Happy Birthday To Me.

Here's to 34 rage-filled orbits around the sun.

And, really, thanks to all the f*cktards without whom none of this rage would have been possible.

People who cause my blood to boil just by looking at their f*ckin heads on TV.

That means YOU Jon Bon Jovi.

And YOU Indian cricket team.

And YOU Holland foopball team circa 1990. I mean, geezus, you're like a f*ckin ALL-STAR F*CKWAD XI of petulant, over-rated turds.

Meanwhile a big yeehaw to my peeps and a confession that, yes, I would wreck Britney Spears. And not "oops-I-did-it-again" schoolgirl outfit vintage Britney either.

No, I'm talking Miss Skankfest 2008, drug-addled, psycho-flip-out Britney.

I mean, we all know that's why Dr Phil was offering to "help her out". From what I read (or made up, I can't remember) the dirty perv even tried to get the cameras in while he psycho-stalked her in hospital.

He's a man with a plan, I gotta hand it to him. Take advantage of the poor, misled, VULNERABLE young thing.

Too bad, Phildo, I already wrecked that.

But why, Chov, why I hear you cry...

Why? Because I'm a winner that's why, and it's just what winners do.

So Happy Birthday to Me.