I love St. Patrick's Day: twenty-four hours of the rest of the world getting smashed and claiming it's my country, IRELAND. Imagine if Ireland spent Independence Day eating hamburgers until everyone threw up in public, and how long that would last. But for some reason, America sees the Irish as inoffensive comic relief that can be safely ignored.
Thanks a lot, Emerson.
So we've got everyone in the country drinking in our honor, which would be awesome, except they can't handle it. The result is an army of overdrunk Emersons claiming to represent the Republic of Ireland as they exhibit all their worst behaviours and projectile puke over everyone in the vicinity.
Part of the problem is the poison called green beer. There are serious flaws in associating entire peoples with color -- that's already led to one civil war. The whole "green" thing means Ireland is exactly as Irish as Mexico and Mali, not as much as Nigeria, and almost infinitely less than Libya.
According to this chromatographic analysis, everyone in Ireland needs to learn Arabic right now.
But I'm going to try it anyway. I've never had a green drink on this day in my life, because I'm actually Irish and not an idiot, but I'm going to endure every green grog I can grab in my Gaelic mitts, just to see what happens.
Don't worry about the drinking dangers. I'm a professional.
Please continue to Part 2: Every Bottle of Green Booze I Can Find!
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