Part Deux
Today Steanso turns 33. I have not yet sent him a present thanks to a weird combination of events and the fact that I have a new policy of refusing to send a present unless I have been given a decent idea of what the presentee might want.
Well, Steanso, your present is now sitting on the floor of my office. You'll get it when I locate a box and get to the post office.
I am sure you will, once again, make the most of another year here on Planet Earth and bring the smallest amount of shame to our family name as you can muster.
I know this year had been frought with challenges. The loss of a job and subsequent selling out for benefits and job security. The loss of Hobbes. The Steanso-v.-Satellite Television battle. Your shameful bout with illiteracy. The restraining order. Your epic battle with E.D.But you made it through it all with flying colors. And we expect you'll do it all again and with your usual panache.
You're more or less my brother, and while I wouldn't normally claim you, we look enough alike that the resemblance makes it hard to deny any accusations of shared parentage. And so I guess I just want the world to know that, here, on your 33rd Birthday, you're not the total disgrace Mom always insists that you are. And no matter what she says, people can overlook the fact that you smell like an old bag of Doritos.
So Happy Birthday, Steanso. Again, my gift to you is my full support that one day you will, if you're lucky, kiss a girl.
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