in trying to honor b on the day of his birth and his cursed existence in my life since i encountered him however many years ago – i give you these:
me: i had asparagus with dinner last night and my pee has smelled alllll day.
b: i love when that happens.
b: why aren’t we supposed to cry over spilled milk? if not cleaned up properly, spilled milk can get pretty nasty. that seems like something to cry over.
—— (this is me ignoring him)
—— (this is me ignoring him again)
—— (me ignoring him)
b: EVENTUALLY YOU WILL RESPOND TO ME.
me: those are old news bitch.
b: la dee da. i just had them sent to me. sorry for thinking you’d enjoy them too. now answer my question.
me: i guess my answer would be that i wouldn’t give a shit because a dog or cat would lick it up and it wouldn’t be my fucking problem anymore.
b: why are you so bitchy today?
me: i need a drink.
b: well, it’s what she wants.
me: all that she wants?
b: you got it.
me: what about another baby?
b: that’s me. duh.
me: quit being obtuse and acknowledge my ace of base reference.
b: nope. i refuse to give you that satisfaction.
so here’s to b. on his fucking bday.
here’s to many more times we get hammered and make poor choices while shitler judges us, to hours spent watching “my cat from hell,” and to discussing books and how much we love them in front of shitler till his head explodes.
to vodka presses (with lime -because if you prefer them without – odds are you’re a fucking communist) and john daly’s, and ranch dressing on the thighs of hot girls.
to daring me to steal shit when i get drunk out of my skull, to encouraging you to drunk dial people and leave embarrassing messages, and most importantly – here’s to poor-decision making (especially on your bday).