Today is The 25314’s birthday, so you can imagine its going get pretty crazy tonight as long as I have hookers, blow, some ice cubes, a nine iron, and a buffalo – live or stuffed, preferably stuffed.
But what does a zip code who has everything even ask for on its birthday? WVU football already has the best football coaches incompetence can buy, and I think it’s getting pretty clear that Pat White isn’t going to answer my letters to jump out of a cake as long as I keep writing them with glue and my own back hair.
It’s somewhat of a milestone birthday as I turn 25315, but that’s no biggy, I’ve been lying about my age to uninterested girls for years now. And I’ve been lying to myself my whole life.
It’s a birthday I share with Fightin’ Joe Hooker, Robert Louis Stevenson, Louis Brandeis, Mel Stottlemyer, Jimmy Kimmel, Ron Artest, and the incomparable Vinny Testeverte. A who’s who list of “who?”
So, as WVU has an off week this weekend, I encourage all of WBGV’s faithful readers to send all your beautiful wives, girlfriends, sisters and daughters to the secret birthday layer of the 25314 and then crack open a nice meth pipe and take yourself to a better place. A mystical place filled with WVU scoring touchdowns and calling timeouts at the end of close games.
For birthdays are merely symbolic of how another year’s gone by and how little we’ve grown. No matter how desperate we are that someday a better self will emerge, with each flicker of the candles on the cake we know it’s not to be. That for the rest of our sad, wretched, pathetic lives, this is who we are to the bitter end. Inevitably, irrevocably. Happy birthday? No such thing.
And yes, that picture is isn’t of my girlfriend. But she would be if I had looks, brains, money, power, hygiene, or a shred of common decency.
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