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Happy 50th & 59th Birthdays!
Happy 23rd Birthday!
You can keep your tomato sauce, salad dressing, and popcorn. I got a film festival and a cable channel, sucker.
You think you're old? Y.P.R. is dead! You fat bastard, look what you've done.
Happy 30th Birthday! Kate Moss, Kate Moss, Kate... Moss... I got nothing. Were this, say, 1995-ish, I'd have made some waify jokes or something, but lately you seem to have filled out a bit, reaching almost healthy proportions, and I think the waif well has been tapped dry, anyway. I will say that you make me think of Moss-Man, this retarded swamp creature from "Masters of the Universe." My brother had the Moss-Man toy and it was covered in icky, nappy, green mung and it stunk like sweaty dog. Hey, what's pete moss, anyway?
Happy 47th Birthday! I get your dad, Melvin Van Peebles, mixed up with Martin Van Buren all the time, and they kicked me out of the Geography club because of that. My dog's name is Peebles. I saw two ladies kissing on the bus. Vanilla makes me sneeze.
Happy 27th Birthday! I don't know if you're aware, but your name is also the location of of
the fabulous Walt DisneyWorld resort. This luxurious vacation destination
features championship golf, spacious rooms, pools, day spas for your
wife/girlfriend, and a host of theme parks for both the kids and the kid
in you. Contact your travel agent for rates. I also see that you were in
Pirates of the Caribbean, a movie released by Disney about a Disney ride. You have the stink of that rodent all over you, don't you? Listen, it's too late for me but here's a bit of friendly advice for you. Get out while you still can. Once that mouse wraps his oversized white gloves around your soul, you'll never be able to turn back. I've already sacrificed my first born. I'm
begging you: Run while you still can, before it's too late. Shit! I can hear
them coming. Don't tell them I sent this.
You're looking more and more mannish every day. I bet you pee standing up.
110101110101 111110nd 1010001110101!
I've eaten at your Spago restaurant. It's all right. Be honest with me now. You haven't actually cooked anything in 20 years, have you? Right now, you're jusst coasting on the fact that Chad Lowe went to your restaurant in 1988 and everyone thought that meant it's cool. I've got news for you, Wolfie: I'm on to you.
Happy 54th Birthday! I've been watching "Buck Rogers in the 25th Century" for a long time now. When I was in grade school, I had your Thermos. It was a great picture of you. You were all sexy with the blue jumpsuit with the red stripe,
the helmet tucked under your arm, the killer rack. I even went so far as
to insist that my parents call me "Wilma." In high school, I was voted
"Most Likely To Change His Name to Wilma And Join NASA." And join NASA, I
did! Of course, all of that science was way too much for me. I'm not too
good with numbers. I mostly just clean the space shuttles.
Happy 73rd Birthday! Good grief, E.L., I can't believe Britney got married and unmarried in, like, less than 24 hours. It's all so overwhelming. I'm in complete emotional upheaval here. I mean, how can she be America's forbidden fantasy when she's all used goods now? I don't know what to think! I guess I'd still marry her, if given the opportunity, but I'm really uncomfortable being anybody's second husband. Sigh.
Happy 72nd Birthday! On my birthday, I spend the whole day in my birthday suit! Even when I have to go to the bank! You should try it. Also, for my birthday breakfast, I make an ice-cream-sundae omelet waffle à la mode: that's three scoops of ice cream (assrt'd flavors), hot fudge, cherry, sprinkles, etc., etc., wrapped up in an egg'n'cheese omelet (Monterey Jack, please!), served on a chocolate-chip waffle, with maple syrup, topped with a scoop of ice cream. And also a banana, for potassium. You need your potassium, Bert! Anyway, you should eat my special birthday breakfast because it's awesome! You really should try it. Try it! Careful not to drip! (You're in your birthday suit, right?)
Happy 44th Birthday! I bet you've got a super-fun day planned! Cookies and cupcakes and pin-the-tail-on-Bill Berry. Will Boy George will come over so you guys can paint stripes on each other's faces? Freak.
Happy XLVIII Birthday!
Et tu,
Happy 36th Birthday!
Cubby, I’m a big-time movie producer, and I've just acquired the rights to a picture that I think you'd be perfect for the lead. It’s "mostly inspired by" the true story of Cuda Goobing, a retarded black football player that joins the Marine Corps and wins the Iditarod. It’s called Radio Dogs. It’s feel-good family fun! Show me the mush! I swear, if there’s anybody born to play the role, it’s you. Get back to me soon. I got the guy who played “Bubba” in Gump on the phone.
Happy 85th Birthday!
Look, J.D., we really wanted to throw you a surprise party, but you won’t leave your house, you agoraphobic maniac. What are we supposed to do, silently sneak into your kitchen and scare the jelly out of you when you come staggering downstairs wearing your slippers and an old-timey nightgown and cap for your early-morning eye-opener of Maker’s Mark? Why can’t you just come down to the T.G.I. Friday’s at nine o’clock Sunday night and feign flattered surprise when everybody jumps out? Rushdie’s got a fatwah on his head, and he’s still gonna be there! Nobody’s going to steal the 50,000-page manuscript you’ve been rewriting for the past half-century, you deranged old bat! Just come to Friday's and act all surprised, O.K.? Even Finding Forrester ventured out in the end, J.D.
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