Today is my birthday.
While I support your petitions to your respective employers to get the day off, to celebrate and observe this day, I accept that it’s probably not gonna happen.
(If it makes you feel any better, I’m not getting the day off, either. My bosses are short, ill-tempered, and one of them barely speaks English.)
But if I was going to have some big, rockin’ party today, I’d want to celebrate with other folks whose birthday is on February 6. And it’s my fantasy party, so who cares if they’re already dead? I imagine it would go a little something like this:
First, I’d stop and have a drink with Babe Ruth.
Not a huge fan of baseball, but if my research (i.e. watching the movie The Babe, starring that loveable teddy-bear, John Goodman) is correct, dude liked a beer. Or many beers. And since I’m probably late for the party, as is my way, I probably need to catch up, drunkenness-wise.
Then, I move on to Zsa Zsa.
So much wisdom to impart. Teach me, Zsa Zsa. Teach me how to marry rich, and marry often. How to wear false eyelashes, and not let them wear you. How to bitch-slap a cop, when cornered.
Next, I sidle up to Francois Truffaut.
Quite honestly, I’m just hanging out with him cause he ups my cool factor. If the Babe and I had enough beers, I may complain to Frank that “The 400 Blows” was not was I was expecting from the title.
is all “Rahr! I’m a genius! Gobbeldy, gobbeldy, blah blah blah!” And no one cares.
thinks Axl ought to chill. And that there’s not enough Cheez Doodles at this party.
But they’ve saved the best for last.
Because the awesomest person born on February 6?
(I never stopped loving you, Rick. Really, I didn’t.)
I dance my ass off, make out with Axl AND Zsa Zsa (awkward) and then pass out in a pile of Cheez Doodles. Happy Birthday to ME!