Steven is my oldest friend, no pun intended. We only went to school together for a single year and we weren't even in the same grade, but if I ever wake up covered in blood with a trunk full of dead hookers, Steve's my first call.
He's also, come Friday, a hemiseptuagenarian. Anytime he fills out a questionairre for the next 16 years, his pen will hover longingly over the 18-34 box, before grudgingly checking 35-50. There is no box after that for ad people. There is only the merciful release of death.
When Steve and I were kids, it was customary for the birthday boy or girl to receive "paddywhacks" from their friends. For anyone who doesn't know, you had to crawl on your hands and knees between the legs of a gauntlet of classmates eager to slap your ass and scream "PADDYWHACK!"
Does this still happen in schools? I'm guessing... no. Which is a shame, really, as I can't think of a better way to:
1) Encourage children to explore the S&M lifestyle
2) Incite violence against the Irish
You see it too, right? I mean, the refrain from This Old Man might as well be knack-knick, punchamick. I can make these jokes because I'm part Irish. Unfortunately, reading them makes you a bigot.
Happy birthday, brother.
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