Drum roll……. March 17th, St. Pat’s day.

It could have been a night to do a bar crawl, but, this slightly aged Chicken Butt is home, after a day of mixed messages.

Mixed message number 1:

Alarm goes off.

Ok, so it must be 5 or 6 am.

Wrong.

4am.

Coffee is brewing.

Should I stay up?

Or go back to bed?

Stayed up.

Bad choice.

By 7am, the cats have had 2 meals.

And I am on my second pot.

Not that kind of pot, you goofs.

Coffee pot.

Message 2:

Next: Drive into work, in the fog.

What in the heck is taking so long?

45 minutes to drive 7 miles.

One disabled truck, on I 78, and we all limp along.

Checked into work, with 5 minutes to spare.

Message 3:

Hungry as a bear.

I like that:  hungry as a bear, with 5 minutes to spare.

Toasted Challah bread, and smothered it with peanut butter,  while singing, “If I were a rich man…”

Tensions rising as the day progressed.

It was the green against the orange.

We greenies stood together, drunk as skunks, eating a potato, after guzzling a six pack, and asked the orange crowd if they wanted to duke it out.

No one responded.

Seems the Irish are getting a little boring, with that same old mantra.

So we gathered together, signed a peace treaty, boiled a cabbage and a corned beef and blew up together, in a gaseous cloud.

Someone was singing, “It must be the clouds in my eyes.”

And someone else said, “Eyes?  Eyes?  Those clouds have nothing to do with my eyes.”

We were too drunk to fight,  too silly to do anything but laugh, so we all sneaked out to our cars, guzzled Jameson in our flasks, and praised the saints that Mother Theresa would be hanging out with God, soon, and watching our asses.

Until next March, let me remind you that on 4/20, we need to schedule another bar crawl.

xoxooxoxxooxo

 

Wolf

 

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