St. Patrick’s Day is fun. Mostly because it’s fun watching drunk people. And drinking is fun too, but mostly watching drunk people. We went to Flatlander’s for St. Patrick’s Day this year. Got ourselves a couple of titanics of brew (A titanic is a 4L pitcher of beer for those that don’t know), and I think that Great Western Black is now my favorite Canadian beer. Guinness is still my #1 for now though, followed by Kilkenny. Mmmm Mmmm good. And Ham got himself snickerdoodled (As he likes to call it). Good times.
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There is a mystery afoot!
We leave Flatlanders. I stumble back to my apartment. Drunk shower, brush teeth, then sleep. I get up on Sunday morning and go to put the St. Patty’s day attire in the laundry. But lo and behold, the entire right side of my pants are soaked and smell of an odd booze/puke combo.
Now my recollection of that evening is spotty at best. But I’m pretty damn sure that I didn’t dump booze on myself, nor was i in the vicinity of any vomit. Did somebody throw up in the backseat and just neglect to inform me? I demand details.