[ WP ] You have just purchased a new 2015 calendar from the bookstore . When you open it at home , you find a date already circled . It has your name written on the day .

“ Ma! ” I screamed, throwing the calendar against the wall, convinced it was inhabited by malevolent spirits or some other form of hostile presence. 
 
 “ What! ” she called from the downstairs kitchen, where she was probably toiling over some authentic Italian dish. It ’ s all she ever did these days. 
 
 “ The fuckin ’ calendars haunted, ma! It ’ s got my name written on it like I ’ m gon na die or some shit! ” 
 
 A long silence from downstairs, then finally: 
 
 “ Which date? ” 
 
 I told her. It was two weeks from tomorrow. 
 
 “ That ’ s the day you ’ re supposed to fly out to Philly to visit your Grandpa, ” she called out. It kind of sounded like she was smiling. 
 
 “ Let ’ s hope your plane doesn ’ t go down! ” 
 _____________________________________________________________________________________________________ 
 
 I was a nervous wreck at the airport. I barely made it through security without having to bolt back to the entrance and hail a cab back home. I hated the Atlantic City airport. It was the asshole of New Jersey, and it may well be the last place I see before I die in a fiery plane crash. 
 
 I tried to push the thought out of my mind as I popped a Tic Tac in my mouth and eyed a few long legged Jersey girls trying to win a stuffed animal out of one of those bullshit claw machines. Even when faced with death, my little man had an appetite. I vowed to myself that the first thing I would do when ( if ) I landed in Philly would be to smash the first poon I could find. Grandpa could wait. 
 
 Eventually, Grandpa ended up waiting a long time. My plane crashed during take-off and I was the only fatality. I died because I had taken my seatbelt off so I could turn around in my seat to get a better look at this Brazilian ( or maybe she was Cuban ) chick ’ s ass. It was worth it though. 
 
 Sorry Grandpa. 

