don't worry guys....this is the REAL birthday song.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
First Annual
One year old, eh?
Call back when you're eighteen and maybe we'll have something to talk about.
This was but a prelude.
Oh, and a special message to our dedicated readers overseas:
Try commenting once in a while, you communists!
...we just want to know that we are appreciated...
The Analul Rear-End Report
There it is. There it fucking is. The all-time stats of Centaur Sleepover. Don't ask me why it says May 2010. I don't know. Maybe we didn't count until then. That's probably right around the time Whofleck started shitting artistic gold on Sundays, but who knows. It has been, continues to be, and will be quite a ride. A lubeless buttride. Thanks to Pheewrap, Poop Snacks, and Whofleck for all their hard work. Thanks to Jaybro for her sporadic disinterest. Desperate Pickle is dead to me, and he's the drunk relative who shows up with a gas-station present to offer his estranged bastard niece. We'll be cordial until you soil yourself and try to wipe yourself with the cat. Again. I'm kidding. I love you. I miss your salty green crunch. I'm sorry. Shit like this is what the comment section is for. Not that you would know what the comments section is. OH YEAH I JUST GOT ALL PHEEWRAP ON YOU. But seriously, if you live in other countries, help me cream my pants by commenting. Even if it's just "Hi, I'm Sven and your blog sucks." Even if you're just fucking with me. I'm so lonely here. All I have is a green backpack full of Jack Napier VHS tapes. I'm a fucking child. So Happy First Birthday, Centaur Sleepover. I should have drowned you in the sink when I had the chance.
Happy Birthday, Centaur Sleepover
It's your father. I just wanted to say Happy Birthday. Congratulations on turning 1. Your mother and I have had our differences but I'm back now. JUST BECAUSE I MOVED TO CALIFORNIA DOESN'T MEAN I DON'T LOVE YOU. Your aunts and uncles have done a great job taking care of you. But Daddy's back now and he's bringing legal California weed to the birthday party.
I love you.
Papa's back and he's got a brand new bag.
Of medical marijuana.
Love,
Desperate Pickle
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