Snakes in a Country

"I'm tired of these motha' fuckin' snakes in this motha' fuckin' country!" - St. Patrick, 403 AD

Ah, to be the patron saint of the drunkest country on the planet. A survey proved this. It's not just conjecture. I, alas, am not a Catholic, nor a Christian, nor a "believer in God" for that matter. There will be no sainthood for me. Still, I celebrate St. Patrick's Day. Why? Mainly, it's the booze. Sure, hanging out with friends is cool, but they pale in comparison to Mr. Guiness and his associates T. Dew and Doc Jameson. Those fuckers know what's up.

I don't mean to belittle the roots of this most drunken of holidays, but really, to believe that a man's words drove snakes out of Ireland is fucking amazing to me. Unless it was one word, and that word was "mongoose." Snakes hate fucking mongeese. Other things snakes hate fucking: garden hoses, sticks and bullwhips. I know the old testament is down on snakes, but I bet after St. Patrick did his deed there were a ton of bugs in Ireland, annoying the fuck out of people. I think St. Patty didn't get ecology. But hey, nobody's perfect, not even a saint.

So, tomorrow marks the day of the man's death. It's like a massive wake really. In honor of that, me and my good friend at the Sunshine Empire will be drinking Sparks and Guiness. Why Sparks you ask? Because if it existed during St. Patrick's time on this ball of dirt he'd have drank the shit out of it. St. Patty was cool in that respect. Oddly, if God had provided Sparks to the Irish instead of whiskey, they'd have taken over the earth. History is full of oddities like that. One change here or one change there and we'd all be speaking Russian. Fortunately this is the best of all possible worlds and English is the dominant language. Man did I luck out. So drink in my honor ladies and gentlemen, for the world has shaped itself to fit my slovenly drunkeness. And also, kill any snakes you might run across. St. Patrick will thank you (likely by pissing on you from heaven). What a card.