Didja notice, Mom, how these punk kids post here? Why, I once had a leg cut off by a combine, stuck it back on, and got on with the harvest! Last year I was eaten by a grizzly and cut my way out with a broken toothpick I found in my pocket on the way down (didn't mention it because you would have worried, Mom). While setting tombstones I battled malevolent ghosts so many times I've lost count, but the customers never complained. Four times I was blown to bits when I was in the Army, but managed to pull myself together each time and carry out the mission. When just a little tyke I was taught to swim by my uncle, who took me out in a boat and tossed me overboard -- getting out of the sack was a bit of a problem when I was that young. When I was eighteen months old my mother dropped me on my head in front of the dairy, and it took me three hours to crawl the four blocks home. When I arrived Mom said, "Oh, it's you."

Happy Birthday, Punk Kid.