Birthday Calls

I just want to write a special "$#@!" I mean, "thank you" to all of my fans and friends out there who took the time yesterday to wish me a "happy birthday." Yes, yesterday was that day that you love once a year. Pinning tails on donkeys, cake with candles, playing doctor, all the things we do as children. Love them until you reach the ripe ol' age of about 29. Then the "birthday" slowly but surely turns into the dreaded day once a year that you must look hard into the mirror, (because you need new glasses) and face your aching knees, hair in your ears, and daily talk of gastric distress.

My birthday is the same as our illustrious leader, so I get reminded all day long of the glorius event on TV and radio. God help us on July 6th! Since this humour is supposed to remain apolitical, I will not comment about G.W. or another famous republican, Nancy Reagan, whom both share my birthday. Nance was kinda sexy don't ya think? Gotta wonder what she looked like in her birthday suit. Yowzaa! That is sick and wrong! Forgive me Liberal fans.

Actually, I share the day with some wonderful people, Merv Griffin for example. If you're old enough to know who he is, then you're probably cursed with hemorrhoids. (but we'll get to that later) Another more illustrious but also one facing his aching knees no doubt is the now sixty year old Sly Stallone. But the cream of the crop, other than myself of course has to be Jennifer Saunders, also known as Edina, creator of, producer of, and wonderful method actor in, Absolutely Fabulous. But enough of that name dropping doo-doo. What I really want to talk about is the ubiquitous birthday call.

When did it become mandatory that one gets telephoned on his or her birthday. People that I haven't heard from in a year all of the sudden remember it's time to insult you by reminding you it's been a year since you put on that last twenty pounds, or started taking Viagra. But the worst happened to me yesterday.
After spending hours on the phone from well wishers, such as my younger brother (by 14 years) who declared "you're getting old, man," to my other younger brother who said "baftub oberflow!" Who the hell knows what that's about. But it was my mother who takes the birthday cake. I kid you not. When she opened the conversation with "honey do you have hemorrhoids?" Jesus (pronounced "hey soos" not "jeezus" just to keep this non-religious) Mom! What are you asking me? It just so happens that I do have hemorrhoids, hell I've got a roid so big that when I fart it looks like Karl Malden sneezing. Don't remind me of this aging body. Happy %$#@!ing Birthday.