St. Patrick’s Day. My blood mostly flows greasy ass Italian but there is a small dose of that green hemoglobin running through my veins.
If I can be honest, this holiday is the one holiday where I actually try and take the day off from drinking and give my body a rest. Never seems to work out that way. I really don’t need an excuse to consume green beer and shove a poor mans meat down my throat accompanied by a veggie that will make my asshole sing the star spangled banner in Latin for three weeks straight.
Somehow each year I find myself bellied up to the bar at my local pub shoveling potatoes the size of cantaloupe down my esophagus and continuously naw on over cooked corn beef and chew on cabbage until my rectum does a reverse split and blossoms like a spring tulip.
In my younger years on this epic holiday I made it a point to dye my asshole green and drank enough booze to turn my eyeballs inside out and triggered gout of the lower lip.
As we get older our priorities in life tend to change. For me it was marriage and twin boys who eat more corn beef than that 600lb individual on TLC who needs to be airlifted to the bathroom whenever he has to drop a deuce.
Either way, we as a family always acknowledge the holiday and get our corn beef fix at our local pub D & D’s in New City, NY. I somehow manage to raise my BAC six times the legal limit as child protective services follow me home and my wife continuously beats me with her vehicles ice scraper and pours anti-freeze into my eye lids. Good times. I really look forward to this event.
The beauty of all this? The following morning. I can’t recover like I use to. I wake up three hours late for work as my nostrils are glued to my pillow and my ass hair is parted like the Red Sea. My man tits are lactating and my pinky toes are bleeding profusely. My ears drums are pulsating as my Adam’s apple becomes pregnant with triplets.
Then there is always those parades. Some entrepreneur pushing around a rusted gurney dressed in a bed bug infested quilt selling green tin foil pin wheels for $85 plus luxury tax. The kids jump up and down like a mentally challenged Connor Mcgregor bobble head doll begging you to purchase this item as you struggle to put the cash together as you just spent all the legal tender on shots of Jameson and beer you thought was green but turned out to be the piss!
So yeah. This is a great holiday. Pretty much sounds like a normal Friday for me.