Get wiggy wit it!

Why is it always the bald kid who wants to throw wig parties? Whatever. Johnny Mac can certainly confirm that there are stranger things to do on your 40th, but the rest of us with hair indulged Kojak's birthday wish.

Angie and I are a lot like Superman and Clark Kent. Angie would of course be the geeky, shy one with glasses and a candy bar name, but the point is - we are never seen in the same pub at the same time. At least not since we started procreating like Mormon bunnies, but what the hell would they be doing in an Irish pub anyway? Doesn't matter - for Damo's 40th, we cashed in our AWESOME Christmas gift that we got from Ute - a voucher for a free night of sitting on our babies. Did you say free? Well, hell - sign me up twice.

When Angie and I walked into O'Reilly's, I had to spend fifteen minutes explaining to the lads that I wasn't cheating on my wife with some tart.

'You idiots, that tart is my wife!'

Angie shot me her patented 'you're an idiot' glare. What?

To avoid answering rhetorical questions, I mozied over to the birthday boy and started warming up for the dart championship.

You would think that playing darts at someone's 40th might label you as anti-social, but that would also label you a woman. The super-man in me thought it was freakin' awesome! Damo had organized an entire 'boys night out' motif. Wii games, darts, pool, porn - man, you're the coolest old-timer ever! I'm still not sure how the wigs fit in, but then again, I have hair.

Middle-aged men can apparently throw some mean darts even when they're happy. Damo won the dart tournament and was quite happy with himself. Sinead showed up with a kick-ass buffet to feed the winner, which led to yet another shit-eating grin.

You know what - if you're so freakin' happy, why don't you just print it on a t-shirt and announce it to the world? Oh, I see - never mind.

Mr. Happy wanted to make the ladies happy as well. I normally buy flowers, but birthday boy apparently goes for the second date straight away.

Yes, Angie is grinning like the village pervert over a framed picture of Damo in his birthday suite. Note to self: no more flowers for the tart. Note to Damo: get a bigger leaf.

I'm secure enough in my masculinity to admit that Damo's self-portraits were hot, but after years of cohabitating with Angie, I've been conditioned to associate 'hot' with stupid people setting things on fire. Luckily, it was only a birthday cake and Angie was busy ogling Damo's centerfold.

After the frosted fire cake, we made Mr. Happy grin again by giving him an ostridge egg.

I never said it was difficult to make the guy happy. If I had been given the dead seed of a large flightless bird, my birthday shirt probably would've read 'Mr. You Suck'. Whatever - after having my ass handed to me in darts by Mr. Happy, I was not exactly Mr. Sensitive.

Being Mr. Ass actually paid off big-time in the pool tournament.

That's right. Now I was Mr. Winner - how do you like them apples? I searched the cheering crowd for my groupie, only to find Angie doing things to cardboard cut-outs of Johnny Chung that I've only seen on the Internet.

'Why you little tart! How could you possibly choose cardboad Johnny over Superman in a wig? Didn't I mention my trophy?'
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Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I played with Davey Play-Doh.
David: When I makin' Play-Doh.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When I have the hiccups.
David: When I played not more with the Play-Doh.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To get rid of my hiccups and go to kindergarten 'cause I want to play there with my friend Frieda.
David: To play with Peter animals.