Birthday, Besmirchday, Rebirthnight. El Conclusion.
Arriving at the party, I play air guitar. Or simulate something disgusting... to the delight of the audience.
"You're gonna die I swear it's so funny - You're gonna die. What? Tuh Huh Huh. No, I don't like marshmallows. They make-a-me sick. They make-a-me queeeeasy. Eric? Al? Robert? You got any marshmallows?"
Not many pictures at the party.. camera quickly forgotten. Certainly no evidence destroyed, or anything like that. That thought should definitely.. what thought? Exactly. Arriving home, disrobing, we meet up with T.J... and Corey gives himself a hand.
(the model in use in the above photo - front and center)
Turning 29 causes large wrinkles to appear on one's outer cheek areas. Facial cheeks. Especially when holding small animals. Ones that appear to be extremely pleased by being held.
... (Meanwhile.. earlier that same day...)
Pat eats birthday brownie while Corey urinates on an invisible Fire hydrant.
Who eats Brownie? Pat.
And fittingly, under the watchful office of a sombreroed San Diego chicken (who raising his arms, emphatically, gazes proudly heavenward in praise of the moment), a monkey rides a hen.