Thursday, March 17th:
And so it’s Saint Patrick’s day, and I feel compelled to post about it. I’d like to enrich you by filling you in on the origins of this blessed holiday, but I have no idea what they are; so I’ll make it up:
A long time ago, somewhere in Ireland, there was a man named Patrick. He was generally a good sort of fellow. If you were to ask anyone who knew him they would say “Oh, Patrick? He’s a good man.” And it was true.
One night Patrick was down at the local pub, enjoying a pint. A stranger walked into the pub and Patrick made his way to introduce himself, as he was social and friendly. The stranger was short in both stature and temper, but Patrick was able to soothe him with his charm and gift of gab.
Though they became fast friends, at the end of the evening they came upon a disagreement. According to Patrick, a potato was best used for a Shepard’s Pie. The stranger insisted that Colcannon was the superior potato meal. This caused quite a stir between them, and soon a challenge was issued. Whoever could win two out of three challenges would win the day.
The first would test their dexterity. The stranger pulled out two gold coins and challenged Patrick to what would be the first game of quarters. Patrick would have lost outright, but he was able to win by distracting the stranger with a few well-placed and clever limericks.
The second would test their guile. They picked the loveliest lass in the bar and lavished sweet, seductive words. Then it turns out she was way too young, and neither of them wanted to be a creeper, so they called it a draw.
The third was a test of fortitude. The stranger had a barrel of porter brought to the table. Poor Patrick was already quite drunk after his game of Golden Quarters. He knew he could not win, but refused to give up. He sat down with the man and quaffed mug after mug of the stout. He was expecting to awake in the alley in the morning, but he never passed out. The stranger grew more and more inebriated, but Patrick kept his wits. By the end of the barrel, the stranger was thoroughly pissed, but Patrick was overall in control of himself.
Infuriated, the stranger dropped his glamour and revealed himself to be a leprechaun, which made the coin thing way more impressive, and the seduction thing way more creepy. He then began shouting about lucky charms, and rue-ing the day, and generally being a sore loser. Patrick picked him up and tried to shake some sense into him, but shook gold coins from him instead. Seeing that the wee man was not going to shut up, he tossed him bodily from the pub, and collected the gold coins.
The fact that he beat a leprechaun at a coin toss, and didn’t get drunk on a barrel of ale immediately qualified as the two miracles needed for sainthood. But someone remembered that in The Saint, Val Kilmer needed three miracles to become a saint, and they couldn’t remember which was right. So just to be safe, they decided that since he was Irish, and didn’t immediately spend his gold on whiskey, potatoes, and whores, then that makes a third miracle. So he totally was a saint.