Thirty-eight years ago, under a moonless night of the winter sky, a baby was born. He was the 7th son of the 7th son and he was destined for greatness.
Okay that's total BS. Thirty-eight years ago today a baby was born in the bright sunshine of early morn. He was his mother's second son, hid father's first. The baby's dad had two sisters not six brothers. And as far as destiny ... the boy was destined to be fat, hairy and deathly afraid of lettuce.
Thirty-eight. Not a milestone year I suppose but one I am looking forward to none-the-less. I choose to believe the next 365 days will be filled with love laughter and friendship. And of course a book deal. Given that the Means claim the world is gonna end 2 years from today, on my 40th B-day I plan to live it up.
Actually, I don't put much stock in the Means prediction. It appears to me their world ended longtime ago.