Look, past the age of 11, when you can still eat half your Colin The Caterpillar with no fear of cellulite (AND pocket his face for later, because it's your day, and them's the rules), birthdays suck balls.
They suck a few *less* balls when you're a teacher, because you're smothered with gifts from adoring five year-olds who haven't realised you're a total shit of a person just yet.
Unless you're this woman, who's clearly such a great knowledge-provider that her protegee's worked out the utter futility of human lilfe, and wants her to know that on her special day.
Damn. But wait, there's more:
If ever there was proof that you shouldn't bother doing your job properly (or go out with someone called JizzWaffle, who kindly posted this on the internet), this is it.
Happy birthday, though. Happy goddamn birthday.
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