SHAMRUCKUS, So Cal's BEST Saint Patrick’s Day celebration, kicked off bright and early this year at the world famous Gasser Lounge in Redondo Beach, CA, which is incidentally also the local headquarters of the Lady Hump congregation led by the resident Patron Saint of Inebriation Saint Mikey. After being officially BANNED from the Hermosa Beach St. Patrick's Day Parade due to "inappropriate subject matter" in last year's parade entry, The Lady Hump/ Gasser Lounge crew decided it would be best to focus efforts on turning the third anniversary of the Ruckus Ride into an opening ceremony for SHAMRUCKUS comparable to that of the Olympic games... if the Olympics were held in Ireland... and all the events involved drinking... and motorcycles.
Green kilts were everywhere because obviously they are the only proper Scottish attire one wears when celebrating an Irish holiday (duh.) The ride started with a Blessing of the Bikes by Saint Mikey who gifted every bike in the parking lot with a lucky golden teabag of spice and Frankenmuth. (Yes, cinnamon and chicken seasoning.) You know how some people get really really bent out of shape when someone else sits on their bike? Well we tea bagged those bikes twice.
As is customary with every Lady Hump ride, free commemorative shop rags and buttons were distributed before gathering everyone up and rallying down Pacific Coast Highway towards the Southern California Cliff of Moher (Palos Verdes.) We made a short stop at Pelican Cove to allow anyone caught lingering in a twist or turn to catch up as well as snap a quick in-line Celtic Riverdance photo... which seemed to dumbfound the local lemon-faced, bird-watching senior citizens. (“Your loud motorcycles… they drove away all the birds!”) Then it was off to our second drinking establishment- a sleepy Irish Pub that was somehow able to cater to a sudden onslaught of 60 thirsty hooligans all bellying up to the bar at once. Nothing like Irish Nachos and Stouts to celebrate the death of an Irish Saint I always say!
From there we trekked to the infamous (mostly unknown) but highly regarded Magical Potato Tree of El Segundo where everyone had a chance to pick their own magical green potato from the tree and blast it out of the “Taterzooka!” Now last year's cannon might not have been either technically “legal” or even functional beyond the first couple of launches, but rest assured- not a single potato survived Wuss Army Kit’s latest hand-crafted and hand-painted, highly pressurized Spud Gun. And yeah, 40 pounds was fun, 80 pounds came with a kick, and 100 pounds was definitely classified as a WMD if you found yourself in the cross-hairs.
It pretty much goes without saying that flying spuds were accompanied by flowing suds. Local beer maker Bob brewed and bottled a special batch of Irish Red especially for the event. Proper color, nice body, great head... not to mention the beer was great too. Thanks Bob!!
But what were we shooting at you ask? Cartoon renditions of some of our faithful riders, of course! It was everyone's chance to shoot their load into their best friend's face! Not a target survived I’m happy to report… and Kit’s going to be picking up potato cores for weeks.
Five cases down and zero potatoes remaining, we headed back to the Gasser Lounge to finish the night listening to punk rock and live bagpipes while downing Irish Car Bombs, Green PBR, and whiskey shots poured directly into your face... launching everyone into unconsciousness…
As it turned out, being excluded from the parade didn't slow our celebration one bit. We just ended up doing what we do best- creating our own good time with our favorite folks! It also didn't hurt that we somewhat accidentally ended up in our own parade. You ever see a pack of 60 bikes rolling down PCH on a Saturday afternoon? Yea, it's a little bit of a spectacle.
See you next time.
Naked Rob wrote a little poem after Mikey disabled his bike preventing him from riding home DUI
"The Ballad of St. Mikey"
With thunderous cacophony I pin the gas,
Making drivers shit themselves as I smash past.
But what noise is this, an ominous flutter!?
I've lost the front cylinder and my baby just stutters.
I wonder what evil has befallen my bike,
And remember a visit from the demon St. Mike.
Two nights before I drank many a'bottle,
And Mikey said "son, dont be touching that throttle."
I waved my arms and loudly protested,
But Mikey was firm: "this shan't be contested!"
My plug wire was hidden where I could not grab,
so Mike poured me a drink and called up a cab.
I returned at noon to pick up my chopper,
Unaware the repairs were fucked real proper.
Now Im up on the sidewalk wondering what went wrong,
Finding the plug wire hanging (where it doesn't belong).
I have a laugh as I calm the panic,
And thank God for Mikey:
good friend, shitty mechanic!
-Naked C. Rob