That’s me on a toilet, wearing a pink feather boa and holding a plunger festooned with the Irish flag, doing my best to fulfill the many duties and obligations of Grand Marshall at the Worlds Shortest St. Patrick’s Day Parade in Hot Springs Arkansas, 2008.
Though you can’t see it, a large tractor is pulling me down the one-block parade route. Behind me is a real chamber pot filled with fake money, and on either side, thousands of good-natured revelers determined to pass out before sunset.
I can’t remember his name, but the guy in the tan vest is an undercover security guard who stuck to me that day like fur on a weasel. The night before, someone had slipped a note under my door at the hotel informing me that I would “meet my destiny” during the parade.
In some ways, I suppose I did…
Happy St. Patricks Day