a Hooters by the airport. You'll be killed by your target's bodyguards after getting your scimitar stuck in an air duct. This is really a cautionary tale about online shopping.

YOU'RE A CREDIT CARD COMPANY ASSASSIN!

You're the Window Washer With a Horrible Secret!

You took this job to get away. To get away from all their questions. They can't get to you up here. Strange how here, standing on a platform seventy stories up, you finally feel in control, finally feel safe.

"I could never love her the way that she needed to be loved," you whisper to the woman on the other side of the glass. "I could only love her the way she wanted to be loved."

The woman on the other side of the glass doesn't hear you. But it feels good to tell someone.

You pull the squeegee across your reflection. "I could never leave someone who wanted me so badly. But I knew I was bad for her. I loved her too much to destroy her."

The woman lifts her head and turns. She looks up at you, but you can tell she doesn't understand and would never understand.

"The fact is that I never cheated on her. I made it up to drive her away."

The woman is still looking at you, concerned. She picks up her phone, says a few words, and hangs up. A minute later your phone rings.

"Jerry? Jerry, if you don't take off that fuckin' wedding dress we're going to have a serious problem. Don't bring that shit in to work Jerry. This is the last time."

You'll take off the dress when you're ready. Not a moment before. For now, you just need some time to think.

YOU'RE THE WINDOW WASHER WITH A HORRIBLE SECRET!

You're the Two Guys Who Share Gum!

Today is Thursday, which means you get the gum first.

Your phone rings. It's him.

"When do you think you'll be done with the gum?" he'll ask. "I've got a meeting uptown in an hour and I'd like to drive over and get it before then."

"I have to get my driver's license renewed today. I'm at the DMV right now," you'll say. "Can you come back downtown after your meeting to get it?"

"Susan has the car today and it would take me forever to make it. Can you get it to me tomorrow?"

You'll sigh. "You know what the judge said. We have to swap the gum at least once a day or we go to jail."

"I know. Do you think we could just not do it today?" He asks this almost every day, mostly on the days he doesn't get the gum first.

"Look, if we could unshave that bear we would, but we can't so here we are and I have the gum and I need to spit it into your mouth before the end of the day or we're both going to jail. So what's it going to be?"

"I'll come down after my meeting."

"Good. I love you."

"I love you too."

YOU'RE THE TWO GUYS WHO SHARE GUM!

You're the Haunted Suit Salesman!

A businessman will come into your store and ask to see the new season of haunted suits.

"Oh, they're right over here. Come this way, sir," you'll say as you wave your arm over racks and racks of the finest haunted suits in the city.

You'll pull out a grey suit and lay it over your arm. "This is a fine three season flannel blend, two button, double vent, soft shoulder padding which is haunted by the ghost of an irate real estate mogul from Denver." The customer will feel the fabric between his fingers and nod approvingly. He will try it on and although it's a bit tight in the seat, he'll say he can live with it.

Two weeks later you'll see him pass by the store again wearing the suit, covered in filth and screaming about listing prices and cheating wives.

You have no idea why people want to buy haunted suits, but you're not going to argue, because you're a ghost too, a ghost who sells suits haunted by other ghosts out of a store that is also haunted, by you, I guess.

YOU'RE THE HAUNTED SUIT SALESMAN!

Chuck Norris' 71st Birthday Facts

1. Chuck Norris doesn't need to recharge his Rascal scooter; it runs on his urge to kill.

2. Chuck Norris pees pure adrenaline, but has to get up three times a night to do it.

3. Chuck Norris likes soup and soup likes Chuck Norris.

4. No conventional adult diaper can hold Chuck Norris' stinky secrets; his diapers are made out of Kevlar and plutonium.

5. You need to speak loudly when you speak to Chuck Norris. His ears are arthritic fists.

6. Chuck Norris' hip replacement is made out of a old helicopter blade and a wad of Big League Chew.

7. Chuck Norris sometimes wakes up thinking he's back on the set of Missing In Action and demands to speak to the director about his inter-racial love scene. He won't be wearing pants and will have pooped in his bed.

Charlie Sheen's Twelve Step Program

1. There is no power greater than you. You can cure your disease with your mind. Do it now.

2. Now that you've cured your disease, collect a harem of porn stars and prostitutes. Give them new names. Make them swear a blood oath. Do not let them look you in the eye, ever.

3. You have an addiction. An addiction to winning. Overdose on it. Get taken to the hospital to have the winning pumped out of your stomach.

4. Make a list of the expensive things you own. Scream it to yourself in the mirror. Break the mirror with your face.

5. Announce to another human being that you are the new sheriff with an army of assassins. Are they trying to kill you? Kill them first.

6. You should have more of everything. How many prostitutes are in the room right now? The answer is "not enough".

7. Realize that your only shortcoming is your interaction with lesser beings. Get on your jet immediately and leave them far behind. Bring guns.

8. Make a list of all the people who have harmed you. In blood. Not yours though. Your blood can cure cancer.

9. Get in a helicopter and hover over the homes of the people on the list and demand they make amends for their wrongdoing. Do you still have those guns? Good. Shoot up their cars. Throw a prostitute out of the helicopter to show them you're serious.

10. You have poetry in your fingers. Use your fingers to create an epic poem celebrating yourself by touching everyday, inanimate objects and turning them into poetry.

11. Love and hate with violence. Lots and lots of violence. Are you being violent right now? You could be being more violent.

12. Through the pure exercise of your own mind, turn into an F-18 and fly directly into the Sun, harness its power and return to Earth. Wreak vengeance on the Jews.