By Barry Bendis
This is a factual account of last year's Saint Patrick's Day celebration. It all centered on lots of alcohol, a city-wide pub crawl, and my goal to wear different funny Irish t-shirts every hour of the evening. This is a valiant tale of a valiant young man whom most likely did not realize the depth of the errors he would make later that evening. He may of ended as a villain, but he began the evening with the heart of a hero.
The plan was pretty genius. I would wear five funny Irish t-shirts and trade one each hour while I was out drinking for a smooch from a lovely Irish lass. I began at a pub crawl with my friends and we started the evening off with a great sense of bravado, smashing our way through three slammers of Irish whiskey as we walked through the door. This was a huge mistake, if not now than later when my inhibitions were way too low for common sense. The first hour ended with my friends leaving while I slowly talked a girl into letting me kiss her cheek for a funny Irish t-shirt.
I totally did not care that my friends were gone, because I found another bar without the help of anyone. The second hour was actually really fun, and in the heat of the laughing and dancing and talking I must have drunk a lot more booze than I meant to. I bartered away two of my funny Irish t-shirts to these girls who I wanted to see make out, which ended well because they flashed me for free. I felt I got a bargain. I then left them to make out with a fat girl in the corner who didn't seem to mind how drunk I was as lone as I didn't mind how fat she was.
Things started getting really foggy around this time, and hour number three was a bit of a mess. The fat girl happened to have a brother who thought I was attacking her. He decided the best course of action was to smash my kidneys in with his fist. Even drunk, that hurt a lot. The bouncers pried the two of us apart and threw us outside. I have no clue where my funny Irish t-shirts had gone, because I was evidently shirtless and cold. Chubby girl incident aside, I tried to find another bar that would let a shirtless guy inside.
As far as hours nu
I totally did not care that my friends were gone, because I found another bar without the help of anyone. The second hour was actually really fun, and in the heat of the laughing and dancing and talking I must have drunk a lot more booze than I meant to. I bartered away two of my funny Irish t-shirts to these girls who I wanted to see make out, which ended well because they flashed me for free. I felt I got a bargain. I then left them to make out with a fat girl in the corner who didn't seem to mind how drunk I was as lone as I didn't mind how fat she was.
Things started getting really foggy around this time, and hour number three was a bit of a mess. The fat girl happened to have a brother who thought I was attacking her. He decided the best course of action was to smash my kidneys in with his fist. Even drunk, that hurt a lot. The bouncers pried the two of us apart and threw us outside. I have no clue where my funny Irish t-shirts had gone, because I was evidently shirtless and cold. Chubby girl incident aside, I tried to find another bar that would let a shirtless guy inside.
As far as hours nu
Things started getting really foggy around this time, and hour number three was a bit of a mess. The fat girl happened to have a brother who thought I was attacking her. He decided the best course of action was to smash my kidneys in with his fist. Even drunk, that hurt a lot. The bouncers pried the two of us apart and threw us outside. I have no clue where my funny Irish t-shirts had gone, because I was evidently shirtless and cold. Chubby girl incident aside, I tried to find another bar that would let a shirtless guy inside.
As far as hours number four through five go, it's a mystery not even the Hardy Boys could uncover. I can only fast-forward to hour number ten, which found me on a thin mattress on the floor of a jail cell. I was charged with public intoxication and I just now paid off the last of my fines. I woke up with no funny Irish t-shirts on at all. I can only hope that last one went for some good kisses. I'm sure I'll never know.
About the Author:
As far as hours number four through five go, it's a mystery not even the Hardy Boys could uncover. I can only fast-forward to hour number ten, which found me on a thin mattress on the floor of a jail cell. I was charged with public intoxication and I just now paid off the last of my fines. I woke up with no funny Irish t-shirts on at all. I can only hope that last one went for some good kisses. I'm sure I'll never know.
About the Author:
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