Happy St. Patrick's Day - idiots

Yay! Yet another holiday we don't know anything about!

Ah, St. Paddy's Day. What once was a time-honored feast for the Patron Saint of Ireland has turned into yet another reason to buy overpriced beer and buy a new shirt that says something witty like "Kiss Me I'm Irish" or "Kiss Me, I'll Probably Sleep With You Because I Drank A Gallon of Green Beer."

I don't really care all too much about the raping of St. Patrick's Day to be quite honest with you - my people were English and Native American. What I do care about is the seemingly open season on being a dickhead that comes along with this holiday.

Yeah, yeah, we get it, someone about 40 centuries back down your family stump lived through the potato (look at that, Dan Quayle didn't author the dictionary on Blogger... didn't let me put an E there) famine. Does that really give you an excuse to don an Ireland track jacket that you picked up at Target, get hammed and pee on my Honda? Apparently it does.

I'm glad I won't be in town for St. Paddy's Day this year, because I won't have to field text messages from one of my friends constantly calling me a pussy for not going out and drinking Jameson until I can't walk or talk.

I hope St. Patrick hates all the d-bags that go around being complete knobs in his name on a day that is supposed to honor him. I don't know if when you get canonized you get special powers, but I hope you do and I hope he uses them on those wonks.

Here's a good idea for something to do on St. Patrick's Day; since we aren't close enough for you to go kiss the Blarney Stone, how about you get down and kiss my English/Indian (feather not dot) ass.

Toss off.