Photos and Observations From The Drunkest Place on Earth: St. Patrick's Day in Dallas


This was my first time braving Greenville for St. Patrick's. I was expecting it to be bad. What I was not expecting was the last days of Sodom and Gomorrah. As I, the only sober person on the entirety of Greenville, struggled through a crowd roughly comparable to the population of Ireland itself (and way more drunk), I reflected that getting here earlier to drink might have been a better idea. At least that way I'd be stumbling into as many people as were stumbling into me. I didn't even know about open container laws. I could have brought one beer, just to numb the pain. But no, now I was a thirty-minute wait from sustenance at anywhere that might possibly have been selling beer. Color me unprepared. --Gavin Cleaver

See also:
-Snoop Dogg's St. Patrick's Day Concert: Review and Photos
-The Fans of the St. Patrick's Day Snoop Dogg Concert

Stephen Masker
The Lower Greenville area was not the place to be Saturday if you have aversions to large, dense crowds, city walls made of portable toilets, pervasive fake, plastic mustaches and rampant price gouging. I'm not sure if it's possible to obtain a contact drunk, but it really did seem as though the few beers I drank before arriving on the scene (where there was a fucking $10 cover charge to get into an area where you would then wait in line for a minimum cost of $6 for watered down beer) seemed to have amplified their potency as soon as I stepped into this Soddam and Greenmorah. Yeah, yeah: "That's any major city on St. Patrick's Day. Get over yourself." Fair enough. --Brian Rash
Stephen Masker
Leprechauns, fairies and a walking four leaf clovers were just some of the Irish oddities celebrating St. Patrick Day Festival on Lower Greenville. Despite the Dallas PD calling for the crowd to disburse once the parade finished, thousands of people littered the streets. Literally. It was as if the slums of Dallas had raised its weary head from its forgotten past and vomited trash, which covered the street like a second layer of skin.

Dodging trash and drunken people took an abundance of soberness that I somehow lost between Dyer Street and Fondren Drive. Traversing through a crowd of Irish zombies to reach the Snoop party also proved to be easier said than done. Every few feet another one of the drunken bastards collapsed, causing the line to falter.

When the last one fell, I looked at her before entering a block of converted Irish pubs for another quick shot. Drool trailed down her half-green face, and her four-leaf clover eyes slowly crossed from heat exposure. Thankfully, an Irish penguin picked her up and carried her away, but more falling drunks soon took her place.

Following the police barricade to beer havens and, eventually, to the Observer's party felt like I was trapped in a twisted version of George Orwell's 1984. Driving down Greenville in his white SUV, Big Brother herded the green-clad crowd with his bullhorn - "Go home, people! Go home. Go home. Go home." - while Snoop's magic drove us onward to a mystical place where music, pipes and alcohol awaited our arrival. --Christian McPhate

Stephen Masker

Dallas on St. Patrick's Day is like Denton on a Tuesday: everyone is blitzed out of their minds and you're likely to see something amazing happen. When DART pulled up to my station, a young lady stumbled off and immediately took my bench seat and lowered her head to nod off.

On the last a stop, a gentleman lacking his front upper row of teeth joined us and started loudly telling a story about how a "God damn illegal Mexican" got into a wreck with him and ruined his life. Supposedly the guy survived the accident but the "Illegal who wasn't supposed to be here" was killed and our toothless raconteur was ordered to pay the family a settlement. He's going on and on about illegals and Mexicans despite the fact that I, and many others around him, just happen to be Mexican.

Shortly before our stop he asks if anyone wants to buy some Hydrocodone and when a girl asks him what he's got, HE PULLS OUT A BOTTLE AND SHOWS HER. --Jaime-Paul Falcon

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YEAH!  Proud to be drunk and 20-something! Wait til you're drunk and 50-something.  It's just not that cool any more.


@gollyrojer Even in my 20's I never got that wasted.  Passing out on the street or where ever was handy, throwing up on one's self,  Now that's just disgusting and embarrassing.  I haven't been to the the party/parade in several years but I don't remember seeing anything that bad.  Guess it's gotten a little out of control.  I like to party too but I don't want to pay the consequences the next day.   

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