St. Patricks Day ain't what it used to be. But nothing is going to top 2020. I'm old. Sitting home on my couch in South Boston, wondering if the plague is going to kill us all. And then the mayor called and shut down every bar in South Boston, because since 9:00am (they open at 12:00, cuz Jesus) there was a line of suburban 20-somethings standing out there, having driven into the city in their Ford 150s, which they need for their white-collar jobs, to get a spot in some overpriced bar while enduring a light drizzle...
for nothing.
It felt so ****ing liberating. Like the snakes being driven from Ireland, we sent these "I played Lax in highschool brah" ****ing clowns back to their gated communities.
All of the saint patricks days of my youth, the blackouts, the making out with some raven-haired woman I didn't know, the comradery...
Nothing will top the mayor of Boston saying "**** them kids" to a bunch of suburbanites. Remember folks, god brought the plague, but the finance bros brought the famine.
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