I tried to come up with a compliment you would like, but wouldn’t make you uncomfortable.  Happy birthday, you hairy bastard.  Let me keep thinking.

Whenever life has got me down, I just remember the 28 “F’s,” which start with “Fortitude,” a good one to remember.  #12 is “Floss.” Quite helpful.  #28 is “Funions.”  The first 5 are the only really inspiring ones.

I was going to get you one of those pricey juicers for your birthday, but you know what they have now?  Juice.  For, like, a dollar.

You should call your mom on your birthday and have a nice long conversation about your life.  Hurry up now. Your birthday’s not going to ruin itself.

I tried to schedule your birthday on my new smart phone, but I think I accidentally rerouted a fleet of merchant ships back to the Philippines. Sorry I missed your birthday.  (And sorry there won’t be many coffee makers on the store shelves for a while.)

I wonder if angels have the option of playing an instrument other than the harp.  Though, I guess a drum machine would need an extension cord.

If you have the kind of morning where the air is cool and the birds chirp and land on your shoulder and the squirrels and bunnies rub their sleepy eyes and nuzzle at your ankles, then my wish for you to have a good birthday was totally misinterpreted.

If cats could talk, and gave a crap, they’d wish you a happy birthday.

I saw a sign that said ‘Free Kittens,’ and I thought, “yes. Yes they are.”

I bought some of that ‘lip plumping’ lipstick.  I must’ve gotten some on my ankles.

I once touched an iguana.  It felt like chicken.