The Six Year Plan - Patrick

Dear Reader,

White people love Saint Patrick's Day. It's the perfect opportunity to make compromising, drunken decisions on a perfectly normal day. Maybe it's the Spring Fever, but people go crazy.

While this day is named for Saint Patrick, few people actually know anything about the man. All that's really known is he must have been a good guy, and made a name for himself. Well, one thing is known for certain. Before he was Saint Patrick, he was just a guy named Patrick.

This is the story of the day, or better yet, night, that Patrick became a Saint.

Spoiler Alert: This is completely Factual.

So Patrick was just a normal dude, who just happened to dress like an Ass-Clown. He carried a staff with him because he, along with many others, believed that magic was possible, and wanted to be Ireland's preeminent wizard. Patrick liked long walks on the beach, star gazing, and baking. Having been born and raised in Wales, and brought to Ireland as a slave, Patrick was very reserved, and planned on living a humble life of sobriety. Or so he thought.

On the night of March 16th, one of Patrick's buddies asked him to go out to a pub and hang out, for they were celebrating a very bountiful potato harvest. After much convincing, Patrick obliged. He put on his finest Kelly Green robes and wizard hat, collected his staff, and set out to the pub.

Upon arriving, Patrick met his group and merriment commenced. A man approached him, and introduced himself. The stranger explained that he was in fact Dionysus, the Greek God of all things party related. Patrick, being a devout Christian, immediately wrote this man off as a drunk (and he was kinda right). To prove his divinity, Dionysus challenged Patrick to a drink off: if Patty could drink more brew than Dionysus, then he would be granted three wishes. Patrick immediately renounced his sobriety for this chance to witness magic, and the competition began. After much cheering, drinking, taunting, chugging, yelling, sipping, and bonging, Patrick emerged victorious.

Patrick, proud of his victory, and very intoxicated, demanded that he become King of Ireland. Dionysus was quick to point out that Ireland didn't have kings, and the best he could do was make Patrick an Arch Bishop. Patrick said Fuck That, and chose to be known as Saint, so that way all the ladies would think he was a genuinely good guy. Bitches loves Saints, and Saints love Bitches. So it was decided that he become Saint Patrick. And all was right in the world.

Knowing how easily clover grew, Patrick then wished that some clovers have four leaves instead of three. Confused at this wish, Dionysus asked why. Patrick explained that he wanted the world to remember him, that he was too good for this little island, and he wanted to go global. He then went outside the pub, picked the finest clovers he could find, rolled them in parchment, and smoked them.

Patrick decided that his third wish would be to get rid of the snakes in Ireland, because snakes suck and bite shit. Unfortunately for Patty, there was no one there to inform him that snakes are not indigenous to Ireland. Patrick found out too late that his third wish was wasted. With that, Dionysus went back to Greek-God Heaven, and all pub patrons drank the night away.

"Enough is enough."

That's the story of Saint Patrick. People drink away their sorrows on March 17th, remembering Patrick's wasted wish. If Saint Patrick were still alive today, he would want you to get wasted out of respect. He would also want you to smoke some cloves, or if you're really bad-ass, smoke as many four leaf clovers as you can find. It's an Irish thing, I guess.

Moral of the Story: Don't challenge an Irishman to a drink off.

Until Next Time

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