I’m sort of ambivalent about my ambivalence toward St. Patrick’s Day. On the one hand, it’s obviously fucking stupid. On the other, it’s really fucking stupid, so it’s kind of hard to strike the right balance of feigned superiority. But anything that brings The Holy Trinity® of ridiculousness — Religion, Nationalism and Getting Wasted — altogether in one spectacular shit show is ripe for scorn. When you add in other reliable indicators of boorishness, like Boston, the Irish, Irish-Americans, parades, fun and being sociable, well, it deserves a special rung of its own in holiday hell.
The only way it could be worse is if it was a day where everyone pretended really hard right in your face to be Italian. I think we can all agree that, no matter how bad St. Patrick’s Day is, at least we dodged a bullet on that one.
The reason it doesn’t bother me too much though is because, as a reasonable person, I don’t even really know that it exists. I don’t go to Southie to watch the parade. I don’t watch any parade for that matter. I’d rather see a column of stormtroopers marching down the street to my front door with burning torches and laser shields than be subjected to a parade’s particular drunken brand of artistry that comprises everything contemptible about ethnic pride and displays of military prowess. (Marching bands are kind of cool though, just saying.)
Read the rest at Street Carnage or after the jump.
And unlike every other night of the year, I will make the reasonable decision to avoid bars tonight. Why? Because I am not a fucking moron. Also, I don’t like standing in lines, being around ridiculous people or taking part in forced displays of camaraderie. I don’t like watching people puke, get in fights and sing old timey Irish folk songs either. If I wanted to take part in any of that shit, I wouldn’t have quit going to AA meetings with your sister.
So, I don’t know. Go celebrate it if you want. It’s your stupid life. But do me a favor: Every couple hours or so, in between spilling sips of green piss beer on your green Cosby sweater, think about this: St. Patrick wasn’t even Irish. Dude was born in Roman Briton. Also, there were never any snakes in Ireland. Also, taxes are due in a couple weeks and we’re all going to die some day, most likely in pain and alone.
Anyway, have fun having fun. See you tomorrow for the post-game wrap up. I wanna hear all about it.
brought to you by
5 comments:
I like yer stuff Luke. Only thing on streetcarnage worth reading. Bless.
Awww, nuts. Thanks.
The only way it could be worse is if it was a day where everyone pretended really hard right in your face to be Italian. I think we can all agree that, no matter how bad St. Patrick’s Day is, at least we dodged a bullet on that one.
I wonder if Dublin and Boston had a St Paddys Day contest who would win? A few years ago in Dublin I saw girls squatting on Grafton Street (ritziest street in Dublin) pissing their hearts out. Awwww. In Belfast one year I saw Catholic boys beat up this one Protestant guy and write KAH which means Kill all protestants on his face in green facepaint.
How does KAH mean Kill All Protestants?
Post a Comment