This Saturday is the annual Parade Day in Binghamton, which doesn’t mean festive shamrocks, or leprechauns, or releasing snakes in the streets in the vain hope that St. Patrick himself will descend down from the heavens to dispel them, but is just like every other Saturday, so people will be getting belligerently drunk. They may wear green, or flannels, but the only thing to this holiday is that people get up slightly earlier to start poisoning themselves with alcohol to numb any feelings they may possess.
As someone with an Irish last name, I can without any sliver of doubt say that drinking holidays are what people died in car bombs for. In the spirit of the holiday, last year a local frat sang “Come out ye Black and Tans! Come out and fight me like a man! Show your wife how you won medals down in Flanders; Tell her how the IRA made you run the hell away, From the green and lovely lands of Killeshandra!” before beating the ever living shit out of a pledge wearing a kilt with a paddle. It was a nice festive gesture, but had a distinct lack of bagpipes and isn’t exactly child friendly. Whatever any readers do on this sacred holiday, don’t bring your kids until they’re at the legal drinking age in Ireland, so maybe like seven or eight.
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