On this most sacred of all days for my mates and me, I like to walk away with some kind of souvenir every year. There's the lager handle from the Brown Hound, St Patrick's Day 1975; the actual (empty) handle of vodka, 1976; a lock of hair from the most beautiful redhead I've ever laid eyes on, 1974; etc
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Well, that's better than a drunken bar hag, then.
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Also -- MY little virgin drink with an umbrella, because you need to get rollicking fucking stupidly pissed in my honour, Miss Marlene.
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