Erin-go-Bragh

Another holiday guest post from the chairman of the flat earth society.

TO HELL WITH ST. PATRICK’S DAY…..WHERE DID ALL OF THE REAL DRINKERS GO???!!!
A Special Message by Mean Old Man

Why is it that every March 17th I have to be subjected to the dimwit subversive Irish culture that comes in the name of St. Patrick’s Day?!?!!!
As far as I’m concerned, the only damned thing that the holiday is about is amateurs going out and getting stewed on booze (and no doubt, nowadays, drugs too). And everyone is supposed to dress in green and go through this stupid ritual acting as if it is something that happens just once a year. It doesn’t----and if you don’t believe me take a stroll down to the VFW on any given night and you’ll see a load of drunks (but at least they served their country, not like the prissy yuppies of today).

I wouldn’t even consider taking the trusty Desoto out on the road that day as all the stupid alcoholics-in-training are out driving. I don’t want anyone to misinterpret my column as being against drinking. I’m just against the dum dums that do it once a year!! Everybody knows that people who don't drink a lot can't drive a car when they do get drunk, like us professionals can.

I don't know how it is in your family, but last St. Patrick's Day my stupid son Harlan and his loose wife Cindy brought my spoiled rotten granddaughter over to the house to show us how "cute" she was all dressed up as a leprechaun. She even had a plastic "pot of gold" , no doubt manufactured in some third world country for the sole intent of having my hard earned money dropped into it. "Didn't I just do this last Halloween?", I asked them all. Why is it that every holiday always comes down to money anyway? Damn!!!

I remember one St. Patrick's Day when some preppie Foster Brooks wannabees made the mistake of opening the door to the VFW. OF course, every real drinker knows that you don't walk into a sacred VFW club without a membership; only the air headed amateurs would dare try to. SO, these stupid prissy yuppies walk right on up to the bar where me and my friends Gummo and Slant Eyes are sitting and order up three Miller Lite's. The whole club went silent. The last time someone ordered a lite beer in our club was when my stupid brother in law's "friend" Hal did so (and might I add, it was his last time in our club). Pickles, the bartender looked these losers straight in their eyes and asked them what branch of the service they served in. Their jaws dropped and they looked like the deer I had in my headlights last Summer. It's not that ol' Pickles has an intimidating voice, it's just that it is a bit more intimidating as he's swinging a Louisville slugger while using it. Needless to say the three stooges ran out of the club faster than Leon Spinks from a dentist's office. I remember Slant Eyes saying that if those chumps ever did wear a uniform it was probably issued by the 4-H club or some Commie organization like it. We all had a good laugh and spent the rest of the night cursing St. Patrick and singing Ninety Nine Bottles of Beer. That was a good St. Paddy's day.

Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against the Irish; most of them can hold their liquor and fight at the drop of a hat--but let's be realistic; none of them is every going to win a spelling bee (if you know what I mean). When I was in the Army back in WWII, we had a Irishman in our outfit, Red O'Dea. Red was real Irish, not like the dainty put on artists of today. I remember once during our basic training all of us guys went to a bar for a toot and Red opened up each of our bottles of beer with his teeth!! I'll never forget the sight of his bloodied mouth as we chugged down our Ballentine's. He was laughing up a storm, and not only the sight, but the odor of the mixing of his blood and beer was pretty nauseating. It didn't seem to bother Red at all (remember what I said about the spelling bee). Good ol' Red, he survived Guadalcanal, and ended up dying stateside when he got run over by a trolley car in San Francisco. He was stewed, of course; I miss him a lot.

So, all you prissie Irish wannabees enjoy your St. Paddy's Day. Have one on me. For that matter, stop down at the local VFW, ol' Pickles has a present for you all!!! As for me, I'll be sitting by the ol' tv'er, popping open a bottle of Steg, lighting up another Lucky, and listening to the soothing sounds of Bing Crosby (maybe I'll even play his version of When Irish Eyes are Smiling).


Happy St. Paddy's Day!! I hate you all!!!!