Pickle.

 


Hey, Tom.  Remember how you're turning 17 today?  Yeah, don't worry.  It's blowing my mind, too.

I just wanted to say, I think you're mildly to moderately awesome.  I don't even know how you come up with half of the stupid and hilarious things you do, or where you get the material for all your jokes.  It kills me.

Thanks for playing baseball all these years so I could have an outlet for all the pent up emotion I apparently have.  I think you're so hot when you wear those baseball pants, and I'm not afraid to let everyone in the crowd know it.

I know you love to run around the house shirtless all the time (don't get me started on when mom goes to girls' camp...), but I sort of wish you hadn't quit the diving team, because I really think it would be awesome if you ran around in your jammers all the time.  Maybe you could even wear them to school.  It'd be such an awesome fashion statement.

I love how you let me go shopping for you and all you care about is what I think of the outfit.  I'm glad you like my fashion sense, but might I remind you of the party pants?  You might be putting your trust in the wrong place...

I think it's pretty awesome that you manage to do awesome in school while still having about a million friends and a thousand attractive ladies waiting on you hand and foot.

Don't stop being a goofball.  I love it way too much.  Never stop dancing because it's hot and it reminds me of Danny which makes it ten times cooler. Don't stop believin'. Don't stop doing crazy things with your friends. Don't stop attracting all the chicks, yo. But do stop letting people throw rocks at your head.  It's not actually that awesome (except for the part where you get drugs after and then mysteriously clean the entire house from top to bottom and voluntarily do a fashion show for me via google video.  That part was actually pretty awesome).

Happy Birthday, Tim Tam Tom!

Peace out, Boob!