om_revenantGreetings, teenage freaks, mutants, and Americans! Or whatever else you are. Happy St. Patrick's Day, because Barry was being a nag about what I was doing to celebrate, which is terribly culturally insensitive, to badger me into observance and all, but I've forgiven him just the same. I should get my own sainthood! Saint Natty's Day has a fair ring to it. There would be more cock and balls in that holiday than Hallmark would know what to do with.
As the sole Irish around the school, you can kindly send all of your St. Paddy's cheers to me directly. I claim this holiday in the name of Me. I AM YOUR KING TODAY, PEASANTS! If I was back at home, mum would have soda bread and stew on. Or maybe a nice shepherd's pie. Or a bit of lamb.
Wait, I just got really hungry. Someone get your King a kebab. What was I saying?
Right! Cultural improvement and shite. Basically, my people were fucking tired of Lent, so we decided to make a holiday after this Paddy fellow, who was actually Scottish, but apparently he wouldn't shut up about Christianity while in Ireland, so the church owed him one. The whole shamrock thing is supposed to be about the Holy Trinity, by the way. But Guinness made it all popular to pub crawl and get drunk off your arse, bless them, and so we have the glorious holiday you know and love us Irish for today.
Anybody dyes their beer green, they shall be forever shunned out of every proper pub in Ireland.
As your King, the royal we are now accepting all offerings of beer, kisses from girls (the cute ones, not the uggos), and what you Americans call "potato chips", to hold off any more of those pesky famines. In return, we will give you the luck of the Irish for the rest of the year, which could be a secondary mutation of mine, for all we know, so it's totally plausible.
But seriously. I'm Irish. Why am I still sober? Someone be a pal and buy us a beer. A keg would do us nicely.