My intention is to spend as much of this day as I can out in the sun, but there’s a genuine cosmological problem here. My birthday always coincides closely with Memorial Day weekend, and as everybody knows, Memorial Day weekend is the first of three 3-day summer weekends during which it is guaranteed to rain. There might be but limited sun rays. On the plus side, it heralds the overdue rainy season we badly need.
The other thing we need is a birthday joke, but I’m coming up short (and I’m certain it has nothing at all to do with my celebratory shots of Blue Head Reposado). Here’s the best I can muster:
Seems this poor bastard gets himself born with no ears. It’s a small town and they ride him mercilessly all his life, from the cradle to high school; on the street, in the playground, everywhere. So by the age of 15 he’s a wreck and rarely ventures out of the house.
But thanks to teh innerwebs, he puts himself on this serious program of body building, martial arts, and weapons training, so by the age of 25 he’s a mean, lean killing machine. Even if he’s still an earless geek with a bald head and resembles an erect dick even more than Yul Bryner, James Carville, and Florida Governor Rick Scott combined.
So on his 25th birthday, with a lifetime to avenge, he dresses in battle gear and sets off for the bar where he knows his childhood and school-age tormentors hang out in. He pushes open the door and glares around the crowded room, which goes utterly silent. Striding up to the bar, he settles in between some guys he recognizes who quickly make room.
He orders a beer.
“Uh, nothin’,“ one mutters, and leaves, the other following.
He whirls and looks at the bunch on his right. “You lookin’ at me?” he demands.
They put down their drinks and slink off.
Grimly satisfied, he works his way around the room, daring anybody to meet his gaze. Nobody does…..but then he spots this old geezer at the bar staring at him, openmouthed, a look of distaste wrinkling his nose. Our man narrows his eyes, then strolls across the room to confront him.
“What the hell are you lookin’ at, old man?” he hisses.
The old timer doesn’t even blink, let alone avert his eyes. “Yer wearin’ contact lenses, ain’tcha?” he says.
Not at all what our hero anticipates. He blinks. “Uh, yeah. I am. How’d ya know?”
The drunk’s still staring. “Ya gotta be! Ya ain’t got no ears! Yer glasses would fall right off yer fuckin head!”
Guess you had to be there.
Happy birthday to me.