St. Patrick's Day Shenanigans
Whoopee-fucking-o'who.
It has taken me almost an entire 24 hours to really absorb and lament about this whole St. Patrick’s Day hoopla. Being a former bartender of almost 10 years – I have this intense loathing for St. Patrick’s Day. The one day of the year when every yutz in the free world, and even some in the not-so-free world, for some reason or other develops a shit-ass Irish accent and feels the need to don whatever scraps of green clothing that they’ve had hiding in the back of their closets for the past 364 days that they can still stretch over their fat bloated torsos.
I hate St. Patrick’s Day – and even more so, I hate people who celebrate St. Patrick’s Day! Just having to witness anybody particpating in some stupid St. Patrick's Day shenanigans makes me more irritable than a Minotaur with a toothache. I want to club them all with a sack of pennies, kick them in their Blarney Stones, and shove their penny whistles up their asses.
From the moment I walk out my front door on the morning of – it’s like I'm stepping into some bizarre mutant Kermit the Frog family reunion picnic. It’s just infuriating! The first person that mistakenly pinches me because “that’s what you get when you don’t wear green” inevitably is greeted with a knuckle sandwich that would make George Foreman throw in the towel.
“That’s what you get for being such an ass, there, Bono.”
I just don’t get it. Green is ugly. It's the color of mold, weeds*, swamp creatures, and alien blood cells. It was not intended to be worn in public with such bold frankness. The color green signals that a body limb may soon need to be sawed off, or that some left out food stuffs have gone a little funky. I'd be a little leary of celebrating any culture or nationality that embraces this color as being fashionable.
I particularly don’t understand the phenomena of celebrating St. Patrick’s Day in the office place. It’s bad enough that I have stay away from all bars, restaurants, clubs, cafes, and other social public establishments in order to avoid the drunken mobs of slang-talking Irish moolyaks sloshing their green beverages on my hushpuppies and taking leaks on my parked car at the side of the road – but now I have to find a way to deal with the schmucks that I work with as well.
If we really wanted to emulate the true spirit of the Irish for the day we should be show up for work loaded at 8:00AM, pick fights with our customers, piss in our neighbors cubicle and storm the managers office and pound the Lucky Charms out of him with Hurley bats – before passing out under his desk in a puddle of our own green vomit.
Where some of these yobs come up with their deluded expressions of “Irishness” I’ll never know. One co-worker even showed up in a neon orange shirt with green shamrock suspenders, beads, hat, and heeled shoes. How is that being Irish exactly? I’ve never met an Irishman who would ever even dare leave the house looking like a gay pumpkin.
If I were Irish – I’d dread St. Patrick’s Day. I’d probably board myself up inside my apartment for an entire 24 hours with a keg of Guiness until the madness had passed completely. Honestly – this blasphemous mockery of the culture would be enough to have St. Patrick himself drive all the snakes back into Ireland!
“Top o’ the morning to ya’s, ya fookin’ eejit’s!”
* Yes - you got it. Even the traditional lucky four leafed variety.
It has taken me almost an entire 24 hours to really absorb and lament about this whole St. Patrick’s Day hoopla. Being a former bartender of almost 10 years – I have this intense loathing for St. Patrick’s Day. The one day of the year when every yutz in the free world, and even some in the not-so-free world, for some reason or other develops a shit-ass Irish accent and feels the need to don whatever scraps of green clothing that they’ve had hiding in the back of their closets for the past 364 days that they can still stretch over their fat bloated torsos.
I hate St. Patrick’s Day – and even more so, I hate people who celebrate St. Patrick’s Day! Just having to witness anybody particpating in some stupid St. Patrick's Day shenanigans makes me more irritable than a Minotaur with a toothache. I want to club them all with a sack of pennies, kick them in their Blarney Stones, and shove their penny whistles up their asses.
From the moment I walk out my front door on the morning of – it’s like I'm stepping into some bizarre mutant Kermit the Frog family reunion picnic. It’s just infuriating! The first person that mistakenly pinches me because “that’s what you get when you don’t wear green” inevitably is greeted with a knuckle sandwich that would make George Foreman throw in the towel.
“That’s what you get for being such an ass, there, Bono.”
I just don’t get it. Green is ugly. It's the color of mold, weeds*, swamp creatures, and alien blood cells. It was not intended to be worn in public with such bold frankness. The color green signals that a body limb may soon need to be sawed off, or that some left out food stuffs have gone a little funky. I'd be a little leary of celebrating any culture or nationality that embraces this color as being fashionable.
I particularly don’t understand the phenomena of celebrating St. Patrick’s Day in the office place. It’s bad enough that I have stay away from all bars, restaurants, clubs, cafes, and other social public establishments in order to avoid the drunken mobs of slang-talking Irish moolyaks sloshing their green beverages on my hushpuppies and taking leaks on my parked car at the side of the road – but now I have to find a way to deal with the schmucks that I work with as well.
If we really wanted to emulate the true spirit of the Irish for the day we should be show up for work loaded at 8:00AM, pick fights with our customers, piss in our neighbors cubicle and storm the managers office and pound the Lucky Charms out of him with Hurley bats – before passing out under his desk in a puddle of our own green vomit.
Where some of these yobs come up with their deluded expressions of “Irishness” I’ll never know. One co-worker even showed up in a neon orange shirt with green shamrock suspenders, beads, hat, and heeled shoes. How is that being Irish exactly? I’ve never met an Irishman who would ever even dare leave the house looking like a gay pumpkin.
If I were Irish – I’d dread St. Patrick’s Day. I’d probably board myself up inside my apartment for an entire 24 hours with a keg of Guiness until the madness had passed completely. Honestly – this blasphemous mockery of the culture would be enough to have St. Patrick himself drive all the snakes back into Ireland!
“Top o’ the morning to ya’s, ya fookin’ eejit’s!”
* Yes - you got it. Even the traditional lucky four leafed variety.
3 Comments:
LOL - "gay pumpkin"... that was wonderful. :D
I don't get it either. It's even worse in a university town such as the one I'm in. People were loaded at 8am. People were lining up at bars at 9am. 9-A-Freaking-M. They can't even start serving until 11! Then, what's worse, I go to class and while very few people show up, the ones who do are ALSO piss-drunk. I don't get it either. People need to die, that is the only conclusion I can draw.
Amen brother. I refuse to wear green on that day. Feckin Posers!!
I'm Irish-American and I wonder why everyone wants to be Irish on St. Patrick's Day. It's really not all it's cracked up to be. Although it beats being British...
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