Went out last night for St. Patrick's Day. Noticed two things.
1) What is romantic about spending the night getting off with a bloke in a bar? It's hardly very poetic. Especially when the guy instantly squeezes the girls arse like his making orange juice as soon as she succumbs to the rohipnol. Plus wetlook tights look absolutely horrendous, and clearly attract morons.
2) It's St. Patrick's Day, you must dress up. So hey, why not go for the Republic of Ireland football shirt? "It's St. Patrick's Day, so I've come as an Irish person". - Well thank fuck you pointed that out with the shirt, I thought you'd come as a German.
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