Some friends of mine got me a sweater for my birthday. I'd have preferred a moaner or a screamer, but the sweater was OK.
I want a room decorated with bones!" Dan said. "Where'd they come from?" "Cemeteries," Amy said. "Back in the 1700s, the cemeteries were getting overcrowded, so they decided to dig up tons of old bodies–all their bones–and move them into the Catacombs. The thing is...look at the dates. See when they started moving bones into the Catacombs?" Dan squinted at the screen. He didn't see what she was talking about. "Is it my birthday?
Nobody gave me what I wanted for my birthday! Nobody! What sort of presents do you call these? New shoes, a green sweater and a bunch of stupid toys!" "What were you expecting?" "Real estate!
It’s my birthday, Horus insisted. Wish me happy birthday! “Happy birthday!” I yelled. “Now shut up!
I've had this look for about a year. I usually grow this beard out around Christmas. I like to go to malls dressed as Jesus, and I like to then walk around the mall and go, 'No! No! This wasn't what it was supposed to be about, people!' Then if there's a Santa at the mall, I walk up to him and say, 'Listen, fat man, you're just a clown at my birthday party.'
Instead of celebrating my birthday, it would be my proud privilege if 5 September is observed as Teachers' Day.
As a child, I always chose a false nose and some face paint and a wig for my birthday.
My birthday was Monday, now I finally get to go home and enjoy it with some Burger King. Here I come baby! Burger King! Burger King!
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