I don't really know how to start this post or what to write. It has little to no substance as far as text goes. What it lacks in written depth, it more then makes up for in visual stimuli.
Whenever I come up with a clever, malicious or just plain racially charged saying, I nearly burst in excitement waiting for the best moment to unleash it on the world. The best one of recent memory has to be when I set up my friend "The Professor" and explained that the strawberry jello jar was "as tight as the virgin Mary." The Professor, being the devote Catholic he is, guilted me into a half-ass apology for the comment.
Just so happens that I was talking to Caitlin while waiting for a flight at Boise International Airport and she mentioned something about drinking and how she really hasn't had that many drinks of the mixed variety. Because I share a love that has been forged over a couple of decades for Guinness, I blurted out, "I love Irish car bombs!!!" It only took a second to realize that in an airport, "bomb" most likely is not the word you want to be yelling into a cell phone. It was there that the new, more airport friendly term "Irish car explosion" was born.
I was unable to conjure up any origin dates pertaining to the birth of the Irish Car Bomb. I do know however, that it is quite popular amongst the younger crowd so it was to my extreme pleasure that I coerced Colette's mother, Mary to join me in a round. Now for the record Mary, or Mare as I affectionately refer to her as, is no spring chicken. Baring the receipt of carbon dating tests performed recently, we can only assume she is at least 38 years old and no older then ..well ... never mind.
This is Mare's maiden voyage on the ship S.S Pickled Liver. I know, it brought a tear to my eye as well.