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Yesterday, before work, I was walking over to a local diner to get some coffee. I had my iPod earbuds in, blaring "Disposable Heroes" at peak volume. Some homeless dude made smoking gestures at me. Since I believe in smoker's karma, I gave him one. He looked like he'd slept in a dumpster, except for his meticulously red-painted fingernails. He looked me dead in the face and said in a very earnest voice, "I saw your sister. She's not dead, she's alive, you know." Okay.
Then after work, I wandered into a superdupermegamondomart and saw this on the shelf, and bought myself a present.
Happy Birthday to the junk food king! Here's wishing you years of twinkies, ho-ho's, moon pies, doritos, cheetos, booze and beer - may all these good things be yours in the future!
Strangely, I think the concept of smoker's karma is lost in these days because while people are being very generous with their lighters, they are less so with their cigarettes. Or maybe that's just how it is around Washington Square Park, near where I work. It could be an entirely different thing on your avenue.
I'm in flu mode, other wise I'd hoist a few in your honor. In stead, I'm putting on some Dictators to celebrate your birthday out here in the Midwest. Happy birthday.
Happy Birthday, Brother Jon!
We'll Rock until our hearing's gone,
Drink until our livers fail,
And laugh until we slip the veil.
But ere we flee this fleshly jail,
We'll keep the poseurs off the lawn.
For those about to rock having their birthday, WE SALUTE YOU!
I'm going to play the Ramones all day to celebrate. Later I plan to go outside to bum a smoke and engage a random stranger in surreal conversation in your honor. Following that: beer.
photo by splunge
photo by TheophileEscargot
photo by Kronos_to_Earth
photo by ethylene
