Sunday.
I am functioning with exactly one brain cell today, so bear with me as we try to get through this post.
Okay. Um. Right. What are words? We don’t know.
This is why I don’t drink Guinness. I drank exactly one glass of it last night and now I don’t remember who I am. Jaysus. I’m sure that all of the other drinks I had before and after have nothing to do with this at all.
I went out with my friend last night for the Six Nations Ireland-Scotland game. We decided to go to a different bar than last week. The bar we went to last week was all business people who like rugby. The bar we went to last night was full of lads who actually play a game close to rugby, more commonly known as Gaelic Football. If you don’t know what that is, rest assured that neither do I. It’s an Irish thing. I’ve never even seen this shit before in my entire life. I didn’t even know it existed until about a month ago. Believe me when I say…
So many GAA lads. The bar was full of GAA lads.
Oh my god.
Oh my god!
So there I was, enjoying the scenery, and then I saw a very familiar face. A little too familiar.
This guy looked like a miniature version of the Hot Beef Stew. He was much smaller in stature, but still pretty beefy, and his hair was not as curly. I could not stop staring at him in spite of my best efforts. There was just something so familiar about him. Not just the fact that he reminded me of the Hot Beef Stew. Something else. I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was.
It wasn’t until after I drank the pint of Guinness that a horrifying realization came over me: this guy looks almost exactly like my cousin on my dad’s side. You know, my Irish side…
Then I sat there in horror for about five minutes like, “Did I hook up with a guy who looks like my cousin?!”
A little voice (no doubt belonging to that goddamn Loch Ness Monster) popped into my head and said, “Ayyyy, lassie, yer a real Guinness Mistress now!”
What in the fuck?!
Worst St. Patrick’s Day gift ever!
No more Guinness for me. It is a mysterious drink with magical powers I don’t understand. That happens once, it doesn’t happen again.
And that’s the story of how my obsession with my Hot Beef Stew died on the floor right in front of me at the Six Nations tournament. He drowned in a vat of Guinness on St. Patrick’s Day, surrounded by all the lads from the GAA. He would have wanted it this way, I know it.
The End.
Somehow I can’t escape the feeling that this is somehow the most Irish thing ever. It is a small island, after all…
Meanwhile, my friend who I was with was laughing so hard, she was crying. She was like, “You are so fucking FUNNY! You should do stand-up comedy!”
“That’s actually my secret dream. I want to be a stand-up comedian and create my own Netflix show. I know that sounds crazy, but…”
My friend looked at me like I had three heads.
“That’s not crazy at all! You could do it! That’s how a lot of people start out. They do stand-up comedy, then become writers, and then eventually they get their own show. You could do it! I would watch it!”
“Really?”
“Of course!”
She then gave me the name of a place here in HK that has an open mic night for stand-up comedy. I think I might actually go and try it out. I just have to write a script first…
After the game, we went over to a gay club around the corner. They were having a drag show. The show was… messy. She tried to do some weird stage game and it just didn’t land. I got up on stage because she asked for volunteers and played along anyway, just for fun. I realized in that moment how much I love to be on stage in front of an audience. I felt so happy in that moment.
When I got down and went back to my friend, she said, “You could have put on a way better show than that.”
I agree. I’ve been to many drag shows in my life. That was by far the weakest performance I’ve ever seen. She had everything going for her, but the routine just didn’t land. Better luck next time!
We danced for a bit, met a bunch of new people, and then went our separate ways. I had to walk home through LKF, which is a huge party spot in Hong Kong. I stopped at a random 7-11 to get a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of water. I sat down on the curb outside to smoke and was immediately swarmed by 20-something athletes from a variety of sports, all of whom wanted to bang me.
Choices: I have them!
Whoever said women expire at age 30 is clearly delusional and deranged, lol. I feel more like a bottle of expensive, fine wine. I just get better with age!
That reminds me: I watched Louis Theroux’s Inside the Manosphere documentary the other day. I haven’t laughed that hard in a loooooong time. These guys are so fucking sad and pathetic. I haven’t seen that much loser energy concentrated in one place since the last time I was in Bangkok.
Rumor has it that Andrew Tate is in Hong Kong right now. I cannot believe immigration let him in. Unbelievable. The CCP must be keeping tabs on him, just waiting for him to fuck up so they can detain him forever. That’s the only rational explanation I have. I literally cannot even.
Well, that’s about all I’ve got to say today, other than I have the most hilarious Instagram post planned for St. Patrick’s Day. True comedy at its finest right there. Let’s just say… there is going to be a mushroom cloud over Bangkok when all the lads from the American Bar see it. Uncle Jason is going to have a full-on nuclear meltdown. It’s going to be HILARIOUS!!!!
LOL!
I am such a little troll. I can’t help myself. I love watching people’s faces melt off! I just can’t resist messing with them the way they messed with me. It’s the only way to get any respect around here.
Have a fantastic day!