Wasted Sluts and Bracket Busters

Another St. Paddy's in the books and another smorgasbord of shitty college hoops predictions under the belt.

Over the past six or seven years, we've all come to terms with the fact that girls dress up like hookers on Halloween. And this 2007 celebration of the Americanized Irish holiday confirms that women act like complete drunken whores on St. Patrick's Day.

Now, I single out females because dudes have a year-round pass to get totally hammered and act like tools on any given day. But give this holiday to the ladies. Fa' reals. Add to that that people are completely preparing for this day now, especially when it falls on a Saturday. There were women out in packs -- packs I tell you, gettin' their eat on at 7 a.m. Why?

I'll tell you. It's so that they have some kind of substance in their taurine-saturated guts come midnight. Or later. Yes. Eating breakfast on St. Patrick's Day (about an hour prior to consumption of your first adult beverage) is like getting your Driver License Learner's Permit. That shit just turns into your license (in this case your license to act like an all-deserving ho) after you get after it for a few.

And speaking of terrine, these are my two new favorite aspects of the Irish festivity: dumbass t-shirts and truckloads (literally) of Red Bull. Nothing, and I mean nothing resembles the Emerald Isle better than a gay t-shirt (such as "Fuck Me, I'm Irish" or "5% Irish, 95% drunk" or the coveted "100% Blackish" that some brothas and sistas were sporting) and 80 quarts of sugar, terrine, and booze coursing through your veins. I can just see female preparations on the morning of. She's standing in front of the mirror telling herself "I'ma put on that sweet-ass green shirt that makes my tits stand out more than usual, get fucked up early, and make sure nobody ruin my party. This day was made for me!"

On to sports. Uh, thanks Texas and Wisconsin, for totally fucking up every bracket I filled out this year. I'm never that good at predictions and gambling and fantasy. But at least let a brotha pretend for a few. Christ. Well, at least there's fantasy baseball. I totally rock at that. The one good thing about filling out brackets with your homeys is that, if you're like me, you never pick your team to win it all. We all know that's always the double stab. So I won't win any tournaments. At least the 'Hawks are in the Sweet Sixteen. Rock Chalk, beeatches.