Thanks, everybody, for being nice to me. I feel better. You know. Ish.
Anyway, I had no time to gab with my 6,000 pets, because
I know! And nice gettin' your drink on at noon, there, Bub. It's not just his birthday, it's his binge day.
We all got up with each other to celebrate this momentous day: me, Dick Whitman and his drinking problem, Dick Whitman's sister and her partner, and DW's mom.
I asked DW's mom to tell me the story of when DW was born, and that is how a 52-year-old man found out he was adopted. No, no.
DW's mom said there was a giant snowstorm the day he was born, and they took her to the hospital even before she was in labor because ambulances and such were not going to be able to get through. So she went there as kind of a preemptive move because she was two weeks overdue and lo and behold it was a good thing she did because out popped DW.
Anyway, once DW was, you know, born, his mom looked down at him. "Oh my god! That's the biggest penis I've ever seen!" she said. She was really concerned. How was he going to be able to even walk with that thing?
"Ma'am. That's his umbilical cord," they told poor drugged DW's mom.
DW's family left and he and I went to Reynolda House, which is a fancy mansion and garden and so on owned by the Reynolds family. Today they were having an exhibit of photos of fancy grounds, and they had Edsel Ford's home and grounds on display. I wonder if Edsel Ford looked anything like Edsel?
Did I ever mention that the Whitman is a professional photographer? Maybe one could have waited for him to email me actual good photos of our day, but I have other fish to fry. I am a busy executive. And other things that are so not true.
Anyway, happy birthday to the Whit, man. And thanks for letting me come along on your special day. With your giant umbilical cord.