It’s all sugar skulls and green beer on Saint Patrick’s Day.
On the real Saint Patrick’s Day (not the shite one put on by the focking Pope) Sarah and I went to see the Irish parade about Minneapolis. We then stopped in at Kieran’s, had a coupla pints and then brought some takeaway up to her flat. She was right knackered from flying back from fair Denver and all, but ’twas a good time nonetheless. I won’t say about the goings on after dinner, but nothing was broken that couldn’t be repaired with a shot of morphine and a sewing kit.
Leprechaun Cavalry: yeah, you’re pretty much fucked. (if you don’t understand that reference, I refer you to the internet in question)
As this guy walked past we all broke into that traditional Irish folk song: “Oh, the mutant bears o’ Ireland / They’re cursed with arid throats / So give ‘em beers and whiskeys / And they’ll sing a lonesome note…” There’s more, but it’s too sad. I’m getting all teary eyed just now.
A Scotswoman! My Scotswoman is a mile away just now, which is why I’m still up and writing. Also, she’s part Norwegian.
While researching this article, I found a site on irish slang: http://www.irishslang.net/
Well, not really.