Dad is 7 in dog years

Dad had a birthday and he is 7 in dog years. He's very pissed off because he only got three birthday cards and one of them was from BMW. The car salesman from BMW in Burbank sent Dad a birthday card even though he doesn't really know Dad.

Dad had a birthday dinner at La Boheme, a restaurant in West Hollywood and we didn't get to go because of the ridiculous hygiene laws in this damned country. Why we can't go and eat with our family on Dad's birthday is beyond me.

The laws are all wrong. Our friends Graham and John can't get married because they're gay and we can't go to our own Dad's birthday party but murderers are allowed to get married and violent crazy people are allowed to buy automatic weapons. We're allegedly too filthy to walk into a restaurant but people are allowed to dirty up the entire air and whole rivers. I fart on these law makers. I blow out my most virulent farty wind right in their face, in the direction of Washington DC.

Dad brought home a little white box called an IPOD and Mom is now obsessed with downloading every loud and noisy thing they own so that they can bring the loud and noisy screeching to France in the little white box. These people waste a lot of time putting bullshit onto smaller and smaller techno-gadgets instead of running in the canyons or sitting in the sun. I love them, but their priorities are off.