When an Facebook friend of Italian descent adds “O’” to the front of his last name, it doesn’t make him Irish.
I always find it interesting that the stereotype is that the Irish are a gang of drunken thugs and on St. Patrick’s day, everyone else wants to be that stereotype for the day.
So for all those that will today enjoy all the drinking, singing, fighting and promiscuity, along with more godawful corned beef and cabbage, let me say this:
Ok, its is now the morning after St. Patrick’s.
I got a touch of hangover going on, so don’t fuck with me.
I would not be adverse to getting a handicapped sticker for my car on days like this.
And there was some serious highlights last night that has at least cushioned the anti-everybody else but the Irish feelings.
Especially when, at a fine Irish pub, Pete, the drunken self proclaimed “Proud Italian” finished his 10th shot in 1 hour, vomited on the bar, slid of the barstool to the floor, and may or may not have shit himself.
It was beautiful.
I realize that it more or less makes me a bad person to take such delight in someone elses misfortune, but drinking is like a self imposed curse that we cast upon ourselves.
Plus, he was Italian.
And before someone emails me to berate me about the “Disease” of addiction, save it.
A disease is something you have no control over, addiction you do.
That’s my view, I’m not changing it, bite me.
I have dealt with my addictions in the past that I wanted to change, ignored my present caffeine issue because it is more of a plus than a minus to me, and moved on in my life.
And if none of that explanation keeps you from wanting to write that email, think about this:
I can’t make it much simpler than that.