F*ck you and the birthday cake you came in with

Today is a special day at the offices of the Cerebral Itch Scratch Pad; it's the 40th birthday of one of our editors. He prefers nobody really point out the fact that he's approached his fourth decade of life. So much so, a few of us have been up all night on a sort of suicide watch with the poor son of a bitch ever since we caught him in the server closet with a plastic bag over his head, a stack of porn and carmina burana playing on his iPod.

He's a really nice guy that cracks everyone up including the few dozen of our readers who actually get his references. He supposedly lived quite the life before he found his way to our little universe. He served in the Mexican army as a special forces sniper and pastry chef who's lived in countless cities of the world laying waste to the hearts of beautiful women all while penning a few Hemmingway-esque tales that would be eventually ripped off by the likes of Sebastian Junger and David Sedaris.

Some of his exploits are legend around here. He's got this one story about literally making Muqtada Al-Sadr pee his galabiyya with laughter by doing a crappy Carol Channing impersonation in front of him and his buddies. Apparently before Al Sadr became the crabby Shi'a rabble-rouser he is today, he was a huge Hello Dolly purist and premiere show tune singer in his local madrasa. He also likes to tell the story about how one night at the Playboy mansion led to his first and third marriages. The second marriage is a sore subject however; something about Paris, boobs, booze and a complete lack of judgment.

But what really bummed him out this year was the fact that he finally Googled who he shares his June 14th birthday with. That was a tragic mistake considering the following:
Che Guevarra, Donald Trump, Yasmine Bleeth, the guy who discovered Alzheimers and Florence from the Jeffersons.

Then again, for someone who thinks they're sliding down the ass-crack of life, that kind of discovery will definitely shove you in a server closet with a plastic bag over your head, a stack of porn and carmina burana playing on your iPod.