Shoutout to my favorite snarky conservative.
I’m sure you will agree that birthdays are BULLSHIT. You have done nothing to deserve all this. Today, you are just a hairy freeloader forcing a social tax on your friends for food, drinks and gifts. Congratulations — you are now a socialist.
We should be showering your mother with presents. She’s the one that had to push out your ostrich-egg forehead and that beak on the front of your face.
Fifty. You realize that’s 350 in dog years. That’s like you being born in 1671 — you know when your views on Calvinism and authoritarianism were popular.
Everyone knows that after 50 a man starts losing testosterone and muscle mass. But did you know you are also losing water and your mind.
Men over 50 are 5 percent less water than younger men. Drink up, son, before you become as withered and sad as Geno.
Look out for those issues with depression, anxiety and anger. Things aren’t looking good for you not screaming at yourself every time you miss a second serve. I see a closet and a cat o’ nine tails in your future as you self-flaggelate your way to a slightly better record — that no one else will notice.
I’d like to share some “Kevin stories” but he has never done anything “interesting.” He’s the Pendejos designated driver. Sure, he has seen some shit. I’ve often wondered at his ability to smile and laugh at these elderly, farting, self-loathing, alcoholics. Sobriety sucks — especially in a hotel room full of drunks.
Ohh I thought of one. Kevin plays at the card-game ” Hearts” the way Al Queda “plays” at religion. He tried to “teach” me. I was just glad we weren’t playing for money — I would have left the room homeless and wearing a barrel.
Watching Kevin teach Bob how to play Hearts was like watching Einstein teach a howler monkey how to calculate the speed of light. The monkey would have gotten closer to a “win.”
Through every Pendejo road trip, Kevin just talks shit and smiles. Half the time no one else can tell if he’s kidding. I can only guess that he was horribly abused as a child, and this dry, snide, snark is a defense against overwhelming rage.
I don’t know how much rage Kevin feels. But I know he has seen rage. He’s the one that had to take fake-name Ed Vegas to the hospital for his stomach “aliment.” My guess is that the cartels were borrowing the Russian poison and trying to get rid of our favorite South American in witness protection.
Ed survived “the poisoning”. Kevin was the one to keep him hydrated with actual water and recognize the symptoms. He has kept the secret of exactly what happened at the hospital. He covered it up with stories of giving Ed shit.
“I kept telling Ed, he was in the stroke unit, and it didn’t look good.” Kevin said. “But he just wouldn’t believe me.”
Of course not. Nobody believes you — Kevin. It’s only because your daughters sent the invite to the party, that I even believe it is your “Birthday.” Whatever the hell that means.
Good luck turning 50. I can’t wait to write this shit again when you turn 60 or 70 or 80 because people only care about the even numbers. On the odd years, you can just go fuck yourself.
All right… after all this rant. I’ll play “society’s game” and say it… Happy birthday — KEVIN. You deserve to get another year older.
Just to make this unhappy birthday rant worse – here’s the video I sent to Kevin’s family to share with him on his “special day.”