[Radio]

[thatched]

[There is a low hum in a continuous note as if someone is trying to find pitch. And then not long after.]

Haaaaappy birthday to hic me. [sloshing liquid sounds] Happy birthday toooo me! Happy one year closer to being old and decrepiiiiiit [more sloshing] Happy birthday toooooooo [and he rises in pitch, almost like a howl before there is a crash as if he's fallen into something]

Me.

hic


Any lovely ladies wanna spend my last few hours with me? It'll be extra fun I promise.

[if he sounds as drunk as a lord, that is wrong. He's as drunk as a pirate, which is much worse. Feel free to see your new resident seven foot slosh stumbling around dressed in boxer shorts, pair of sabers at his belt, a yellow scarf tied around his neck and a big bottle of some unidentifiable drink swinging from his hand as he sways down the street]

Comments

[thatched]

My dear I am old and about to perish from this earth. ... Or well all of them. It will be nothing but bones on bones.

[pity a poor old man]

[problematical]

[ There is a very serious, studious pause... ]

You don't sound old.

Or bony.

[thatched]

I look pretty good too. [runs hand through his pompadour and nearly topples over] Wanna see in person?