Greg's childhood was far from normal, yet somehow he managed to turn out far from normal. The youngest of 12 sisters, Greg got all the hand-me-down clothing. When he was 8, he realized he wasn't a girl, just a dress-wearing sissy.
His adolescent years were trying times. Greg discovered his body and there was no stopping him. Morning, noon, and night, he had to "get the poison out" as he referred to his continuous cranking. All his teachers had special bathroom passes at the ready so Greg could take care of his urges. Greg's a lefty and his grip can only be described as vise-like. Of course his right hand is as limp as Greg is dandy.
Greg went to a small college in Ohio or West Virginia or was it Washington, I forget, where all the girls were homely. This worked in Greg's favor as his social skills with the opposite sex were less than nonexistent. Slowly but surely Greg let his left hand relax and he became quite the ladyman, I mean ladies' man.
When Greg left college and entered the working world, he didn't let his higher education determine his course. No, Greg rolled up his sleeves and became a copy boy. Or was it a newspaper carrier, I forget and details are sketchy. Eventually Greg worked his way up to...well I'm not sure what he's up to, but he'll tell you it's important.
Along the way, Greg found a wife, some kids, and a mortgage. He seems well adjusted, but it's a little known fact that Greg still wears Batman Underoos and pretends his motorcylce is the Batcycle as he dodges traffic on his way to see the commissioner.
So Greg, it's your special day. Always remember that you have family that loves you (because they have to), friends that tolerate you, and coworkers that fear you. Happy 41rst you old fart!!
