Just because I’m opposed to green food coloring in my alcohol doesn’t mean I don’t drink on St. Patrick’s Day. I am, after all, an unapologetic alcoholic, and I’m certainly not going to let a bunch of filthy Irishmen keep me from getting my drink on.
Unfortunately, I seem to have misplaced my pants. Again. Which would be fine if I were home. But I stopped at an English pub after work and — between you and me — I think the other customers are growing alarmed. I guess I can’t blame them. It’s not every day that you see a 350-pound man sitting at a bar in a shirt, suit jacket, bow tie and tightie-whities.
To further complicate matters, my wallet is wherever my pants might be. Wouldn’t surprise me at all if some disease-ridden, potato-breathed Irishmen stole them. Hell, they’ve been stealing stuff ever since they came to this country. Why stop now?
Oh well. Time to wrap up this post and call my butler, Montgomery, for a ride back to my palatial estate. Until next time: God save the Queen.