GETTING ALL JIGGY WITH IT; THE SPIRITUAL ASPECT OF PUBLIC DRINKING

Being, as you know, a very negative person and downright nasty, I am not looking forward to tomorrow, when Americans of all heritages and ethnic origins will engage in public intoxication, a great American tradition brought to us primarily by English-speaking rump hats.

Curvaceous wenches in zesty sex-slut leprechaun outfits.
College boys speaking in brogues. Corned beef.
People puking in brotherly droves.

There's nothing more American than Saint Patrick's day.
When, traditionally, I stay entirely out of bars, because some inbred fifth generation yutz invariably takes offense at my accent and tries to pop me one.


I fully expect the idiots in the second floor apartment across the street to throw a raucous party. If it goes on past ten a clock I'm calling the riot squad on them.


Saint Patrick's Day is meant for quiet self-reflection, austerity, and snakes.


All Celtic music sounds better with accordions and banjos.


Heathens! You're all heathens!



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