You know who you are, oh temptress of brisket. You know what you do, being the corpsey-est corpse in corpse-ville. You know how I hover, o're the table of munchies like a vulture who circles o'er Conan in "Conan the Barbarian" when Schwarznegger is strung up to the "Tree of Woe" and the birdies swoop down on him and he has to fend them off until his buddies arrive.


You know who you are. And deep down, I hope that you know that I love you for who you are, and who you've been, and if I'm lucky? Who you continue to be. Mentor, Confident, Gentle-supporter, and the best part?

Friend.


Happy B'day Redwright!