St. Patrick’s Day fell on a Saturday and I spent some time today watching the parade on television instead of thinking about beta-sitosterol. You’d think that all the Irish do is work as firemen and get drunk, but in fact they’ve saved civilization on more then one occasion. Maybe the parade should reflect their real accomplishments.
Anyway, I will go outside in a few minutes because I live in a neighborhood filled with bars and see if I can hook up with anyone, although I doubt it because the whole point of St. Patrick’s Day is for every sexually-repressed person to get raging drunk. Already today I have seen girls swimming in pools of vomitus, guys being arrested and beat down with sticks. They literally have a “paddy wagon” down the block from me. It’s sort of comical.
St. Patrick’s Day is like Mardi Gras or Carnival for New York City, except without the promiscuity. Instead we have drunken antics and violence and a lot of yelling and screaming.
Either way, I will give it a try and go outside. I don’t like drunk women anyway, but one that is slightly inebriated is alright. I prefer my women sober, or else there is nothing to connect with. Excuse me for having a soul…
