Happy Birthday, Cracker!
You still have no taste in fooball teams. The Condoms over the T-Bones? The Falcons? WTF?
Sorry about sending Dog 2.0 to break up you and your then-girlfriend in mid-shag. Sorry, too, about sending Milquetoast to break up your bongathon, while I was out on a very important DUI (Leafhunter= Curbhunter with exploding leaf piles)
Sorry that every car you ever owned was a giant POS, even if it didn’t make it in the book (Omni, ‘68 Cougar, Celebrity, Lumina, I know I am missing a few). On the Cougar, what can I say: “you fucked up, you trusted me.” Who would ever think that buying a car from a car wash assistant manager (on my recommendation) would be a collosal mistake? Oh, and about Dog 1.0 biting you below the waist? I SWEAR I had no involvement. I was asleep. Mom will back me up on that.
So we’re OK now, right?