Friday

Oct. 14

Calendar’s a fat Fattie McFatsenstein.

As such, Calendar has decided to fast for a whole day this year-in observance of Yom Kippur or Ramadan or the 185th season of “The Price is Right” or whatever. It really doesn’t matter.

Point is, we’re fasting for 24 hours to cleanse our body of a year’s worth of dereliction.

How? Drano, minced groundhog and a square mile of Astroturf-said combination proves not only highly effective, but also (bafflingly) flammable.

But we know, we know-to truly cleanse any given system requires more than just a day’s worth of not eating/ eating copious amounts of Astroturf. It requires essential alterations, deep-rooted and earnest attempts at change.

So, for starters, Calendar will stop:

1) Seducing elderly vagrants to satiate our fragile ego

2) Drinking milk from the bottle…of gin

3) Running arms for Southern abolitionists-we’re a Yankee, sir, good day!

And we will start:

1) Seducing vagrants of an age closer to our own

2) Drinking milk from a glass…of gin

3) Stopping to smell the flowers, beginning with The Posies, playing with Oranger at the Velvet Room (155 W. 200 South), 7:30 p.m., for $15.

Actually, scratch that-Calendar hates flowers, almost as much as we hate Dave Coulier from “Full House” or our old arch-nemesis: that bald guy from the band Midnight Oil.

Talent-less douche.

Which reminds us: One time, like 12 years ago, when Calendar was out trolling the streets of Bombay for stray sea cucumbers (we sold them on “the market” for a “fair price”-it’s kind of a long story), our chrome-domed rival had the audacity to share a sidewalk with Calendar.

A sidewalk! Such impudence!

Obviously, we were all like, “Hey, baldie! Get yo’ ass off our ‘walk! You betta recognize, son: Calendar ain’t be jokin’. Also, your music be terrible. Ahhh! Repeat: Ahhh!”

Then we shoved our house key deep into his left trapezius, tossed Midnight Boil into a nearby bonfire (Bombay is rife with nearby bonfires) and ducked into the world premiere of the “The 11th Hour” ski movie, screening at UMFA’s auditorium (410 Central Campus Drive), 7:30 p.m., for $5.

After not watching the film, we ran like Pre into a nearby Zen temple and dove out a convenient window.

Ah, life.

Saturday

Oct. 15

Luckily for Calendar, our Buddhist swan-dive proved not fatal, but freakin’ fantastic. We soared through the air like a lithe bamboo leaf, or Anne Murray, performing at Abravanel Hall (123 W. South Temple), 8 p.m., and landed, without hitch, on the damp alley pavement below.

Somewhere in that whole process, Calendar wrote a haiku. It follows:

Calendar descends

Enlightenment: green bean quiche

Bring us our Speedo!?

Will you do Calendar a favor and contact our homies over at…oh, what’s it called…the Nobel Peace Prize thingamajig…isn’t it in Topeka these days? Anyway, contact them and tell them we have this year’s winner. And it is we.

Sorry, The Pope-again.

Better luck next time. Maybe you ought to consider taking off that stupid hat and (potentially…it’s only a suggestion) eating fewer children.

Worked for Calendar.

But then again, Calendar is the last of a dying breed, and what works for us doesn’t necessarily work for everyone…or anyone…just ask R. Kelly…or O.J….or Martha Stewart.

See, we’re something of an outdated standard here at Calendar, a beautifully assed imago of brilliance long-since passed. Calendar is also big, furry and prone to random, disquieting, rage-induced bouts of tourist-trampling. All of the above leads us to believe that we are not, in fact, Calendars, but Bison, playing with Whiskey’s Wake, Quiet Color, The Lethal West and Cressa Parloff at Kilby Court (741 S. 331 West), 7:30 p.m., for $6.

Probably should’ve figured as much years ago, though, when we noticed these burgeoning horns atop our matted head. We just figured, “Oh well, you know-puberty. What’re you gonna do?” But we were wrong.

Sunday

Oct. 16

You know what they say: You win some, you Calendar some.

And this weekend, Calendar plans to Calendar aplenty.

First, we’re going to go get all faded on bathtub peyote and bounce about like the oversized rubber-cement ball into which we so long to blossom.

We will then flail like a Throwrag and Gogol Bordello, playing at Lo-Fi Caf (165 S. West Temple), 7 p.m., for $13, and when we’ve been effectively thrown out of every women’s restroom in the valley, Calendar and our hallucinations are heading over to A&E’s own resident Lilijewtian, Ben Zalkind’s, house for some birthday festivities.

Ben’s turning 21, and you know what that means-Ben can legally raise llamas in 47 of the 50 continental United States. And Guam.

Calendar anticipates two things taking place at Ben’s oh-so-crazy B-day shindig:

1) As Ben’s birthday serendipitously falls this year on national “Punch an Old Dude in the Kidneys and Steal the Keys to his Oldsmobile” day, there will be a great deal of elderly kidney-punching and Oldsmobile joy-riding.

2) Calendar may, or may not (and by may not, we mean “assuredly will”) fall asleep underneath Ben’s glass coffee table, only to be awoken come morning by a leering band of irate geriatrics seeking vengeance for the past night’s tortures. That kind of s*** always happens to us.