Mads: Happy Fucking Birthday to Me

Compared to previous birthdays, trente-sept was pretty decent. The celebration only lasted two weeks, which may be indicative of my advanced age, but it was a good two weeks, and ain't that what counts the most?

My family flew me into Oslo on their private jet, and I was received by King Harald V with a parade in honor of my achievements as a Nobel laureate. I shot an empty beer bottle into the procession, hitting horse in the ass, which caused a fair amount of chaos. It was sweet.

Later my parents hired The Hooters to perform. I got to sing "All You Zombies" with them, which was a trip. I also did some drunk luging, and broke my left wrist.

That's when the fun started. Loaded on vicatins (vicodin?) and cheap Finnish beer, I hopped on a ferry bound for Hamburg. I hired hookers for me and five Japanese businessmen I'd bumped into in front of a DVD and goldfish store.

I met Abdul Karim in Prague the next night with some Shi'ite oil men from Bahrain. They bought me a castle just outside the city and we filled the pool with Jell-O. Kind of pedestrian, right?

That's what I thought, until Didier Drogba showed up. We took a train to Bratislava, and then Minsk, where I would've been arrested for dressing up like Stalin and trying to get free drinks if the Bahraini oil men hadn't bought the cops there. They sold me one for a reduced rate because they liked me, so if I ever go back to Minsk, I'll have my own police officer.

Then we went to Sofia: big mistake. I drank the Bulgarian Cocktail. I was out. I woke up five days later on a raft floating out in the Atlantic ocean heading toward South America from Africa. The raft had been built out of vegetation by some monkeys. Unfortunately, they weren't great conversation, so I burnt out my Robin Thicke loaded iPod. The raft landed in Argentina, and I took a train back here to Rio.

My Recent Trip to Germany

I was at an outdoor cafe in Hamburg, drinking a beer. Two Germans walked by, and I heard one say:

"...at that point I'd had the diamond-shaped butt plug in for 23 hours."

I shuddered, and went back to sipping my drink. A man, looking for an empty seat, approached my table.

"Is this seat taken?"

He was Patrick Stewart. I told him it was his, and he joined me. The same two Germans passed by us again.

"...then it popped out, right in the middle of the check-out line."

We looked at each other. I spoke first.

"You know, my hotel has a great bar in the lobby..."

"I thought you'd never ask."