Happy 21st Postday, Blog!

Yeah, alright, I don’t have anything particularly deep (or ostentatious) to write about today, so I picked a title that’s self-promoting. (Surprise!) Here’s a little birthday card I’d write to my blog, now that it’s old enough to drink.

Dear Wyltie,

Happy frikkin‘ 21st dude. Know it felt like a long time coming, but I hope it’s worth it. Remember when you turned 18 and you thought it was gonna be SO GREAT to be able to buy porn & cigarettes? Then you realized the Internet doesn’t check ID, and buying cigarettes is like lighting perfectly good money (for porn) on fire, then swallowing the ashes so that your lungs still get that tar-coated freshness & youth-destroying cancer. Well, turning 21 and being able to legally buy alcohol (and ALMOST rent a car! can you believe you’re almost old enough to be able to RENT a CAR!?) will be a let-down too. It’s the same scenario really, except wasting money (for porn) by swallowing it (on fire or not) & getting a little tipsy may actually get you laid, which means it wasn’t wasting porn money at all – it may actually be a smart investment.

Here’s a little tip your Great Uncle Roger passed along: buy alcohol for your friends, especially the female ones – assuming you’re not going free-agent over to the other team – because buying alcohol for just yourself is like buying yourself TWO plane tickets to Paradise just for a little extra leg & elbow room. You’ve got your ticket, you’re in your seat just waiting to, er, lift off, but you need a companion for the flight if you really wanna explore the destination. And who makes the best travel companion? A drunk chick.

So Happy 21st Postday, Wyltie. It’s been great watching you become the blog that you are, and I know that you’ll do great things. You’ve got pithiness, verbosity, AND hesitant self-promotional tendencies laced with codependent guilt complexes. A chip off the old writer’s block. (rimshot)

Take ‘er Easy From Behind,

N. Bitouine-Herrbreasts

Lesson #1

You aren’t in college any more, and you can’t go out and drink 9 beers and 3 shots in 2 hours. Makes you wake up in a puddle of your own frothy drool. Then you lay on the couch and watch Rachel Ray try to cheer up the entire world with an EVOO-covered panini-salad-yummo-pasta-grill-seasoning parfait. Your fiancee takes even longer to get out of bed, and when you both have type-a personalities that lead to Weekend Task Lists, you get stressed when sh!t doesn’t get done… and then guess what? You need another drink. Learn anything yet?