happy fucking birthday, biscuit. to the warrior and the chef, to the lion with the belly laugh and the big bear hug. to the city’s most fashionable queer boy. to the wine drinking, tough talking, souffle perfecting, wall painting, cheesecake eating, story telling, ROCK STAR EXTRAORDINAIRE who’s just idly trimming his claws before he jumps out to take over the fucking world.
to bee pie and elephant parades, to rice pudding and corned beef hash but not necessarily together, to arguing over who gets the best imaginary apartment and threatening each other with bunting. to aviator sunglasses and pleather pants, to the latest stripes at express and the dubious double-polo trend. to discussing sex over cheesecake and eating pizza over buffy. to always being told to SLOW DOWN and always knowing when to tell me to SHUSHA YOU. to OMG and WHEEE and ALSO and I KNOW. to laughing it off, living it up, and loving us all.
thanks, biscuit. happy fucking birthday. hippo. fucking. birdie.
I could eat him up! SO cute.
OHH EMM GEE HOLY COW YOU RULE SO HARD I CAN’T EVEN SAY HOW MUCH. OHH EMM FUCKING GEE. TRA LA LA LA LA!!!
I mean, like SERIOUSLY. You fucking ROCK the SOCKS off of my FACE and then the SOCKS go running away across the OCEAN and then JUMP over the ALPS and get all MUDDY in the RICE PADDIES in CHINA and then they ROCK ALL THE WAY across another OCEAN and then they HIT ME IN THE BACK OF MY HEAD.
see people? SEE WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!? WHY I LOVE HIM!?
Krissa, Biscuit–damn glad to have met ya.
Now that you know me, you’ll have to invite me to the next pizza and Buffy night. I’m getting Season Six any day now.
Holy @#$%! You people have PIZZA AND BUFFY NIGHTS? How have we not met sooner in life? Can we watch the musical episode over and over? It never gets old.