I started an entry about how old I will be as of 9:01 a.m. tomorrow containing lines like “When Mozart was my age he was dead” and “I am twice the age I was at which I first had sex [solve for some value of sex]” but it just got more and more depressing and I was about to scrap the whole thing and start from scratch, but then I realized the one good thing that matters so much more than all the other depressing things:
Tomorrow I will be eligible to the office of President of the United States.
So I’m totally going to run. Obama and Clinton and Edwards can eat my dust. Kucinich will be my vice president. No, scratch that; Susan Sarandon will be my vice president. Madonna will be my Secretary of State. Christopher Hitchens will be my Secretary of Education. Or maybe Rosie O’Donnell? George Eliot will be my Secretary of Education; I’ll have the Supreme Court find a way around the she’s-dead thing. Jane Austen can be Secretary of the Treasury. I’ll eliminate the Department of Homeland Security and in its place I’ll establish a Department of Petty Revenge–oh, wait. Okay, my dog A. will be my press secretary. And everyone who has ever displeased me had better watch the fuck out.
But what about E.S.???
If there was ever a reason to want to become an American citizen it’s this – so I can vote for you.
Well, that and not having to worry about being deported if I lose my job…
Happy Birthday, Sadie.
run, faustus, run! hell, you can’t be any worse than what’s running out there now. on the other hand, you are a damn sight better than what already occupies washington!
Sorry darling, but I simply cannot vote for someone who intends to have more than one Secretary of Defense. The squabbling (and you know it will be inevitable) does get on the nerves so. Such a shame too. After all, you have balanced out the fucked up years of your life with actual years of fucking. That’s when true maturity begins.
JamesR: Obviously, he’ll be first lady.
Andrew: When I’m President I will issue an executive order forbidding your deportation.
David: Aw, shucks.
anne marie: You’re very kind, but given the shrieking horde of demons that governs our country at the moment I’m not quite sure how meaningful this praise is.
Lee: Crap. I fixed it.
happy birthday you horny goat.
Happy birthday, my dear. If there’s room for George Eliot and Jane Austen in your Cabinet, surely there must be room for Virginia Woolf. How about Secretary of Health and Human Services? And Kylie Minogue should be your ambassador to the U.N. Oh sure, she’s not a U.S. citizen, but that’s a mere detail.
I would have tried to please you, but you didn’t give me the chance.
Oh, and Sunday’s my birthday, and somehow I’m still older than you. How did THAT happen?
I would vote for you, birthday boy, but are you sure you’d want that job? Probably not the best choice of careers, all things considered.
Anywho, have a happy birthday and many more!
Happy Birthday, Faustus, MD.
I beg to be your most humble and obedient servant.
Dearest Faustus, please peruse the following excerpt from Plutarch’s life of Julius Caesar and take heart.
“It is said that another time . . . after reading some part of the history of Alexander, he sat a great while very thoughtful, and at last burst out into tears. His friends were surprised, and asked him the reason of it. “Do you think,” said he, “I have not just cause to weep, when I consider that Alexander at my age had conquered so many nations, and I have all this time done nothing that is memorable.”
of course that that was when he was in his mid twenty’s, and you are a little older than that.