I have no Lucky Charms. I didn't even get Corn Beef and Cabbage this year. A way too late post on St. Patty's Day.

I was depressed on St. Patty's Day. First, I saw no Leprechauns. And if you don't know how much I love leprechauns then maybe you don't pay much attention to anything you read here. Which is OK. As I don't really pay any attention to you.

The day did start off pretty well. Around 7 in the morning I took a civil service exam at the post office. That way when I get older I can really go postal on your ass. That deserves another post sometime.

Card Shark and I were still awake at 10 am. So he decided to stop off at a local titty bar. At 10 am the bar wasn't even open yet and somehow we convinced the doorman to let us in.

I think the bartender was a little pissed about us getting in so early, as she didn't have any clothes on yet, just a G-string and bra. Which is great. Because the best part of going to a strip club is seeing someone naked or near naked that never intended for you to see them naked.

Later that day I told a friend while watching that shit hole of a movie Strip Club that, "At some point in a stripper's career she dies a little on the inside. That's the day she stops getting nervous or embarrassed about going on stage."

I told my friend that I wished I could just pay to see the look in their eyes as their dreams or dignity died out. That's way better that a lap dance any day of the week. And the only reason my friend really goes to strip clubs in the first place. I guess the point I am making here is that my friend is a misogynist and everything I say is just a joke.

The other point I want to make is the quality of strippers at 10am is shit. My stripper had enough scar tissue on her stomach to start a war with. My friend "fell in love" but the girl would normally be considered the "fat ugly stripper" at most strip clubs. The longer we waited the more we saw fat chicks walk in and get naked. Suddenly my real life had intruded on the fantasy that is supposed to be going to a strip club.

In real life even I can get a middle aged fat girl, who's children have left her scarred and busted, naked without giving her money. I just go on E-harmony.com for that. So we decided to leave. As we left the bar we saw the doorman "making out" with one of the strippers.

This stripper wasn't hot. Just to give you way's of comparison, I've always dated hotter chicks. But here this girl was making out with some 50 year old 400 pound sweaty guy. I mean heavy petting at 10 am and the guy is drenched, no covered in sweat. She's holding on to him like she can't get enough of this guy.

"This guys gets more pussy than me?" My tone is incredulous. And my friend has to listen to me rant for about 16 minutes on the drive home. I am so upset about all this I decide to get myself a fat chick. And whenever I want a fat chick I go Karoke or dancing.

Eventually we made our way out that night to Graham's Central Station. Gram's has 4 0r 6 different clubs all under one roof. Mostly a bunch of cowboys, hoodrats and minorities show up to this place. You know just the type of people that a middle aged post modernist (but non-hipster) white guy can score with.

I take that back. I can't score at all. I saw myself in a Walmart mirror the other day. Walmart mirror's are not designed to make you look skinnier and they are placed out in the frigid bare industrial lighting. Lighting that makes you take stock of yourself. And forces you to surrender your vanity to the inevitable ravages of time.

I was told yesterday that I seemed positive. Despite all the shit "going down." That "my blog seems positive." I think I need to nip that in the bud.