Yes, the Birthday Squirrel awoke me way too early, at just past 2 AM my time, to remind me that I'm now officially a year older, not a year wiser, and that my sleeping is still all screwed up. What do I have planned for today? Nothing, really, since I had to loan my car to my middle brother so he could work while his is being fixed. No cake, no ice cream, no parties, nothing, which is fine by me, since I really can't eat much cake or ice cream anyways without getting sick at my stomach.
Maybe I'll see a frolicking squirrel or two today, though. that might be gift enough.
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14 comments:
Happy birthday!
Here are some nice photos for you, including squirel porn.
Feliz cumpleanos, viejito! ;-)
Well Larry, Happy Birthday. I have a (horrible) suggestion for your day: One book review for every year you have drooled, crawled, and walked upon the earth! By the end of the day. Go, Right NOW, bwahahaha!
You are one day after me!!! Ah, so good. I like other Cancer people. :)
Happy birthday, Larry - and Harry too! A brief song, in your honour:
Nelly the Elephant packed her trunk, and said goodbye to the circus. Off she went with a trumpety-trump, trump, trump.
Trump! :D
Happy Birthday :)
Happy birthday!
Happy birthday. And you're still a young squirrel.
Happy birthday! Or, Parabéns, meu camarada! :)
Happy Birthday! Hope you have a wonderful day.
Happy Birthday, Larry.
Thanks for the well-wishes, everyone. It's been a good, quiet day so far. I like to celebrate at least part of it alone, shopping for books, and I got to do so, despite worrying that I wouldn't have my car around until the afternoon.
Now to think of where I want to eat for dinner...or maybe I'll just select carryout. I do want to read at least one of those books tonight.
Great chittering nut-devils!
I thought I'd seen all the horrors that are contained within the abysmal trenches of human existence - as well as those nameless fiends which clutter like blasphemous moths to the cracks between our sleeping world and those of the utter dark, but that is nothing, less than nothing, to what stares back at me from this page: Squirrel god of writhing, sub-boreal terror - smeared with the lurid makeup of a mirth-less, gurning mime troop.
The horror. The horror. And happy birthday to you, dear sir - may you live to enjoy it.
It'll be tough. That squirrel is now beckoning to me. I must heed its call.
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