In the grand tradition of St.
(Omitted for space reasons: the 2,378,947 other incredible aspects of Mexican culture that we are grateful for, including but in no way limited to Norteño music, the works of Octavio Paz, mole poblano, rebozos, la Guelaguetza, the Mayan civilization in general, and those incredible dioramas of skeletons having the best time ever in the afterlife.) Think of it this way: If, for some reason, there was a holiday celebrating a little-known battle between the ancient Israelites and the Amalekites that no one in Israel really celebrates but had somehow become a thing here(*), it would be very deeply weird for gentiles to throw on yarmulkes, shout random Hebrew phrases and drink Manischewitz until the streets ran purple with sickly sweet vomit.
Even though, to be fair, Everyone’s a Jew and Also Drunk Day does sound kind of fun, we still would not do it.
You’re celebrating the latest victory in the long war of attrition you wage against your liver and your boss’s good graces.
Q: What does it say about the American character that we feel a need to dress up a random drinking day in cultural veneer and offensive mimicry in the service of frat bros and sauced-up suburban moms everywhere?