People You'll See On St. Patrick's Day
by Emily Neeland
The Wannabe Irish
Maybe they're 1/16th Irish. Maybe they just have freckles. Whatever the case, these St. Patty's revelers are hell bent on representing a culture they know nothing about. They claim to bleed green, but they think a Carrie Girl is one of four results one gets from taking a Sex and the City: Which Character Are You? quiz.
Sad Old Men
Oof, these guys. They are the old men who spend their days stationed at every bar counter in every Irish pub in every corner of the Western Hemisphere. Lonesome, grizzled, their souls ravaged by time and alcohol, these sad bastards maintain their post unfazed by the St. Patty's hoopla going on around them. Let the amateurs have their fun, these seasoned vets don't need an excuse to start drinking at noon.
Wooooo! Woooooooooooo! Hold my hair! Wooooooo! These rambunctious youngsters are spending their first St. Patrick's Day out of their parents' homes, and boy-howdy are they excited! Look for them passed out in a puddle of their own vomit by 2pm.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. We get it. Your body is a temple or whatever. These people, while useful as designated drivers, are the antithesis of St. Patrick's Day. They fly in the face of drunken hooliganism with their O'Douls non-alcoholic beers and self-righteous attitudes. You can tell them apart from the crowd by their indoor voices and distinct lack of dishevelment.
You know how chicks use Halloween as an excuse to go out on the town scantily clad despite the average temperature hovering in the low 50's? Well St. Patrick's Day is a lot like that, only instead of slutty kittens you get slutty leprechauns. They travel in packs and can be spotted wobbling around in 6 inch heels, with fake shamrock tramp stamps adorning the smalls of their backs.
These boys in blue are waiting, just WAITING, for an excuse to crack some skulls. Their steel resolve to combat St. Patty's copious throngs of drunkies comes from years of experience, and weeks of watching the first twenty minutes of Saving Private Ryan on repeat. They are foaming at the mouth, ready to pounce at any sign of trouble. Come on, punk. MAKE. THEIR. DAY.
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