Happy Birthday Kyle

Today my old friend Kyle turns 25. We parted under difficult circumstances, as living together for three years will do. It all turned sour the time I stole your corn, which left you emotionally scarred and prone to inconvenient lactation. I couldn't take living with you after that night you brought home those two female clowns and the bear cub. The sound was intolerable, the discarded fur was a mess, and I don't want to know what you did with the 2 jars of honey. Sure, the beer was good, but a relationship can't be built around beer alone. I don't miss all the nights when you brought Tom over, leaving me to fend for myself against his frequently exposed hindquarters. And the fumes from your tuna surprise probably knocked 5 years off my life. But then I remember your Enrique serenades, and remember why the hell I had to leave the country. Happy Birthday, biatch.