Blarney!

St. Pattys Day, and I'm well into my fifth pint at the moment. It's a very good thing.

While my heritage is not a majority Irish, I do have some Irish in me somewhere along the line. Irish and German, actually. What a fucking combination that is. I'm surprised my body isn't constantly arguing with itself.

In honor of St. Patty's Day, I'm drinking like I'm Irish. What does this mean, you ask? Well, a lot of Irish-Americans get pissed off because when the fools that aren't Irish celebrate St. Patty's Day, they go to a bar and consume enough alcohol to stun an alcohol-immune sumo wrestler, and end up drunk 14 minutes after they sit down. That's not how it's done. Irish people take their time, and while they do end up drunk by the time the night is over, their barstool isn't still cold when it happens. Remember kids -- it's Erin Go Bragh, not Erin Go Barf.

Cheers!