Saint Big Mac's Day

Excessive partying paired with my birthday forty eight hours later are the main culprits for why I have never written a Saint Patrick's Day Clog.  It is said that Saint Patrick cleansed Ireland of the Paganism that corrupted its people, and illuminated them with the bright angelic light of Christianity.  Oddly enough, an alarming amount of Whiskey and Guinness is consumed to celebrate Saint Patrick's purification of Ireland and its heathen customs.  The stench of irony hangs in the air more pungent than stale booze.  Unlike previous years, the majority of my Saint Patrick's Day was spent participating in good clean fun.

 I started my day like any good Irishman worth salt, by bathing myself in Irish Spring Soap.  I actually no not the connection between this particular soap and Ireland.

 Guinness brownies were baked the previous night to be enjoyed on Saint Patrick's Day with my dear old Grandpa. 

 Norman has been eating McDonald's every Saint Patrick's Day for as long as I can remember.  Come to think of it, he eats it on most other days as well.

 Norm's indirect protest against corned beef indirectly inspired others to eat McDonald's throughout the day.  "I feel like this Cup Noodles has too much sodium, I think I'll just wait for my double cheeseburger," declared Mr. Shawn Fast.

 A cheeseburger looks on with envy as Trevor stylishly backside disasters. 

 When asked what type of beverage this youngster was sipping out of his Starbucks cup he replied, "It's Chardonnay."  The ingenuity of the youth at Cesar Chavez Park always astonishes me.

 Buckets by Fnan to end the day.

 Irish car bombs are the least intelligent thing to drink, which makes them the most entertaining.  And when being served by this regal chap nothing can go wrong.

I retract my previous statement.  Kiss me, I'm standing up straight.

Bathroom Reading Material

Have you ever taken a dump where upon completion it feels as if the dump has taken you?  I am of course referring to a trip to the toilet that, instead of being quick and routine, reveals itself to be a time consuming endeavor.  You exit the lavatory disoriented as if stuck in a time warp.  You wonder how much time has elapsed and whether or not the course of your day has been altered irreversibly.  I hardly suppose you would have imagined yourself reading about defecation in this latest Clog post.  But alas, here you are with your pants around your ankles wondering whether or not you will make it to dinner on time.  Luckily for you this particular turd will shoot out hastily and require minimal wiping.

Creeks and lakes across the Bay Area swelled as if nine months pregnant, and eventually gave birth to spectacles such as this.

The demise of Tommy's put an end to my football Sundays in Los Gatos, until I realized Carrie Nations offers free nachos and hotdogs.  Beer pairs well with both of these things.

  

As is tradition, I grilled ribs on Super Bowl Sunday.  They too were adequately washed down with an inexpensive beverage.

This is around the time when I felt the twenty dollar bill I had bet on the New England Patriots slowly wriggling its way out of my pocket.  Much to my surprise, the twenty managed to double in size!

   

February weather could look like this in Santa Cruz during the afternoon,

and look a little something like this in San Jose later the same day.

Joey Guevara was brought up skating with Jesse, Clark, and myself.  Not only did he somehow maintain his sanity, but went as far as to turn pro for Alien Workshop.  Seeing Bill Tran hold up Joey's pro model board was somewhat surreal.  

I may have been the biggest idiot at Joey's video premier party, but The Oscar Award goes to this man.