Thursday night saw the city of Boston break out into well-deserved celebration over the Red Sox’s third World Series win in the past ten years.
It was a well-timed victory, too, given the hardship that the city has overcome since the tragic bombing last April.
One area man, though, wouldn’t let this upswelling of local pride get him down.
Informing passerby that they were “fuckin retahded fucks,” Patrick Sullivan stumbled down a dark alleyway, possessed of the same noble, self-deterministic spirit that rallied this great urban center to lead the charge in the American Revolution mere centuries ago.
“If you thought I wasn’t gonna get wicked shitfaced no mattah what,” he reports succinctly.
Sources confirmed that Sullivan had already downed several pints of Sam Adams at an Irish pub long before The Dropkick Murphys’ unique, but nonetheless stirring and respectful rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” He then went on to break a glass pitcher on the bar counter and reminded his fellow patrons that Marie is a cheating, Southie whore unfit to lick his sweaty sack.
Sullivan later wandered off into the night, stopping only to piss on the Old State House before setting out on his adventure, which his intermittent drunken shouts indicated would consist of “banging a U-ie,” “stahpping at Dunkies,” and “taking the T down to Dawchestahh.” As for the rest of the city, Bostonians accepted their triumph with the sort of quiet, dignified humility that one would expect from “The Cradle of Liberty.
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