Posted on 03/16/2016 5:58:36 PM PDT by Kathy in Alaska
Hillary says ‘Vote for me, I’m Irish (on my great, great grandmothers’ ex-husband’s side, twice removed!).
#18 ~ excellent post ~ tell them how it was!
Getting ready to listen on my iPad to U2’s “In God’s Country.”
They are predicting snow here too. But I hope it melts fast. I want to ride my Bike really bad!
If you’ve ever been in N. Ireland during “Marching Season”, you’d know this well!
BHO goes into a tavern in Boston every Patrick’s day and claims to be an Irishman! Son Of A Slutty Bitch! Grrr!
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LOL! Good one.
Hai - And Happy Patties Day to you and yours. Just as an aside I thought that ~ Danny Boy ~ was a Scottish song. AmIright?
The reason the Irish celebrate St. Patrick’s Day is because this is when St. Patrick drove the Norwegians out of Ireland.
It seems that some centuries ago, many Norwegians came to Ireland to escape the bitterness of the Norwegian winter. Ireland was having a famine at the time, and food was scarce. The Norwegians were eating almost all the fish caught in the area, leaving the Irish with nothing to eat but potatoes. St. Patrick, taking matters into his own hands, as most Irishmen do, decided the Norwegians had to go.
Secretly, he organized the Irish IRATRION (Irish Republican Army to Rid Ireland of Norwegians). Irish members of IRATRION passed a law in Ireland that prohibited merchants from selling ice boxes or ice to the Norwegians, in hopes that their fish would spoil. This would force the Norwegians to flee to a colder climate where their fish would keep.
Well, the fish spoiled, all right, but the Norwegians, as everyone knows today, thrive on spoiled fish. So, faced with failure, the desperate Irishmen sneaked into the Norwegian fish storage caves in the dead of night and sprinkled the rotten fish with lye, hoping to poison the Norwegian invaders.
But, as everyone knows, the Norwegians thought this only added to the flavor of the fish, and they liked it so much they decided to call it “lutefisk”, which is Norwegian for “luscious fish”.
Matters became even worse for the Irishmen when the Norwegians started taking over the Irish potato crop and making something called “lefse”.
Poor St. Patrick was at his wit’s end, and finally on March 17th, he blew his top and told all the Norwegians to “GO TO HELL”. So they all got in their boats and emigrated to Minnesota—— the only other paradise on earth where smelly fish, old potatoes and plenty of cold weather can be found in abundance. UFF DA!
:-)
Good evening, D1.
Into a Belfast pub comes Paddy Murphy, looking like he’d just been
run over by a train. His arm is in a sling, his nose is broken, his
face is cut and bruised and he’s walking with a limp.
“What happened to you?” asks Sean, the bartender.
“Jamie O’Conner and me had a fight,” says Paddy.
“That little shit, O’Conner,” says Sean, “He couldn’t do that to you,
he must have had something in his hand.”
“That he did,” says Paddy, “a shovel is what he had, and a terrible
lickin’ he gave me with it.”
“Well,” says Sean, “you should have defended yourself, didn’t you
have something in your hand?”
“That I did,” said Paddy. “Mrs. O’Conner’s breast, and a thing of
beauty it was, but useless in a fight.”
Lord, I apologize...
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