Happy Birthday, Kierstein!

Celebrations went well until someone suggested snorting Red Bull.

Not content to simply let Jim enjoy his day in the sun, our own Alex Kierstein thought that Jim’s birthday looked like so much fun, he had to go and have one of his own. Honestly, Kierstein, sometimes you should just let others have their moment. Just because Jim has one doesn’t mean you have to have one too.
Alex’s age remains somewhat indeterminate. Rather like Blake’s gender. (I am so glad they never check in here on the weekends.)


  1. Honestly, Mitch? A photo of a cheap Escort wrapped around a large, mostly-erect pole, right there on the front page? You should be ashamed. I thought this was a family-friendly site.
    Uhh, and happy birthday, Alex. Enjoy your Escort.

    1. I wasn't sure if anyone would get that joke. Hence the hint in the tags. Well done to you, sir.

      1. I didn't even see the tags. I miss some of those jokes because I'm unused to reading 'em still.

  2. If women in their 40s hunting young men are Cougars, does that mean that Escorts who do the same are Lynxes?
    And on that bombshell, Happy Birthday!

  3. That picture reminds me of a story…
    The year is 1997. I am a highschool senior with nearly 12 months of driving experience. It is a cold and rainy night. I, and a few of my friends are out shooting pool. On the way home, an impromptu test breaks out in an effort to determine who can cover the most distance in the least time. I in my '87 Scottsdale, and a friend in his '91 jetta. Having lost some ground on the launch, I carry too much speed into a damp s-bend. Perhaps inevitably, the Scottsdale begins to fishtail. I fight to correct but it is a lost cause. The truck slides off the road and down a 4' ditch. Nothing seems damaged, but the open diff pickup is unable to back up the steep incline.
    Before my passenger and I can begin to formulate a plan, a white impala with roof lights stops. Fortunately, it was a security company, and not the real cops. Two meatheads fine gentlemen hop out of the car and help us push the truck back on the road. Before driving off, we take a moment to survey the scene:
    A set of tire tracks is visible on the gravel shoulder. Where the ditch drops off they disappear, suggesting that the truck became briefly airborne. 10 feet later, they are visible again in the long grass. A straight line connecting the two sets of tracks passes directly through a large road sign supported by two 4×4 wooden posts. The truck and the sign were completeily undamaged. To this day, my passenger and I can only explain this as a Pulp Fiction-esque miracle.
    True story. Kiersty Birthday, Hapstein.

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