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And I didn’t get him anything. I bought some bacon at the store and made him cook it and we ate it and then I threw up and I was a wimpy shit laying on the floor, bloody vomit all over my face, and I made him bring me water. I wrote him some stupid little note, not even a card, and I expected that to be enough. Well, to be fair, it has to be enough, because that’s all he’s getting. Bacon, bloody vomit, and the chance to watch a few minutes of iRobot on my tiny television and crack a few jokes.
But this guy, Tim, my best friend, I just don’t think I can express adequately how important this guy is. I have a recipe box with handwritten recipes of my own. Tim’s recipe for fried chicken is in my box. Tim and I would both laugh and make bone in box jokes right now. One day my son brought back hamburgers and mine had cheese on it and I was near melt down because of a slice of cheese. I was going to cry. But Tim scraped off every bit of melted cheese for me. I have cried in front of Tim the way you only do when you’re sure you’re alone.
And did I mention that he’s brilliant? Well, he’s brilliant. Not only is he quick in conversation, but he happens to be one of the best writers I have ever read. I am waiting patiently for the day he writes his first novel so I can stand next to him and watch the masses of women throwing their literature loving panties at the guy. I believe in him so much, and his talent astounds me.
So, it’s not like this is the world’s best birthday present. It’s actually sort of lame. But, why don’t you go take a read: This post is one of my favorites. And I’m not even going to say “Help me wish my friend a happy birthday by reading his blog.” Instead, do yourself a favor and start reading. He’s really damn good.
I love you, Tim. Soon enough our Echo Park X-box playing will be a reality.
Man, this guy is a fucking genius. Everyone should go read his blog immediately or they will die of genital warts.