Ah yes, it’s Saint Patrick’s Day. The day when millions of people regardless of their heritage get absolutely shit-faced…just like the Irish themselves. Yes my fellow blokes, whether the unfortunate stereotype of the Irish being wife-beating alcoholics is true, untrue, deserved, or undeserved, we’re all in agreement that whether you are Irish or not, you’re going to be regretting what you do tonight by tomorrow morning when you wake up with a severe hangover and laying next to that super hot chick you met the night before that is now the size of a hippo and is probably missing a tooth or two (or three). So, in that regard, here’s a list of tips and fun facts for how you can enjoy your night of binge-drinking with little collateral damage to deal with the following day:
Always bring spare condoms. Or saran wrap and a rubber band. Or neither, but whatever you do, give a fake name.
Be sure to watch the first “Boondock Saints” movie either before you venture out or while you’re drinking. Save the sequel for when you’re hungover and are unable to get up to grab the remote to shut it off.
Drink casually enough at first; don’t overdo it…unless you’re trying to prove to the cute chick with the toolbag boyfriend just how hardcore you are.
No matter how many times you hear music from Dropkick Murphys or Flogging Molly and you sing along, you don’t sound better the louder you sing the lyrics.
You’re not really getting into the spirit of the holiday by drinking Natty Ice or Bud Light one after another, because let’s face facts, you may as well be drinking water the whole fucking time.
Walking around with a belt buckle that says “kiss the Blarney Stone” is only funny for the first five minutes max that you wear it.
The chick that’s hanging all over you at the end of the night may fuck you yes, but the puke stain she leaves on your apartment floor will fuck you even worse because no matter what you can’t scrub the fucker out.
Birth control pills aren’t meant to be taken like Tic-Tacs or as chasers.
The guy wearing the green, four-leaf clover top-hat may seem like he has it going on and knows how to party, until you realize that inside the hat is his roofie supply he intends to use on you so he doesn’t wake up his Mom when he takes you home to bang you on his bean-bag in the basement.
Any “Irish bar” that plays more Lady Gaga and Usher than good ‘ol Irish drinking songs is not an “Irish bar” at all, even if the bouncer at the door is about as intimidating as a leprechaun.
Watching any combination of the “Leprechaun” sequels is not a good way to celebrate the day.
Corn beef and cabbage along with a pint of Guinness is traditional yes, almost as traditional as shitting your brains out about a half hour after you have eaten it.
Trying to talk with a faux-Irish accent is only acceptable when you’re trying to bang that chick that’s only in the city “visiting” and you tell her you’re actually from Ireland “visiting”.
Taking a big ‘ol shit in a black pot and spray painting said shit gold, followed by placing the shit-pot in the front seat of your buddy’s car while making sure all the windows are rolled up never ever stops being funny.
You’re welcome folks, enjoy!
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