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Happy Birthday To Me, You Idiot

Guess what? You already shoulda known.

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It's August 12th. Guess what that means? I'll give you three guesses. Oh, wait. No, I won't. I'll give you zero guess. It's my birthday, and you should have known that already. Happy birthday to me, you idiot!

If you didn't know it's my birthday, why are you at my house right now? Did you forget it's my birthday or do you just not believe me, you little dumb-dumb.

Well then, let me prove it to you.

I know it's my birthday because I'm sitting at a table with a plastic bib that says, "Three Cheers for the Big Boy," around my neck. And guess what's sitting right in front of me. Yeah, that's chocolate cake with vanilla frosting spewing from the layers. And "Happy Birthday, Harry!" is written on that cake in some fancy-shmancy navy blue frosting, and the frosting's got glitter all up in it.

Yeah, that's right. That's my favorite flavor. And that's that's my name. Written in my favorite color, sparkling like it's at a cheerleading national championship. And now it's in my favorite mouth: mine.

How do you like them apples?

You better hate them apples. Because it's my birthday, and I hate apples.

But I love cake. So, I'm not just eating one slice of cake like some ninny. No. I'm having two slices. Nice big slices. Not like those slivers you ask for. Get out of my kitchen with your stupid slivers! This is a big slice home. Hell, I might even go in for a third slice, you idiot. And I might get a sugar high and then crash in a bit and take a little nappy-wappy. But I don't care! You know why? 'Cause it's my birthday, you butt!

Still not sure it's my birthday? Then, I have one simple question for you: what's this magician doing here? Yeah. You heard that right. There's a magician up in this spot. And this dude just pulled a fuzzy goddamn rabbit out of a top hat like he's some mystical Abraham Lincoln who'd run out of places to keep all his rabbits.

Do you need more evidence? Well, I got it: What's up with this Dora, The Explorer mylar birthday balloon then? How come I'm wearing a suit like mamma always said you should wear on your birthday?

How do you still not believe me? This is ridiculous! Yeah, maybe I am crying. You're being super frustrating.

But guess what? It's my birthday, and I'll cry if I want to.

I'll slam my bedroom door if I want to, and then I'll weep into a pillow and wonder why you're being so mean if I want to. I'll come out of my room if I want to and eat another piece of cake if I want to. I'll get out of the house to cool off for a second if I want to. Then, I'll ride a tricycle to a 7 Eleven if I want to and ask a stranger if they'll buy me a 12 oz Slurpee if I want to. Because I love Slurpees and today's my birthday, so there's no way I should be paying for one on my own but you're too big of a dufus to offer!

You would cry too, go to your room too, sob and leave your room too, eat a fourth piece of cake too, leave the house and proposition a stranger for a Slurpee from the seat of a tricycle too if this happened to you.

And you can call my mom if you still don't believe me, you idiot. She was there for the whole thing.

Wait, that's my mom's car outside.

Why is my mom here?

Hold on. Dave's walking up the driveway. Why is Dave here? I haven't seen that dude in a while.

Wait, is this a surprise party?

Damnit, I hate surprise parties.

Seriously. Cancel the surprise party. It's just my birthday. We don't have to do anything for it.

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