So anyway, I actually wrote this post yesterday, on May Fourth, which PePe will be happy to tell you means, roughly translated, Cuatro de Mayo. I wrote this post ahead of time because, by the time whomever opens the door on Tuesday morning at 7:30 am opens the door, I will be lying prone on my desk, drunk out of my mind, passed out, wearing nothing but a giant sombrero covering my naughty bits. There will be a pair of well-used maracas on the floor just below my right hand, as if they fell from my hand as I passed out. Tightly clenched in my left hand will be a giant bottle of the cheapest tequila known to man, with about 1/5th of the booze and a little green worm still in the bottom. On a small slip of paper tightly coiled and stuffed in the neck of the bottle will be the phone number of an overweight Mexican wrestler who was really a Mexican wrestler but still dressed up as Jack Black playing Nacho Libre anyway. And there will be one of those tuxedo T-shirts covered in dried vomit wadded up in the corner. That will be the scene that will await someone in the morning. I fully expect that person to go home sick for the day. And that's just what happens after Cinco de Mayo breakfast.
Anyway, that's how I plan to celebrate the holiday: by answering phones and staring at a computer screen naked with a raging, mega-hard hangover. How exciting. Meanwhile, Mexicans all over Mexico will be doing...wait for it...normal Tuesday stuff. You know, working in their offices and manning the counter at their stores. Maybe working on an oil derrick. Driving a taxi. Whatever they do. See, as it turns out most Mexican people don't really celebrate the Mexican Army's defeat of French forces in the Battle of Puebla in 1862. But we do. And I am not sure why. Oh yeah, because in the Western world we just want a reason to get shitfaced while eating tacos, in stark contrast to March when we got shitfaced while eating corned beef and cabbage, which by the way no one in Ireland ever ate. Except for maybe the British. Think about that one.
The similarities between St. Patrick's Day and Cinco de Mayo are really quite striking if you think about it, which I will not do because I will be spending my day trying to turn down the brightness on my monitor and chugging crushed up aspirin like it's Alka Seltzer. Which I will also be chugging. So happy Cinco de Mayo. If you served in the Mexican Army on May 5, 1862 then congratulations on your bravery. If you are Mexican I hope you have a wonderful day. If you are anything else, enjoy your Corona. And you look awfully good in that sombrero and serape, Duke.