It's My Birthday

...well, not exactly...
There is a guy I work with who reminds me of John Wayne without manners. He is just a big, drunken, loud-mouth slob who doesn't even know he has his foot in his mouth. Now, if he could only find homes for his other limbs in various body orifices... I think you catch my drift.

He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but it just goes to show you money doesn't buy class. His own kids can't stand him.

Anyway, this drunken loud-mouth has "find-a-credit-card-expense-account-holder-o-meter" attached to his head. That would be me. I swear to goddesses, I could be 1/2 a world away walking down a street in Timbuktu and he would pop out of a tavern, knock me down with a bear hug, and invite me in for 'just a little drink.'

The story is always the same. He announces it's his birthday. That's my cue to pick up the tab and put it on my expense account. So far, this guy has had a birthday in February, June, and September. The story is so pathetic, I find it amusing.