Man Fails to Get Laid on St. Patty's Day
Middle-aged Dwight Schmidlapdt expressed surprise after not getting laid yesterday at the annual Saint Patrick's Day Dance and Pot-Luck held at the Northern Ireland Community Centre on the 14th Concession in Lucan.
Schmidlapdt, an eighth-generation Canadian showed up for the event at noon wearing a white-and-black T-shirt featuring a cartoon of a back-yard compost and the slogan "Kiss Me - I'm Green."
He was also wearing a kilt he had rented specially for the occassion, knee-high black socks and no underwear. Schmidlapdt was carrying a pot of his homemade haggis. "Admission to the dance was free if you brought a dish," explained the naturally tight-fisted accountant. "If you watch your pennies, the dollars will watch out for themselves."
Yvonne O'Cooperman, who also attended the celebration for Ireland's patron saint, said that initially people were accepting of Schmidlapdt's lack of Irishness. "We get a lot of non-Irish in here - and that's fine. As we are wont to say, everyone is Irish on March 17th."
"But with the more Glennfiddich this guy knocked back, he quickly began to get on peoples' nerves," she continued.
According to O'Cooperman, the trouble started shortly after Schmidlapdt stationed himself outside the women's washroom, then asking "Hey lassie, how'd you like to chase the snake out of my pants?" to everyone who went in.
But tensions got bad after he began shouting requests while The Molly Bloomin' Assholes (a Pogues cover band,) were playing. "He started yelling out for 'Red Red Rose,' " said O'Cooperman.
As ten guys named Casey and Doyle began to beat him up, calling him a "no-account Scottish skin-flint sissy-boy," Schmidapdt reportedly tried to save himself by loudly proclaiming, "I'm not Scottish - I'm French!" And that's when the beating intensified.
Two hours later, sitting in the emergency ward of London's Grace Hospital, bruised and bleeding from the boxing to his ears, Schmidlapdt contemplated the events of the afternoon and did some philosphical soul-searching.
"I don't know where I went wrong," the long-time bachelor told reporters. "I was sure I would be getting lucky today. So much for that famous 'luck of the Irish.' I couldn't even get laid on their national holiday."
Schmidlapdt then brightened. "But don't you worry about me. Easter is just around the corner and I plan on being in Jerusalem by the weekend. Just think of it, I'll be in the spiritual home of Catholics on Good Friday.
"And there will be all these school-girls in their school uniforms with those plaid skirts - and they'll be all sad and depressed. Good Friday is the day Jesus got killed, you know.
"And when they need a shoulder to cry on - well, sure n' begorrah, the old Schmidlapter will be right there for them."
"How can it go wrong?"
Schmidlapdt, an eighth-generation Canadian showed up for the event at noon wearing a white-and-black T-shirt featuring a cartoon of a back-yard compost and the slogan "Kiss Me - I'm Green."
He was also wearing a kilt he had rented specially for the occassion, knee-high black socks and no underwear. Schmidlapdt was carrying a pot of his homemade haggis. "Admission to the dance was free if you brought a dish," explained the naturally tight-fisted accountant. "If you watch your pennies, the dollars will watch out for themselves."
Yvonne O'Cooperman, who also attended the celebration for Ireland's patron saint, said that initially people were accepting of Schmidlapdt's lack of Irishness. "We get a lot of non-Irish in here - and that's fine. As we are wont to say, everyone is Irish on March 17th."
"But with the more Glennfiddich this guy knocked back, he quickly began to get on peoples' nerves," she continued.
According to O'Cooperman, the trouble started shortly after Schmidlapdt stationed himself outside the women's washroom, then asking "Hey lassie, how'd you like to chase the snake out of my pants?" to everyone who went in.
But tensions got bad after he began shouting requests while The Molly Bloomin' Assholes (a Pogues cover band,) were playing. "He started yelling out for 'Red Red Rose,' " said O'Cooperman.
As ten guys named Casey and Doyle began to beat him up, calling him a "no-account Scottish skin-flint sissy-boy," Schmidapdt reportedly tried to save himself by loudly proclaiming, "I'm not Scottish - I'm French!" And that's when the beating intensified.
Two hours later, sitting in the emergency ward of London's Grace Hospital, bruised and bleeding from the boxing to his ears, Schmidlapdt contemplated the events of the afternoon and did some philosphical soul-searching.
"I don't know where I went wrong," the long-time bachelor told reporters. "I was sure I would be getting lucky today. So much for that famous 'luck of the Irish.' I couldn't even get laid on their national holiday."
Schmidlapdt then brightened. "But don't you worry about me. Easter is just around the corner and I plan on being in Jerusalem by the weekend. Just think of it, I'll be in the spiritual home of Catholics on Good Friday.
"And there will be all these school-girls in their school uniforms with those plaid skirts - and they'll be all sad and depressed. Good Friday is the day Jesus got killed, you know.
"And when they need a shoulder to cry on - well, sure n' begorrah, the old Schmidlapter will be right there for them."
"How can it go wrong?"
posted by Sonny Drysdale at 10:25 AM
7 Comments:
hahahahahahahhaha
I love it!
Oh, oh - it just occured to me, Honey Pot - you're probably Scottish.
No, my people are Irish. You know they were going to call New Brunsick, New Ireland at one time. They got drunk and fighting with the English at the tavern, and were too hung over and missed the meeting. Many settled down that way. The Scots took over Nova Scotia.
Sonny et al.
The only way to impress the chippies and get your oil changed is to act like a man's man, doing an honest day's work:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d2x4yXxrJD0
Hey Sonny, you should join in on the London Free press blogs, they let you swear and everything. They don't care if you don't agree with them. It is like shooting fish in a barrel.
Honey Pot and her new gourmet TV show:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AcvofD-4rto&feature=related
Too many bloggers with male-pattern baldness over there at the LFPress blogs, Honey Pot.
I realize that a receding hair-line is one of those eventualities of growing older, but I can't take any of those people seriously.
That's why I can't force myself to vote for Bud Polhill even tho I know that with hair, he'd be the best man for the job.
Thank God it hasn't happened to me yet. And probably won't - I'm in my 50s!
... there but for the grace of God, goeth Jim Chapman. And Gord Hume for that matter - you can't tell me that's Gord's real hair.
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