I expect at any minute, a whole host of my white bread, Facebook affiliates to start posting pictures of themselves drinking loads of beer and yelling “CINCO DE MAYO!”

I know I know.  A calendar date of which zero historical knowledge has been attained can really make one want to tie one on, get plastered, and test the limits of the DUI checkpoints.

But in reality, the North American lush-bucket really doesn’t need much in terms of the auspicial sort to start running an intravenous pick feed from the moonshine still.  Just say it: “I simply want to drink myself into a semi-comatose stupor on a Tuesday night.  The altered state of consciousness, boorish need to throw punches at bouncers, and full-scale, multi-player bloodlettings over Kaepernick’s throwing ability are worth it!”

St. Patrick’s Day, in Ireland turned into a “let’s get drunk and beat up gay guys” thing a long time ago.  But at least they admit it. Me? I’m just looking for honesty. Transparency.  The addled and addicted to step up and say, “I’m doctor shopping. Got any Norcos ?”

This is why I can’t take the whole zodiacal thing with any sense of seriousness.  According, to the horoscope rundown, me, an Aries, is supposed to be creative, and short-tempered.

Okay, that part is right.  But that’s a simple HUGE characteristic amongst artists in general.  And unless you can prove all Artists were born between late March and late April, the calculus falls apart.

Also, I was two or three days from being born a Taurus—had I simply cooked a little longer in utero, I would supposedly be a different person altogether.  This means, the doctor could’ve looked at my mom and said:

So here are our options, Mrs. Giesecke. Today is March 18^th.  Your baby is due one month from today.  As you know the astrological rundown isn’t good if you go to full term without an inducement.  I can fire up the Pitocin feed right now, and you can give birth to a Compassionate, adaptable, accepting, devoted and imaginative child with greater interpersonal latitude, or, you can take a chance and give birth to a complete jerk with a large vocabulary.

So according to a sextant read of the Pleiades,  I’d be a better person if mom would have induced labor.

So she took the second option.  And then named me Ronald out of spite.

That’s what I GET from a Pisces.