Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Happy St. Patricks Day!
Mock them, they’re Douchish! Well, the dude on the right is. I’ll give guy on the left a nottadouche and a go in peace. And I’ll surreptitiously stare at Maggie’s rack when she’s busy taking their beer order.
But seriously. Happy St. Pats Day. From your humble alcoholic narrator, to you.
Having grown up among the dysfunctional, alcoholic and amusingly self-destructive Irish of Boston, Massachusetts, even though I myself am not Irish, I can safely say that, after 364 days of depression, repression, Catholic guilt and beer induced self medication, the Irish deserve a day of partying.
She could suck the blarney off a stone.
Watch ye’selves tomorrah, me lads! If’n y’ feel obligated t’ compliment th’ ladies, beware sayin’ such things as “What a fine li’l lass.” Y’ might get ye’self shillelaghed…..
She’ll do these fruits for cabbage.
Irish catholic girls are all psychos.
Let’s all drink enough green beer, so our poop turns green!
A yearly challenge I subject myself to.
mine will remain the color and flavor of guinness.
Agh. This sort of stuff embarrasses me. And enrages me. What, everyone on planet earth is Irish on March 17th? Like anyone ever needs an excuse to be a violent, drunken retard. Quit waiting for permission from the calendar and just do it. Pussies. You know what was my favorite day to puke up gallons of green shit? All of ’em. And the only parade was me parading down the median strip, wobbling along on hooker heels in search of cigarettes at 3 am. It’s been a long, long time, but I haven’t forgotten. And I blame Catholicism almost entirely.
Erin Goes Bras!! Broheims!! Bro-verkills? Brosekises!
Me too Medusa. Heels and all. St. Patrick’s Day is for amateurs. I used to wake up drunker than that.
@Medusa
I don’t need a holiday to drink, but it does make me seem like less of an alcoholic. I hate drinking alone, the more the merrier.
There is a good reason they only serve green beer once a year.
Those gals in the back left have just viewed a streaker.
T’was a short cocked man named O’Malley
Thought it clever to flash from the alley
His mom and Aunt Liza
Where quite-a surprised-a
To see him streak from the galley
Damn! … I meant “cockked” ^
Two dorks and a maid named McGaff
“A threesome with you two?” She laughed
I’d sooner go down
On a rodeo clown
And my ass with a jelly dong twice gaffed
So I guess Trot Nixon opened a tattoo shop in Boston?
Mick’s mirthful, festive smile soon gave way to unbridled angst as DarkSock’s mangravy spilled forth from Kourtney’s sphincter and soiled his newly purchased Ed Hardy designer jeans.
^ Crucial
How do you know that smile isn’t because he finally got that mangravy he has been looking for?
sounds like Limerick Wednesday should be back in effect tomorrow….
If Limerick Wednesday come back, I am calling in sick.
At least for an hour or so whilst I compose a few filthy rhymes.
Kind of weak on hots today. Luckily I’ve got Mrs. Renfro’s habanero salsa to go with my tortilla chips and that shit is plenty hot.
DB1,
You forgot to mention that March 17th in Boston is an official holiday. It celebrates Evacuation Day — George Washington had surrounded the city with cannon and forced the Brits to retreat to Nova Scotia. So every hack and half-wit in town gets the day off with pay to go out and evacuate their stomachs all over the sidewalk.
I have to work, but even if I didn’t I agree with Medusa and Anthony LaBaglia — St. Pat’s is for posers and friggin’ amateurs. All true Bostonians know the REAL test is the third Monday in April. We celebrate Lexington and Concord, an 11:00 AM Red Sox start (vs Tampa this year), and the freak show that is the Boston Marathon. THAT is the test of a true drinking professional…
Just checkin in to say, Have a happy St. Patty’s Day. Woo and Hoo
WonderTwin powers, ACTIVATE!
Form of…
STREET PIZZA!
Saint Patrick’s Day is for people who want to have fun and pick up drunk chicks. Count me in beatches.
Two choads with a thirst they must quench
Sat down with a half-drunken wench
They returned to her place
At a very quick pace
And sucked vast loads of sperm from her trench
It is also the only party that I am invited to all year and drunk chicks are all I have a shot with. If y’all are too cool to celebrate that raises my chances with the ladies one percentage point. So now, I have what is mathematically the equivalent of a chance in hell. Things are looking good. Yep.
Tomorow I’ll celebrate St. Patrick’s day the same way I always do.
I’ll get drunk, grab my shelele, chase all the snakes out of my crawl space, eat a bowl of Lucky Charms, and go to bed.
What’s even worse than St. Patrick’s Day is the way the the beer companies (especially the bat-piss known as Corona) have now co-opted Cinco de Mayo and turned it into SPD part II.
Why did god invent likker?
To prevent the Irish from Ruling The World…
It worked.
also – up here in protestant Toronto The Good, St Pat’s isn’t anywhere near the holiday it is down south. In fact, no one here seems to really give a shit. Hell – just finding an LCBO that’s open is hard enough…
St. Paddy’s Day isn’t an excuse to drink like an idiot. It’s just a day you shouldn’t feel like an idiot doing it.
“Theyre after me Lucky Choads!”
st patricks day should just be called drunk day, then it would make more sense, instead of people making excuses to drink and pretend they give a shit about ireland, im not irish by the way, their too stupid to realise that their day of celebrating their patron saint and country is being exploited, and then ireland wonders why they cant form a united republic of ireland and northern ireland when they make they make their own ethnicity seem nothing more but a bunch of idiots hahaha.
if you’re sober enough to recall it’s St. Paddy’s Day, then it’s not St. Paddy’s Day.
Hey, DB1…new feature request: A minimum posting age. That ^ above is more incoherent than Natalie’s featured missive.
but a bag hunter would never defile a hott, no matter how drunk he / she is.
i’m sure it says so somewhere in the bag hunter’s bible.
A number of years ago, I got out of work really late and barely made it to last call on St. Patty’s Day. I literally chugged four 20 oz imperial pints of Fuller’s ESB (British beer) in about thirty minutes. I then promptly stepped out onto the sidewalk and hurled a fucking torrent of beige foam all over the sidewalk. I never drank English beer on SPD again. From then on it was Jameson’s and Harp boilermakers. Never hurled again.
Uh, there’s really no point to this story except that I’m a tard sometimes. Cheers!
The dude on the right must like tattoos.
Pat goes to confession. “Father, I’ve had an adulterous affair,” says Pat.
“What is her name?” says the priest.
“I’m not telling,” says Pat.
“Was it the McMannis lass?” says the priest.
“No,” says Pat.
“Was it the McAlister widow?”
“No,” says Pat.
“Was it the McGinness harlot?”
“Father,” says Pat, “I’m not going to tell you her name.”
The priest says, “Then I’m not going to absolve your sins.”
Pat goes outside to Mike. Mike says, “So, Pat, did you get absolution?
“No,” says Pat, “but I got three really good leads.”
an irishman wakes up in the morning, and finds himself having passed out in the woods. he realized he had passed out next to an old bottle. he rubs it, the genie comes out, grants the man three wishes…
the irishman wishes for a bottle of whiskey. a bottle of whiskey appears. the irishman takes a huge swig, gasps takes another, and another…looks down and sees the bottle refilling itself. he looks at the genie, says what the fuck?
the genie says, that’s the bottle of infinity, every time you empty it, it fills back up. now you have two more wishes….
the irishman says, give me two more bottles!
yeah, st pats is pretty silly, but sure as i’m shitting, i will be shitting corned beef and cabbage tomorrow. what can you do, its old people law, and you have to follow, its just not worth it to scofflaw old people law…and its better than mcdonalds, and its as a free as a trip to mom’s house.
Maggie O’Shay,
yer a bonnie lass,
but I would be shamed,
if I didn’t want that ass,
sitting in my lap.
I’m no boozer, so a little Green River soda would do me fine. And if we all wait around, in another month we get “Green” again with Earth Day on April 22nd.
looking back on yet another glorious st. patty’s day, i’d like to leave a bit of advice for those of you who f’in’ failed… (this is mostly for the gays, uh, i mean guys)
1. men don’t drink Magners or other irish ciders, that shit is for the lasses, that’s hot chix for those of you who failed, if she can’t finish hers and you’re med-evacing her wounded, okay, but go easy on that shit, it’ll make u grow a vagina if you drink too much…
2. NOBODY drinks bud/miller/coors, corona, or heineken on st patty’s day, and they don’t drink any of that stupid belgian beer with the fuckin’ orange slices… your basic foodgroups are Harp(regular), Bass (midgrade), and Guiness (super) or any other good irish beer, and any good irish whiskey, put down the jack daniels for one day and get with some Jameson, run away from the fucin’ goose for once in your pathetic lives and feel the power of the Powers… furthermore they don’t go to the “club” for patty’s they go to the pub… i know you’re wondering, is “green beer autodouche?” yeah pretty much cause it’s probably light beer with food color added, we’re celebrating Ireland, its rich past, its noble traditions and its fine alcohol, not the color green you kermit the frog f’in’ scrotebags…
3. like i said it’s about the country not the color if it’s not all about the booze so leave the fuckin’ green hawaiian skirts at home, leave all that green shit you put on just to have one more layer of green on at the house, leave the stupid ass headband with the glitter glowing shamrock antannas on it, leave the party beads, leave all that kitschy club shit at the house
4. leave the kilt too, there’s a fine line between a man in a kilt and a douche in a plaid skirt, if in doubt, just assume you’re in the latter group
basically what i’m getting at here is that st. patty’s day is not an excuse to go around looking, acting, drinking, talking, or being like a total scrotum anymore than a jersey shore party is… wear a green football jersey from an irish team (if you’re scratching that vauous husk of a braincase with your juiced up spray-tanned arm and thinking the irish don’t have a team in the NFL, just stay in next year), go to a pub, drink some guineess, pund some car bombs, buy the lassies a magners, get shit-faced and have fun, don’t try taking your party game to the next level with decorations and costume pieces you dug out of the bargain bin last march 20th and saved up for the big day this year, and don’t please, oh please, for fuckssake don’t put that stupid fuckin’ ed hardy shirt on with the kilt u got at the thrift shop, people that get to wear kilts play bagpipes and drums and fight fires, they’re cops in boston, not jerk-offs from jersey and nobody cares how irish your family is if you have to go online and buy a kilt from douchesinkiltswithafflictiontees.com as i said before, when in doubt, you’re not the kilt type