Listen up, you assholes: all of you, with your fake orange beards that look like upside-down Troll hair and your misplaced green Mardi Gras beads, know jack shit about the esteemed religious and cultural meaning of Saint Patrick’s Day.
This is supposed to be the one time of the year when people acknowledge the 5th-century missionary who became the canonized figure of The Emerald Isle, and all you selfish crass college kids do is chug shitty green beer and piss it back onto the law school? Why don’t you just shove a shamrock-frosted cupcake up my ass?
And don’t get me started on all you twisted fucks who tell people to “kiss me, I’m Irish,” but I bet none of you even speak one word of Gaelic and you just think this sacred festival honoring the life and legacy of the foremost patron saint of Ireland is a convenient way to score some action. Have some respect, you sick freaks.
For me, I’m going to be spending my Saint Patrick’s Day making sure everyone who crosses my path knows that not every Irish person dances the fucking jig and looks like a three-foot-tall Ed Sheeran. And you’d better believe I’m going to wear green, but in the form of a long sleeve button-up, and also in church, praying for all you sacrilegious, insensitive pieces of shit.