Thursday, March 17, 2005

It's St. Patrick's Day, I'm Part Irish, and I Don't Give a Sh!t

Legend has it that that Saint Patrick drove the snakes from Ireland, thus making the emerald isle safe for plague rats.

Born Maewyn Succat (or some such sh!t), he was kidnapped from the British mainland around age 16, and shipped to Ireland as a slave. Jesus, this guy was born in fucking England for Christ’s sake. The most identifiable icon of Ireland is British; no wonder the limeys still have control of Ulster (Northern Ireland). Those god damned clover-pickers can't even produce their own patron Saint. Let's hear U2 or the freaking Chieftains write a song about that one.

Here in the States, this pseudo-religious holiday is celebrated by drunken frat boys and their ilk in the form of a 24 hour drinking contest. Yeah, there's nothing more Irish than a mug of dye-green Miller Light, except (of course) famine.

Every year I go out to brave the bars, and every year I come closer to a spree killing. I might just be getting old, but the idea of wall-to-wall douche-bags writhing around in their own excretions and trying to nail the dumpy chick with the bad red dye-job doesn't seem like a good time. Oh yeah, and if I hear one more mother-fucker with a green plastic horn bleating from across the room, that cocksucker is going to need a pair of forceps to extricate it.


BTW: I just found out that MSN doesn't like swears - won't let you publish 'em - fuckers

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