Why? Why? Says The Junk In The Yard.

Why? Why? Says the junk in the yard.

Paul McCartney's 83rd Birthday Bash

To Paulie Mac, on his birthday.

Eigthy-three years. 83 years, I can't believe it. 83 years since you took your first breath, since you came into this world, pink and naked, with white asphyxia. An uholy union between Protestant and Catholic... resulting in this left handed freak of nature. He should've never been born, yet here he is, just to punish us. To make us pay for the sins we were all born with. Much like the devil himself, he was born with androgynous beauty and instrumental skill.

I feel like it was only yesterday the Germans were bombing Liverpool and we lived in a world without you. 82 Years since you took your first steps, 68 years since you discovered your body. You go by many names. Paul, the Beatles, James, Sir Paul, but most of all I remember you by one title. My scouse Goddess.

Words aren't enough to describe my hot sweaty passions. Even though I like jojo better now, you are still the only woman in the world. I'm not the first man led astray. Just look at John Lennon. You fucked the bastard up real good you naughty lad you. Not that he was normal before, but I digress. This isn't about him on today, of most holy days.

What can I say to describe your majesty? Of course you're one sexy piece. But that's not all. You're also a singer. Even though you're not as talented as the other British musicians, you still soldier on, releasing album after album. Some of those songs are okay, and I listen to them in the car. Oh how my heart tingles and throbs, oh how my dick shoots UP when I watch those old black and white movies. So much passion, so much spunk, as you SCREAM out your songs. How can a girl's heart resist. My desire.... persists.

Furthermore, do you think I'll stop at young Paul? As if! Get that wrinkly old sack of bones and elderly flesh OVER here. Milfs do it better, Gilfs do it best, everyone knows that. Age is just a number.

You've made a fool of me. I can't do shit without people being like "Hey isn't that the freak who drew milkman Paul." "Hey didn't she make that insane video game that everyone loves?" FINE! I can't help being an artistic protegy with a recognizable and beloved art style. I refuse to aPAULogize for my fervent deeply erotic LOVE!

But this isn't about me. This is about you, sweetie pie. I know you aren't long for this world, and when you do kick it for the final time and join John Lennon in the fires of hell, and say Hi to George Harrison on your way down, that is a day I will begin mourning. I already have my black veil picked out. I'll wear it in the southern heat, and people will ask me: Hey, why are you wearing that thing? And I will say: My goddess has fallen. What else is there to do? Oh Paul... oh Paul....

As I'm working on a game in your honor, I don't have the time to draw a special birthday piece. But don't forget you will always be my wet sloppy the Beatles whore.