By:  Herb McPherson

Mailman's Log #473291

Birthdays are like dollar store underpants.  They're itchy and fall apart in the washing machine.

Unfortunately, I have recently experienced such an event.  It was a slightly casual affair of birthday-esque proportions.  It started with a pleasant breakfast and a call from my boss concerning where I've been the past two weeks.  "I've been searching for a person inside me that resembles a man almost similar to myself," said I.  He was so amazed by my profound words that he promptly hung up.  I'm assuming he saw the true wisdom of my words and decided to plant a tree, or perhaps get high.

I knew that he, like myself, would spend his day to the fullest.  I decided the day would be best spent by watching a Growing Pains marathon while eating some of the birthday cake my mother so lovingly made for me.

It was a lovely cake too.  In the shape of Robin (of Batman fame), it was sure to be a crowd pleaser.  It's too bad I had to ruin it by eating most of his head and the greater part of his groin. 

After watching several entertaining hours of America's favorite television family, I soon grew restless.  Rising from my sweaty semi-leather recliner, I decided to make some phone calls.  My stubby -- yet nubile -- hands flipped through the phone book and found some phone numbers of the people that would be most interested in the celebration of my birth.  Disappointed to see that Tony Danza was not listed, I hurried to find the next candidate that would be happy to join my in my birthday endeavors.  Damn!   Liza Minelli was unlisted as well!  Fie, fie!

It was then that I realized that so few real celebrities care for my antics!  Sure, the "glamorous" young folk of today enjoy my quaint charm, but what about the people that really matter????  I chose to vent my anger and depression by devouring the rest of my grinning Robin cake and passing out on the bathroom floor.

Oh, cruel world!  If only life could be as wacky and charming as the Seaver family makes it out to be!