Dearest Fritz, he of the hibernating Manhattan Project, is having himself a birthday today. I suspect he’ll take to the streets of Manahattan with a clinky cocktail in one hand and the ass of his newest lov-ah in the other hand, and he will offer profane observations to the buzzing city, like, “Bitch, you need to put a dickey on under that sheer piece of shit!” and, “When Oprah hears about this, she is going to fuck some shit up!”
And then he’ll leave a nasty note for his landlord and hide behind the couch when she comes and pounds on his door.
Happy birthday, JDH.