MY VERY OWN PASSION PLAY

This year, to celebrate MY birthday, I’ve decided to commission myself to write and direct and co-star in a passion play based on my birth and formative years. BYOB (Bring Your Own Birthday!) I’ve compiled an outline of what is to transpire, which is rough, as were my formative years.
1. Everyone will assemble at the house my parents lived in when I was born. Attendance is mandatory, but not required. If you do not know the address of the house my parents lived in when I was born, you’re uninvited. We’ll skip my conception, since there may be children present and also because icky. The first 500 guests will lie on the kitchen floor, writhing and squiggling and making jazz hands, symbolizing my mother’s water breaking. The rest will represent my father, and chain-smoke and freak out. They will repeat the incantation, “Oh God Oh God Oh God,” until the Amniotic Fluid Players rise up and, in the voice of God intone, “Chill out, for real, Dad.” I will then make my grand entrance, walking through the back door, symbolizing my grand entrance.
2. I will next be “baptized” in “Holy Water” (i.e. consume six shots of tequila) and thus become “Catholic” (i.e. drunk.)
3. 200 of the guests will then present me with various gifts, such as argyle sweaters, Apple computers, and an El Camino. This will symbolize my righteousness, as well as the bodaciousness of my being.
4. Everyone shall give me a pat on my back, and intone the phrase, “Good game,” reminding everyone of what a good liver I am, and how I’ve caught the long fly ball in the left field that is this rocky road called life, by which I mean to say that I’ve triumphed in the home stretch where others did not possess the wings with which to fly, and I’ve done so without fear of failure or without fear of mixing metaphors.
5. There shall then be dancing, and it shall be to Girl Group music, symbolic of how Girl Group music is the best music. There will also be a performance of my emo-funk band, Qualified to Saddify You, the most depressing lyrics and the hippest dance beats in a perfect marriage of sweat and tears, like saltwater taffy.
6. My father (portrayed by a celebrity look-alike of my father) will show me how to throw a football through a tire swing, a perfect illustration of my hatred of footballs and tire swings.
7. My cake will be wheeled out, a life-size replica of me, which I shall serve in a reproduction of the Last Supper, presenting my body, my blood, my nose and my brains (which will actually be cold spaghetti!)
8. Finally, as the sun rises, most likely in the east, we shall conclude our festivities, a little richer in spirit (you) and a lot richer in stuff (me.)