Where's my gold?

St. Patrick’s Day.  

Oh, yeah.  That’s today.  I almost forgot.  *Rolls eyes dramatically*

Good thing I’m wearing my leprechaun hat.  It has a buckle.  And sequins.  Like if a leprechaun and a porn star had a baby, the baby would come out sporting this hat.  And maybe a gold grill.  ‘Cause I could see this golddigging whore of a baby being tacky like that.  Hey, maybe Goldmember was part leprechaun…

Anway…

I’ve never been out on St. Patty’s Day.  I’ve never had green beer.  I have class till probably nine tonight.  And work bright and early tomorrow.  However, I made an executive decision:

Fuck it.

I’m going out.  But just for ONE drink.  Because I need to drive and, like, you know, keep my job.  Or whatever.

And I’ll be listening to the Irish pub rock station on Pandora for days.  It’s catchy, offensive, and exceptionally delightful.  For the aforementioned reasons.  Earlier, I heard a song about shaving a drunk sailor’s balls with a rusty razor.  Where else can you get that and be as entertained as I was?  Nowhere.

So, if you’re out tonight after nine and looking for green beer, keep an eye open for a girl in a sequined leprechaun hat.  

If you tell me accessories don’t count, I will disagree with you.

And if you pinch my ass, I reserve full rights to punch you in the ba-cock.
 

HAPPY ST. PATRICK’S DAY!

P.S.  My hat is the shit.