Dude-
Yesterday was totally St. Patrick’s Day! Why didn’t you tell me?!? We spent the whole day drinking beer and going around town getting into fistfights instead of celebrating St. Patty’s Day the way it was meant to be celebrated. The sad thing is, I think you knew it was St. Patty’s Day and just kept it from me for your own selfish reasons.
I was going to wait until after the next Oktoberfest (which by the way, we also missed the last one thanks to binge drinking) to tell you this, but dude, I think you have a serious drinking problem. Having a cocktail from time to time is cool, but lately I get the feeling that you’re drinking your life away man. And, what’s worse, you’re dragging me down with you. St. Patrick’s Day is about hunting for a leprechaun’s pot of gold or getting together with friends to enjoy a hearty meal of corned beef and cabbage. Oktoberfest is about dancing with buxom frauleins and wearing lederhosen. But you wouldn’t know that because you are always drunk.
Hey man, listen; I’m no saint, I know. But I blame all of my drinking entirely on you. Take yesterday for example. We should have been dancing a jig somewhere. We should have been singing “Danny Boy.” But what did we do? Well, it started when you came over to my house with a twelve-pack of Killian’s and told me it was for “later” but then proceeded to say “I don’t think that’s a good idea” when I tried to drink one right away. Besides clearly challenging me to drink that beer, you then sat callously by knowing I would drink all twelve beers and get sufficiently wasted. Then, the next thing I know, we’re at a soccer game. This would have been fine had you not allowed me to start a riot for a reason that is still unclear to me. You see what I’m saying? None of this is my fault dude. You’re an enabler.
And let’s be honest, the rest of the day was no picnic either. After you paid my bail (which I appreciate, by the way) you immediately let me go to the pub because I said today was “a day made for getting wasted.” What the hell, dude? St. Patrick drove all those snakes out of Ireland so we could go to O’Malley’s and you could watch me drink three bottles of Clontarf in an hour? Shame on you! I would think St. Patrick is rolling over in his grave knowing we were honoring his memory by you letting me beat the shit out of some poor British guys just because I hated their orange clothing. Then, topping it all off, you let me jump right into the river, which was so filthy I woke up covered in green sludge this morning.
Seriously, dude, WTF? Aren’t you a Catholic? Shouldn’t you be practicing temperance and helping people instead of forcing me to go get totally annihilated with you on a sacred holiday? Well, I’m here to tell you, I’m not down for your shenanigans anymore. Every time we hang out I wind up getting bailed out of jail by you, being taken to the hospital by you, or being dragged away from some woman who claims: “I’m the father” by you. Well, I’m done with you, dude. Finito until you can admit you have a drinking problem and go and get some help. I can’t hold you up anymore.
Sorry, dude. Tough love. Which, while I’m doling it out, that green hat with the leaf you wore yesterday? Totally inappropriate.
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