I made him a sparkly, sparkly card featuring a mad eshayz lad, a species common on Sydney streets broadly identifiable by their striped polos, Nike Air Max/TNs, tagging, bum bags and gabbering.
Also this voucher from a bunch of us for an indoor shooting escapade, complete with felt toggle. The background's from a gun catalogue full of awesome technical diagrams found in the roof of our old house.
Going by these carefully thought out gifts it may seem like my fuckwit's a bit of a nutter. But he's actually not. That said, as I type this he's talking in his sleep while doing what appears to be some sort of zombie-inspired aerobic routine in bed next to me. Hmm.