“dude srsly. what up. u r lamez. COME BACK TO THE INTERNET.”

-Sweetney

Hellzapopping, my peeps. THE GUILT. I have THE GUILT.

For the past [rustle rustle rustle] too-freaking-long, I’ve being buzzing along, with this nagging, chronic ache in my belly. An ache that said, “Sommmmethinnnnng… izzzzzzzz… wroooooonnnnng.”

But you know what I said to that nagging, chronic ache?

“Yo! My homey! Chill! Everything is GROOVY. I’m just busy. All cylinders firing, know what I’m saying? I’ll get back on that horse [Cut to shot of bleached horse skeleton in the desert, single tumbleweed drifting by] soon enough. Cool. Your. Jets.”

Yes. I really said this. And then I punched that nagging, chronic ache in the arm. Like a drinking buddy. Or second cousin.

But things… As they say — THINGS HAVE COME TO A HEAD.

I HAVE THE GUILT.

DAMN YOU, GUILT! STOP EATING MY INSIDES!

YEEEEEEEEARGH! MY PROCRASTINATION! IT GNAWS AT ME! LIKE A SECOND COUSIN, HUNGRY FOR PIE!

…

Oh. By the bye, it is My Lovely Wife’s birthday today. Shout-outs are appreciated.

As is, as always… pie.

Thanks to everyone for your effusive good wishes on my birthday. I had three pieces of cake, so we’ll chalk yesterday up in the win column.

I did try to convey to My Lovely Wife to sheer brilliance of the song I composed yesterday.

Alas, even in the face of a truly admirable effort — involving many hand gestures and suggestively waggling eyebrows — my conveyance failed miserably.

However, later in the evening, as we were relaxing on the couch, I heard her voice quietly singing:

Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday to you,
You look like a monkey,
Aaaaaaand… ummmm…

[Pause.]

You live in space and wear pants.

I looked at her and said, “I’m gonna blog that.”

She said, “No you’re not.”

Ha.

Shows her what she knows.

A song.

I am old
I am old
But my belly
Is full of cake

So I won’t
So I won’t
Explode in a
Blinding rage

Re-reading that
Re-reading that
“A blinding rage”
Is a wee bit extreme

I typed the words
I typed the words
Before I thought
And now they’re here

(Did you know?
Did you know?
That’s how I write
Most of this site?)

One year older
One year older
But I still have
My girlish figure

Actually
Actually
A girlish figure
Would be creepy

Especially
Especially
In combination
With my hairy chest

(My Lovely Wife
My Lovely Wife
Would mention here
“And hairy BACK!”)

In retrospect
In retrospect
I ain’t got
No complaints

But I am
But I am
Far too lazy
To hit Backspace

So now I must
So now I must
Leave it there
Tangential debris

Let’s return
Let’s return
To the subject
Of the cake

It doesn’t suck
It doesn’t suck
To be awoken
To a cherry cheesecake

Cherry cheesecake
Cherry cheesecake
So many syllables
I can’t sing that fast

The song is over
The song is over
Didn’t you hear me?
The song is over

Time for some math.

A number of Earth orbits ago, the Earth’s planetary count of My Lovely Wife was incremented. This had some very important ramifications.

Where the Earth is represented by E, and Earth orbits are represented by B_day, and the Earth prior to a specific (but unrevealed) value of B_day is represented by E_boring, and the Earth on and after a specific (but unrevealed) value of B_day is represented by E_awesome, and where the Earth’s planetary count of My Lovely Wife is represented by C_MLW, we can come up with some very interesting facts.

When C_MLW = 0, then E = E_boring
When C_MLW = 1, E = E_awesome

When E = E_boring, then the qualitative value of E is sucky, where sucky is a constant value that doesn’t do anyone any good.

But… when E = E_awesome, then the qualitative value of E is frickin’ sweet, where frickin’ sweet is a value that grows exponentially as B_day increases.

Therefore…

Today is My Lovely Wife’s birthday and she makes the world an exponentially frickin’ sweet place to be.

Birthday wishes (and slagging of my mathematical acumen) may commence in the comments…

… wait for it…

… now.

And because My Lovely Wife was utterly horrified by my improvised Birthday serenade to myself this morning… I will of course now share the lyrics of this destined-to-be-a-classic with you, my trans-fat-free readers:

Happy Birthday to me,
I dri-ink my pee,
It tastes like weak tea,
I’m allergic to bees.

Thank you. Thank you very much.

…

Three items to note:

1. For the record, I do not actually drink my pee nor am I aware of whether or not my pee is redolent of weak tea. I leave that to others to discover. At their peril.
2. I am not actually allergic to bees. Wasp stings… yes. Which cuts down heavily on my wasp-sting cookie intake.
3. My Lovely Wife horrifies frighteningly easily. Just watch her eyes when I dance. It’s quite heartbreaking.