It’s my birthday! Well, on Sunday. Until then you can dream little dreams of me being 31, but on Sunday you’d better get your shit straight. Thirty. Two. Homey.
So what I’m out of survivor so fast- I didn’t want that garbage anyways. I used Dom P to good effect once in my life: the first time spacebee came to visit my bachelor’s hovel in California. She was like “uh, this is where you live?” and I was like “nevermind that, beautiful, look: DOM P!” As far as she was concerned, it was perfectly normal that gainfully-employed software engineers in California had shitty apartments in back of car washes, yet still owned arcade machines and drank Dom P out of plastic cups. She knew I was baller, and I married her! Now it’s too late for her: she knows that I merely won that Dom P by picking football games like a pro; it had absolutely nothing to do with my gainful employment.
So anyways, it’s my birthday. I’m gonna celebrate it the only way I know how: with scotch. Come to think of it, how did I celebrate birthdays before scotch? A dark period in my life, folks.
Go Packers! Beat the Bears! Beat the Bears!