lordofdiscipline
2506_79390544364_612374364_2430721_6774473_n
(just a note. i wrote this on 2007 on something called "myspace", but today, i thought it bared repeating.....)
so i was having lunch today with my mom when she reminded me of something that made my skin crawl: "hey, it's st. patricks day on saturday". ahh st. paddy's in victoria. is there no other more FUCKING PHONY-ASS FUCKING HOLIDAY in the world when it comes to this town? first of all i should preface this by saying that i'm irish, alright? so don't shit on me for shitting on this holiday. it's just the general celebrating public that i'd like to take a sickly green dump on. let me present exhibit a: the fucking irish times pub. alright, the word 'fucking' really isn't in the name of the place, but whenever i hear of someone that wants to go there, i always seem to add it. eg: "really?! you wanna go the fucking irish times pub??!! motherfucker, why?!?!?" something like that. i don't even know where to start with this tiny little armeggedon. first of all, great name. huge points for originality you dickwads. secondly, it's gotta be the most overpriced, overwrought, bordering-on-a-themepark motherfucking place in the whole city of victoria. "right in the heart of old downtown". yeaaah! it's right downtown! where the tourists will see it! which is great because there really isn't much in the way of touristy things to do in victoria. wow, i think some blood just started dripping out of my eyes when i said that. let me tell you something.....any self-respecting irishman wouldn't be caught within a ten mile blarney-stone's throw of that fucking dungeon on this holiday, let alone any other day of the year. why? CUZ THERE'S NO FUCKING IRISH PEOPLE IN THERE!!! do the people that run this place or go to this place even have a clue what an irish pub in ireland looks like? you get 3 things: a wooden table, a bench and a tap. one, maybe two taps. not 7 thousand taps of local microbrewed pretentiousness. and a 100% smoking section. alright, that's 4 things. but at the irish times, you get 7 dollar beers and some local lifer hack musician with a two thousand dollar amp playing "authentic irish folk music". most likely with a few grand thrown in for a "retro" hollow-body guitar, or lute or some such shit....and he's got his hat out for donations. man, fuck you! there's plenty of opportunities for college boy douchebaggery on any numerous victoria-related fun days (see: swiftsure, folkfest, new years, etc.) but st. patricks day takes the cake. a bunch of yahoos all dressed in green, wearing fucking green and white striped dr. seuss hats, wearing shirts that say 'fuck me, i'm irish', or some bullshit like that. yeah, you're soooo irish! it's awesome! and while i'm thinking about it, if you're gonna go all "ethnic faker-chic" every time some holiday comes around that doesn't pertain to your particular culture, then have the balls to go all the way. for instance, i'd better see you motherfuckers rocking daishikis on kwanzaa, and fasting during ramadan (that means no wildact beer, you useless scum-lapping shitbags), or jamming an arrow in your throat on valentine's day. or better yet, become a trappist monk and take a vow of celibacy and silence.....forever. i'm sure the underaged girls you prey upon would appreciate it. i'd love to see some of these tools go to chicago for their st paricks day parade, wearing their 'erin go-braless' (by the way, hilarious! no one ever thought of that one before you!) shirts and see how long it takes before you get a leprachaun jammed up your ass by any number of real, local irish dudes, whether it be cops, criminals, whatever, and have your souless corpse unceremoniously dumped in the chicago river (which they dye green for the occasion. a very festive way to drown somebody, really). now that's what i call a happy st. patricks day. me, i plan on spending it the way i always do: hanging out alone, or maybe with one or 2 other people, in a comfortable living room, maybe having a beer, or maybe not, and watching a movie, praying that i don't hear a gaggle of knuckle-dragging rejects stumbling past my window at 2 in the morning singing 'danny boy' (and fucking up the lyrics). that's about it. i could do something else, i suppose, like maybe rounding up a few of my friends, grabbing some live hand grenades or molotov cocktails and getting all IRA on the irish times pub, and burning it to the ground. "dear diary, i'm spending the rest of my life in prison for bombing the irish times, the home of cro-magnon date-raping fuck-wads, and i couldn't be happier. it was the best st. patricks day ever!". the end.
2506_79390544364_612374364_2430721_6774473_n
(just a note. i wrote this on 2007 on something called "myspace", but today, i thought it bared repeating.....)
so i was having lunch today with my mom when she reminded me of something that made my skin crawl: "hey, it's st. patricks day on saturday". ahh st. paddy's in victoria. is there no other more FUCKING PHONY-ASS FUCKING HOLIDAY in the world when it comes to this town? first of all i should preface this by saying that i'm irish, alright? so don't shit on me for shitting on this holiday. it's just the general celebrating public that i'd like to take a sickly green dump on. let me present exhibit a: the fucking irish times pub. alright, the word 'fucking' really isn't in the name of the place, but whenever i hear of someone that wants to go there, i always seem to add it. eg: "really?! you wanna go the fucking irish times pub??!! motherfucker, why?!?!?" something like that. i don't even know where to start with this tiny little armeggedon. first of all, great name. huge points for originality you dickwads. secondly, it's gotta be the most overpriced, overwrought, bordering-on-a-themepark motherfucking place in the whole city of victoria. "right in the heart of old downtown". yeaaah! it's right downtown! where the tourists will see it! which is great because there really isn't much in the way of touristy things to do in victoria. wow, i think some blood just started dripping out of my eyes when i said that. let me tell you something.....any self-respecting irishman wouldn't be caught within a ten mile blarney-stone's throw of that fucking dungeon on this holiday, let alone any other day of the year. why? CUZ THERE'S NO FUCKING IRISH PEOPLE IN THERE!!! do the people that run this place or go to this place even have a clue what an irish pub in ireland looks like? you get 3 things: a wooden table, a bench and a tap. one, maybe two taps. not 7 thousand taps of local microbrewed pretentiousness. and a 100% smoking section. alright, that's 4 things. but at the irish times, you get 7 dollar beers and some local lifer hack musician with a two thousand dollar amp playing "authentic irish folk music". most likely with a few grand thrown in for a "retro" hollow-body guitar, or lute or some such shit....and he's got his hat out for donations. man, fuck you! there's plenty of opportunities for college boy douchebaggery on any numerous victoria-related fun days (see: swiftsure, folkfest, new years, etc.) but st. patricks day takes the cake. a bunch of yahoos all dressed in green, wearing fucking green and white striped dr. seuss hats, wearing shirts that say 'fuck me, i'm irish', or some bullshit like that. yeah, you're soooo irish! it's awesome! and while i'm thinking about it, if you're gonna go all "ethnic faker-chic" every time some holiday comes around that doesn't pertain to your particular culture, then have the balls to go all the way. for instance, i'd better see you motherfuckers rocking daishikis on kwanzaa, and fasting during ramadan (that means no wildact beer, you useless scum-lapping shitbags), or jamming an arrow in your throat on valentine's day. or better yet, become a trappist monk and take a vow of celibacy and silence.....forever. i'm sure the underaged girls you prey upon would appreciate it. i'd love to see some of these tools go to chicago for their st paricks day parade, wearing their 'erin go-braless' (by the way, hilarious! no one ever thought of that one before you!) shirts and see how long it takes before you get a leprachaun jammed up your ass by any number of real, local irish dudes, whether it be cops, criminals, whatever, and have your souless corpse unceremoniously dumped in the chicago river (which they dye green for the occasion. a very festive way to drown somebody, really). now that's what i call a happy st. patricks day. me, i plan on spending it the way i always do: hanging out alone, or maybe with one or 2 other people, in a comfortable living room, maybe having a beer, or maybe not, and watching a movie, praying that i don't hear a gaggle of knuckle-dragging rejects stumbling past my window at 2 in the morning singing 'danny boy' (and fucking up the lyrics). that's about it. i could do something else, i suppose, like maybe rounding up a few of my friends, grabbing some live hand grenades or molotov cocktails and getting all IRA on the irish times pub, and burning it to the ground. "dear diary, i'm spending the rest of my life in prison for bombing the irish times, the home of cro-magnon date-raping fuck-wads, and i couldn't be happier. it was the best st. patricks day ever!". the end.