August 6, 2004

Happy Birthday to Me?

Three years ago, on this day, I got food poisoning from my birthday lunch, and spent most of the day on my knees in front of a toilet.

Two years ago, on this day, I lost control of my car, rolled over four lanes of oncoming highway traffic, landed face-down in a ditch, and had to cut myself out of my seatbelt with a shard of the windshield glass. I spent most of the afternoon in the hospital.

Last year, on this day, I came out to my parents.

Using all of the logic I could muster, and following my birthday tradition, I have come up with the following scenarios for today.

A) Cheney stages a coup by killing all 'activist judges' and orders all gays, lesbians, blacks, jews, and hispanics to reservations in the midwest, where he gives us all AIDS-infected blankets.

B) I run into the ex-boyfriend making out with a gorgeous multimillionaire, and, during small talk, he divulges that he is on his way to Hollywood to have sex with Jake Gyllenhaal without me.

C) While walking down the street, I fall down an open manhole, and am sacrificed by the sewer mutants after they castrate and scalp me. They chop me into little bits and circulate chunks of my skin as currency.

D) Fred Phelps orders a hit out on me, and I spend the night tied to a fence while eight- and nine-year-olds throw rocks at my head.

E) The ghost of Napoleon visits me in the middle of the night, chops off my penis, and replaces it with a cheese wheel, while Pat McCurdy sings a song about it to a crowd of drunk frat boys (who later beat me up).

Of course, the tradition could be bucked, and my friends could set me up on a date with a wonderful, charming, intelligent, hung, talented, muscular Adonis and we could have passionate, mind-blowing, marriage-destroying, body-contorting, jaw-dropping, Jesus-praising, eyes-popping, tongue-wagging, dog-panting, stars-seeing, activist judge-praising, positive-superlative sex all weekend long.

Tune in Monday to find out what happens.

(If I get a digital camera, I promise to take pictures of any and all the nasty I get.)

If you are one of my friends and have not made any plans for me to get laid this weekend, I suppose I could settle for a bazillion log hits today. In the end, it's all about the log hits anyway.
Here lies a most ridiculous raw youth, indulging himself in the literary graces that he once vowed to eschew. Now he just rocks out.