"Happy 61st birthday to me! It happened November 3rd. You'll never guess where I went. ENGLAND!
"I'm a retired librarian with a pension. I can go anywhere. I arrived in Blackpool on November 1st. By the 3rd, I was acclimated to my surroundings. The gutter. I hadn't been able to find my hotel. Once I did, things only got worse.
"Oh, I was expecting the same kind of good time I had a week earlier at the Chiller memorabilia show in New Jersey! Watta show: I got to sit in a prop dune buggy used on "Lost in Space," take a photo of me with the prop robot from the show, and prop myself up against "Lost in Space" kid-actor Billy Mumy! Yes, I did so many keen neat things a person over 60 would do!
"But my latest excursion? The only good thing was the price on the hotel. Since it was close to off-season I did get a bargain rate. I didn't bargain for other things, like a tumble down a flight of stairs! This is ME before I fell!
"OOPS!
"Can you guess where I was? In a post office! I know it doesn't look like one. What kind of a country cuts back on services to the point where the town post office is moved to the basement of a really bad bookstore?
"I need to buy a stamp. I wanted to mail a picture postcard with a rare photo: Blackpool with the sun shining.
"Needless to say, it didn't happen while I was staying there. Don't think I can't put up with a little inconvenience. Cold, gray and dreary? That's my wife! Yes, it's also Blackpool in November.
As I walked along the street I heard somebody mention a "chipped body." What? Insulting me? They were talking about a fatty load of potatoes housed in a thick crust. That STILL could've been me. But it turns out it's spelled "Chip Butty." And I thought that was another child actor I should have my picture taken with. I could've sworn "Chip Butty" was on the TV show "My Three Sons." Or he wrote "Angel of the Morning.
"Have I digressed? Yes, my underwear IS moist.
"Well, this crazy cuntry has a post office in a department store. That would be like America having a hospital in the basement of a Burger King. Although that would be a logical place, considering the possibility of food poisoning. What's next, a police station inside a public toilet? Well, considering the number of poofters around, that IS a good idea.
"Ooof. I digressed again. It's seeping through my pants now.
"In order to get down to the post office, I had to pass a bunch of obnoxious pests harassing every incoming customer. In a store like Macy's or Bloomingdale's employees offer perfume samples. Here, at this horrible WHSMITH, they let poofters and twats raise money for sex change operations so poofters can have twats. WHSMITH gets nothing out of this, except maybe a discount for any of their poofter employees who want to exchange a small foul prick for a fresh twat. You know, a nice hairless one, like the Shauna Cuntwell model.
"Anyhoo, when I walked in, a bitch demanded I stop and give her money. She wasn't even in a D-movie. I did NOT want my picture with her. As I walked away, she passed a remark. Worse, she passed gas. Her poofter friend giggled and lisped, 'Whoops, my dick usually smells that way after a night with the boys.' Both were having a good time. I called out "KNICKERS!" And if they'd been black, I would've called out...oh, I better not say!
"I was so distracted that as I went downstairs to the post office, I fell. Fortunately I landed on my stomach and bounced back up. I sucked in my teeth (which were all over the floor) and continued to the 'queue' as they call it. I waited so long I finally shouted, 'I just want ONE FUCKING stamp!' Well, the woman in front of me with the high heels, gave me one hell of a stamp and broke two of my toes.
"I finally did get the postage onto my post card. I hobbled over to that big red square thing with a long slot, and put my postcard in. That's when I heard Darren Lock say 'Here, why did you do THAT? Get that postcard outta my gob!' Oh Lord. It was my fat friend from Two Toothpicks and That. I was about to shake his hand, but who needs warts?
"It turned out he was the drunken loudmouth who had kept me awake half the night in the hotel room next door, raving about wanting a coffee break or something. I realized he was the one who sat next to me at that darkened theater the night before. 'You were rattling your bag of chips all through the first act,' I told him. He said, 'That wasn't a bag of chips. I was wearing plastic leak-proof underwear and I couldn't get my balls comfortable in them.'
"I wished Darren lockjaw, and was glad to take a bus to a train to a train to a bus to another train and bus and that got me to Holdgate. They didn't tell me how long to hold it. A saw a conductor who said "Stanton Long." And I said, oh, only about 20 minutes, but I would like to find a place to sit down. He helped by knocking me on my arse. After another bus and train and bus, I was in Hampton Loade. A conductor looked at me and said "What a load." I said, "Is there a town nearby I can stay in for the night?" He said, "Yes, but I don't think Highley of you." He was a neen savage. I did finally get home, obviously. I know because the governor of New Jersey declared a day of mourning.
"Well, it took me several days of jet lag, but I finally was able to write all this down and let you know my latest news. I'm still dizzy but that's New Jersey's air quality. I still might sue WHSMITH for negligence. And then I'll sue Victoria's Secret for negligees, but that's another story, and NOT a pretty one. Let's just say that if you think New Jersey stinks, just go to Blackpool and Hey Where's the Post Office Street, and try to mail a fucking postcard!
"'What a horrible birthday!' Which is what my mother said 61 years ago."
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