Happy Birthday Big Chip Dale

Rather hard to believe, isn’t it, that this dapper young Goth with slight acne and a mild fungal toe infection would later become the Welsh stripping sensation known as The Chipster? And it all seems so many years ago now. Long before I damaged my spine lifting that overweight traffic control officer at her hen party. Long before I met Romania’s answer to Combat Barbie. And before I began to tell you all my stories here at Chip Dale’s Diary. Not all of you have been with me along the way, so I think it falls to me, as the longest serving resident, to be the first person to wish myself a very happy birthday.

Happy birthday, Chip, old sport!

Since it’s my birthday, I’m sure you’re all wondering what to get me. Perhaps you’re thinking of something in fur, large in the pouch, and with a couple of straps the width of dental floss. Well, you can forgo the expensive gifts unless the seats are in leather and it goes from nought to two hundred in nine seconds. Can money buy love? Well, I suppose it can if you happen to play in the right of midfield for Manchester United. However, here are Chipster Central, I want simpler things. A few comments would be nice but some success beyond my stripping career would be even better.

I’ll be out of communication range for much of the day as I’ll be hosting a little drinks party for a few friends at the local. Feel free to drop in if you’re in the area. Not only will you get to meet some of the biggest names in Welsh thongdom but, of course, the drinks are on me!