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The purchase of yet another Batman novel was met with barely any mockery. Apparently my dragging home the comic books and the graphic novels and the novelizations based on comic books and DVR'ing the Justice League & old episodes of Batman: The Animated Series and talking on message boards and drawing a satirical cartoon about Smallville have finally made their way into the mainstream in our household.

List of birthday demands:

- everyone must get drunk
- everything must be cheesier
- all cute boys must go shirtless
- vat of whipped cream full of tootsie rolls must be delivered to my mouth
- plus ice cream
- or ice cream with vodka
- just the vodka
- just pour it in my mouth already
- why aren't you shirtless?

I do not believe I'm being unkind when I say that this dance closely resembles something someone from Satan's Alley thought up while they were drunk and/or high and/or had their legwarmers bunched around their ankles.

You kids do realize that you look like the tourette's afflicted lovechild of Bob Fosse and Napoleon Dynamite, do you not? For the choreographically impaired, here are the steps:

"Jazz hands, Jazz hands, Grand Mal Seizure, Jazz hands."

Today I'm just not having it.

Any of it.

Overtime, the Tigers losing, working weekends, my DVR deciding not to record Supernatural, the appalling lack of rice krispie treats in my house... it's all not working for me.