Usually if you admitted to anyone that you had seen little green men you would become an object of ridicule, if not institutionalized. There is one day each year where that is not the case though. Yes it is St Patricks day yet again. The only day of the year where admitting that you have seen them will be met with joyous, drunken shouts of ‘Leprechaun’.
The whole point of this holiday, as far as I can figure out, is to get so wasted that you do see little green men. You go out to a pub and drink as much beer (that seems to have the consistancy of mud and a taste to match) as you possibly can.
Each venue will have a dodgy band murdering well know songs. This is known as shamrock. Everybody dances the uncoordinated drunken dance, with arms around each other defying the law of gravity and holding each other up.
By the time you roll out of the pub you are hungry, and throwing reason out the door you get yourself a St Patricks kebab. That is the one with the fuzzy green meat. Following that you will find a nice piece of green grass to pass out on. For some reason the grass is now the same color as your face.
The one thing you need for tonight is a good Irish joke. Memorise this one if you don’t already have one.
A passer-by watched two Irishmen in a park. One was digging holes and the other was immediately filling them in again.
'Tell me, 'said the passer-by, 'What on earth are you doing?'
'Well, 'said the digger, 'Usually there are three of us. I dig, Fergal plants the tree and Sean fills in the hole.
Today Fergal is away unwell, but that doesn't mean Sean and I have to take the day off, does it?'
Happy St Patricks day everyone - You will see little green men tonight - to be sure, to be sure.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Friday, March 4, 2011
Forrest Gump said life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re gonna get. That is doubly true for love. You reach in hoping for a gooey center, yet usually end up with rocky road.
As children we are brought up with fairy tales of love at first sight and happily ever after. Being a bachelor at the age of 33, let me tell you those delusions are just not true.
There are so many stories I could tell you about my doomed love life, but I think this one will illustrate my point the best. The names in the following story have been changed to protect the guilty.
I met Olivia at the pub one night and we sort of hit it off. After a few weeks we got to know each other fairly well. One night, being Mr Suave, I convinced her to come back to my house. In reality it didn’t take much convincing.
To cut a long story short a while later we were in my bedroom, trying to get undressed with hands all over each other. Just before commencing the deed, I blindly reached behind me to get a condom out of the drawer.
A few seconds into it she asked me “Is it centered ?” To which I replied “what ?”
“Centered. Is it centered ?” This is not something any male wants to hear at a time like that. I stared dumbly down at where our crotches met, wondering how she could not even feel it. She started tapping her nose and repeating “Centered. Centered”
Just as I realised that she was saying scented, not centered, she started flailing around and yelling at me to get off. It turns out that, unkown to me, Olivia had an alergy to citrus. Unknown to us both I had grabbed a orange flavoured condom.
There was blood on the bed. By the time I worked out it was from a split lip Olivia had given me trying to get me off, she had curled in the foetal position moaning “it burns, it burns.” From the look on her face I would not have been surprised to see flames shoot out from between her legs.
I got her into the shower to try and wash it away and pulled out the few creams I had that might help. I then went into the laundry to clean up my lip.
After a long time she came out of the bathroom and shot me a look part pain, part anger and part stupefication. She looked so much like Mr Bean at that moment I got the giggles. I couldn’t help it. Luckily laughter is contagious or I would not have any testicles now.
Apparently I looked funny also, sitting there holding a pack frozen chicken breasts to my face.
Needless to say that relationship did not last very long. The only way I can describe it is skittish, even when she bought her own condoms along.
So yes, I am 33 and still single. I am not waiting for my soul mate or any such rubbish. I just have not had a lot of luck when it comes to love. I have had a lot of fun though, and have a collection of stories to match.