Ladies and Gentlemen! In exactly 20 Hours and some number of minutes, St. Patrick's Week 2004 will commence! I am officially psyched. I have an entire night of bullshit graveyard shift (during which everything is guaranteed to go wrong, because the boss excersized some incredibly poor judgement and left me in charge while he is away) ahead of me before the opening ceremonies, but goddamn it, I am ready to tear shit up. That said, this is going to be the biggest St. Patrtick's Week Party I have ever thrown, as I have actually taken out a loan to pay for it. This disturbs me to a great degree, as I have not hired a DJ, nor have I solicited the services of a band, strippers, prostitutes, or bouncers, nor have I bribed any law enforcement officers of any kind. No, I opted to take the route of a true drunk and spend every penny on booze. More booze, in fact, than I have ever seen in my house at once. So much Guinness, Harp, Murphy's, whiskey, and Irish cream is downstairs right now, that every time I walk into my kitchen and see it there in all of its majesty, my liver has an orgasm.
Next to the beautiful mountain of sweet judgement clouding splendor, sit the potatos. Seventy five bloody pounds of them. Some will be mashed. Some will be baked. Some will be roasted. Some will be consumed raw. Some will be halved and scooped out, only to be filled with cheese and other shit that you put in potato skins that I forgot to buy and have to remember to go to the store tonight and get. ALL will be accounted for.
Soon, the clatter of a shotglasses inside pintglasses being slammed upon a table will ring out for all to hear. Soon, there will be no such thing as a bad idea. Soon, there will probably be a bet made over somethng asinine for the sum of eleventy bazillion dollars. Soon, I will quit trying to make having all my friends over to get lit for a solid week sound so fucking epic. SOON, but not now. Now, I have to go to sleep. I need my strenth.
Erin Go Bragh!
P.S. I know. I'm a putz. But I have so much fun doing it!
Next to the beautiful mountain of sweet judgement clouding splendor, sit the potatos. Seventy five bloody pounds of them. Some will be mashed. Some will be baked. Some will be roasted. Some will be consumed raw. Some will be halved and scooped out, only to be filled with cheese and other shit that you put in potato skins that I forgot to buy and have to remember to go to the store tonight and get. ALL will be accounted for.
Soon, the clatter of a shotglasses inside pintglasses being slammed upon a table will ring out for all to hear. Soon, there will be no such thing as a bad idea. Soon, there will probably be a bet made over somethng asinine for the sum of eleventy bazillion dollars. Soon, I will quit trying to make having all my friends over to get lit for a solid week sound so fucking epic. SOON, but not now. Now, I have to go to sleep. I need my strenth.
Erin Go Bragh!
P.S. I know. I'm a putz. But I have so much fun doing it!
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~mle