One would think that a holiday based solely around getting as shit-faced as possible would be right up 'ol Roast's alley.  One WOULD think that, but one would be dead fucking wrong.

I enjoy going out, and entertaining the public at large with my wacky and inappropriate drunkenness.  What I don't enjoy, is going out when every single person in town is also out, trying to out do each other in some kind of drunk fest that only ends in throwing up what ever green concoction that they happened to drink last was.  All in the name of being Irish, which most of them fucking AREN'T.

Once, many, many years ago, good St. Patrick drove some whores out of a town and thus freed up the Irish settlers there to openly worship their god:

This being said, after the initial enthusiasm wore off, these poor fuckers had nothing to do but get pants-pissingly drunk all the time.  As time wore on, the driving out of the whores, along with St. Patrick's message of "Worship thy potot as thou worshiped thy loose hooker." was forgotten.  But the glorious habit of drinking for no fucking reason at all wore on.

A couple years ago, I caved to two "Irish" girls insistence that I go out on the town with them and get hammered.  Well, as it usually does with me, hilarity of a surprising nature ensued (at least to me) and I have a nice little story for the ages.

The Players:

X: My ex-wife.  (hey, we are still drinking buddies, and get along better now, so don't ask)

Kay:  X's best friend, a good friend of mine as well.

Roast:  Making an ass out of himself, as usual.

Hottie:  Some fine young lady.  I use the term "lady" pretty loosely here...

Hottie's Jealous Boyfriend:  Self explanatory.

We hit the town on this fine Friday evening, right after work shut down.  Along with half a quadrillion other "Irish" folks looking to get face down in the gutter drunk.  We make the rounds in the down town area, in all the "Irish" pubs, and it fucking sucks.  I eat something that I still have no idea of what it was, or what it was made out of.  And I never do want to know, so don't bother telling me if you do know.

After several hours of pounding green Coors Lite (the very same Coors that was enjoyed back in Ireland I'm SURE) we make our way over to a Mexican karaoke bar.  I mean "Irish" bar.....because aren't they all?

Anyway, at some point I paid some asshole $10 for a flimsy plastic green derby hat to get in the spirit of the evening.  Because of course I'm "Irish" as a mother fucker.

So the three of us sit there, and are given free shot after shot after shot because X actually worked there part time and knew everybody that worked there.  I'm leaning back in a chair, giving some young hottie the eye.  Sitting next to me is my ex-wife (divorce still pending in the courts), and on the other side flanked by Kay.  I'm looking like the good pimp St. Patrick himself hanging out with two chicks, casting glances at others.

A pimp, or a drunk gay man, feel free to call it how you see it.

Hottie gets up from her table (about ten feet from us) and heads to the restroom.  As she passes, I give her my best "I'm GREAT in bed when I'm hammered" look, and she smiles widely at me.  X and Kay see this, and immediately start asking me if I think I'm getting lucky tonight.

Roast:  Luck has nothing to do with it ladies.  Besides, most likely I'll be in a fight tonight before I'm getting with Hottie.

I then point out this small statured man sitting there giving me a nasty glare from under some kind of hooded sweatshirt. 

Roast:  But I'm pretty sure I could take him.

Shortly after I make this bold prediction that I could kick some drunk guys ass who weighs at least 35 pounds LESS than I do (yeah, I'm a real fucking stud over here), Hottie comes out of nowhere right up to me and says "Nice Hat!"

At this point, I become fully aware that I'm flirting with some drunk bitch right in front of my (soon-to-be) ex wife while her and her friend egg me on.  So, naturally, I choke.

Roast:  Yeah....um....ten dollars.

Hottie:  Mind if I try it on?  (Before I can answer she takes it off of my head, and rubs up against me)

Roast:  Sure babe, it looks good on you.  Say, are you IRISH?

Hottie:  HA!!!  HOW DID YOU KNOW?

This awkward exchange continues, all the wile somebody is getting PISSED about ten feet away.  Really pissed.  Finally Hottie is beckoned back to her chair by her table, and she goes and sits down.  She continues to shoot me "I'm going to make an IRISH MAN out of you" looks.

X:  Yeah!!!  Way to choke on that one smooth boy!!!!

Kay: HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Roast:  Yeah, I guess I'm not very adept in the art of picking up women with my wife at my side.

So, the karaoke music continues, and Hottie and her boy friend start making out.

Roast: There is something not right about that table of all girls, and that couple....

Kay:  Um, do you guys see what I see?

We all look, as Hottie's boyfriend stands up, and is revealed to be Hottie's GIRLFRIEND.

Now my table goes wild, and Kay and X almost simultaneously say "Maybe you can take them BOTH home with you!!!"

Roast:  Um, not with their whole table laughing at me, as they all appear to be doing now.

Hottie wraps her hands around yet another tall glass of green beer, which she has been pounding all night long, apparently.  Ten minutes later, she is passed out in her chair, and 20 minutes later she is being carried out by her group of, um...friends.  I guess.

Roast:  Man, fuck this holiday.  A million drunk "Irish" girls in town tonight, and I get hit on an "Irish" lesbian making a laughing stock out of me for an entire section of an "Irish" (Mexican) bar.  Fuck this, I'm out.

And I have not gone out on St. Patrick's Day since.  They have better "Irish Pubs" in France.  And that's the truth.

For more tales of debauchery, click here...

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