It’s my birthday! Many years ago (I won’t say how many—I don’t want to shock you), I emerged…I wish I could say it was from my Mom’s vagina, but I was a Cesarean. Maybe that’s why I’m bisexual: trying to crawl into a vagina so I can emerge from it, born again… Birthdays are a great equalizer. Everybody has one. You don’t have to do anything, like graduate or stay married; you just have to be alive. On your birthday, you’re allowed and even encouraged to act like spoiled royalty. Since I act like that all the time, I have to take it up a notch on my birthday. Really, I feel like my birthday is just another excuse for another holiday in Bonoboville, albeit a pretty religious one.
Nobody celebrated birthdays back in prehistoric times because no one knew what day it was. Evidence of birthday observances first appears around the advent of farming, calendars, telling time and needing an excuse not to go to work. People began celebrating annual holidays, and one of those would be the king or pharaoh’s birthday. Eventually, folks realized that the head honchos weren’t the only ones getting older every year, and before you knew it, everybody was celebrating everybody else’s birthday.
Not that birthdays were or are always a picnic. Ancient and medieval people feared evil spirits, and it was a common belief that these malevolent forces stalked you with special zeal on your birthday. This is not as superstitious as it sounds. A long list of prominent people who kicked the bucket on the same date they were born includes history’s greatest playwright William Shakespeare, U.S. President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, actress Ingrid Bergman, feminist author Betty Friedan and Italian Renaissance painter Raphael. And it’s not just famous people. A 2012 study led by Dr. Vladeta Ajdacic-Gross and published in the Annals of Epidemiology that tracked mortality rates for over two and a half million individuals over a forty-year time span (1969-2008) found that statistically speaking, people are fourteen percent more likely to die on the day they were born than any other day of the year. Sorry, I don’t mean to blow out your candles too soon, but its true.
Bumping up the numbers are various factors, including a high rate of suicides (mostly by depressed men over 60) and a high rate of people doing foolhardy things to “celebrate” their birthdays, like bungee-jumping off Mount Everest or having sex while skydiving. The sheer stress of Your Special Day also appears to bring on more lethal heart attacks and strokes. Typical birthday stresses include getting freaked out by the realization of how old you are and how little time you have left, not being able to celebrate “properly” with loved ones, or celebrating too much—which tends to involve large quantities of ... and other substances. Now that we’ve read this study, we can add the cardio stress of knowing how likely you are to die on your birthday. Interestingly, Dr. Ajdacic-Gross even found a slightly greater risk of dying (10.8%) on one’s birthday from cancer. So the ancient fear that “evil spirits” are more likely to snatch you on your birthday than other ordinary days now has hard science to back it up.
To protect the birthday person against such awful influences, the tradition of the birthday party evolved, surrounding the individual with love, laughter, music, gifts and entertainment. This works. At least, it has, so far, for me. I’ve tried other methods, but I find that the best way to ward off the “evil spirits” of shock (am I really that old?), stress (shouldn’t I have accomplished more by now?), fear (what’s going to become of me?) and foolhardiness (maybe I should prove I’m still young by climbing to the top of the Golden Gate Bridge again) is to throw a big, balloon-filled, debaucherous, orgiastic birthday bacchanal of love, laughter, music, gifts, entertainment and lots of sexual activity with beautiful people hanging out in their birthday suits.
And that’s just what we do in this beautiful, bodacious, boobilicious, booty-luscious, balloon-cartoony and carnivalesque Birthday Bacchanal, filled with love, laughter, gratitude, great sex, good conversation, breathtaking fire play and Sybian rides. And spankings, of course, lots of birthday spankings— with bare hands, paddles, floggers and fire—over the knee, on the cross and through the gauntlet of the human spanking machine. Birthday spankings may come from the old medical practice in which doctors spank newborn bottoms on their actual birth day, supposedly to get them breathing properly. Or it may just be a way to ward off those evil spirits—as it arouses the libido.
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