Happy Birthday Thomas

Years upon years ago, I had the pleasure of travelling to Tokyo for the 1998 International Anime Fair. I was such an enormous comic book freak that I would have felt remiss if I was on this side of the globe and pass up the chance to attend such an event. Had you told me when I was six years old that I would one day be in a position to visit the land where my favorite shows like Battle of the Planets and Grandizer were created, I more than likely would’ve called you a liar and kicked you in the shins. But there I was flying thousands of miles above the Philippine Sea, northward from my base in Korea, grinning like an idiot and wondering what club I’d enter if I beat-off in an airplane bathroom.

The trip was fantastic! Tokyo was absolutely beautiful. It just so happened that the annual Cherry Blossom Festival was beginning the same weekend I was there and when the wind a blew cottony cloud of pink wove through air. Hardly anyone spoke English and I was reduced to communicating through a series of positive and negative grunts, pointing, raised eyebrows and bugged-out eyes. The convention itself, for a dork like me, was absolutely amazing. I wasn’t there long before my cheeks started hurting from that stupid grin which had returned. That same boner from the plane trip returned too as I observed the huge statues based on characters featured in some of the yet-to-be released series.

What a time to be had! I had toys, toons, comic books, Asian women, real sushi and a commode in my hotel room that warmed my ass upon sitting. It was one of the greatest days of my life and as such I had devilish plans for the evening and the next day. That is until I called my friend Thomas back in Korea, to check things out…

To my utter horror, my dear friend Thomas had decided to call it quits from the Air Force, and get out. I was dumbstruck. So dumbstruck was I that I had to take a moment and sit on the bionic-commode to properly ingest that which I’d read. This had been my life-partner for the past few years. We'd travelled from base to base, country to country, destroying everything in our path. And now he was leaving.

How could he do this to us? Why didn’t he tell anyone earlier how unhappy he was? If anything he could’ve just given me heads-up about what he’d planned since, of the crew, I was his confidant of sorts. But no, he let out all of our dirty laundry and even made up a few pairs of streaked stinking boxer-briefs for good measure. I called everyone I could. I called my supervisor, his supervisor, our shop chief...everyone. I went to bed that night in Tokyo with a pit in my stomach and a severe headache.

The next day at the convention center I was a completely different man. Long gone were my stupid grin and boner, all that remained was a shell of a man with sunken eye sockets and blood shot eyes. I often found myself just standing in the middle of the show floor, kicking my eyeballs around, and picking my front teeth with my tongue and the snarl that usually accompanies such hygiene. I dragged my bag of convention goodies like around like a worn-out soccer mother of eight who just wants quiet.

The taxi ride home was even more depressing. Regardless of how cool the taxi itself was (automatic doors which only the driver, who wears a suit and white gloves, can open and DVD GPS,) the only thought that occupied my mind was that I was back to managing all the projects on my own again. Damn it! Thomas was so good at managing them too. I really enjoyed his “voice” as a team leader. I grunted directions to the driver and upon finally reaching my hotel I dragged myself to my room like a kid who knew he had to clean the kitchen and the bathroom upon returning home.

I arrived in the room, flipped open my laptop, opened up Outlook and froze as I read email after email from the boys about how I’d fallen for this year’s April fool’s prank. I couldn’t help but laugh a laugh of relief…at first. A few days later Thomas would recite the same story to our friends, as he bade them to call me to tell me precisely what kind of idiot I was.

To be honest, there was nothing I could do but take it. But I would never forget.

Cut to present day. Both Thomas and I are long gone from the clutches of the military, AND we still keep in touch (he's in Killa-fornia). So amidst one of our many phone calls, Thomas mentioned that his birthday was coming up. He asked if I’d write up something about him and I joyfully accepted the task. Now, I’m a simple man. Were I not, I would come up with some scathing report of how Thomas once convinced a Florida man that knocking his testicles against one another to the beat of BBD’s Poison would repel Hurricanes. But no, instead I’ve decided to immortalize him in filth.

Men, ladies, clever children, the next time you’ve got a hooker over and she’s taking her pre-coitus shower, take half the money out of her purse. When the time comes to pay her for her services combine her money with yours. When she smiles and hugs you in gratitude for making her week, smile to yourself and know that you’ve successfully “Pulled a Thomas”.

Happy birthday you twisted sack of shit-syrup, and many more! Know that there is a angry Greek man in New Jersey who’s praying that you burn your balls the next time you try to put out a cigarette while taking a dump.