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[ * The good folks at (parenthetical note) are co-hosting Y.P.R.'s daily birthday cards. Be nice, go pay them a visit.
Each and every day, Y.P.R. sends an honest-to-God birthday card to its favorite celebrity. Come, celebrate with us. Enjoy.
August 28, 1969 nbsp; | Jason Priestly | actor Dear Brandon, Happy 34th Birthday! It took 10 long years of blood, sweat, and tears, but I've finally achieved the level of sideburnal perfection that you reached in 1993. I've got to say, it looks awesome. I sometimes spend hours infront of a mirror, gazing in awe at my perfect facial hair. Goddamn, I've got one freakin' awesome sideburn! Now that the left one looks so fine, I'm going to devote all my efforts toward perfecting the right one. Wish me luck. I'll keep you posted. Happy Birthday!
Best, August 27, 1952 | Paul Reubens | actor Dear Pee-wee, Happy 51st Birthday! Pee-wee, I want you to know that I've always stood by you (figuratively). What kind of society do we live in if a grown man who likes to wear lipstick and bowties and a suit cut two sizes too small cannot go and enjoy a pornagraphic film? And if that guy chooses to diddle himself, so be it. There are no laws against that (in this state). None of that has anything to do with him being a decent children's entertainer. Next thing you know, they're going to stop the "Blue's Clues" guy from going ahead with that penile enlargement surgery he's always talking about. Why are Americans so quick to separate unseemly sexual deviancy from the kids? They've got to learn about freaks and pervs and nymphos and sometime. Happy Birthday. Sincerely,
August 27, 1948 | St. Slaughter | decorated man Dear Sgt. Slaughter, U.S. Army (Ret.), I'm a little confused. Which is your true vocation? Are you an officer in the United States military? Are you a character on beloved 1980s children's cartoon “G.I. Joe”? Are you a professional wrestler? Which is it? Let me know. I am only one man. I can't bake three fucking cakes for you, you selfish prick. I had another question. I haven't seen you lately. Are you still hanging onto your 1980s-style Jeff Gillooly porno moustache? If so, perhaps you should consider a career in the pornographic arts. It's just a suggestion. I mean, is the "Sgt." thing really panning out for you? I haven't seen you on MSNBC or Fox News or CNN when they have those retired military experts discussing reconstruction in Iraq. The phone ain't exactly ringing off the hook, is it? Today is your day, sir. Enjoy it. Happy bithday!
Your friend,
August 22, 1947 | Cindy Williams | actress Dear Shirley, Okay, let me ask you a question. I've been watching some reruns and I noticed that Laverne wears an "L" on all of her shirts. I also noticed that there is no "S" on any of your shirts. What gives? Why did you not avail yourself to the fashion trend of wearing your first initial on your clothing for all to see? Was it not sufficiently 50s for you? Or are you one of these stuck-up chicks who doesn't return my phone calls? Is that it? Am I not good enough for you? What, I don't make enough money or drive a good enough car for Ms. Shirley Feeney? Well, excuse me for even asking. Happy fuckin' birthday. Geoff
August 22, 1934 | Norman Schwarzkopf | storm Dear Norm, Happy 69th Birthday! I have only a very limited knowledge of the German language, but as far as I can decipher, your surname means "black-head." Just whose side are you on, General?
Suspiciously,
August 21, 1956 | Kim Cattrall | nympho Dear Ms. Cattrall, Happy 47th Birthday! 47! That's three years shy of 50! And you still get nekkid and do it all naughty-like every week. You're really earning your Emmy nomination, huh? I mean, what do you possibly think when you look at the week's script and it reads, "Carrie buys nice shoes. Samantha takes it backwards from a greasy construction worker with a handlebar moustache"? Cat, I think you've single-handedly set actresses back two decades in the whole "not having to take off my clothes and/or sleep my way to a role" thing. Thank you. Really, thank you. Your fan,
August 20, 1954 | Al Roker | weatherman Dear Al, Happy 49th Birthday! So, as I understand it... you're not fat anymore? You're sort of on the average-build size? I don't know, Al. I like my Al Roker fat and jolly. Without the fat, the jolly's kind of irritating. Have two portions of cake today, will ya? Happy Birthday, I guess. Your friend,
August 19, 1982 | Erika Christenson | actress Dear Erika, Happy 21st Birthday! You've got no right looking like Julia Stiles as much as you do. Good night. Best wishes,
August 19, 1948 | Tipper Gore | former Second Lady August 19, 1946 | Bill Clinton | former P.O.T.U.S. Dear Tipper & Bill, Happy 55th and 57th Birthdays!
Boy, I am so glad I'm not Al Gore. Oh, wait a minute... I am. Shit. Sincerely,
Happy 73rd Birthday!
Mr. McCourt, have you ever even been to an early 20th Century Irish ghetto? I doubt it. For one thing, your books make no mention of leprechauns, and everybody knows real Irish ghettos are overrun with the damn imps. They're in plague proportions. I suggest you do some real research before you write your next Pulitzer Prize-winning book. You don't even have to go anywhere; just look it up on the Internet, stupid.
Happy Birthday!
Best,
Happy 40th Birthday!
First you ruined the Beach Boys for me. Now you've taken Rebecca Romijn away from me! What next? You knock up my sister? I'm just kidding: I don't give a shit about the Beach Boys. Those guys are just silly pansies in Bermuda shorts.
Yours,
Happy 34th Birthday!
So, what's the deal with your parents? Were they hardcore "Honeymooners" fans? Or was it just bad luck? Sure, now everybody recognizes your name, but before you were famous I'll bet you had plenty of frustrating phone calls, where the jerk on the other end thinks you're making up a name, right? What a pain in the ass, just calling for a pizza. Or when the 911 operator hangs up on you five times before sending the fire department to extinguish your jukebox fire, and then the insurance company won't listen to you try to put in a claim for a charred Wurlitzer. I know what that's like. I know, man, I know.
Sincerely,
Happy 45th Birthday.
Look, I know you're famous, but I have no idea who you are. I'm not even sure I've ever seen any of your movies. Were you in that cowgirl flick, Bad Girls? I think I might be confusing you with Mary Stuart Masterson, or Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio, or Mary-Louise Parker, or maybe Andie MacDowell. I can't tell all you second-rate B-list actresses apart. I'm sorry. Maybe you should get involved in some scandal or something. Or better yet, get a Maori war marking tattooed on your face like Tyson did. Then I'd never mix you up with Elizabeth Perkins.
Hey, who's Debra Winger, anyway?
Sincerely,
Happy 66th Birthday!
Bob, what the hell happened to you? You used to be this good-looking golden boy, or so old people tell me. Now you look like you dipped your face in a vat of molten silly putty. Yech.
Happy Birthday!
Your friend,
Happy 34th Birthday!
Heathers: Good. Pump Up the Volume: Good. True Romance: Fucking good. Everything else: Not so much.
Happy Birthday!
Your friend,
Happy 51st Birthday!
Wow, 51! How did you get so old? It seems like just yesterday you were warning me not to put Baby in a corner. But now you're kind of old. I think I'll put Baby in a corner if I feel like it, Swayze. What are you going to do about it?
Ha.
Your friend,
Happy 33rd Birthday!
Dude, tell that bastard Cockroach he owes me 70 bucks. If that sumbitch doesn't pay up soon, I'm gonna get all slap-happy on his deadbeat ass with the leg that broke off my coffee table.
Happy Birthday!
Your friend,
OOOOOklahoma oklahoma oklahoma oklahoma!
Happy 58th Birthday!
Geoff Wolinetz
OOOOOklahoma oklahoma oklahoma oklahoma!
Ha, ha, ha, go ask Steve what I'm talking about. Happy 37th Birthday!
Josh Abraham
Happy 28th Birthday!
Okay, Case, you're 28 now. Stop trying to be like me. You're palling around with Matt Dillon, you're engaged to Linda Lopez, you've got that drinking/pill-poppin' problem... I know you want to play comic-book superhero Swamp Thing in a movie... and you keep talking about that "Project Greenlight" rip-off for Cinemax where you produce a soft-core adult film based on some lucky schmuck's crappy script. Case, stop trying to be me, Ben. Be Casey. Make Mom and Pop proud of you. They've already got one Oscar-winning son. We all thought you'd become a garbage man or a gym teacher or something. Not another actor.
Happy Birthday, kiddo.
Your big bro,
P.S. Jennifer says you can't come over our house anymore until you buy new sneakers. Those things are disgusting.
When I was 8 years old, I watched you at Wrestlemania I. Things didn't look good. The Iron Sheik had you on the mat. He had put you into his vaunted move, The Camel Clutch. Things were grim. No man had ever escaped this move. Then out of nowhere, you came to life, roaring back from near devastating circumstances. You escaped and then turned the tables, pinning the Iron Sheik and winning the Heavyweight Belt! I jumped off the floor and cheered until my vocal chords were red. It was a marvelous day.
You're 50 today. I'm 27. Maybe it's time to take the spandex off.
Happy birthday!
Sincerely,
Geoff
P.S How's the Junkyard Dog doing? And Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka? Give them my best.
Happy 53rd Birthday!
For my science-fair project, I played some VHS tapes of "Alan Keyes Is Making Sense" on one TV, and Talking Heads' awesome concert film, "Stop Making Sense" on another TV. Whenever I'd position the two televisions so that their monitors faced each other, all clocks in the room started running backwards. Backwards! It's the damnedest thing. You should try it.
I came in second place, trounced by Timmy Mulligan's incredibly awesome dry-pasta model of the human digestive system. But it was so obvious that Timmy's dad helped him put it together. And everybody knows that Timmy's dad is a professional dry-pasta sculptor. Where is the justice, Alan? Where? I create something that actually warps the space-time continuum and I lose to a rigatoni esophagus and elbow-macaroni intestine. Nothing makes sense, I tell you. Nothing.
Your friend,
There's this old lady who lives on my block named Gertrude. I don't know how old she is exactly, but her face looks like a raisin and she calls movies "talkies," so she's probably, like, 300 years old. Anyway, she always wears this sparkly minidress with a big ol' Union Jack on the front and these ginormous boots that add like six inches and enough makeup to choke a clown. Sometimes she mutters things like, "Speecy spicey meetaballs." I thought it was kind of odd that she bears so uncanny a resemblance to you, but kind of endearing too: an old hag thinks she's Ginger Spice. How cute! But last week, mah-jongg night was held at her place, and when the other crumpled up shrews arrived, you can imagine how flabbergasted I was to see a shriveled up Sporty, a wrinkled Posh, and a morbidly obese Scary emerge from the car service. (I'm told that geriatric Baby Spice missed the week's game due to hip-replacement replacement.) I tell you, it was eerie.
I don't really know what happened at the game, but the night ended with a screaming-and-waving-walkers incident on the front porch, and the three old bags kicked old-lady Ginger out of their game.
Well, Gertrude's really been down in the dumps since then. If you're not too busy (of course you're not) would you mind sitting down with Gert and having a good old talking-to with her? You'd really light up the old hag's life. She idolizes you, Ginge.
Laters,
Josh
Happy 27th Birthday!
You're hot. It's true. But, Jesus Christ, woman, put some fucking weight on. Your face looks like the shriveled guy at the end of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade who drank from the wrong cup and aged a gazillion years in 20 seconds. Sunken cheeks and eyes. You're scaring my kids when they watch that "Sabrina" show of yours, which by the way, could probably use a little retooling. Lara Flynn Boyle called me the other day and asked if you were feeling alright, said you looked like you could use a steak.
All right, I gotta go but I'm enclosing a coupon for some Omaha Steaks. I'm not going to force you to do anyhting. I trust you'll choose wisely.
Happy Birthday!
Geoff Wolinetz
P.S. Say hi to your adoptive father Commandant Lassard for me, if that old bastard is even still alive.
Happy 33rd Birthday!
M., you've ruined the face of American cinema forever. Now everybody's got to have that "Big Twist" at the end to shock us, and half the time, it just doesn't make any sense! Like at the end of Gigli, it turns out Ben Affleck's been dead the whole time. What? How? Or, at the end of Kissing Jessica Stein, when it's revealed that Jessica is unbreakable and the other chick is the evil mastermind behind all these disasters. So friggin' dumb. Did you see Bend It Like Beckham? In the end, all the little soccer-playing girls turn out to be unbreakable aliens who see dead people and are allergic to water. Water? Water? How retarded. Thanks a lot, M. You jerk.
Your friend,
Okay, when you were a kid you were in Brighton Beach Memoirs. It was a good performance. You had that "Single Guy" show for a while, which wasn't bad either, but that was mostly because of Ernest Borgnine. I'm telling you, Silverman, that guy has the Midas touch. Everything he touches turns to gold. Do you think he looks a little like a bulldog? I think he does. I mean, he's got those spaces in his teeth but his jowls sort of hang there. Have you ever seen Airwolf? It's bloody brilliant. The man is 86 years old and he could act circles around you, which brings me to my point: What the hell happened to your career? I'm looking at your recent résumé and the only movie I recognize is that pioece of shit Made and you didn't even have a notable role! Unless you consider "Bachelor" a notable role. You may; I don't know you that well.
Anyway, get your ass in gear. You are 37 years old, for Christ's sake, which reminds me...
Happy Birthday!
Geoff Wolinetz
Happy 48th Birthday!
Billy Bob, you're 48 years old today. You're an accomplished actor, screenwriter, and director. You've had some marriages. Don't you think it's time to start calling yourself "William Robert"? "Billy Bob" is an appropriate name for a toothless, barefoot hillbilly wearing torn overalls and covered in grease stains. If you called yourself William Robert, you probably never would have gotten suckered into marrying that vampiric shrew. Man, she's psycho. Cute little Cambodian kid, though. And have you seen Lara Croft: Tomb Raider: the Cradle of Life? What a terrible, terrible movie. Terrible. Why is she making such shit? Didn't she win an Oscar? One time, I saw her walking down Madison Avenue and some rich old society lady -- you know, the type with a fancy hat and gloves that reach to her biceps -- was walking her dog, this cute little poodle, and Angelina runs over, grabs the pooch and takes a bite of its tail. The thing was yapping like all hell, and Angelina runs off, cackling and howling and doing jumping jacks. What a loony bird.
In summary, even "Willy Rob" would be better than "Billy Bob."
Happy Birthday!
All the best,
This is your final notice. Please remit payment or we're going to repossess your Sony Wega 50" Plasma Screen television.
Also, happy birthday.
Geoff Wolinetz
Do you weigh a metric ton yet? I have a bet going with a buddy that you'd weigh a metric ton by your 70th birthday. You gotta write me back because I have 10 bucks riding on this.
Happy birthday, you fat fuck.
Geoff Wolinetz
P.S. I've sent a banana cream pie along.
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