When I need comic relief, I text him...

Yesterday, 6:20am:

My bro: Happy St. Patrick's Day, my sistah. Time to get to drinking.

Me: Dude, it's 6am. If you want to live to drink, leave me alone.


6:20pm:

My bro: Now it's beer time.

Me: Enjoy! Have one for me. Or maybe two.

My bro: Or 4?

Me: Just remember where you live and you will be good.

My bro: I will. Plus, I have to work at 6am.


8:20pm:

My bro: What r u up tooo irish woman?

Me: Dude, we ain't Irish. We're Polish, remember?

My bro: On dad's side yes we are. We have to be. I have a red beard yo.

Me: Good point.

My bro: We're both ginger daywalkers (WTF? Seriously, no clue.) how can we not b irish?

My bro: Plus I love whiskey. hehe

Me: Whiskey isn't green beer.

My bro: It's irish whiskey. It's all good as long as you think green thoughts while yoo drink.

Me: Allrighty then. Have fun. BE SAFE.


10:10pm:

Me: How many fingers am I holding up, sir?

My bro: 12. at least.

Me: Yep, you are correct.

My bro: Thanks ossifer. U have a good afternunn.

Me: No driving, K?

My bro: Am home. Bar is block from my hommme. Walked home. Only hit one car.

Me: Cool. Night then.

My bro: Night to you two.