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The morning of his 10th birthday, Phil woke up, ran some gel through his hair and put on the glasses he got from his pediatric opthalmologist before he got cool.

"It's my mother-freaking birthday," he told himself. "Double digits."

The limousine his dad had hired for his birthday joyride was scheduled to arrive in an hour or maybe half an hour; it was hard to understand through the aging driver's heavy accent. It didn't matter because Phil knew for sure the ride was gonna be stocked as hell with Mountain Dew and Monster 'cause he's finally old enough. And he's down with the sickness.

It was only a matter of time before he'd stop liking his dad so much.

Thanks, Jeremy!