'PBQ Presents: Madame Bainbridge's Compendium

Of Primo Dong'

[hottubshow]

Hot Tub November 21st!

Tickets:  http://hottub.nightout.com

Poster designed by Garrett Ross

More Hot Tub:

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[liartownusa]

Reading is Awesome! poster

[pendulousbreastsquarterly]

[girlsareprettyforever]

Cater Waiter Your Ex-Husband's Wedding Day!

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!

[girlsareprettyforever]

Bake Cookies 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!

[girlsareprettyforever]

Steal From Your Kids Day!

Your son has a toy truck. You want that toy truck. It’s not fair that he has it when you want it. Take that toy truck from your son and bring it into the office to play with.

Your son will visit you at work and ask if you’ve seen his toy truck. Lie to him. Say, “Psssh. That truck sucks. I didn’t take it.”

Your son will explain he has a play date and he needs his toy truck back if you have it. Stand your ground.

“I’m the president of a massive corporation. I don’t have your stupid fucking truck.”

Your eyes flash on the floor safe. Your son notices.

“It’s in the floor safe isn’t it?” he says.

“What floor safe,” you say, but he’s already out of his chair and spinning the combination dial.

“12. 16. 6,” he says as he spins, then pulls the door open to reveal his toy truck.

“Shouldn’t have used my birthday as the combo, dipshit,” he says, inspecting the toy truck for blemishes. “Have your secretary call me a car.”

You do as he says, happy that your son didn’t lift up the stacks of cash and bonds to find the Boba Fett action figure you stole from him.

Happy Steal From Your Kids Day!

[girlsareprettyforever]

Fun Couple Day!

He slams the vacuum cleaner against the carpet to try to shake loose whatever’s stuck up there.

“Maybe you vacuumed up some of my dreams?” his wife says over the rim of her highball glass.

He jokingly searches the inside workings of the vacuum looking for her dreams.

“Don’t see any of those in here,” he says with a chuckle.

“Check the garbage disposal. Maybe you shoved my dreams down there! I haven’t seen them in so long, maybe you ground them up in the sink blades like they were just some leftover kale leaves from last night’s forgettable dinner!”

He jokingly checks the garbage disposal to see if there are any dreams in it.

“Nope. No dreams down there!” he shouts jovially.

“Maybe you threw them out with the trash. My dreams are so old and neglected that I could see you mistaking them for garbage. Did you happen to take my dreams and stuff them into a garbage can with the stripped toilet paper rolls, the soiled q-tips, and the junk mail pleas for charitable donations that we tear up and throw away without even fucking reading?!”

He jokingly goes down to the sidewalk to untie the garbage bags and root through the trash searching for her dreams.

“Can’t find any dreams in these Hefty cinch sacks!” he shouts up at their window.

She opens the window and shouts back at him, “Have you checked the grille and tires of our car? Take a flashlight and inspect the grille and tires for the blood of my dreams! You might have accidentally run down my dreams some night when you weren’t paying any goddamn attention to them. So you obliterated them against the grille of the car, then dragged them under the tires. Then to be sure they were dead you might have shifted into reverse and backed over my dreams until the life bled out of them into the street. Then you might have peeled away without even bothering to get out of the car to try and help.”

He jokingly goes upstairs to grab a flashlight, and then jokingly heads out to the car to inspect the grille and tires. There’s blood everywhere.

Back in the apartment, “My God, you drove home? I begged you never to drive when you’re like this.”

“He came out of nowhere. I thought I could live with the guilt but I can’t.”

When she finishes her drink, he takes her to the police station so she can turn herself in for the hit and run.

“Honey,” she barks at him. “Check the other jail cells for my dreams! See if they’ve been locked up in here for life without the possibility of parole.”

He asks the police if he can jokingly check the jail cells for his wife’s dreams, but the police remind him that a man is dead. This is no time for jokes.

Happy Fun Couple Day!

[pendulousbreastsquarterly]

this rap video is going to be really good

[girlsareprettyforever]

You Share A Cubicle With Your Girlfriend’s Dad Day!

“Mr. Palmer?” you exclaim as he wheels a chair in and places his briefcase on the stretch of desk you’re not occupying.

“When you’re out of work at my age, after a while you take what you can get,” he says. “So I’m back to temping. Don’t tell my daughter.”

It’s pretty weird to work with your girlfriend’s dad every day, especially keeping it a secret from your girlfriend. But he turns out to be the best cubicle mate you’ve ever had. And the two of you are working together to fulfill your daily tasks and you’re meeting your monthly goals with ease and style.

“The dream team,” your supervisors call out to you as they pass your cubicle.

The only problem is the part about not telling your girlfriend that you temp with her dad.

“We work great together, sure,” her dad says to you over lunch one day. “But my daughter can’t know that her dad’s a temp. And I can’t have you lying to my little girl.”

When you end it with her, she wants a reason. You say you two don’t have enough in common, but you say it like it’s a question and you want her to confirm the answer. She says she thinks there’s something more going on.

“Is it because since your mom started working as a pizza delivery girl at our pizza parlor and I’m her boss now?”

You shake your head no. You try “it’s not you, it’s me,” but she doesn’t buy it. You try everything you can to avoid telling her that her dad is a temp, and he’s the best coworker and cubicle mate you ever had.

“Fine,” she says. “But I’m going to make your mom’s life hell. She’s only going to deliver pizzas to bachelor parties and senior citizens living on tight budgets.”

You shrug. “Like I care. Fire her if you want. My mom’s a big girl.”

You know she won’t. She’s told you over and over that your mom’s the best pizza delivery person she ever had. A natural.

If only you could tell her the same about her dad and his admin assistant skills. But it’s better this way. If pushing her out of your life means her dad can do his work unencumbered by the shame of disappointing his daughter or coercing her boyfriend to lie to her, it’s what has to be done. For the cubicle.

Happy You Share A Cubicle With Your Girlfriend’s Dad Day!

[pendulousbreastsquarterly]

I think reviews of weed strains are my favorite kind of comedy.

[girlsareprettyforever]

You Sold The Drugs That A Beloved Actor OD'd On Day!

It’s all over the papers.

“Beloved Actor OD’s On Jennifer’s Drugs.”

You try to go about your day but everyone knows. When you drop your daughter off at day care, the other moms are glaring at you.

“Thanks for making movies suck more, Jennifer,” the Day Care Administrator says as she leads your daughter inside.

At the supermarket, the deli guy goes over the quarter pound of ham that you requested.

“Oh I’m sorry,” he says sarcastically. “But then again, you’re no stranger to giving people more than they can handle.”

When you get home your husband is waiting with his bags packed,

“I can’t stay here,” he says. “I loved that one movie he was in with the horse. Now there’ll never be a sequel, because of your drugs.”

You ask him what he’ll live off of.

“I’ll get a job. I don’t wanna live off your drug money.”

You ask what about his daughter.

“Keep her,” he says. “She was raised on drug money.”

Just to get him started, you give him $500,000 in drug money and send him on his way.

“I respect your decision,” you say.

The next day your secretary has lots of messages for you.

“Lots of people want to buy our drugs!” she says. “They think if it killed that one actor it must be good drugs.”

You hire more people, which stimulates the economy and gets you praise in the news as a job creator.

“That worked out,” you say out loud to no one and nothing.

Happy You Sold The Drugs That A Beloved Actor OD’d On Day!

[scorpiondagger]

[pendulousbreastsquarterly]

Follow @scienceologypod on Twitter to hear more science stories, like the one about Rocky here, the first beaver with genetically modified human hands.

[pendulousbreastsquarterly]

I made this "meme" a little while ago, but it didn't catch on with the tastemakers.

[funnyordienews]

Hey guys, listen to the cool tree.

[pendulousbreastsquarterly]

Supreme/Vibram FiveFingers Collabo. Tite.

[newyorker]

“The N.Y.C. Mystery History Hour,” by Julia Wertz.