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The Worst Birthday Party Ever Posting Date: Sep 29 2008 12:23AM When mom told me we were having a birthday party, I thought it was going to be awesome, but then I learned that the party wasn’t for anybody good. It’s a party for dad, which is pretty lame, if you ask me.
How can you have a birthday party for someone turning forty?
How many forty-year-olds do you see whacking piñatas? How many forty-year-olds do you see eating money cakes with ice cream? None, that’s how many. What’s the point of having a birthday party if there isn’t going to be a money cake?
Mom even said they were going to eat dad’s favourite supper – something called feel-lay mean-young. Sounds Chinese. You can’t have Chinese food at your birthday party, so that’s another problem right there. The only special day you’re allowed to eat Chinese food is on New Year’s Eve because everyone has to stay up late to watch television and kiss people and for some reason, the Chinese food people are the only people who are at work. I almost always fall asleep before midnight and mom has to wake me up so I can see the New Year, but it never looks any different, so you gotta wonder what the point of the whole thing is.
One time, when I ate Chinese food, there was a staple on one of the chicken balls, but I ate it anyway after I picked off the staple because I realized it wasn’t from anywhere bad like an infected staples and chicken factory, but instead it was just that little staple-handle thing they have on the lid of the tub that the chicken comes in and the staple-handle just came off by accident, so it was clean and everything, so I could still eat the chicken balls, but that wasn’t on New Year’s Eve.
I told mom you couldn’t have a birthday party without hot dogs and she said she would make me a hot dog but no one else and that didn’t seem very party-like to me, so I started getting even more suspicious. I started asking questions to figure out what kind of party we were going to have.
“What’s in the loot bags?”
“There won’t be loot bags,” said mom.
“Will there be a clown?”
“No, your uncle Jerry is out of town,” said mom and she laughed like it was a joke or something.
“What kind of ice cream will you have?”
“We’re not having ice cream. We’re having crème brulé. Your father loves it.”
I hate crème brulé. I don’t see what the big hairy deal is. You can’t buy one from the Dickie Dee man and you never see crème brulé with “Happy Birthday, Dad” written on it. Never. Crème brulé sucks as a birthday dessert. In fact, not having birthday cake at a birthday party is like not having birthday presents at a birthday party, which is probably an idea that mom’s considering for this stupid dad party.
“What games are you going to have?”
“There won’t be any games at the party,” said mom, “unless your dad gets frisky afterwards.”
OK, that was just gross. I’m pretty sure that was a joke about sex or something and people who are forty years old shouldn’t be having sex because they should just be going about the business of getting old and forgetting all about having sex and leaving that to people like the people on that video that dad got for mom on her birthday with the pizza delivery man and the woman who likes hot tubs and doesn’t wear any clothes in the kitchen and screams a lot for reasons I don’t really know about but I’m pretty sure they have something to do with sex which is what “frisky” means where you’re talking to kids and you’re a grown-up, unless you’re talking about the cat which they sometimes call frisky, too, but only if she’s climbing up the curtains with her finger nails.
Now pizza, that’s an OK birthday food, so if the naked pizza man came to my house about the time of dad’s party, that would be cool. |
