Who's birfday is it?

Davy Crockett's? Mae West's? Belinda Carlisle's? Antwaan Randle El's? Well, yes, but they're not of whom I am speaking. I speak of Comrade Conrad, patron saint of homeless Pittsburgh ex-pats, the bi-coastal aliurophile and the Mrs. Patrick Campbell to T.O.C.E.'s George Bernard P-Shaw.

T.O.C.E. adores him because their two brains communicate like radio waves, so they're often listening to the same song at the same time in two different states. Also because she once saw him flex his buttocks muscles in a pair of man tights.

I respect him because The One Called Conrad goes out of his way to worship cats. We like him so much that sometimes, we just move in without prodding. Take his two girlfriends, Rod and Stewart, who climbed through the window of his ocean front home just because. Now that's the new world order in motion, people!

So senior, feliz cumpleanos. I didn't buy you anything, and if T.O.C.E. did, I hope its returnable.