Whenever anyone asks me where my family is from, I immediately say I’m a Native American. For some reason they always get all mad at me, claiming that the only “Native Americans” are the American Indians, which is complete horse shit. I mean, if the “Native Americans” are so fucking great, then why don’t you explain to me why none of them were on “The Dream Team." And where were they when #41 Joey Chestnut took home the Mustard Belt for the fourth straight year? The fact of the matter is that bros’ families came to this country hundreds of years ago and made it a lot fucking better. I mean, if you ask me the Indians got off pretty easy. Yeah there was some minor collateral damage like disease, loss of their homes, and massive widespread death, but come on, they got Casinos! I don’t even have a Casino, and I’m a fucking bro. Anyways, the point is, even though bros consider themselves American, they’ll never forget where their ancestors came from. Luckily for me there’s a holiday remembering my homeland, so I'll never forget. For 364 days of the year you’ll find me #4 chanting U-S-A, but for one day, I’m the most Irish person you’ll ever fucking meet. Happy St. Patrick’s Day.
St. Patrick’s Day is one of the greatest bro holidays of all time, and being 75% Irish, I couldn’t be more proud. While every race has it’s stereotypes, such as Asians working hard, Arabs being terrorists, and fat girls giving great head since they’re always so hungry, the Irish are known for their drinking. Therefore, every activity on St. Patrick’s Day is devoted to getting fucking wasted. And it’s not like this shit’s exclusive to Irish people like other elitist holidays (Kwanzaa), everyone and their fucking mother celebrates St. Patrick’s Day.
I always find it hilarious that fucking Bro-Haters think the most important St. Patrick’s Day traditions are shit like making Soda Bread or singing Irish lullabies. Fuck that, the only thing you need to do on St. Patrick’s Day is wear green and get as fucked up as humanly possible. And honestly, If you forget to wear green, you deserve all the shit you get. Every year I hunt around my office looking for hot girls who chose to disrespect my heritage by not wearing green. I usually give them the old sneak attack and pinch their ass. At first I’ll blame it on a Leprechaun, but if she complains to HR, I just give the “rules are rules” defense and they really can’t do shit. Partially because, I’m right, anyone not wearing green is just begging to be pinched, but mostly because it’s not sexual harassment if the girl likes it.
Much like an attention-craving, high maintenance girl’s #81 birthday, bros realize St. Patrick’s Day isn’t just one day - shit lasts the entire month. A single day isn’t nearly enough time to honor the greatest Bro King population in the World. Instead, the minute the calendar turns to March, festivals, #92 bar crawls, and parades invade cities. Personally, I’ve honored my Irish ancestors these past two weekends by drinking all day long and then #29 grinding on random chicks and you better fucking believe I’ll be dry humping on the dance floor to “Shipping Up to Boston” again this weekend.
St. Patrick’s Day proves that Ireland and everything the country stands for, particularly the drinking, is important as shit. Do people ever act like they do on St. Patrick’s Day for all the other countries in the World? Fuck no. I don’t see many long ass lines waiting to get into Au Bon Pain for croissants on fucking Bastille Day. Sure everyone has Coronas and shit on Cinco de Mayo, but come on, is anyone outside of American fugitives taking harbor in Tijuana really proud to be a Mexican?
With St. Patrick’s Day upon us, Irish bros honor their heritage and non-Irish bros honor how fucking awesome Irish bros are. As I chug my pint of Guinness tonight while listening to the Irish bands sing songs about, well, chugging pints of Guinness, I’ll think back to my ancestors who boarded that ship to start a new life in America. I’ll think about the sacrifices they made. I’ll think about those “Native” Americans and wonder if they’re feeding their newfound hobby of crippling alcoholism with shots of Jameson. But most importantly, I’ll think about all the slam pieces out there wishing they had some Irish in them. This year, not only will Irish Eyes be smiling, but Irish Boners will be pounding. God Bless Ireland and God Bless Bros.