They Call the Windbag Michael

Life's little game rolls on. I awoke this morning to see another birthday. Hurrah for our team!

I debuted at the Georgetown University Hospital in Washington, District of Columbia. I really don't recall much about it, except some guy slapped me on the ass. He hardly gave me a chance to catch my breath. Why, I never!!

My first doctor -- obviously, he couldn't wait to make some money off of me -- states on my birth certificate: "I hereby certify that this child was born live on the date stated above at the hour of 10:31 a.m."

Thus, the pattern of life began. I slept in.

There's also no mention of Tigger slippers. I must've left them at Mom.

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