Dear Natalie,

For me, birthdays are the one day of the year to ask oneself the important questions about life. Questions such as:

-Why am I here?

-Why was I born in this particular time and place?

-Is there a higher purpose for me, and if so, can I find a way to implement my genitalia in the successful completion of my destiny?

I have long since believed that the type of underwear one wears influences the philosophical stances one takes on life. People who wear boxers tend to have freer thoughts, and people who wear tightey-whiteys tend to possess more moral restriction. ALL immortality stems from the genitals, according to Dr. Robert Kravenkrotch.

But for me, genitals are God’s gift to man (and women). If birthdays are the most beautiful thing known to man, as they represent life and the celebration of it, then genitals are the tools man was given to pass on the gift of birthdays. Maybe that’s why we were put here on earth. To make babies, so mankind can continue to market and sell birthday cards, gifts, and wrapping paper.

I want to die in a ghost town. With a population of zero, it might just serve to highlight the reality that we can bring nothing and nobody with us to our grave.

I want to live in a ghost town. Taking up residency in a town with a population of zero will make me the tax collector, the wealthiest man in town, and the first black mayor to ever be white.

I want to put Florida on the map. Never mind that it’s already on the map. I want to put it there, because I always put things back where I find them. And I found Florida. I just wasn’t the first.

I want to take over a country and rename it Horse. Then I’ll put Horse on the map, because I want to remind people that sometimes you can put the cartographer before the horse.

I want to remind people that there is no free lunch, if three are no people offering to pick up the tab.

I don’t want a free lunch, and I don’t want to pay for lunch. I do, however, want you to pay me to eat lunch.

I want to know the hour of my death. My guess is somewhere between 1:00 and 12:00.

I want to find the men responsible for our current economic woes and say, “Now that we know who is responsible, it is clear that future economic decisions of epic proportions should be left in the hands of the irresponsible.”

I want a rooster clock. Not only do they make excellent alarm clocks, but you can also eat them for breakfast.

I want something that will not only wake me up in the morning, but can also feed me. A rooster would make for both an excellent alarm clock, and a delicious breakfast.

I want to believe that the grass is always greener on the other side, because that’s where all the manure is.

Well, the carpenter came that day. He was a jack of all trades, even if he was named James. Part carpenter, part sculptor, part Irish, part-y animal. I’ll never let myself forget that cloudless day. I had my umbrella, but not a pen. That’s why I’m writing it down now. Otherwise, I probably would forget. It was such a monumental event, the building of that monument to my grandfather. A statue erected to his memory. It was to be taller than him by a lot. I think the final plans called for that statue to reach the lofty height of 5’7”. By sheer stupidity, the sculptor/master carpenter made the final product look exactly like Tom Cruise. The most maddening part was my grandpa looked more like L Ron Hubbard.
I never saw my father swear until that day. He swore he’d never reveal the secrets I am about to reveal to you, as revealed to me by the alien friends L. Ron Hubbard brought with him (my grandpa was the ghostwriter and spiritual advisor to L. Ron).
Basically, the aliens, who weren’t green, but looked nearly identical to Tom Cruise, laid down four rules one must follow to enjoy a happy life. In the years that have passed I have forgotten what the first three were, but the fourth stood out like a man standing on stilts. The fourth secret, the only one that I remember, says, “Remember and follow the first three secrets, and thou shall enjoy a long and leisurely life.”
And what I still think about to this day, the question still pulls at my pants like an infant that has to pee is, “If I were that man who walked around on stilts all the time, would all my conversations be stilted?”

I want somebody to lie to me, and for me to have that lie turn into a mattress, because I’d really love to lie on a lie.

I want to unzip the truth, but I’m afraid the public isn’t ready yet to see it.

I want to write a book called “Energy.” It won’t take that much of the title to read it, but, fortunately, mental power is a renewable energy.

I want to make my “ecological footprint” smaller by having the feet and speed of a cheetah, and the night vision of a dog. In other words, I want to be able to travel 65 MPH and read in the dark without consuming any power source besides Gatorade.