Happy Guinness Day, you drunken moron…

At 17:59 on 24th September (that’s today, you twit), the world celebrates one of the most well conceived marketing ploys of the mighty Guinness advertising juggernaut. “Arthur’s Day” is the new fake holiday that’s set to rivatalise a brand that’s become as stale as one of its own at the end of the night after it being left on the floor beside the cigarette machine because its owner was too flutered to wake up after falling asleep in one of the toilet cubicles.

Yes, every 1st-world commuting lad under the sun has already told his girlfriend / wife / Xbox Live team mate that he won’t be home at the usual time. He’s going to be part of a new movement, one that celebrates poverty of the pocket and soul, and live out the scenario that has been repetitiously image-beamed into his head – of compatriots-in-stout raising their glass and saluting the man who took all their money and made them that bit thicker.  No doubt some moron will make it three times as unbearable by shouting ‘To Martha!’ right afterwards.In fairness, Guinness is that somewhat more respectable draught.  Many a Wicklow man I’ve met who could still have a sensible debate with me after downing nine pints of ‘the black stuff’ (no, not liquorice) in a single afternoon.  Granted they’d have a big stupid grin on their face the whole time, but still, it’s not the type of alcoholic beverage that you’d associate with football hooligans, girls holding back their hair at the edge of the footpath, and Nicholas Sarkozy giving a press conference. It conjours up more images of your Dad in the corner, drawing faces with your finger tips, and that first child you had (going on the presumption that you’re 60+ female who was fed the stuff via drip in hospital, as was recommended practice by the Genuinely Unassociated Intelligent …. oh, look, I can’t come up with an acronym what spells ‘Guinness’ and relates to a medical board. Just assume I’m funny.  It makes life easier for everyone).
Anyway, whatever you do at 17:59 today, keep one thing in mind:  Up Yours, Arthur Guinness, you rich, dead bastard!

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