Birthday Boy

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My biography in one panel.

I am so adept at wasting time that I can’t even get up a post about my birthday on my actual birthday. Yes Monday, April 5th, was the day, not just for me but for Bette Davis, Spencer Tracy, and Gregory Peck. It’s a big day for big names. Also, apparently, for procrastination.

So how did I celebrate my anniversary? At half past midnight on the sacred day, I got out of bed to pee and managed to step on my glasses and break them. The very first thing of the very first day of my 66th year. I refuse to regard it as an omen. I had been thinking for a while I needed a new prescription for the glasses since the world has been steadily getting fuzzier and fuzzier. This just pushed me in the right direction.

Hot Foot, Drum Stick (aka The Children, I decided they needed jazzier names) and Super Agent Fred had come over the Saturday before and we went up to the rooftop garden for scones and champagne and lots of chit chat. It was more low-key than the swelligant event it sounds like, but it was lots of fun.

And now tomorrow I get my second shot. Quite a birthday present. I’m sort of surprised at how thrilled, excited, and pleased I am to get all the vaccination behind me. Shoot ’em up baby.

Anyway, you just get old and birthdays are no big deal. This one has had everything I wanted and then some. Thrills, chills, shots, and scones. What more could I want?

And now birthday suits:

Hey. Get off your phone and get on my dick.

It’s been sunny, but chilly here in San Francisco. I look forward to more basking temps such as Mr. Fat Dick here is enjoying.

I like your jock. Did your granny crochet it for you?

I was talking to Miss Lady Girl Thang and I told her, I said to her, I sez, “Honey, that choker doesn’t go with anything. Not just anything you’re wearing, but anything in the entire universe.” Honestly, she’s a mess.

So I was hanging out with Pepper Spray and I had to tell her, “Honey, you can either wear Burberry plaid or those hideous patterned stockings, but you can’t do both.” Bitch is a walking dumpster fire.

This is my ideal birthday present, if you’re still wondering.

Crisp white sheets and a big muscley ass, that’s what we like. Amirite?

Oh. Hello daddy.

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

16 responses »

  1. I ignored the bit where you said your Champagne chit-chat was “low key” – In my head, it was akin to a Royal Garden Party, only much less stuffy, and the waiters wore suits just like the ones in your pictures (except Miss Lady Girl Thang and Pepper Spray, because they are just trash – Those two were loitering on the pavement/sidewalk down below).

    P.S. Whoever got you that birthday present has exquisite taste!

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  2. You got your second jab appointment, but better get your glasses sorted first. I foresee a “Mister Magoo” misadventure in the making here.. Jx

    PS Happy birthday! Ditch those two trashy queens; they’re nothing but trouble.

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  3. Your glasses had nothing to do with the world getting fuzzier and fuzzier — the hair salons and waxing parlors were closed due to the pandemic! Anyway, Happy Birthday you old scalliwag!

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