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.

Nothing.

It makes a man want to blow up buildings.