St. Patrick’s Day is traditionally the time when people conduct complicated experiments to see how loose they can get on a weekday and still go to work the next day. These experiments almost always fail. The next day is awful.
These eight cats with alcohol remind me of those people, those Paddy’s Day partiers, those binge drinkers and beer hoarders and all-day stool-sitters.
Thus making your Paddy’s Day a blur that finds you hobbling home just after lunchtime to sleep it off or doubling down and going into outer space with this guy.
And you don’t want to go into outer space with this guy.
That’s this guy. He loves St. Patrick’s day. He arrives at the bar the same time as the first employee, grabs his seat, and watches the parade of life pass before him, happy as a drunk on a barstool on St. Patrick’s Day. It’s the best day of the year for him — he’ll sit at the bar all day on Paddy’s Day. Also every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.
This is Kevin. Kevin was the guy who always “beered” you in the morning while you were brushing your teeth, and you didn’t even live together. Kevin never made it through a full night — still doesn’t. On St. Patrick’s Day, he won’t even make it through a full midday. Don’t go anywhere near Kevin today — it’s best to not even be in the same city as Kevin. These Kevins are bad news on St. Patrick’s Day.
No chips, dip, appetizers, music, dancing, conversation, activities, nothing. Just stacks of beer in the kitchen and a bunch of scavenged furniture in a two-bedroom beater apartment with water damage. You don’t want to be at this party.
Oh, you need another? Sorry pal, I only have eight left.
Step away from the 12 pack, friend.
“So, you’re in ad sales? That sounds interes — WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP DANCING PLEASE!”
To be honest, don’t know any big guys with tiny beers, but we can’t stop looking at that tiny beer.
Laugh with us: