Can you smell it? The aroma of triarylmethane is in the air, and that can mean only one thing: Fast Green FCF. Never mind it's been known to produce tumors in lab animals, or have occasional mutagenic effects on people, Fast Green FCF will soon be flowing through every beer tap in the country... because the negative effects come from ingesting it in an undiluted form. Cutting Green No. 3 with beer is bound to make it perfectly harmless, the same way alcohol makes every frat boy a cuddlesome kitten. But enough of the dark side, a holiday is fast approaching. That means joy; it's time to prepare.
No holiday is complete without tradition. On Thanksgiving I like to plop down on the couch with a pint of whiskey, and watch Home for the Holidays. After an epic example of shemomedjao (an actual term from the great country of Georgia meaning to eat well beyond fullness just to keep enjoying the deliciousness) there's nothing better than entering an alcohol induced coma as Charles Durning says, "Lately everything's been changing too damn fast, and all sorts of things that were always the same, even things we hated like shoveling the turkey and stuffing the snow..."
But I'm not a fool. I don't just dive head long into this stupor. I take the time to condition myself. This is what the holiday drunk does not understand. While some of us make it look easy there is much that goes into being able to run the marathon that is St. Patrick's Day. Still, with only two weeks left there's time enough to reach the point you won't be found passed out on the street covered in green vomit wearing a crown of (used) glow in the dark emerald condoms... sorry Sid, but you passed out like an amateur bitch leaving us with little choice.
Preparations have begun in earnest. The first thing most people flaw on is assuming tolerance is the only facet worth upgrading. While it helps to be able to pound with the best even the most ample tolerance can be beaten by drink-sprinting. Drink-sprinting is when fools chug beers at a suicidal rate, or fire shots to warp towards a blackout at light-speed. It's better to keep one's own personal pace in mind; and only a cunt makes fun of a person for not slamming a bottle of tequila in an hour -- that way madness lies.
See, tolerance is often mistaken for the concept of duration. The goal is to reach a peak then maintain that level for as long as possible. If that means drinking a glass of wine every hour for sixteen straight, so be it. I for one would rather hang out with the so-called lightweight sipping beer all evening than an incoherent loose puke cannon.
The next thing to keep in mind is cash. Unfortunately, alcohol costs money. Somebody somewhere is working to fix that problem, but I doubt a solution will arrive before the 17th. So it's necessary to stockpile a horde of green. And this isn't just for drinking. Money is also good for other goods and services. For instance, at some point alcohol always results in the inhibition of culinary logic. The diner on the corner where the burgers are probably mad sewer rat under edible plastic masquerading as cheese is the best goddamn dining experience in the history of creation after a six hour bender. See, people tend to confuse the sensation of thirst for hunger, so at some point the dehydration alcohol produces triggers a response that sends many howling to the first food source they can find. But said indulgence requires the green. Nothing leads to smashing open an inconveniently closed convenience store at 3 in the morning like insufficient funds for a burrito made of grease and diseased horse meat. Plus, let us not forget the other peripheral expenses that pop up over the evening: gasoline, cigarettes, drinks for the ladies, jukebox, condoms, a frozen turkey to clog a bowling alley ball return, lighter fluid for writing on your ex-girlfriend's front lawn, a lighter, bail, bandages, strippers in Kelly green g-strings, cabs, etc.
The other preparation is clothing. There is nothing wrong with wearing everyday wander about clothes. No squad of secret police is lurking around waiting to beat some sense into a person for not wearing anything green. That said, if a leprechaun should whisper in your ear to go festive the best advice is to go big. Be the most obnoxious eyesore the world has ever seen adorned in verdant furs, emerald sunglasses, glittering green bling, chartreuse shirt, mint cologne, lime pants, jade belt buckle, and alligator boots. Just keep in mind, however, these mirthful accoutrements attract all kinds of attention from less joyful drunks looking for any excuse to punch someone to cops who are pretty much in the same aforementioned category. So either blend in or be ready to set the world on green fire... and if the latter is chosen don't be too surprised when one of the sloppy drunks complimenting your epic outfit pukes on you.
And that's really all there is to. The odd thing being this is all a person really needs to be prepared for life. Go at your own pace, wear what makes you comfortable, and be ready for the unfortunate necessity of paying cash money for everything, while sprinkled in there is the need to be aware other people are sometimes a hazard to one's well being, in addition to the understanding that some decisions in life which can lead to the greatest satisfaction don't involve logic. Happy St. Patrick's Day!
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