Happy St. Padraig’s! *PUNCH*

Ah, the Irish. My dad's mother's family is from Ireland, and, in keeping with the tradition of the Irish, there's a story. I'm not sure if this is entirely true, but who cares? It's a tale for the ages, especially if you have Irish relatives.

Once upon a time, a man named Tommy Naughton had a wife and five daughters. They lived in Dublin, and were miserable, as is their wont in Ireland. SO! Tommy had an idea.

Great Grandad Tommy: I have an idea.
The Irish: Shut up and drink your pint.
Tommy: Well, of course I will. But then? An idea.
The Irish: Another pint?
Tommy: Well, yes. But after! My idea!

And on and on. Now, when you have a wife and five daughters and they want things, like food, clothing and money, this can be a bit of a drag when all you want to do is drink the pint in peace, for the loveagod. So Tommy sobered up a bit and presented his idea.

Tommy: I have an idea.
Great Granny: You'll get a job and stop drinking the pint all day and into the night?
Tommy: Well, no.
Great Granny: Then I don't want to hear it.
Tommy: It's a grand idea!
Great Granny: Go away.
Tommy: Ah, but that's kind of the idea! Only YOU are going to go away.
Great Granny: What are you blathering about, man?
Tommy: This is a great idea.

So Tommy went through with his idea, and sent his wife and five daughters to America! Grand! How lovely for them, and how lovely for me, because that meant I was to be born many years later. And we're all grateful for that, aren't we? THE ANSWER IS YES.

And what did Tommy do? Did he get a job and save money and joyfully rejoin his family in America like a wonderful husband and father?

You DO remember this is an IRISH story, don't you?

So no. Great Granddad Tommy did not go and join his wife and daughters. He drank himself to death in the streets of Dublin. Like you do.

And that's my St. Padraig's Story! Cheerful! Just like my relatives!

THE END. Go drink a Guinness and leave me alone, for the love of the little baby Jesus in the manger, yer tormenting me, and I don't stand for tormentin'.


The Irish seldom smile.


Happy St. Padraig’s! *PUNCH* — 6 Comments

  1. ah, guinness, the beer that eats like a meal.
    according to legend in my family, one of my forefathers left killarney, hopped on a boat, changed his name, and came to america to avoid being arrested. for what, we have no idea, which is what makes this is a completely ridiculous story.
    i shall have an extra bite of corned beef for you today. (just try and stop me, anyway.)

  2. Funny, but the drunks in my family are NOT the Irish ones. I think somebody on my (Southern) mother’s side sold their soul to the devil, seriously, a la Robert Johnson.

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