Happy Birthday, Mrs. Panty Pants Man!

Today my Fat friend turns into a decrepit, haggard, wrinkled and incontinent 24-year-old geezer.

I remember when Fats was young, vibrant and full of life; back in the days when she could propel her Bass penny loafer from one end of the hallway, past the glass-enclosed library, and into the muddy depths of the tropical atrium with one swift kick. Those ancient, long-ago days in the school cafeteria when she spewed chunks down the front of her Gap overalls to the amusement of the entire student body. Centuries ago, when she could still contort her body into the confined space of a K-Mart shopping buggy and harrass patrons with a swimming pool floatation device, better known as a High-Powered Laser-Emitting Tractor Beam Gun. The forgotten era when her typical response to any authority figure, government official, or parent chaperone was either, "Sucks to your ass-mar!" or "Silas Marner is my babydaddy!" Those nostalgic days of our youth when we honestly believed that liquor was the devil's nectar, consumed only by felons, sinners, and unwed mothers. Things will never be the same.

On this great day Fats is 24, and those childhood adventures will be nevermore. Now she depends on me to change her Depends. And because she is my elderly friend, withered and aged, I oblige. I feed her pre-digested Cream of Wheat every morning, watch Perry Mason with her every afternoon, and ride on the handlebars of her Rascal all the way to Luby's every evening. I also steal her Vicodin and pre-approved credit card offers, but at least I still trim her bunions and give her full body Bengay rub-downs, because that's what friends are for.

Happy Girthday, you fat bastard.

Fats! I'm touched! But not nearly as touched as when I get that Ben-Gay rubdown. Sadly it's the highlight of my day; my withered body sure has taken a lickin' from those days of yore when penny loafer-flinging was the activity of choice. Now I believe I could merely fling a cheap dollar-store flip-flop (you know the kind) two feet from the toilet, where I've fallen and I can't get up. Seriously. Send help. (This message brought to you by the gods of wireless internet.)
Dude is she wearing a SASH? AWESOME!
Wow she is old. And wrinkled. And skinny. Bitch. :0P
Watch your mouth, Mrs. Striz. You should address your elders with respect and not call them bitches, even if they are. As far as Fats the Geezer is concerned, that type of language should be reserved for no-good-niks and Loose Moraled Women of the Night.
God, I'm gonna be 26 in a month, and this DID NOT HELP THE EGO!!!
Well I knew these two whipper snappers long before they could be called geezers and they were hell on wheels. I don't mean just a little twisted... Girls remember cat launching or maybe the creation of the wax museum in the kitchen. Just remember that one day sit and be fit will really be your activity of choice soooooo live long and prosper so you can take care of me as I get closer to the edge of geriatric wholesomeness..... love always mbob
Oh I forgot something happy birthday pumkin...
Hayppy Birthday my sweet pumkin..xoxoxo mbob
happy bday! i like my bdays to be a week long celebration
24? I should be arrested for thinking the thought I just thought.

Happy birthday anyways.
fats, happy berfday. when spoonie runs out of bengay, you need to call me. 8====>
Thanks, everyone, for your birthday wishes! The Big 2-4's gonna be a good one, I can feel it. Thanks for helping to inaugurate my geezerhood!

Hafidinator: Whilst I appreciate your kind gesture, no one can replace my dear fat friend in the Bengay department. She's a real pro.

Metro: Eh?
Nappy Birdie to yooo.
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