St. Patrick's Day With Real Irish People: A Cautionary Tale

Blindboy gave me the address and told me to take a cab and meet them there. Something about them not wanting to show up with me when my overcoat made me look like a composite image of several sex offenders. I showed up about 10 minutes later to find two dejected Bandits and no sign of a party.

"What happened?"

"Fuckin' hipsters wouldn't even speak to us," Blindboy said. "They snobbed us and ran into their home, shooing the sexy birds inside and speaking mental lingo."

"What type of lingo?"

"Hipster talk. I couldn't understand a word."

"Umm ... and what did these hipsters look like?" I asked.

"I dunno, like hipsters. Beards, ironic hats, unnecessarily warm clothes and, most importantly, each one was dressed exactly like the next."

It was at this point that I realized the Rubberbandits had not met hipsters but had actually had an encounter with members of Williamsburg's Hasidic Jew community. I tried to explain what that meant.

Understandable mistake. I guess?

"Acidic Jews?" Blindboy asked. "Is that what's wrong with the Gaza Strip? Is it Acidic Jews mixing with Alkali Jews and everything exploding like a science project?

"Yes, Blindboy," I said. "That's it, exactly."

"Well, we're still finding a hipster party before we leave this town," Chrome said. "But first, I need a phone box."

"You can use my cell," I said.

"No, I need a phone box. You can't take a piss inside the door of a cellphone."

Just then, a passing 20-something girl in oversized glasses she didn't need overheard Chrome and promptly asked him if he was Irish, followed by the obligatory "My ancestors are from Ireland" and an ill-informed reference to "Patty's Day."

She found Mr. Chrome's hateful rebuke of "Paddy's Day, you stupid bitch," inexplicably charming and invited the Rubberbandits to a real live hipster party. (After Blindboy confirmed that, despite the overcoat, I wasn't a sex offender, she said I could come, too).

The party turned out to be a small gathering of trustafarians drinking cloudy beer the Bandits referred to as "wasp's piss." Before I knew it, the Bandits and I were finishing off my 1-liter bottle of Jameson.

Mr. Chrome disappeared into a bathroom with a couple of redheads, and Blindboy started to leave with a girl dressed in the party's "rockabilly" theme. He waited until she was in the bedroom before turning to me.

"Gladstone," he said. "I made a promise to you earlier that you were going to get your hole tonight."

"Actually, I believe you said something about 'gash.' Is that the same thing? I'm sorry. I wasn't really sure ..."

Blindboy reached into his pocket and pulled out an extra plastic bag, which he then pulled over my head.

It looked just like this, except a little less incredibly terrifying.

"Take this bag," he said. "If Sex and the City is anything to go by, women are attracted to shopping. So if you look like shopping, well then, women will psychologically associate you with the pleasure of consumerism and want to take you into a romantic toilet for a finger and a shift."

"Blindboy, I appreciate it, but --"

"Trust me. Just act like you are groceries and go get her!"

"That's OK, Blindboy. That wasn't really why I came here tonight. Just wanted to see you guys."

Blindboy lifted the Jameson. "There's one more shot left. Take it and in a minute some filthy hipster will be calling you 'Daddy.'"


"Daddy! Daddy! Wake up."

It was my youngest, jumping on my chest. I was on my couch. Somehow. And it was morning.

"Let Daddy sleep," my wife said. "He's had a hard night of pretending to be a rock star."

I remember the warmth of that final shot of Jameson, and then nothing else. I had passed out.

"Morning, babe," I said, my throat raw and thick.

"Morning. Any idea why a 6-foot-7-inch Chinese dude brought you home in a rickshaw at 3 a.m. this morning?" she asked.

"Because I'm really cool?" I suggested.

"Yeah, that's probably it."

It was a fun night, but I was glad to be home, and I could easily wait another nine months until the Bandits came back before having such a time again. But when they did return, I knew I'd be ready. After all, I still had a memento from the evening.

Additional material for this column contributed by Blindboyboatclub of the Rubberbandits.

Gladstone has brought back HATE BY NUMBERS. Also follow Gladstone on Twitter and stay up to date on the latest regarding Notes from the Internet Apocalypse. And then there's his website and Tumblr, too.

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