One of the regulars at the bar is having a birthday this week, so everyone wants to get a little party together for him. The guy even took the following day off, as he plans on obliterating his liver and needing a three day weekend to recover.

So T sends a bunch of us an email saying we should get some ballons and cake and shit. I'm thinking to myself the last thing this guy needs are some fruity balloons and a cake. First off, he's an excellent cook himself; and sometimes he'll show up at the bar with a platter full of freshly made hotwings or quesadillas. I don't know about everyone else, but I'd rather have something like that than cake. If we're going to have cake and icecream, why don't we just go down to the roller rink and glide around like a bunch of gayass schoolchildren? Secondly, he's a middle aged bachelor. That motherfucker doesn't want cake, he wants an all expense paid trip to the titty shack capped off with a roll in the hay.

Unfortunately, none of us are willing to do that last favor ourselves nor do we have the combined jack it would take to pay a professional to take on the job. So fucking cake and balloons it is.