“It’s hard to imagine a night of drinking that could even transform Clark Kent into a raging douche.”

At first I imagined St. Patrick’s day would become the greatest drinking story to date. The chaos and calamity would merge together forming an enormous puke green ball of awesome. I’d have to reflect for days and consult with friends and enemies to ensure my stories were correct. Instead what I saw could only be summed up as a ten car pileup caused by a guy wearing green beads driving a lime green stretch Hummer blasting Irish drinking music.

On this night I saw the underbelly of society half hanging over people’s pants. I witnessed a couple giving a wall the 1000 yard stare, clearly appreciating the calmness of chipped paint. Wholesome people were transformed into loathing leprechauns ready to battle over anything from rainbows to spilled beer. Later they would become moral dignitaries for the grace of Saint Patrick himself mediating other arguments. One guy even recognized an ugly stranger in the mirror. Who the hell is that staring at me? Ugly bastard! I’ll kick your face in. But say pal, that’s a nice shirt. Let’s hug.

What did Saint Patrick’s day do to people? I can’t completely blame the whiskey. A few women reminisced about the good times of last year. I questioned their judgment. This year was no different from any other. Where were these good times? I started to question tolerances in all directions, especially drinking. I counted at least six fights in the short time I was out. I think he pointed at me or maybe it was the waitress. It doesn’t matter. Yesterday I was your accountant doing your taxes. Tonight I’m going to kick some St. Patty’s day ass.


Memories were sloshed around in their brains, some in their stomachs. It didn’t make a difference. When we head down a road like tonight we set an example for everyone around us. It becomes acceptable to consider no one else around you because you’re wearing green and green means go dammit. Shotgun that drink and order four more. If I’m not shitting, pissing or puking on the floor then tonight failed.

So Saint Patrick’s day goes to all those that probably shouldn’t, couldn’t, but have been drinking. If you go out next year be safe, head home early and fight the hangover. We’ll see you same monsters again when fireworks are bursting in the air and we’re celebrating our independence through inebriation, exhilaration, and a little contempt.

Addendum: JB started a fight with a railing. It promptly won the fight as he landed on his knee and elbow.

The bottom line:

Stay home, it’s the same train wreck you’ve seen the last __ years. Have some soup and a grilled cheese or something.