Role Models

Andrew Brown invites people to his birthday, like a boss

In our older age, nothing is more demoralizing than not having people show up to help you celebrate your birthday. What. That was hyperbole. There’s a whole ton of things that are more demoralizing; vaving your less talented peers make way more money than you, clearly not being good at the thing you most want to do, the 40% chance (according to Nate Silver) that Mitt Romney might be the next president of america. But celebrating your birthday with only two other people, after you invited thirty, that’s pretty bad. That’s why I wanted to dive into the archives of my gmail to share contributing editor, Andrew Brown’s, past two birthday invitations, to demonstrate how it’s done in this day and age.

Andrew’s emails do two things effectively. First and foremost, they’re awesome and they remind you that he’s awesome, so you actually might want to hang out with him as he celebrates his birthday. Secondly, they don’t come off desperate. That’s a new rule in the making: don’t ever come off desperate. In fact, Andrew is so completely un-desperate for people to come, he only invites them 1-2 days before. So with that, please allow yourselves a moment to relive Andrew’s previous birthday invitations, and take some inspiration for your upcoming birthday.


“Fifty years ago, I came to Earth as an orphan – the last son and sole survivor of the planet Krypton. Consequently, there is so much about myself which remains a mystery. I don’t know much about my home planet, except that it blew up; I don’t know much about my parents, except that they’re dead, and were, most likely, very attractive. But the one thing that saddens me most is that I’ll never know the actual date of my birth.

“That is why I encourage everyone to join Andrew Brown TONIGHT at 8 at Mission Bar for drinks, friends, and good times. Take part in this special occasion, and experience a joy, which, sadly, I’ll never know.”


“I don’t know if I have a birthday. I don’t even know if I was ‘born’ necessarily. I mean, I’m a fishman. As far as I know, I’m the only one of my kind. I’ve never met a fishwoman (mermaids don’t count; they’re a different species), and I’m pretty sure I don’t reproduce asexually. Maybe I hatched?? Whatever, I’ll see you at the party.”


“If you see me at the party tonight with a dude, that’s NOT my baby’s daddy, that’s just somebody I’m keepin’ on the side, so keep it on the L. And don’t tell Superman I’m out tonight, either. I don’t need him callin’ me, textin’ me, tellin’ me how much he NEEDS me. I am NOT Lois Lane; I do NOT see a ring on this finger; and I do NOT have time for that shit”

-Wonder Woman

“Why is Superman always crying like a little bitch?? You think you’re worse off because you’re an orphan and you don’t know when you’re birthday is?? Well, I know when MY birthday is. Gee, let’s see – how did I celebrate my last birthday? Oh yeah, that’s right: I remembered watching my parents get murdered, right before I dressed up like a fucking bat, and chased around the only people on Earth crazier than I am! Because, you know, that’s a NORMAL way to manage grief… Happy fucking birthday, Bruce! Happy. Fucking. Birthday.”

“And who the fuck is Andrew Brown?? I don’t know his ass, but I say fuck his ass! And fuck his party, too. I’m Bruce Wayne. I’m rich. I bone supermodels, like, every day! I’d rather give the Penguin a rimjob, while the Joker watches, then be caught dead at Andrew Brown’s broke ass, bullshit birthday party.




“It’s Tuesday night and you’re tired. It’s nasty outside and it’s too short notice. It won’t matter if you don’t come out; who’ll miss you there, anyways? Maybe if it were the weekend, you’d think about it, but a weeknight is just too much to ask…

“How do I know what you’re thinking? Because I am Charles Xavier – I know what EVERYONE is thinking! I’m inside your feeble mind, and you’re being such a punk right now!! Just come and say happy birthday. Is that so much to ask?? Damn you!!!”

-Prof. X


Come out tonight and see what so many of your favorite superheroes already seem to know about. Let’s meet up for drinks at 8 at Mission Bar. It’s my birthday. Let’s use that as an excuse for some casual (I really mean serious) weeknight drinking. You can buy me a drink, and God willing, watch me get all squinty-eyed and make inappropriate comments that are sometimes funny but mostly just awkward.

Enjoy the rest of the day, and hopefully I’ll see you there.



Because my birthday is so close to Easter Sunday, I can’t help but think of the many differences between me and Jesus Christ:

– Jesus turned water into wine.

– I mock people who drink either of those things.

– Jesus was the son of God, creator of Man.

– I am the son of Tom, a computer programmer and staunch atheist, who spends most of his free time thinking of ways to get his devoutly Catholic, Log Cabin Republican neighbors to take down both their “Huntsman 2012” yard signs, and the statue of the Madonna they have erected in their driveway.

– Jesus was the product of immaculate conception.

– I was born because my Dad talked my Mom into put his penis in her vagina, had (most likely, knowing my parents) awkward sex, then ejaculated in her uterus. That some real deal insemination, kids.* Nothing immaculate about that shit.

– Mel Gibson made a movie about Jesus called “The Passion.”

– Some people say I look like Danny Glover. And by “some people,” I mean “racists.”

Indeed, there are many differences between me and Jesus. But there is one thing we share… OK, we don’t have anything in common. Whatever. Here’s the thing: if you’re around this weekend, I’ll be at Dear Mom (16th/Harrison), Saturday, April 7th @ 2:00 for some all-American daytime drinking and birthday celebrating.

RSVP? What is this? The court of the Sun King? Fuck that. This is America. Just roll up ready to drink until your face melts off.**

I’m 29. Dammit.


* Quick shout out to Mrs. Silva in AP Bio. You’re teaching the youngins up right.

** Or until you have to something else to go to.


Andrew Brown is a contributing editor to yr an adult, who rarely contributes anything. He’s almost thirty. Sucker.

Photo credit: flickr user barrielynn, used under cc license