Happy Birthday, James Rex White!

Dark clouds rolled in, the sound of thunder. And with a cradle captive grin a birth had happened in Down Under. The product of a night of sex, so long ago, who would remember they named the boy Inspector Rex, and then came Christmas in December. He has been, on the odd occasion, mistaken for old Santa Claus. I think it's due to this Caucasian approaching early menopause. This year he must have riled the Gods, they poured on him the biggest bucket of excrement with lousy odds, he answered them by mumbling 'F**k it'. And, even though he gobbles praise when it appears in modest measure his head swells markedly these days, he thinks himself a real treasure. I say one needs to give a mention of qualities a man possesses, lest friends and folks pay no attention to what the gentleman expresses. Just look at him, forget the rumour; his muscles, with their definition, a mother earth and Kraut-type humour we must admit, a prime edition. He does not use the common weed, no cigs will pass his hairy lips foul language if there is a need and certainly on foreign trips. A bible is kept in the dunny to lift his spirits during stress, he serves his wife and calls her honey and cleans the chookhouse, did you guess? At six AM, you see him slaving one hand stirs soup the other bakes, just to fulfill his sweetheart's craving she likes her bedside wake-up cakes. And while he cooks and bakes and sings to entertain and set the mood, he tidies up and places things then types a menu for the food. Clamped tightly, like the soldier Custer between the buttocks is a stick, it's part of his large featherduster he moves and sweeps, it does the trick. At night, when darling watches telly he scrubs all windows squeaky clean and bathes mongrels (they were smelly) in concentrated Mister Sheen. You get my drift, here is a man who's earned the rights to celebrate a birthday cake with lots of bran and buttermilk as stablemate. The Gods, meanwhile have changed their minds they've watched his altruistic deeds. And as the timing clock unwinds they've added on a bunch of beads. How do we count the many ways to get together in ten years, we wish you many happy days so, Happy Birthday, Jim. And Cheers!