Cake provided by Les at Nuking Politics
It’s that time of year: National Hippie Punching Day! Also known as Frank J’s birthday!
He’s what, 16? No, he’s older than that. I think. Yeah. I’m sure he is. Whatever the number is, I know it’s a prime number.
Well, age ain’t nothin’ but a number. And however young or old Frank J is, it’s still appropriate to punch a hippie in his honor. So, get to it. Punch a hippie. Or two. Or 37. Whatever feels right.
But, you know what? There are more ways to celebrate Frank J’s birthday than punching hippies. You can read a book. Or two. That’s what I’m going to do.
But what about you?
Yesterday, you told us what you thought Frank J would be doing for his birthday. Today, you get to tell us what you’re doing.
Go!
There aren’t a lot of hippies for me to punch here in small-town Iowa, particularly because the small college in town isn’t in session, so I think that I’m going to finish mowing my lawn.
In preparation for yelling at the kids to stay off it, no doubt.
Of course. I have a birthday coming up, too, and it’s a perfect square, rather than a prime number. It’s bigger than forty-nine, so I’m planning on becoming a grumpy old man.
“It’s just a job. Grass grows, birds fly, waves pound sand. I beat people up.” -Frank J.
…in honor of National Hippie Punching Day, of course.
I’d like to make a comment but it’s the weekend and I’m going fishing.
I’m recovering from MY birthday, yesterday!
Happy birthday, Frank. Now blog.
Who’s Frank J. and why should I care about his birthday?
I don’t see any points given for sucking up the boss. Therefore, I’m out.
(P.S.: I will say, thank God one of his personalities created this site.)
Meh. Birthdays are less exiting when you 7 of them a year.
So it seems that you all have assumed he was born. I want proof!