Fuck St. Patrick and the snakes he rode in on

I’m so fucking Irish I don’t have to wear green or get drunk on St. Patrick’s Day.

It’s a Bullshit holiday — they don’t really celebrate it in Ireland. When they do, it’s just another excuse to guzzle Guinness.

Catholic-Irish-Americans started this shit because they needed something to compete with the Italians for Columbus Day and the half-french frogs for Mardi Gras.

But I don’t feel that need. I’ve been saddled with this Gaelic name and carrying the “map of Ireland” on my pasty, bloated, red face for 55 years.

Sure Kieran is “cool” now. As a fucking adult no one hits me in the face for having a fucking weird name.

But growing up in redneck Akron, Ohio, the rubber capital of the world, like the “Boy named Sue” there was a lot of face punching going on (and I usually was on the receiving end).

Now I’m a 240-pound, pigment-impaired, semi-monster of a man, so guess what Kieran means: “Little dark one.”

Not fucking kidding, google it. Goddamn Irish can’t get anything right.

Including their own fucking history. You’ve heard their bullshit stories of how St. Patrick brought “Christianity” to Ireland and banished all the snakes with his big stick?

leprechauns

Just like leprechauns and pots of gold — it’s all fucking fake news. Christianity already existed in Ireland before shit head St. Pat got there. And there were no snakes. That’s a fucking story to make people believe in magic, bend their knees to the Catholic Church and pay their last penny to save their imaginary souls.

Patrick’s family was one of those fucked up Christians that helped destroy the Roman civilization. You know they burned all the books and set science and health back a couple thousand years, right?

Anyway after the bonfires, in 400-something, Patrick was probably kidnapped in Ireland and held against his will. Likely the “natives” were looking for a payday or revenge against their future overlords.

He escapes, goes to seminary back in Britain or northern France for 15 years and returns as a fucking missionary.

He adds a Sun symbol (the star — not the child) to the cross to confuse the pagans about the “Sun of God” and starts selling his Catholic snake oil. Eventually he supplanted the local culture with the Roman-Catholic crap that is full of false sin, fake chastity and real alcoholism. (Not a good mix with one of the most inbred islands in the world with a history of depression and child abuse.)

So a Brit talks the Irish into Catholicism, and they fall for it for more than a millennium.

Then Henry VIII can’t make a son (a child — not a star), switches the Brits to protestantism, invades Ireland again (in 1541) and punishes the Catholics for following the wrong flavor of his new even-more bullshit religion.

The persecution and domination of the Catholics lasts another 500 years.

To flee the persecution, the Irish board boats for America, Australia and “anywhere but there”. Now the most “Irish” city in the World is Boston, Mass.

A nice little fuck you to the progeny of the Pilgrims. (You can start a new country, but the dirty, drunken Irish are going to take it over. Thanks for the pushing all the Native-Americans out of the way with your small pox and gunpowder, Pilgrims, we’ll take it from here.)

So yeah, let’s get drunk and celebrate St. Patrick for fuck’s sake — it’s the least we can do to remember the “happy” emerald isle.

I’ll drink with ya, but don’t expect me to wear green or any symbol of that bastard St. Patrick. I’m allergic to that Irish Catholic bullshit.