15. March 2073 - 19:00 till 23:00

Steve's not-quite Birthday Bash!, US, Wednesday, 15. March 2073

**** 2016.

...but you've all heard that one before.

And you'll echo in chorus because of the loss of various celebrities who you've never met who have nonetheless contributed greatly to your enjoyment of the arts, film, music, etc., and I'll nod and agree (except I totally made eye contact with Carrie Fisher once) and that's great and all, but I lost my dad in 2016, and that is a powerful loss.

It's a hurt (level of hellish torment?) to which a frightfully growing number of you can attest, and I feel ya, friends. I feel what you're going or have gone through, Jude and Ginger and Chad and Heather. I know now how hard it is for Joe and Matt, Ed (MtFBWY), Doak, & the Joe who isn't on Facebook. Vicki had a scare. It's been the roughest year on my record for certain.

We are becoming orphans. Then there are a few who lost

Even.
More.

I - no words. My pain pales in comparison.

That above misery compounded, I cannot begin to count the number of Grandparents and aunts or uncles that are now not with us. Eugh, a euphemism crept in and I fricking detest those!

There are more of you who grieve. I'll add a few names later as I think of them, but no tagging, because engaging in that game would make someone a dangerous It. (Now superstition, who the **** am I???) Friends, with each loss of yours my heart goes out, and mine is felt afresh. Insta-teary is not a skill I or any of us require offstage.

So, what do we do?

This is what's occupied me of late. These are the elipses to which my faculties and grey matter have boomeranged, which is totally a legitimate word, as I've fought to reclaim my physical and mental processes, find all my mirth, and renew all custom of excersize, speaking of which 'bro do you even?

Now I can turn back to the worlds of these wonderful people who go slap with their words into a little 'lectric box and tiddle and plink as their keys and strings go lyric-symphonic and that helps. For a time. For awhile, or a nonce.

And so I'll return to my thinkings and my cycles, and start several (dozen) sentences improperly as I ride the lift to the top of the peak, or is it the elevator to the scaffold of my heart?

Whichever. ****'s getting too ******* poetical, and the point is there needs to be a point.

Here ya go: I hate funerals.

You do too. We're all fuckin' sick of 'em, so I've decided I'm not having one.

I'd much rather have a party, a lifetime bash if you will!

I envision it as a "This Is Your Life" / Festivus Airing of Grievances by way of a Friar's Club Roast hybridization, and you're all invited! I just can't bear the thought of everyone mourning the loss that is me, being all teary-nosed and snotty-eyed after I go (wait, strike that, reverse it (or maybe not)), so I'ma thow myself a top-notch shindig where we can all reminisce the good times and settle up for the **** that went down.

(which was all totally your fault btw, so nyeah!)

I know how the courses of such human events go, and how not everyone will be able to attend and other backpedalings, so I've given ample time to prepare. Seriously, check the date again. I'll wait...

See? AMPLE TIME. No excuses people!

So what's the catch? No catch, save maybe a tiny one. This Event will remain and be updated, possibly to humorous end, if I can manage (Ooh - Note to self, get that Joe Piscopo holodeck program up and running -SL.) I'll use it to help plan, and you may post and invite folks and probably extraterrestrials by that time as you see fit.

Right. So what's the catch? Bring along a creche of embarassing stories about moi, or something to pass, like a game or a dish (I'll still prefer redheads) or a drink or some gas. We'll toast ****** '16 as a hazy memory of some dim past.

Yeah, but What's The Catch?

I'll be there. You'd better be.

Wednesday, 15. March 2073, US, Steve's not-quite Birthday Bash!

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