T.S. Eliot’s Opinions of the Other Eleven Months

1. Ever since January got that art history Ph.D. from Brown he won’t stop coming to parties and going on about Michelangelo. Between you and me—January is the most pretentious month.

2. February once told me that he had to be cruel to be kind sometimes, so I slept with his wife. I proved a point. He didn’t get it. February is not so quick on the upswing.

3. March can eat a dick.

4. It was May that first realized that my name is an anagram for “toilets.” And you know, there’s only so many times a guy can hear a joke before it gets really old. You listening, May? Really fucking old.

5. I took June to a wedding once. She groped the bride, propositioned the groom, puked in the punch bowl, and fucked everyone up on the Electric Slide. Also I am pretty sure that she wasn’t wearing a bra. If that doesn’t paint a picture for you, then I don’t think anything will.

6. I’m not going to say that July is a limp-wristed nancy. Or that you don’t want him on your company’s softball team. But his swing is less a bang than a whimper.

7. You know how some people measure their lives in coffee spoons? August measures his life in missed alimony payments, jimmied locks, hours spent hiding under stairwells, and a lack of forwarding addresses. I’m just saying.

8. O.K., here is the deal. I don’t want to say anything damning, but when I left the room my wallet was on the table and when I came back it was gone. The only month in the room was September. Take from that what you will.

9. October? Is that the fat one? From the Midwest? No … it is your sister? My bad.

10. The next time November tries to hit me up for a loan, I’m going to ask him if he knows what “T.S.” stands for. When he says no, I’ll say, “It stands for Tough Shit.”

11. December? Don’t even get me started on that bitch.