Surviving St Paddy's

So I'm walking through Times Square subway station at 5 o'clock in my kilt on St Paddy's Day and this guy points to my blind cane and ask me "What's that?".

"It's a cane, I really don't see to well"

"Wow, is it like a martial arts thing?".

"No, actually it's part of my traditional Scottish dress that you might notice I am wearing. This 48 inch long cane allows me to poke sheep from a distance and test them for suppleness before I decide if I want to shag them or not!"

"Cool, can I see it?".

I hand him my cane and he starts bending it and looking at it from all angles, or at least as many angles as you can stare at a straight line anyway.

"Wow! Cool Man!".


And there you go. St Patrick's Day in NYC is a very fucked up event with some very freaky people squeaking out of the woodwork. I was up early because I had an eye test in the morning (more on that later) so I get down the pub at about 1030AM and there is already a guy in a plastic green bowler hat slumped drunk in the corner. All of the seats have been removed from the bar to create more standing room (or staggering room) so the poor guy is on his arse on the floor looking like the victim of a drive-by shooting.

I only stick around for 3 pints as it gets too busy and I start to see leprechauns everywhere, that is small people with small livers who are going to transform into arseholes after one more Vodka-Red Bull lunch. It's going to be a long day, need to pace myself, so I head home for a bit.
Against my better judgment I change out of my jeans into my kilt and a Celtic top and head back into town and on up to Perdition in Hell's Kitchen thinking it might be a bit less nuts. Wrong! Sure, there is room to move but the kilt starts attracting all kinds my crazy people including one revolting couple from New Jersey who I suspect might be members of the NJ Fat Swinger's Club. The husband comes upto me and tells me to come over and talk to his wife because the kilt is getting her all excited. She is all "Ohh" and Giggly, I thank fuck they are too drunk to remember my face when I leave and go to the bathroom.

I had a lot of conversations that I can't clearly recall (thankfully) and a good time was had by all. That's what St Paddy's is supposed to be all about. He might have driven the snakes out of Ireland but he'd be fucked if he tried to run them out of New York.