Did you remember to buy gaudy streamers? An insincere card? A gift certificate to some place that doesn't accept them?
If not, you're like the other 6,428,284,782 people on this planet who don't accept "Be Nice to Neil for 24 hours Because He Managed Not to Die for Another Year" day as a national holiday. Travesties aside, this year's anniversary of my bursting inhumanly from the womb, seems to be the most promising one in years. I finished my most recent project for the American Comedy Network (despite it nearly killing me from Flash MX Poisoning) and even more uplifting, I start my job at Soup2Nuts animation studio tomorrow! Yes, this is shaping up to be the year of the Neil, so it would not be unwise to begin chanting my name rhythmically, to stay ahead of the trend curve.
So I bet you're asking yourself, "How can I do something as amazing as be born 24 years in the past?". Not very proactive of you, now is it? Just sitting there asking questions, mouth agape, arms less-than-akimbo, and spine slowly leaking fluid, causing future lower lumbar pain, and a feeling of low self worth, no matter how startlingly accurate. Being that I'm feeling magnanimous, I'm going to share with you my standard answer to this question. "YOU CAN'T! HA! YOU'RE WELL OVER TWO DECADES LATE! MAYBE IF YOU WEEP FOR HOURS ON END IT'LL COME TO PASS - BUT DON'T BET ON IT! EXCEPT FOR THE WEEPING PART... THAT PART WILL PROBABLY COME TRUE - AND OFTEN". For those of you who dislike bad news, and are willing to bypass reality in favor of a less harsh delusion, I proffer an alternative solution. "Send me money, and lots of it - but not Canadian money, unless you want the world economy to collapse". I also accept punches to the back of the skull of the person you're sitting next to, which I surmise will be the next form of currency to appreciate in value. (Shopkeep, give me a pound and a half of halibut - PUNCH*PUNCH*PUNCH*PUNCH*PUNCH - You want that wrapped to go? It's Extra... PUNCH*PUNCH*PUNCH,)
Well, there's a Peanut Butter and Chocolate cake with my name on it (literally... unless the baker misspelled my name as "Neal" again, in which case I'm stealing Neal's cake) so, as they say in... my head... "GET YOUR OWN!"