Ears to Me

Happy May 26th  — my birthday.  It’s been happening annually on this exact day since, well, let’s put it this way: in dog years, I’m dead.

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.

When it arrives, he takes it up and turns quickly to the two guys on his left.  “What’re you lookin’ at?” he demands, menacingly.

“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.

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10 Responses to Ears to Me

  1. Rick says:

    You and Hank Williams, Jr. But then, you already knew that. Have a good one. Drink responsibly.


  2. Lois Terms says:

    Bad joke. Cute kitty. Happy birthday.

  3. Lu Senz says:

    I figure if it rains you’ll come by LRB’s some time this afternoon to see the Phillies matinee — scheduled to begin less than 12 hours after yesterday’s marathon ended — for a birthday toast. Text me. Happy birthday!

  4. Dawgbowl says:

    Happy birthday despite the bad joke.

  5. SuperBee says:

    Happy Happy Birthday, yo!

  6. mkhall says:

    Happy birthday, old-timer! (No, I’m not wearing contacts.)

  7. Beardsley says:

    You’re not dead yet. Your career may be, but hell — that was never much of a concer to you anyway, was it? Happy birthday. Enjoy the rain.

  8. Barbara Ganousch says:

    Nice to see you’re still young enough to acknowledge your birthday. I stopped at 21!

  9. Kent Standit says:

    Hmmmm. I don’t recall ever seeing you post your birth certificate.

  10. Squathole says:

    Thanks for all the good wishes, folks. Hope your weekend parties are as much fun as mine, which, thanks to Thursday, started early this month!

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