It was my birthday!

I didn't really celebrate as the mess and stress of the rest of the jests of november and december got a bit much. There wasn't any space in any weekend. Therefore I have moved it to january. We'll see whether life is more friendly to my personal celebration of the earth spinning round the sun once more. Darn it, if it wasn't the little planet that could all over again.

(I stole that sentence).

I still got to have a most excellent day, though. With nice gifts, playing WoW and doing nothing useful, scotch, cigar and diner. Yay! There should be more days like that, right?

I was happy.

In other news ... my dad's in the hospital again. I wish him loads of well ...

In yet other news, this time of the more comical variety, at least; I think so:

What do you do when you're a professional athlete with a contract worth 35 million dollar, 11 of which is guaranteed, you're having an okay career with occassional scuffles and a little injury time just enough so that your team has its eye on you? Well, what do you do?

You go into a nightclub and you shoot yourself in the thigh with your illegal glock .40 of course, ensuring that the whole sport's world looks at you and thinks you're a huge dick for not actually knowing what the hell a safety is even if it is bloody obvious you at least know the word because safeties are those people that ram you down whenever you have the bloody ball.


I though it before and I'll say it now: the Giants should never have won last year's Superbowl. Obviously they're really too stupid. Althought that has never stopped any american, ever ...

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