no four-leaf clovers on St. Patrick's Day, please

And so, tonight, when you get drunk and challenge your kids to a fist fight, know that you're doing it for the good of all Ireland!

 

Amen.

That said, and full well knowing St. Patrick's Day is fucking amateur night, I'm a touch to the winds, thanks largely to some drunk off-duty-bartender who bought me a few rounds 'cuz Mrs. Irish was nice to him at our local. God Bless 'em.

 

Too late. They already beat my ass. They beat my ass until I was a walking, talking potato famine.

 

"Danny Boy" was written by an Englishman, and St. Patrick is Welsh.

 

Leftovers?

 

There are some leftovers but I don't think I can smuggle them into the hockey game next week.

 

You're Belgian?

 

And although I'm a day late posting this, a tribute to Flann O'Brien by the Irish-Canadian crime novelist John Brady:

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/LAC.20080315.BKREAD15/TPStory/Entertainment/Books

When I think of O'Nolan, I think of my father. They were contemporaries, both born in 1911, both civil servants living within a couple of miles of each other. My father was living proof of O'Nolan's ear for idiom and dry wit, and on his way to work often noted the man's solitary stance by the bus stop, wan, expressionless face under a broad-brimmed hat.

 

And I should add, it was awesome.

 

Worse ... Dutch.

There are only 2 things I hate - intolerance and the Dutch.

 

Is it too late for the Dutch to take King Billy back?

 

That puts you firmly in the lap of the majority.