Yay, Ireland. Yay, yay, yay, Ireland. It is your day of celebration. You lift up your songs to the Creator of your country. And you say, yay, yay, yay.
I am very stoned right now, more stoned than I've been in a long time. I went to dinner with two friends, and then one of the two friends came with me to this party, where all the dudes were trashed because they'd been drinking since 7AM, and they were wearing green Mardi Gras beads and green tee shirts with green Afros and green dildos, and one of them was like, "Yo, dude. Dude. Dude. Dude. First of all, Yay, Ireland."
Then other dudes at the party in chorus went, "Yay, Ireland!"
"Second of all," he said. "We have guests, dude." Heads spun around slowly at me and my friend, revealing, for the first time, their half-shut-because-we've-been-drinking-since-7AM eyes.
Then the other dudes were like, "Well, let 'em hit the bowl!"
But of course they neglected to tell us that not only was there weed in the bowl, but that there was also hash, which is why, after taking the hit, I was coughing my goddamn lungs out.
I was walking home with my friend, who decided not to take a hit in the end (and I took his for him), and even though he was talking like a regular human being, he seemed, to my ears, to be speaking in this hypersonic dialect that only people in the future or on Koldova 9 (a new planet I just made up) could understand.
I kept quiet, for fear of revealing that I was not a fellow Koldova 9er. All I remembered was to use that familiar Koldovan 9 phrase as we parted ways in the middle of the street, which was, "Good night, dude."
It was shortly after this that I sat down in front of the computer and a cat miraculously leapt onto my shoulders out of thin air and started writing everything you've just read. Yes, that's him up there. Arrest him!