I'm 37. I don't count the two years I spent in the Turkish prison.
Where's Brian's big bash gonna be? I could make it back to Auld Reekie in time for a Rose Street pub crawl. My apologies if you're not from the capital.
When I get to the point where I'm reminiscing about tinfoil drives, cheap candy bars, child labor and vaudeville (or on my sixty-eighth birthday, whichever comes first), I hereby demand that you come to my house and hang me from a fucking sycamore.
------------------ En la tierra de ciegos, el tuerco es el Rey.