by Bel Garion
by Saint Garion
For Saint Patrick’s Day we all went down to the local Irish pub, where the Lord and Buddha chased some kids around in a circle, playing their “who can heal the 6 year-old faster after she smashes her head into the ground” game. Terrifying to watch, but of course had they not been there things would have been worse. The pub was using the parking lot for overflow but the area ended up being extremely dangerous for children.
I would have stopped the kids from running around if I gave a shit about kids and some little fat guy with a well kept beard, a convincing hat, and a tweed suit didn’t go up to the stage and start singing about beer and tobacco. “And it’s all for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog. All for me beer and tobacco. Well I spent all me tin on the lassies drinking gin. Across the western ocean I must wander.”
Saint Garion: “God Bless Saint Patrick’s day.”
God: “Drink, drink, drink!”
I woke today around 2pm, if I am reading the clock correctly; I’ve missed an entire day.
Saint Garion: “God?”
Saint Garion: “Tell Saint Patrick he’s an asshole.”
Now to in reply to a disturbing e-mail:
They way people drive in this town makes me want to buy a gun and shoot babies. When I’m in a left turn only lane and someone decides that, instead of going straight, that they’re going to turn wide left and cut me off, they should really know that somewhere in the near future a baby is going to get shot in the face.
Sorry for not replying earlier, God loves Saint Patrick’s Day. As usual I had too much Irish whiskey, but now that Saint Patrick’s Day is over, and I can see again, I urge you to not shoot any babies in the face.