Spent far too many hours drinking at an "Irish Pub" on St. Patricks Day. Consumed mainly Guinness and scotch, although there were some Irish Car Bombs and other mixed drinks thrown in. Ate very little that day, just shared some basic greasy appetizers and stuck mainly to the liquid diet of Guinness. Eventually I was so drunk that I could barely talk, let alone conduct myself in a civilized fashion. I got a ride home from a friend, but in a silly last minute drunken decision, had him drop me off at my neighborhood corner bad instead of at home.

I'd only had 2 more drinks at the bar, before it was time to make my way home. As I stumbled up the hill, only a couple of blocks now, my insides began to make a horrible noise. As my intestines cramped and twisted, my colon clenched tightly and I knew that I was in trouble. Cursing my own drunkedness, and at this point I was completely obliterated, I shuffled and stamped my way towards home, holding my belly and struggling just to stay the course.

After what seemed like an eternity, I half ran, mostly stumbled up the driveway and to my front door. My insides were on fire and a volcanic eruption was imminent. As I leaned against the door frame, and twisted the knob, I met what was to be the final straw for my quivering colon. The door was locked. Desperately I fumbled and grasped at my pockets, tore the keyring free, and failed miserably at this, the most mundane of tasks.

I was too drunk to open my own goddamned door. My fingers betrayed me, the slot simply too small, too complicated to receive it's key in time, and the door simply would not budge. Tears welled up in my eyes, sobbing and prodding at the lock cylinder fruitlessly, while my poor GI could simply cope no more. At first a small squirt, but my sobbing only made it worse, and the hot liquid poured down my leg in rivulets as I finally managed to jam that damned key into the dead bolt. Twisting it and throwing open the door in one fell swoop, I ascended the stairs in record time and bee lined for the washroom. Horror did not end there though, as my body cruelly and punitively sprayed the entire toilet and floor with black feces and about a gallon of Guinness. Once the diarrhea subsided, I was tasked with cleaning the washroom before anyone could bear witness to my shame. I don't think that I will ever celebrate St. Patricks Day again.

tl:dr - Fucking Leprechauns.