Happy Birthday Larry Keiler

Yes, today is my birthday. Larry Keiler, born Aug. 7, 1756. If you don't believe me go look at my profile.

(Actually, I don't know how 1756 ended up on my profile, but I liked it so much I kept it that way.)

And of course, my altered ego, HWSRN, will be celebrating his birthday tomorrow.

Don't you think it's interesting, that me, the Altered Ego of He, was born before He? How could this be? After all, we're twins, right? Siamese twins, (or, given our Buddhist inclinations, Tibetan twins) joined at the lip. His is thin and sneering. Mine is fat and floppy. Or is it the other way around? Never mind, the only way you can tell us apart is to yell "Hey Bubba!" in a crowded room. The only one who will turn around will be him. Or maybe it'll be me pretending to be him.

My only answer to this thorny puzzle is: amrak! The amrak train arrived a day early for me.

I am like John the Baptist, the voice in the wilderness preparing the way. And he is...not Christ! But he comes to me for the baptism of po-tree. And I throw him in the Jordan and say "Sink or swim, buddy I mean Bubba..."

Mostly he swims. Upstream. He is the salmon. I am the roe. We are inseparable and often indistinguishable because we are identical twins of different mothers.

We are the answer to the question, "Which came first, the chicken or the egg?" The egg. The roe. Aug. 7, 1756. The chicken clucked on Aug. 8. Tomorrow he will crow.

What will I do on my birthday? Perhaps I'll be meek and pliable for the orderlies at the Yoni School. Perhaps I will take my meds without complaint. Perhaps I'll refrain from flicking boogers at the walls of potic injustice. Perhaps I'll begin to spell my name correctly: Lairy.

Or not.