It was my Birthday, yesterday -- not that you noticed. No cards, no letters, nobody even hit up my secret facebook page! I don't have a single comment on my wall! What the fuck, people?
Maybe you should think sometimes, okay? I'm fifty two years old. I don't need a lot for my birthday. I'm not asking for aything fancy (though I've been looking through the Rolex catalogue lately... pretty nice), frankly, I'm at that age where I don't really know what I'd ask you for anyway. All I want for my birthday is a little acknowledgement.
"Hey Osama! Happy 52!" Would that have been so hard? "And you smell like one too! Just kidding, man! Happy B-Day!!" That would have done the job. But nothing. Nothing.
Maybe if I'd gotten some birthday wishes, I would have changed my views on the whole "death to the capitalist pigs" thing. You think of that? I mean, probably that wouldn't have happened, but you don't know that! If Barack had called me up, "O! Heard it's your birthday. Wanted to wish you a good one." I wouldn't have declined the call. He could have called collect, I'd have accepted the charges, okay? I would have accepted the charges.
It makes a man want to blow up buildings.