Greetings peasants. Yes, today is my 56th birthday. Yes, it’s also this blog’s — and let me note, I’m still not clear on what a blog is — 10th anniversary. But to answer a question I’ve received repeatedly today:
No. I am not dead. Not yet. And given my access to the finest health care available to members of the upper-upper crust such as myself, not likely to die any time soon. No matter how frequently I gobble designer pain medication and/or boner pills.
Which is to say, very frequently.
Now, while I’m sure the vast majority of you are quite content to spend your birthdays swilling cheap wine and eating the best Chuck E. Cheese has to offer, my refined tastes call for more elaborate measures. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to join a hundred or so of my closest friends (read: Hank Williams Jr. and 99 prostitutes) on my new yacht, the Donkey Punch III.
I’d invite you to join me, but as I’ve explained at length in this forum, I can’t abide poor people. Until next year: toodle-oo.