Día de San Patricio
It’s all sugar skulls and green beer on Saint Patrick’s Day.
“Me wee electric car is more Irish than you, you focking Gobshite!”
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.
Saint Paul out of Minneapolis!
Leprechaun Cavalry: yeah, you’re pretty much fucked. (if you don’t understand that reference, I refer you to the internet in question)
Roller Derby girls are better on skates
Sarah is just always good
Dance, ye leprechauns, lest I take yer pot o’ gold
Mmm! Street caramel! I hate caramel. Caramel can go fuck itself.
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.
Here’s to a united Ireland — or at least peace.
What’s an Irishman wear under his kilt?
A Scotswoman! My Scotswoman is a mile away just now, which is why I’m still up and writing. Also, she’s part Norwegian.
Sigh.
While researching this article, I found a site on irish slang: http://www.irishslang.net/
I approve.
Well, not really.
The focking Pope may be a wee Nazi tosspot, but ye still had two Saint Pattie’s days out of the deal!