Birthdays


Every year, there comes a day that everyone, young and old, looks forward to: the dentist.  You know what I mean, the soothing touch of metal against your teeth, the delicious taste of artificial fluoride forcefully being pushed into your mouth, the compassionate words of the lab technician or whoever it is working there when they tell you that you have four different kinds of oral diseases and if you don’t brush better, your teeth will all fall out.  (I think that you’re just talking about yourself.  I actually enjoy my trips to the dentist.  I schedule them bi-monthly. Why are you so weird?  It’s what you eat.  If you didn’t devour your toothpaste instead of brushing your teeth with it, I might be a little more normal.)  No, in all seriousness, I don’t actually enjoy the dentist. (I think they understood that.)  I was talking about birthdays.  The birthday can be a magical thing.  If you aimed to be a billionaire by the time you were thirty and you actually are a billionaire by the time you are thirty, you feel a deep sense of satisfaction and pride.  Then again, if you failed to meet that goal and you’re living out of the back of your Toyota Camry, (Hey, why do you have to discriminate against the Camry?  It’s a solid car. I discriminate against it because you own one.  Fair enough.) your birthday can also symbolize failed goals and just overall failure.  Yay pessimism!  But now, I have a special shout out that I’d like to make.  There are some people in your life that you look up to.  There are some people in life that you try to impress.  Then you have my father.  I’m just kidding.  He’s an overall solid guy and despite his best efforts, he does manage to possess some swag at certain times.  You see, tomorrow is his birthday and he’s turning 23.  He also has an incredible amount of money to accompany his fifteen-pack and incredible personality. (That was your birthday present.  Do you know how much your reputation just improved?  It’s true.  One time he beat me with a stick and then all the girls wanted to talk to me.  Because he touched me. Did anyone ask you?  Go back to your cave.)  Papa, happy birthday!  You’re the best and I love you so much.  Stay chill.  (Cue the swooning.)

 

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About julian822

This blog is informal to say the least. It's almost like an online journal, filled with stories that I find funny, interesting things/links and anything else that comes to my mind. Enjoy.
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