i'll admit it: i didn't know what to get you for your birthday this year. you're the only person who could make a trip to hawaii feel like too small a gift — and i don't say that to be a dick, i say it because i'm trying to paint a picture of how much you mean to me. huge gifts feel small, tropical vacations feel like blips on our shared radar. nothing feels like enough, because you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and what could compare to that?
what i'm telling you is that an extraordinary, confusing, bizarre, wonderful person deserves a gift worthy of him, which is why i'm taking you on your very own murder tour of los angeles, lightly inspired by the great jimmy shive-overly. the guys that do all those studio tours where people visiting from oklahoma can see, like, the shark from jaws (? is that what happens on those tours ?) refused to sponsor it, so this is funded entirely by kroll enterprises.
i'll drive and provide the commentary (i did my research), and all you have to do is take pictures, maybe throw in an ooh or aah. tre and mia are coming because they yelled at me when i told them this was a no kids allowed murder tour, i blame you for their macabre interests.
happy birthday, baby. thanks for giving me a reason to wake up, eat vegetables, use the dishwasher, and keep it tight. i love you so much it feels goddamn impossible.