I’ve got a Saint Patrick’s Day story up at the old Cult of the One Eyed Cat
Here’s a taste:
I was well into my fifth Guinness when I saw the leprechaun. He sat at the edge of the bar, gazing sadly at something in his wee hand.
I looked around the pub. Nobody else seemed to notice him, so I casually stood up, held onto the bar for balance, and moved to the seat next to him.
“Excuse me,” I said, “but are you a leprechaun?
He quickly closed his wee hand into a wee fist, and looked up at me. In a wee voice he said, “Aye, laddie. Me name’s O’Malley.”
I looked around again. It was only ten in the morning, so the only other people in the bar were three professional drunks and the barkeep, who was watching Arsenal beat the crap out of Blackburn on the TV.
“Can anyone else see you?” I said.
He sighed a wee sigh. “There used to be a time when the whole world could see me. But now, I’m only visible to people who are drinking Guinness.”
BUT! Before you read mine, you simply must read Kathleen’s How to Survive a Pub Crawl with Real Irishmen:
St. Patrick’s Day is almost upon us. It’s a glorious holiday, filled with song, dance, green beer, and even greener vomit. Many of you have plans to celebrate this fantastic holiday by driving the snakes out of Ireland, or wearing a shamrock to signify your solidarity with the Irish people. Or, like most of us, you’re planning to get so drunk that you forget you have opposable thumbs.
But if you’re up for a real challenge, something that will require you to gather all the strength, courage, and liver fortitude you can muster, we’ve got you covered. We give you: the guide to surviving a pub crawl with real Irishmen.
Oh, and I just want to add one editorial comment for everyone out drinking today: putting green dye into Corona doesn’t make it IRISH, you fokkin’ bastards. Hoist a pint of Guinness, or get the hell out of my bar.