Why do we do this to ourselves? Every year, even the most sane among us stumble down Greenville Avenue like a horde of cottonheaded ninnymuggins. And for what? The only people watching the "parade" are the policeman making overtime to write us indecent exposure tickets when we piss in the streets. And at the end of it all, we zombie crawl our way back to our cars, which are somewhere north of Lovers Lane. But year after year, you and your tiredass liver drag yourselves to the M Streets to party like a bachelor party on Bourbon Street. You'll do it again this year, you and every person on this list.
Irish Impersonator Today, this guy bleeds green. He has the beads, the shamrocks, the dumb hat, the green glasses that double as a crazy straw, and about 30 cans of domestic beer on his person. His great, great, great, someone was totally from Ireland, but he has no clue if it's Northern Ireland or Republic of Ireland. He didn't know there was a difference. HHe will spend the first part of the day speaking in an accent that sounds Jamaican, he eats Shepherd's Pie, and loves soccer, especially Roy Keane. Or is it Robbie Keane? Somebody Keane. He tells you all of this while using the alley like a toilet.