[rift] a slightly crazed announcement

[PUBLIC]

Dear Chicago,

If not for my sister's angry telephone call at midnight and the accompanying song reluctantly sung by her and my very best of friends (that ended in "asshole"), I'd have forgotten or ignored the fact that today is my birthday.



I demand cake and sacrifices in my honor.

~JUST KIDDING~

No but seriously, someone better bring me some fucking cake because so far this birthday SUCKS. Who the hell wants to be 100 years old?

Yeah, I know I didn't tell any of you, so don't feel bad about not getting me presents. That's not what I'm pissed about. I don't want shit I'll never wear/read/use/need. (And don't be mad at me, Richard. Sorry in advance for not telling you and you finding this out only via the journals etc. It's just something I didn't want to think about and it is my sincere opinion that birthdays are stupid.)

I just want cake. Seriously. With heaps of buttercream icing, please. So I can continue down this slippery slope of aging and get appropriately fat and lazy and gray-haired like I'm supposed to and die with all of Scotland HATING MY FAT, ABUNDANT GUTS.

This is my birthday song. It's appropriate. Enjoy it and the schadenfreude contained within.

Get baking, people.

Love,
Fletcher