St. Patrick’s Day

Sure and begorrah, Commissioner O’ Hara, kiss yer Blarney Stone, pinch me bottom blue if I ain’t worn green taday, ’tis St. Paddy’s day and ’tis time for all sorts of solemn Irish nonsense to try and disguise the goings on on this day. Yes, it’s alcoholic’s Christmas once again, Paddy, time to chug Jameson’s, time to cover a rag with brandy and huff ’til ye see Leprechauns, always after me Lucky Charms, sure.

I read that St. Patrick, the magical Irish bishop who banished all the snakes from green old Ireland, mother McCree, oh Danny Boy, was not only not a slave, he was the son of a tax collector for the Roman state who may have fled to Ireland with his assets in the form of slaves. And the slaves probably had their arms bound to their sides, thus discovering the River Dance as they stomped grapes in the fields of their lord.

It’s been a long time since any of this drivel mattered to me, remembering people pinching me hard because I neglected to wear green on March 17.

Europeans may find it hard to believe that Americans dye their rivers green, and their beer, and their milkshakes on this day, but it’s all true, Seamus.

Later, paddy.

Author: Blaine L. Reininger

Blaine L. Reininger was born July 10, 1953 in Pueblo, Colorado. Then he lived a life. By and by, he founded Tuxedomoon with Steven Brown in 1977. He traipsed around America, tuxedomooning until 1980, when he began to traipse around Europe. As a direct result of all of this traipsing, many musical compositions were composed, most of which found their way to some sort of mechanical device capable of reproducing musical compositions. This was mostly for the good. He now lives in Athens, Greece, where he is content.

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