Sexeteria

Sometimes you can beat the odds with a careful choice of where to fight. Where to fight counts for a lot...
But there's nothing like having your friends show up with lotsa guns.

--Sin City

I probably wouldn't have ever heard the above quote without Karl Elvis MacRae being around. I also probably wouldn't have felt its sentiment much this year without him being around.

Today is Karl Elvis's birthday. I feel this post should serve as some kind of gift to him, but it's really such an inadequate idea, because there really aren't words that can match the gift of friendship given freely to you.

This has not been the easiest year for me. It's been one where I fought really long and hard to overcome some really formidable foes. There were days when I felt I was at my ebb, so tired I thought I'd fall and just give up. And then suddenly there Karl would be, charging into battle, weapons flying, holding the Orcs at bay for me so I could gain a modicum more of strength to rise and fight again. He does this with such ease--a well-timed kind word, an open ear, an offered shoulder, a quick fix on a blog--that to him it probably seems like nothing he does is worth much gratitude. But he'd be wrong, and I know first-hand that all those who know him would agree with me. His humor, insight, integrity, loyalty, and his constant lustiness (in every sense of the word) are inspirational. I know they've certainly kept me going during some really hard times--and some good times, too.

But I don't want to just focus on what he's done for others. I want to express that, even if he never helped me or anyone else, even if he never hosted my blog, I'd still think he was the shit. It's not his strength or his many abilities that make him valuable. It's just his undeniably badass self. He's simply a fuckin' delight to know. If humans were candy--and aren't they?--then Karl would be an Atomic Fireball, all spicy and sweet and hard. It hurts, but it's so nice, you just can't stop eating it. And hell, at least it's never boring.

He's so bad he's good. So wrong he's right. He's the kind of man girl bands were invented to sing songs about. Sho' 'nuff.

And, to bastardize one of the great truisms I learned as a child, "It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Karl Elvis is both." I can't say this one better or with more impact than E. B. White, so I won't.

So on this the day of his birth, I want to first say thanks, Karl, for being such a great guy and a good friend.

And second, I want to wish you, Karl Elvis MacRae--the biggest and baddest of all host daddies on the planet--a very, very happy birthday. May you live, love, write, and screw long and well, for many, many more years to come.

And anyone reading this, go on over to Karl's place and make him smile today. Pepper his paprikash with birthday well wishes. And tell him I sent you.