Headshots: Post-St. Paddy’s Day Edition

Headshots: Post-St. Paddy's Day Edition

Happy March 18th, Headshotters! If you’re like us, you woke up in a Sheraton in Boston in pool of tepid green vomit surrounded by half-naked interns with fresh shamrock tattoos.

That’s right, it’s the day after St. Patrick’s Day, a time of reflection, a time of pause, a time of hangovers brought on by Irish Car Bombs and Bushmills races. And did you chase a leprechaun around The Black Rose, snapping his undies, and screaming for his gold? Or was that frightened eight-year-old?

We never seem to ask why we celebrate St. Paddy’s Day. We dutifully dress ourselves in green, we’re kind to gingers, and we drink hella amounts of Guinness. but what have the Irish done for us lately? With the exception of Alec Baldwin, I can’t think of much. Do we not wish to celebrate other nationalities with drink?

Yes, loyal readers, yesterday was St. Patrick’s Day, and frankly we’re tired of only getting afternoon drunk once-a-year to celebrate an ethnicity that is not our own. Today, Headshots suggests a few more, named for their country’s most celebrated drunkards… Red beer for St. Stalin Day, anyone? (We’re just kidding, Russians are horrible people with nothing to celebrate.)

1. St. Brophy’s Day (Canada)

Headshots: Post-St. Paddy's Day Edition
Canuckians are hockey-playing socialist louts, drenched in Labatt 50 and Crown Royal. Why there isn’t a day of drink named after them is beyond me, but that stops now. Named for Neil Brophy, the player so drunk he pisses himself in SlapShot, once a year forthwith we shall gather in our toques and hockey sweaters, belt out Tragically Hip songs, eat poutine, chug grain alcohol, and watch Don Cherry’s Rock ‘em Sock ‘em videos. We will play pond hockey—drunk. We will re-enact the liberation of Holland—drunk. We will be polite to our neighbors—drunk. And at day’s end when we are cut for stitches during a drunken hockey/bar fight we will be treated at a hospital and we will not pay! Woah, Canada, eh!?! Get ‘er done, hosers!

2. St. Bukowski’s Day (US)

Headshots: Post-St. Paddy's Day Edition
Oh, sure we have Independence Day, and President’s Day, and William Howard Taft Day, but those day’s are about celebrating jingoism and invasions of Third World nations, not just getting hammered and having a rocking good day. St. Patrick’s Day isn’t about Ireland. Probably. So from now on, let’s tie one on once a year for drunk America! Named for our patron saint of divebars, Charles Bukowski, St. Bukowski’s Day (or St. Henry Chinaski’s Day for you MA students) will be fêted in divebars and sketchy taverns from LA to Juneau, from Maine to the Keys, and all points in between. All drinks will be stolen or paid for by others, and when the drunk can get no drunker, we will go home with the least attractive person within our grasp (I’m looking at you Scarlett Johansson), just like Bukowski. Just like America!

3. St. Castro’s Day (Cuba)

Headshots: Post-St. Paddy's Day Edition
There must be just as many Cuban American’s nowadays as Irish Americans, if you don’t include Boston, the racist Bruin-loving cesspool that it is. So why not a day set aside to celebrate their freedom from or affection for communism, free healthcare, teal ’57 Chevys, bearded dictators in fatigues with awesome stogies? The day already has its own drink, the Cuba Libre, Latinos loves them a good parade, and we could make Miami the epicenter of it all. Read some Hemingway passages, bet on some cock fighting, re-enact the Cuban Missile Crisis and we’ve got ourselves a holiday!

4. St. Chavez’s Day (Venezuela)

Headshots: Post-St. Paddy's Day Edition
Look, we know that the CIA killed Hugo Chavez. This is a fact. We know it’s a fact because Kathryn Bigelow has a script in development about the socialist dictator’s death. But that’s no reason we can’t get drunk in Chavy’s honor. Once a year we’ll put on little military outfits, look our very best (Venezuelans are hot), condone anti-American sentiment, imbibe countless El Rituals, and feast on hallaca, pabellón criollo, arepas, pisca andina, tarkarí de chivo, jalea de mango, and fried camiguanas. I stole that list from Wikipedia, and I don’t know what any of them are, but they sound festive, and like I said the Latinos love a good fête. And at the end of the day, one person gets poisoned so that its made to look like cancer! Huzzah!

5. St. Thompson’s Day (Everywhere)

Headshots: Post-St. Paddy's Day Edition
Without Dr. Hunter S. Thompson I’m not sitting in the Headshots offices three cocktails into a Monday morning as two interns, high as coeds on Halloween, make out on my desk. The godfather of gonzo journalism was renowned for his affection for drugs, alcohol, and violence, claiming, “I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me.” He taught me everything I know. So perhaps in his absence, we should celebrate that which worked for him. St. Thompson’s Day will make St. Patrick’s Day look like your Amish sister-in-law’s baby shower. We’ll regale ourselves in Hawaiian shirts and carry briefcases of naughtiness. We’ll forget all nationalities and fly the freak power flag. We’ll take automatic weapons into the forest and shoot into the darkness. Not unlike Arbor Day.

We’ll “go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark — that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.”

So there you have it, Headshotters. Five more days to get your drink on. And do you find these saints obscure? Well, how much do you know about St. Patrick there Shamrock?

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