mom...

You probably aren't reading this mom, mostly because the last (and first) time you saw this blog I told you never to come here again and threw a hammer and a glass of really hot water at your laptop but just this once I will make an exception. As you know, mom, well, my birthday is coming up. We both know I don't ask for much... Okay, sure, there was that incident with the police in Burlington, VT but we cleared that up 'no questions answered', remember? Yes, I know you are getting me a new set of tires for my automobile even though you clearly know I don't like driving safe. Why else do you think I drove that car around with an expired inspection sticker for four years?! Mom, I just took a dump in the kitchen. I know you're worried but don't be because the place I live now has a toilet next to the stove. And you wondered why I have to move out at the end of the month. Granted, the three paper towels I wiped with that are currently clogging it may be an issue but we'll let someone with a college degree worry about that. Anyway, I'm here to make a special birthday request. I know you have given up on asking me what kind of birthday cake I would like since I stopped caring about that eight years ago but I've finally decided on what I want. From now until every single birthday from now I would like a birthday cake based on the movie Fargo*. This year we can start simple. I'm envisioning a white sheet cake with a small fence going through the middle of it with a miniature, bleeding Steve Buscemi on it trying to bury a bag of money. You know, under the frosting. On the opposite side of the fence you can have big red block letters that say, you know, like "It's your birthday don'cha know? Ooh yeah?" that are somehow written in a North Dakota accent. Bakers can pretty much do any accent these days, not like the bakers they had eight years ago. Those fucking clowns wouldn't know the difference between Frances McDormand's favorite brownie (hallucinogenic) and William H. Macy's favorite donut (muffin). Thanks mom, you're the best! One of these years I'll remember your birthday, I swear!

*or until probably two years from now when I will then put in a request for desserts featuring only Anton Cigurgh or Walter Sobchak.