Being third generation Norwegian, I can understand why America would want to celebrate the Irish.
Celebrate the vague myth that is St. Padraigh and his “day.” Did you know that St. Padraigh’s actual name was Maewyn Succat? Did you know that St. Padraigh was actually Roman? Yes Roman. British Roman and not Italian and sure as hell not Irish.
Blah blah blah.
Padraigh allegedly drove snakes from Ireland. Turned Irish spring water into Guinness which for some unknown reason is served warm. Blessed the work of the free Scot William Wallace. Laughed out loud in public at the bonny Prince Chucky and had an unusual affinity for a black Irish lass name of Tess.
Any half rational father of young girls would never allow ANY Irish prelate or prince of the holy Roaming Church to be alone with aforementioned daughters. I mean really.
So get out and rock on, it’s the luck of the Irish day. Oh yeah, is that about rich or what. Drink green beer, eat boiled potatoes, party until you puke green potato mess all over your rug.
By the by, it was a Norwegian that discovered America but up the Irish and Christopher Columbus.
Lastly, here’s our Irish poster boy for all things irrelevant and comprehensively inane –