St. Patrick’s Day is a very special time of year, that time of year when we can all get to a point far beyond drunk and claim there is a celebratory reason behind why we’re doing it and not just because we really want an excuse to get beyond drunk.
I can’t say I know how this particular holiday is celebrated in other parts of the world, but here in the good old US of A we stuff our faces with corn beef and cabbage before downing as much whisky and green beer as our bodies will allow. No, that’s not actually true, usually we go far beyond what our bodies will allow and thus find bits and pieces of internal organs mixed in with the chunks we heave after downing much alcohol. The sad part is, what it takes to get us to that stage is near laughable to most Irish people, at least according to my dear old granddad (and judging by what that motherfucker could drink I tend to believe him). See, grandpa actually came here from Ireland and he seemed to have the idea that when it came to America’s ability to drink we were all, what was the term he used, oh yeah, a bunch of fucking lightweights who needed to learn how to hold their liquor. To be fair, I only ever knew one full on Irishman and that was grandpa, so I’m just going off of what I’ve been told by him and what I was told was as follows:
-Americans can’t drink worth shit.
-Saint Patrick was a fucking asshole.
-Corn Beef and Cabbage is a bullshit meal for a holiday, one apparently not even done right here in the states.
-Green beer makes no fucking sense whatsoever.
-Grab me another beer.
-What the hell was I talking about again?
As you can see I don’t have a whole hell of a lot to go off of, but I loved my grandpa very dearly so I listened to what he said, also, his accent and fake eye were the shit, just really makes a kid focus more. The day he passed was a sad day for the world (anyone with the balls to chase a racecar around a track because the guy wrecked him is worthy of some kind of medal) but my sadness was short lived because on top of everything he taught me about being Irish, he was also the first in my family to turn, and it would only be a short time before I was joining the ranks of the undead along with him. The real downside, even after death that old bastard could drink me under the table.
Yes, it’s your favorite member of the undead here to talk about one of his favorite holidays. I was going to say Halloween, but then I sobered up and remembered it was St. Patrick’s Day. How could an alcohol loving zombie ignore the fact that it was time for his favorite excuse to binge drink, act like an asshole, and mingle among humans without having to worry about looking like he was staggering too much? There was just no way I was passing up this opportunity. St. Patrick’s Day is a favorite of mine despite how much it was put down when I was younger (my grandfather is literally watching me as I type this with a look of disdain on his face, a look made all the worse since he refuses to use zombie cover all, his exposed teeth creep me the fuck out, and that fake eye doesn’t hold so well since death). I don’t really give two shits about the little things people like to add to the holiday, i.e. the green beer which I’ll bitch about in a minute, but I do like that I’m allowed to drink like a major alcoholic with a PHD in alcoholism and no one will even bat an eyelash. On top of that, since everyone is wandering around in a drunken daze anyway, not only can I munch on a few unlucky humans (little known fact, St. Patrick’s Day is a major turning day for zombies, we only munch, not eat) but we can almost just perfectly blend in with the rest of the population and enjoy the festivities. Almost everyone is walking around like they’re a zombie anyway, so it doesn’t look much different for us. I guarantee you that you’ve bought a drink next to a zombie if you’re a frequent attendee of St. Patrick’s Day parades or the bar hopping thereafter. There is just so much to love about this kind of a holiday.
Out of everything I love about celebrating St. Patrick’s Day as a member of the living dead, my ability to openly interact with the living has to be my favorite. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m no lover of the living and most days out of the year I’d prefer to stay as far away from you meatsacks as possible trips to Walmart aside, but I have to admit that every once in a great, great, great while it can be kind of fun to mingle among regular, alcohol loving humans. I’m not going soft here so don’t go getting any funny ideas about my angst toward the living, and don’t you dare think I feel the least bit lonely, I get enough interaction with my own kind that loneliness isn’t an issue. It’s just that…well…sometimes, umm…damn it are you really going to make me say this. You are aren’t you? Fucking humans. Fine, I’ll say it. There are times that living humans are kind of fun to be around. TIMES. Let me stress that again, there are TIMES that living humans are fun to be around, and just kind of alright. You people get drunk, you start acting like assholes yourselves, you laugh when I climb on top of a parade float and start biting someone, and you let me ramble on about nonsensical garbage (similar to what you’re letting me do now, fuck, I guess I owe the living another one for my Zombie Zoo ramblings, my self-esteem is really starting to hurt here). Okay, I’m really starting to feel like a shitty zombie so let’s just move on and get to my second reason I love St. Patrick’s Day so much, the turning.
There is one thing you should know about the undead, a drunk zombie is a snack fueled zombie. We don’t really get hungry as much as we just want to snack and since Saint Patrick’s Day is all about drinking, we snack a lot, and I don’t think I have to say what our favorite (and only) snack is do I. Okay, it’s humans. Before I continue I should explain a tiny bit about what it takes to turn into a zombie, basically, there has to be a significant portion of you left to actually turn. If a human is nearly devoured then they won’t turn, but if most of the body is left intact then they’re bound to become one of us. Most of the time our drunken snacking isn’t a very big deal, it happens all the time throughout the year, but on Saint Patrick’s Day it happens a lot, and in just one day. There are so many of us out and about just mingling with normal humans while we’re at Tony Stark levels of drunk that all sorts of people end up bitten. Hell, at least half of our victims that day don’t even get more than one bite, we chomp once and then move on. The end result is that our numbers are exponentially expanded that day and we end up with a sizable army. This is of course negated by the fact that so many of them will be killed off within the first few months due to some odd condition that makes people that have turned due to a drunken bite somehow incredibly stupid (I can’t explain it, just a sad fact) but it’s still nice to have so many zombies for at least a few months.
While my favorite part about this day is the mingling, there’s something that’s almost just as great, the drinking. This one doesn’t take a whole lot of explanation and since I’ve already mentioned how the drinking is really the only reason most people even celebrate the holiday I don’t think I need to talk about it too much, but I have to say that it is so fucking awesome to get a day where you can put so much alcohol into your system a Kennedy would be jealous and no one seems to care. Seriously, there is no good reason to drink as much as what gets drunk on Saint Patrick’s Day, but we do it anyway. Why, well because it’s fun, that’s why. Healthy no, fun, hell yes. Got to love a holiday that allows you to drink that much and get away with it. While my grandfather seemed to have something personal against St. Patrick, the saint has my thanks for inspiring a holiday centered on how much you can kill your liver in one day.
I guess that’s it for now, until next…oh wait, the green beer thing. I almost forgot. There is one thing I would like to say about green beer, fuck that shit, fuck it all the way to hell. Green beer makes no sense and is completely fucking retarded. Not only is it racist to the Irish (they don’t dye their beer a color everyone else associates with them, that’s like if Americans celebrated the Fourth of July by dying beers red, white, and blue) but it’s lifeist to the undead, green is kind of our color too, so making a beer that color is just insulting. Not only that, but how stupid do you have to be to not assume that whatever beer you’re being served that’s been dyed green isn’t the skankiest beer the owner of whatever establishment you’re patronizing had on tap. They only do it because they know so many people will buy it up for the sake of the holiday so nine times out of ten, they just dye their worst beer green knowing that a bunch of morons will buy it up. There is no reason to drink a beer based solely on what color food dye has been added to it. My advice, avoid the green beer and just get something normal, much better way to celebrate.
Okay, so that’s it for now. Man, I feel so much better after having been able to put down green beer; I think my self-esteem problems have now been fixed. Join me next week when I discuss the danger of zombified psychopaths, trust me, we’re not all that crazy. Until next time, this is your unfriendly neighborhood zombie signing out.
The Undead Review