Saturday night I went out with some girl friends. Because it wasn’t actually St. Patrick’s Day, I thought it would be safe. I was so wrong.
Drunk Guy: ::Says something I don’t understand::
Me: What?
Drunk Guy: I just wish I knew if it was my baby.
Me: Whoa…. Who’s pregnant?
Drunk Guy: I just don’t know if it’s my baby. And they can’t raise a baby. But you…you’re smart. I can tell. We’re going to name our baby “Evan.”
Me: I’m pregnant?
Drunk Guy: Are you?
Me: I’m very unpregnant.
Drunk Guy: Freaking nihilists…. ::babbles something about nihilists::
Me: What?
Drunk Guy: They can’t raise a baby. But we could. I mean, you could because you’re so intelligent. Intelligenter than everyone here.
Me: Did you just say “intelligenter?”
Drunk Guy: We’ll raise the baby together. I’m going to kidnap you now.
Me: WHAT?
Drunk Guy: I’m going to do it. ::puts down his drink and gestures that he’s going to throw me over his shoulder::
Me: Um…no. Uh…you should finish your beer first.
Drunk Guy: I’m going to kiss you now.
Me: HOLY CRAP! IS THAT A LEPRECHAUN OVER THERE?
And that, my friends, is how you escape crazy drunk people on St. Patrick’s Day weekend.
It wasn’t entirely a fool-proof plan because he did manage to pinch my butt as I was walking away. But at least I managed to escape kidnapping.
Favorite Comment From Last Post: “My fervent hope is that somewhere in the mass of pub-crawling St. Patricks Day asshats* that are going to be totally boning my commute tomorrow, a leprechaun like this will create pandemonium on the platform. The hundreds of drunk people will run away, and I will catch my train.”—JM Randolph
*Putting the word “asshat” in a comment is pretty much a guarantee you’ll get Favorite Comment. That word cracks me up.
