A Reply from “All Those Stupid Drunks”

Dear Dumbass,

Yesterday was St. Patrick’s day.  A magical day where everyone’s a little of the worst part of a stereotypical Irishman. Because some guy allegedly drove some snakes from some Island to somewhere else, we are given license to drink a German beverage and talk like a leprechaun until we vomit green bile on someone that isn’t our husband/wife. We get to stumble around and make inappropriate suggestions to members of the opposite sex and act like a total piece of shit without having to endure an intervention and (most of the time) nobody even calls the cops.  It’s truly a beautiful phenomenon.  The only better holidays are the Super Bowl and Cinco de Mayo because we get to be equally retarded (that’s right, I said it – one’s brain functions are in a state of retardation) without all the preachiness of the religious people who think this is an excellent “teachable moment”.  Yes, we understand the irony of wallowing in sin as we celebrate the deeds of a saint…or at least we did up until all but our essential brain functions shut off (by the way, it appears that one’s bladder isn’t really all that essential – I’ll clean that up in the morning…or maybe the afternoon) now shut the fuck up.

Quick tangent – Right now some of my best work is in the field of Facebook comments…check out this little gem I just posted – “So I’m hanging out drinking with Bignar (ed – Bignar is John Bignar, a guy I went to high school with), and he’s had 8 beers. I don’t know if you know this, but Bignar drives a Ford Escort. He finally decides that he wants to get a bunch of girls from the service (an escort, if you will) and drive her around in his car. So he’s driving around with escorts in his Escort. He finally has that 9th beer and he starts flailing and blindly throwing punches in every direction. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a carload of escorts fleeing an Escort. It was some fucking night…” So anyway…there’s more where that came from, so go be my facebook pal or whatever…

Everything about this most holy day is beautiful…except for one thing – people like you.  You stare at me with a condescending eye as I sway back and forth like Muhammad Ali on a boat.  You point at me as you lean over to your other soapboxing friend and say, “That’s why I hate St. Patrick’s day.  All the goddamned drunks.”  On behalf of all the slobbering neanderthal perverts like me – go fuck yourself.  Going out on St. Patrick’s day and complaining about the drunks is like going to a NASCAR race and complaining about all the cars.  To borrow heavily from Mikey of the Goonies:

The next time we see sky it’ll be over a different day – a day wrought with responsibilities and sadness. The next time you sit down, it’ll be at a desk in front of a computer rather than 5 feet from two hot girls who are ten years my junior, drunkenly grinding on one another as though they are attempting to start a survival fire through the power of groin friction. That middle-aged woman and her friend over there who keep glaring at our table, they want the bestest stuff for society.  And most of the time we’re willing to provide that for ’em.    ‘Cause most of the time it’s her time. Her time, up there. Down here it’s our time. It’s our time down here in the public urination and debauchery.  Our time to kill the brain cells that remind us of the meaninglessness of existence.  Our time to vomit on the stage while singing “You’re So Vain” on the Karaoke machine.  It’s our time goddamnit so for once in your life would you shut up and let us be drunk and stupid for at least three nights a year?  We’ve earned it – and besides this is our biblical right as sanctioned by the catholic church. That’s all over the second we ride up Troy’s bucket.

Wow.  I’ve motivated myself.  Despite the fact that it’s 8:30 in the morning on the day after St. Patrick’s day, I think I might take the day off and go out drinking and get in a fight with someone smaller than me…and of the opposite sex.  So to wrap up, please leave us ridiculous drunks alone on our special day.  Maybe you could go down in the basement and watch a movie or something.  Or you could take to the internet and tell strangers and former classmates about how “stupid” the holiday is.  I’m sure that’d be much more fun than tongue kissing a stranger that smells like makeup and cigarettes and then yelling, “WOOOO!”  Whatever you do, just do us a favor and leave us to it, ’cause it’s our time.

Sincerely,

metten