Imagine what would happen if you took every single douchebag guy and fat needy girl from Manhattan, New Jersey, Staten Island, and the periphery… made them each drink 32 beers, and let them loose on the streets. What would happen?
It is called St. Patrick’s Day, and it is the one day of the year that I will not go out for the evening under any circumstances. I carry a switchblade, I don’t take my sunglasses off, I spit on people.
I’m about to let some people have it right now, so be warned.
Sure the holiday can be somewhat kitchy for those middle-aged women who get their kicks from pulling out that NAUGHTY green scarf that their cubicle office would normally prohibit… you know, the scarf they bought online last year after having one Zima too many, and now they finally have an excuse to wear itttt!! Or an excuse for a fat girl with a bad spray tan to go craaaaazy and get a craaaazy green hat and wear some green heeeels because everyone loves an Irish girl, right??
No, they don’t.
And they especially won’t love you when they take your loose ass home and you keep burping because you acted like a caveman and had 75 Miller High Life’s and then got too tanked to put out. Sure, you showed your nipples in the bar and got some attention for a jukebox second, but it is not going to be enough to carry you through the rest of the evening. And even if you do make it to someone’s place for some slutty nom noms, you will vomit in their apartment. I’m sorry, but you were only good for a lay in the first place, so if you can’t do that and THEN you somehow manage to vomit your three Sbarro slices all over the place, you may as well kiss your sex life goodbye until you finally lose that last ounce of self respect and become a stripper. Good money. Good hours. Free drugs.
And these guys with their green sweatshirts and baggy Docker’s cargo jeans that feel the need to congregate on every street corner and yell about every single thought that comes into their heads. They heckle you and read you because even though they are drunk and it is inappropriate, there comes a level of invincibility when you are surrounded by six of your friends and three fat girls who you will impress by making fun of the dude with “elvis hair.” Well let me gently remind you that YOUR head looks like the tip of a penis because you went completely bald years ago and you are only 24. And no, you don’t just shave your head because “you like it.” You shave it because you don’t think anyone realizes that you are balding, but trust me. They do. And I’m sure those fat girls that you are screwing later will be super turned on by that bald, ruddy head thrusting into their face. And you’ll already smell like BO and cheap beer, and we all know that’s a definite turn on for anyone.
By 8 o’clock all of the aforementioned are falling in front of traffic, bumming Newports from homeless people and then taking pictures of them, and quoting episodes of Family Guy that were funny the first time 10 years ago.
Now… I’m sure that everyone I am blatantly bashing here could have a million and one nasty things to say about me or the people that I choose to hang out with – shit, I hang out with self absorbed pricks, prostitutes, fame-hungry backstabbers, and people with severe psychological damage and daddy issues (no, I wouldn’t change a thing)… but the difference is that when I talk shit and act like an idiot, it is in the privacy of my own home or a booth in a club or bar… not on the corner of 55th street and 8th avenue at noon on a Thursday.
But it is a good excuse for me to sharpen my switch blade every year, so I guess there’s always that.
No comments:
Post a Comment