My Black Irish Love

Hello, gentle reader, and welcome to a tale about one of my dearest friends - a stout anchor in my otherwise chaotic life - “My Black Irish Love,” more commonly called …

HEY! Black Irish Love! That would be me! MR. E! Indeed - do the math. Check the skin tone! Buh-LACK! Black as a thousand midnights. And IRISH? Maybe! My mom’s maiden name is McClain. Hmm. No, LOVE? Rudy is my man, but not like my GAY MAN - stop tripping, Y’all! Ha ha ha ha Whoa! You know what I’m saying’ here! We’re just cool like dat! Black + Irish + Love = ME! The ultra-magnificent MR. E! Yeah! Lookout this gut, man! DARK AND STOUT, my physical frame is OPAQUE! You can’t see through this! I’m cold, robust, and if you have too much of me you’ll be INTOXICATED by my charisma and charm!

E! Get outta here before I intoxicate you WITH THIS BASEBALL BAT!

… Now where was I? … Oh yeah … a long time ago, I used to be a big fan of cheap, “All-American” beer. You know the type - the ones that always use swimsuit bimbos and race cars in their ads.

Buy EMANON BEER! Yeah, it tastes like shit, but hey - it gets you drunk!

I would proudly recite the bullshit they stamped on their labels like it was some national pledge … and after drinking a case-and-a-half of the watered-down swill, would grimace proudly at the forthcoming dry heaves. (Official 80’s aerodynamic hair … me, quite young, trying to look cool in photo, though I’m about to puke). Fortunately, it wasn’t destined to be that way forever. I’m half Irish, y’know, and like some drunken salmon fighting his way upstream, eventually I found GUINNESS.

At this point I suppose I’m obliged to mention AL’x. Al’x was my college roommate. A complete and utter maniac who made me look quiet by comparison … not an easy feat, I assure you.

YOW! You hear this new techno-jam, man? SHEEIT!!!

ummm … in case anyone is interested, i and my evil minions plan to blow up the planet …

It is important to note, at this point in the narrative, that AL’x does not drink Guinness. And that he supposedly did remove the “E” in his name to replace it with the “ ‘ “.

Legally hype!

Then, some random number of years after college, I found myself in the bizarre position of incorporating with AL’x as a “Freelance Art Firm.” In other words, I spent a lot of hours at the drafting table, and on the off chance we somehow made $100, AL’x was guaranteed to blow $200 wining and dining some slutty “prospective client.”

Then, boys and girls, Rudy and AL’x went to London.

BONG!

Bong? What a great idea!

Like all good fairy-tales, I don’t want this story muddied with the facts.

ENTIRE ROYAL FAMILY IN COKE ORGY WITH SEXY AMERICAN TOURISTS! Photos inside! “I fancy the grey-haired one!” - Lady Diana

So please, no mention of women chased, big escapes or fictitious jobs! We were there, and that’s enough for this story! This is also not exclusively the story of that London trip - so no tales about drunken British gangsters picking us up or bombs on the subway.

Yeh - loifes been good, Al’x oul mate!

Fucken’ aye!

Upon getting to London (or to be exact, Kensington SW7) AL’x and I exited our cab at a pub (as opposed to the hostel we were going stay at … eventually)

Umm … sorry, “mate” … I still don’t understand your change …

Arsehole.

“I hung out here a year ago for a few weeks,” said our morally-challenged yet intrepid co-star. Okay, sounds like as good a place as any to get a beer, thought I.

I walked into a pub in London, but somehow found myself in a bad parody of Cheers.

Oi! It’s AL’x! AL’X!

My limey brothers!

Okay, I quit. We’re all the way across the “Great Pond,” and he’s still recognized! Grudgingly, I accepted my fate.

That’s the quiet bloke, travels with Al’x.

fuggoff

A week later at the pub we’d been practically living in, the situation hadn’t improved.

(Very drunk Australian girl) Oi loike yew. Yew know wen ta keep yer big fuggin mouth shut.

uh … thanks?

Wait! Stop! Zoom in on that last panel! GUINNESS! Unbelievable! So what happened? Could it be that five scantily-clad British punk chicks stripped me naked, spanked my bare bottom and made me drink good beer? Ummm … unfortunately, no. I was just too cheap to pay import prices for my usual crap American beer.

Back in the states, I returned to my regular drinking habits. But every once in a while I found myself craving something more … stout. Unfortunately, I wasn’t in the know enough to find a good pub in Miami, so I wound up drinking a lot of the old bottled Guinness. Though better than American beer, it is nothing compared to the brilliance of Guinness on tap! (Guinness “on tap!” Get it? Sorry. Geeky Magic the Gathering joke). It was probably during a trip back up north to New Jersey where I grew up that my taste buds finally grew up too.

Christ, look at us! We’re old!

No shit! Income tax! Responsibility! Fuck, is that a grey hair?!?

My old friends had taken weak beer to a new extreme. With the sudden popularity of “light beer” (i.e.: more water per bottle) already tasteless swill suddenly became even worse!

Tap the Rockies!

Hug my nuts.

Proud to pontificate about my newfound taste sensation (brewed in Dublin since 1759), I was soon bitch-slapped by my friend Fitz and his Gaelic-League cohorts.

I think Guinness is dreamy!

Shut up you dick! I don’t care if you do drink good beer now, you still suck and listen to shit music!

These guys do three-finger shots of Jamesons and smoke Havana Torpedoes in the morning and call it breakfast. Well, screw ‘em. I’m only 50% mick, and Guinness and Eggs Benedict set me up just fine on a hangover morn.

Alright ye fuckers! NOBODY SLEEPS! c’mon, who’s with me? i’ll kick all yer asses … etc, etc, etc

In Florida once more, I continued to preach the good word of Guinness. At a local back alley pub in Ft. Lauderdale, I’d drink with Mr. E …

I KNEW this was about me!!!

OOF!

No, E, goddamnit! This ain’t about you - it’s about ME!

heh. imagine that.

Yo-yo-yo my Brotha! Don’t forget about ME!

or US!

mother

So, gentle reader, what have we learned in our brief time here together?

All naughty little boys need a spanking.

Fookin’ aye, right!

Haagen-Dazs!

Still say I’m his Black Irish Love.

Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em, yo.

Sláinte, folks! See ya at the pub!

The End.