Saturday, March 17, 2007

St. Patrick's Day Shenanigans (Redux)

('St. Patrick's Day' was originally posted on 03/08/05. It has therefore been reedited, reworked, reworded, and then reconsidered before being reposted here today.)

Happy St. Patrick’s Day everybody!

I hope everybody has been enjoying their holiday libations this weekend…or rather, that you’re faithfully sitting at home right now in front of your laptops with a bottle of Guinness and appropriately positioned water bong, reading yours truly.

And, for that - I thank you. Screw all those other guys who are still out drinking green beer right now, betting on the “footy”, or beating each other with shillelaghs after a heated political debate, or whatever the Irish traditionally do on the 17th of March.

Did you ever notice how on St. Patrick’s Day that everybody seems to suddenly develop an Irish accent? Why is that? Just because you’re drunk and dressed in a ridiculous plastic green bowler hat doesn’t automatically qualify you as someone who can obnoxiously brag about being from the “Motherland”.

And for the record, Ireland is officially known as “The Emerald Isle”…not the “Motherland”, comrade.

You know these types of morons I’m talking about. They flock to the bars every March 17th in droves. I know – I bartended for 18 years. I’ve got green vomit stories that will make your worst dorm room Pukefest seem like a day at the spa by comparison. We’re talking total Alien Regurgitorium here!

And I got news for you – in Ireland, St. Patrick’s Day has real meaning, or something resembling an actual tradition of ceremonial significance anyway.

But, here in North America? Why do we care exactly? So they’re green and hide crap at the end of rainbows. I can see where that’d be pretty interesting if you were, say, Kermit the Frog.

What’s the big whoop exactly?

What have the Irish ever done for us? Sure St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland…but what’s he done for us lately? So what else have the Irish really done us to warrant all this needless hoopla?

Let’s see. They raided Canadian townships along the Niagara River and burned farmer’s fields’ back in the Fenian raids of 1870. Not exactly the kind of thing that I’d want to drink to. So lets keep digging.

What else? They gave us Dexy’s Midnight Runners and Boyzone. But that’s more of a reason to hunt down Irishmen with clubs than celebrate with drink if you ask me.

Even in the science world, the Irish have nothing of significance to celebrate. Francis Rynd is credited with developing the first hypodermic needle, and in turn, inventing more than just a few medical phobias in small children, not to mention a few adults. In essence, this guy is every living child’s medical Boogey Man.

“Now, Billy! You’d better eat your vegetables or Francis Rynd will inject you with his super sharp, hollow pointed hypodermic needle!” Yeah…a real hero. Thanks.

Then there’s George Francis FitzGerald, noted theoretical physicist. What the hell is a ‘theoretical physicist’? Somebody who imagines what might happen if you were to drop an aardvark from an orange tree on the surface of one of the moons orbiting Jupiter? Hey, it could happen…that’s all I’m sayin’. If that’s not a science born to drink I don’t know what is. I imagine that after a few glasses of Jameson’s just about anything is possible. But still, there’s no great triumph here worthy of a holiday either.

What else have they got?

Some enchanted Blarney Stone, where it is reputed, that by kissing it you somehow acquire the “gift of eloquence”. Yeah, that and Herpes’s Simplex-B, moron. How eloquent is it to kiss a strange, dangerously situated rock anyway? That’s about as eloquent as a beer fart in a banquet hall if you ask me. Do you know how many strangers have dangled themselves by their feet over the castle wall to kiss this stupid thing? You’d be lucky if your lips didn’t fall off three days later thanks to some strange flesh-eating bacteria.

You go, Seamus.

Other than that, the rest is all just leprechauns, four leaf clovers, boiled cabbage, and boxes of Lucky Charms. That’s all they got! So what’s everybody celebrating exactly? Because I think that on the whole global contribution scale, the Irish are ranking right up there with, maybe, Botswana and Lithuania. So why not a St. Mpumalanga’s Day too? It’s just as arbitrary.

I hate St. Patrick’s Day – and even more so, I hate people who celebrate St. Patrick’s Day!

Just having to witness anybody participating in some stupid St. Patrick's Day shenanigans makes me more irritable than a Minotaur with a toothache. I want to club them all with a sack of pennies, kick them in the shamrocks, and shove their penny whistles up their wee arses.

From the moment I walk out my front door – it’s like I'm stepping into some bizarre mutant Kermit the Frog family reunion picnic. It’s just infuriating! The first person that mistakenly pinches me because “that’s what you get when you don’t wear green” is inevitably going to be greeted with a knuckle sandwich that would make George Foreman throw in the towel.

I just don’t get it. Green is ugly. It's the color of mold, weeds, swamp creatures, and alien blood cells. It was not intended to be worn in public with such bold frankness. The color green signals that a rotted body limb may soon need to be sawn off, or that someone has left out food stuffs that have gone a little bit funky. I'd be a little leery of celebrating any culture or nationality that embraces this color as part of its national identity.

I particularly don’t understand the phenomena of celebrating St. Patrick’s Day in the office place. It’s bad enough that I have stay away from all bars, restaurants, clubs, cafes, and other social public establishments in order to avoid the drunken mobs of accented moolyaks sloshing their green beverages on my hushpuppies and taking leaks on my parked car – but now I have to find a way to deal with the schmucks in the ‘Social Committee’ at work as well.

Where some of these people come up with their deluded expressions of “Irishness” I’ll never know. One co-worker even showed up in a neon orange shirt with green shamrock suspenders, beads, hat, and heeled shoes. How is that being Irish exactly? I’ve never met an Irishman who would ever even consider leaving the house looking like a gay pumpkin.

If I were Irish – I’d fucking dread St. Patrick’s Day!

I’d probably board myself up inside my apartment with a sack full of spuds and keg of Guinness for an entire 24-hour period until the madness had passed away completely.

Honestly, our blatant blasphemous mockery of the entire Irish culture would be enough to have St. Patrick drive all the snakes back into Ireland!

“Top o’ the morning to ya’s, ya fookin’ eejit’s!”


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