More St Patrick’s Day shite
Posted on Wednesday, March 15, 2006Here we go again.
After a long hibernation, we’ve built up sufficient reserves of smugness to begin patronising the planet once more. On Friday, we’ll witness the annual Festival of the Freaks in every town and village in the country. Here in Limerick, we’ll thrill as the local Fat Knacker Marching Bands take to the streets. Hundreds of frozen-blue little girls with goosebumps and double chins wobbling down O’Connell Street. After the Fat Knacker Marching Bands, we’ll have five-year-olds on quad bikes with a coordinated display of pedestrian-knocking, followed by the Throwing-a-Black-Bag-From-a-Moving-Vehicle competition.
If you don’t like any of that, you can have the (dwindling) bunch of ancient Americans staggering down the middle of our main street and waving at the locals for no obvious fucking reason. I always liked that one. Always. Dad, who are those old people and why are they waving at us? Shut up, son, they’re our American ancestors.
Or you could have the endless line of trucks with advertisements and nothing else stuck on the side of them. Buy Hegarty’s Windows, and win a night with a Hungarian Hooker!! I love the car with the couple of balloons tied to the wipers. Look, Dad. A car! With a strange orange-skinned person sitting on the roof, waving to us. Could it possibly be Gavin Henson? No, it’s even better than that. Please, Miss Limerick, wave at me!
Don’t knock it: it’s the only culture we have left these days, and you can believe that all the other Patrick’s Day shit is a whole load of guff.
Some years ago, I reached an agreement with my son, then 10 years old. Standing in the freezing cold and pissing rain, he looked up at me, and we exchanged that glance that only father-son pairs understand. The look that says This Is Crap. And we’ve never been back.
Nobody ever says “shitting rain”. Isn’t that strange?
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Stumble it!
August 5th, 2006
OK Bock,lets get it straight the last thing I fuckin punctuated was a fat arsed american cunt with a fuckin antique french flat iron meat tenderiser that cunt came into my fuckin restaurant never met the cunt before addressed me in a faux irish accent “top o de mornin to you me boyo isint it a fine day” no it wasint a fine fuckin day it was 102F
in the fuckin shade if there was a fuckin shade which there wasint cause it was pissing out of the hevins thus theese sauna like conditions had made me a little fuckin testy to say the least also due to the fact that I thought he sounded a little like Joe I sprung from Gabos fuckin vagina Duffy.Thats when I punctuated him, his fat cuntin american head and his barrell of lard american arse.Theres 78 fuckin chinks booked for tonight where the fuck would I get fuckin time to punctuate and Im not finished with that cunt Lansboro yet
March 16th, 2007
I’d love to see Gyrating Nuns and Whistling Priests on this “parade of all parades”. Why? Haven’t a clue why maybe ‘cos I kinda got bored with all the saint patrick’s day shite when a nun clobbered me in 1958.
http://i26.photobucket.com/albums/c135/theknitter/SaintPatrick.jpg
March 19th, 2007
brilliant article..bock you are a legend!