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Happy Birthday

12/23/2009

It's my birthday. I am just about as old as Jack Benny was every day of his life. Pretty astounding, seeing as I did not expect to make it much past 20. But I did.

That's actually a cool thing, because now I have four kids, a wife and a mortgage. Which means I am doing my part. I don't know which part I'm doing, maybe the lug nuts or CV boot, but it's definitely a part.

I should be happy that I have kids, and I am. I'll never starve, if they won't steal for me, I can always eat them. It's just like owning a troop of monkeys. Well, the troop of monkeys is harder to potty train, but easier to teach math. Balances out in the long run.

The only thing that bother's me is the mess we adults have made of the world. We are teaching our children, and rightly so, that we humans have made such a grap fest of the world that it's trying to kill us. By getting warmer and adding thousands of miles of new waterfront property. I can see how this is bad. I may end up drowning while bicycling drunk over one of the many rickety bridges connecting the Indiana Keys. I may lose all the money I poured into salt futures over the years when the climate heats up unless I can get Congress to enact the emergency Margarita salt subsidy act. But what I'm rally afraid of is the goddam octopussies.

This is what happens when you fuck with mother nature. The goddam Aussies have been littering the world with coconut shells without a care in the world. Never a thought to the humble octopus. Well, now the little eight-legged bastards have figured out what every red-blooded American has known since time immemorial, coconuts are useful.

From what I understand, Australia is some kind of island paradise. Full of weird and wonderful animals and annoying TV stars. So you'd think these bastards would know that the only thing you can't build with coconuts is a working 2-way radio or a boat. AND OCTOPI LIVE IN THE WATER!

When we are all slaves to our cepholapodian masters, feeding them our house pets and massaging the ink out of their prostates, I hope everyone remembers the prophetic words of the Blue Oyster Cult, "I'm burnin' I'm burnin' I'm burnin' for you."

That's right.



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