Yet Another Firewalking St. Patty's Day Memory Lane Extravaganza (Special Xirag Ed.)

Awesome.

In honor of St. Patrick bribing all the snakes into leaving Ireland (he used a CostCo dinosaur sheet cake laced with Guinness), Da-da has stolen someone else's cake recipe and made a multi-level green monstrocity not unlike the one pictured above, but a lot less attractive and flavorful and with tons more green food coloring and... ok, the cake has at least nine pints of Guinness in it... and more in Da-da... but this is just to ensure that the cake sings that sing-y drunkie sing-y song that drunk sing-y Irish-wannabes sing when they're... uh, making Irish Guinness cakes... hic.

In light of this Hoobah Incident, Da-da would also like to throw out a jaunty HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Xirag, another Mr. Mom and fellow alien construct, THE ONE WHO TALKED DA-DA INTO DOING THIS BREEDING THING IN THE FIRST PLACE, the rat bastard. Xirag must be something like THIRTY TWO YEARS OLD, today. Krikey. That's old. Da-da throws rocks at anyone over 30, so this chunk of chalcedony is for YOU, Xirag. Time to firewalk, guy!

In a bizarro segue that you cosmic Da-da readers have come to expect, it was another long ago March 17th that Da-da once actually yelled, "TIME TO FIREWALK, GUY!" at a drunk guy named, oddly enough, "GUY."


Seriously. That was his name. Da-da and Xirag were doing bad archaeology in the desert near Barstow (someone had to) about a thousand years ago, and had made this outrageous white-man fire (Da-da used a dessicated joshua tree log as big as Da-da, making it roar pretty much out of control, but it was the desert, so no one really cared. Except for lizards. Lizards always care). Anyway, once the fire was going, for whatever reason Da-da yelled, "TIME TO FIREWALK, GUY!"... and Guy actually started walking toward the fire and had to be restrained, the dope.

Later that night, 50 mph winds tore off with several of the other archeo-stooges' dome tents. Da-da's pretty sure Guy was in one of them, as we never saw him again. So. This strange St. Patty's Day green Guinness cake-thing memory is for YOU, Guy, firewalking some ghost playa somewhere only because Xirag and Kevin restrained you -- and it's for you, Xirag, for saving that poor schmoe. Smoke 'em if you got 'em (ribs, that is). And be sure to wear your asbestos underpants.

Native American make small fire and stand close;
white man make big fire and stand far away.