Yes, another lame birthday thread. If you don't like it, go participate in any number of other threads.

 

For the rest of you, let's wish a happy birthday for our young writer. Baley, I'll have a glass of wine and toast your years on the rock tonight. I know. I know. You think these threads are lame also. Too bad. God Bless you anyhow!

One step closer to adulthood, I guess. Have a good time Baley.

Well now that you're officially old enough to get laid Baley, be sure to stay away from the coquettish GhostofAnakin.

Haha. Baley ftw.

 

He'll probably go off on some rant on how birthdays are yet another symptom of a diseased humanity or something.

 

Oh, and if you have to ask, yes I totally see you as noseless bald person.

Happy birthday, Baley.

I hope you get that pony you been wanting.

 

 

Don't eat too much icecream and cake and get a stomach ache like last year. You remember how bad that was? You remember?

He was probably drunk too, so my guess is no.

Yay short term memory loss!

Have a good one, man.

Edited August 5, 200619 yr by Pidesco

Happy Birthday young writer. May your paths take you places you want to go and see places different from the ones you don't want to see

 

Happy B-Day!

 

I'm drunk, you dhould be too.

Yes, you dhould be drunk.

 

 

 

Do I have congratulate you? I mean, it's kinda obvious I'm happy for you without going to any verbal lengths.

 

 

HOORAY!!

*draws breath*

 

Happy Birthday to you

Happy Birthday to you

Happy Birthday dear Baley

Happy Birthday to you

 

Ok, where's my drink?

Have a good one, Baley!

Why are you guys wishing him a happy birthday and what not? Have you all forgotten what an elitist jerk he is? How he goes from thread to thread belittling everyone? How he acts like his opinion of music and movies is better than everyone elses? He doesn't deserve your "happy birthdays"

Happy B'day B!

 

Gee Pixies, way to dampen the mood.

Edited August 5, 200619 yr by Petay

Lol

Aw, your birthday will be here soon, Pixies, and we'll make a thread for you too. Don't be jealous.

Well, happy birthday Baley.

Happy B-day you poor bastard ^_^

Happy Birthday, BigB.

He'll probably go off on some rant on how birthdays are yet another symptom of a diseased humanity or something.

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Only for you, babe.

 

 

What's always disturbed me about birthdays, what truly awes the mind and baffles the soul vis-a-vis this East-European connection with a now rotting former Pope, is the expectation factor. We're expected to have a good time, smiles on our faces and sunshine on our lips, filling the world with our most candid inner joy, just because, incidentally, our dear mothers decided to vomit us unto this world a few years back, well, bollocks. We're expected to calmly sit, on our freakish chairs, with all these dirty little people raving about their dirty little lives right in front of our eyes, middle of the room, hot summer day. Look, hun, I don't give a damn about your son, his paralysis, your lack of pesos and bad tit job, yes, they're ugly, malformed, please, just get 'em out of my face. What I want to do is spend some quality time with that one mythical person I actually care for, me. Yes, I want to be alone, sipping champagne, listening to Liquid Swords and smoking a pack of lights a real man would never dream touch. But of course, what we need talk at this late time of day is the decay of modern culture, started not long ago by those icky WASPs and their mates, the suave Frenchies and loud-mouthed Krauts. Now, I ain't a sourpuss chatting you up, looking for love, I ain't a revolutionary calling for a new way and then changing my mind, putting on a suit and dedicating my life to number-crunching and the ole' 666 striperoo, nor am I a woman, a lady or a racist sniveling pig dressed in the finest Russian wool. What I am is, frankly, aging. And part of me hates it and part of me welcomes it and part of me thinks how fat my ass looks in the pinkish Jeans my grandma just gave me. Gifts have a real way of cheering you up, eh?

 

Or

 

To those that still, with open eyes, condemn the sun for the treachery of the moon, please understand that birthdays are the scepter of Satan, polished by his animated spit, the fires of Nevermore, dancing, tingling, pulsating sensations in our fermented trouser. The evils of man have long corrupted hell and redone it in their image, the transformation of water into beer is but the first cry of the old wooden oak, named God, who's battle once over is now reborn. I do not wish to make you understand, no, I do not wish to make you feel or see or even hear, what I want is the affirmation of the condemnation of Fascism in all its forms, birthdays, kisses, sex, they must all go for man to enjoy spiritual kindness in the face of an ever-changing world, the physical must be replaced by the spiritual for us to survive as a species, culture and civilization. Abolish the laws of man, destroy the bridges separating right and wrong, vomit your barfed regurgitations of Shakespeare on coke, all that is, now, as we approach the final century, is hate, and hate is spawned through our reproductive organs, thus we must separate them from our bodies and bathe in the platonic glory of love. Fire unites corporeal kindred. From now to eternity.

 

 

How he acts like his opinion of music and movies is better than everyone elses?

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And literature, and, well, art in general. Maybe life too, I'm sorta torn on that.

 

 

Oh and, down, Muppet man, down. Ponies are so 2 years ago, I actually rode one once, a great achievement to be sure.

Happy B-day you poor bastard ^_^

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Ditto