40

As of today, my age is a pentagonal pyramidal number, a Størmer number, and the atomic number of zirconium.

If I had left Egypt with Moses the year I was born, I’d just be arriving in the promised land, and if I were Mozart, I’d have been dead for five years, and if I were a beer, I’d be wrapped up in a paper bag, sitting on the curb.

I suppose the classic American response to this turn of events and calendar pages would be to buy a little red sports car, but I’m going to wait for 3B to become a child prodigy in something and buy for me what my father always wanted me to get for him…well, perhaps a slightly newer version.

Until then, I’ll settle for this mini concert, in the theme of me. Well, except that last one, which is for a Foghead on a Friday.

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  • Have a happy one!

  • You’re 40? Crap, that’s old. We;ll have to celebrate with some Metamucil shakes.

    Happy Birthday, my friend.

  • How could you possibly be that old? Happy Birthday!

  • Happy 40th, my friend! I’ll be there soon too. Save some Metamucil for me.

  • Thanks all.

    Steve: You’re on. Can we make them Metamuciltinis?

    CAGirl: I know…if I’m 40, you must be 27.

    MD: With hair like yours, you can’t even be close, but we’ll save a Metamuciltini for you for when you come down to a Mets-Nats game.

  • Dude, I gotta start writing these things down. Happy Birthday!

  • Happy Four-oh! Isn’t 40 the new 30 or something like that?

  • Amama: You know that when you have to start writing things down, you’re getting old, right?

    VDaddy: It is the new 30…without benefits.

  • Happy Belated four oooooooo
    I have to rub it in while you are still older than me. Tomorrow I get older too!!

    Now we are all 40 something

    Hope it was happy!!!