St. Patricks Day, filled with green beer, orange beards, and horny little Leprechauns, is widely celebrated across the world (Though I don’t think it’s that big in Iran), but most people aren’t aware of it’s real origins. Mistakenly the general population of people think St. Patrick’s Day is held in remembrance of the patron saints of Ireland. This is completely wrong and anyone who says that it is a liar and probably smells like whale shit. St. Patrick’s Day actually came about in 1897 in the quite suburbs of Boca Raton, Florida.
Shea Patrick O’Hair, though most of the people at school called him Shea Patrick O’Hairy balls in your mouth, was a redheaded little Irish bitch. He had a wak ass orange beard that only grew in certain places and caused him to look like someone threw up orange jello on parts of his face. He didn’t have many friends and girls often told him his weird obsession with frogs creep’d them out. His father was a drunk and his mother, a broom maker, often told him he reminded her of the man she lost her virginity to. Though he knew he was a little queer, he never felt it was the life he was destined for.
One day at school while most of the jocks were drinking and throwing blocks of wood at him, he decided to make the change his loser life needed. He walked up to the biggest jock just as he was grabbing a small frog to mash in Shea face, “Hey, you better stop throwing those blocks of wood at me”. The jocks laughed at the little twerp. Shea shouted, “I’m not kidding. Stop throwing blocks of wood at me and stop peeing on me whenever I fall asleep under the monkey bars”. The biggest jock grabbed his flask, took a mean sip and bit the frogs head off. Tears filled Shea’s stupid little eyes and he watched the jock stick his finger in the frogs body and pretended to make it hop around Shea’s freckled face. He took the rage that was bottled up for seventeen years and let it explode like the guts of the frog as the other jock threw its body against a tree. Shea looked at the jock, towering at least two feet above him and said, “You needed a chaser for a measly sip of whiskey. You’re a big puss”. The school children gasped. A crowd began to form as the jock replied, “What did you say to me you little rabbit fucker?” “You heard me”, replied Shea. Again the crowd gasped at the new found courage coming from the little Irish nerd. The jock filled his flask to the brim and spit in the top, “You think you can do better? Go ahead and try. I bet you will die” (The jock did not mean to rhyme, but he did). The crowd was now all off the school children, teachers, a couple cooks, and a stripper in a nun costume. The teachers were laughing at Shea and one yelled out, “You faggot you can’t even pass my English class, how are you going to drink all of that”? Shea didn’t let this affect him. It couldn’t. This was his chance. He grabbed the flask, said a small frog pray to himself, popped open his mouth and let the flask pour. One second, two seconds, six seconds, twelve seconds. Everyone couldn’t believe their eyes. Even the jocks were staring at each other unsure how this was possible. One jock turned to the other and said, “How is this possible?”
Then it hit the ground. He tossed the empty flask to the ground after eighteen seconds and threw his hands in the air, as if to say, “Wassup Nigga? Wassup?” The crowd was silent. Nobody has ever downed half of a flask, let alone the whole thing. A small Asian girl emerged from the crowd and kissed him on the forehead. He winked at her as she asked, “What’s your name”? He replied, “Shea Patrick”. She turned to the stunned crowd and in a thick, almost unintelligible, Asian accent she yelled, “Shea Patrick”. Which came across as St. Patrick. Everyone in the crowd began cheering and yelling “St. Patrick”. Girls were lining up to kiss the newly confirmed stud. The stripper even let him hit it behind the tree the Frog was smashed on. He was a hero. He was a legend. He was a saint.
After that the word spread from village to village, town to town, city to city. They recounted how the Irish man drank like a wild animal. They told stories how the girls lined up to kiss the Irish man. They emailed each other pictures of Shea banging the stripper behind the tree.
Shea used the color green to signify that day in memory of the Frog. He also said in a interview years later, “People with red and orange hair are losers and that’s a fact. We look really dumb and most of us smell bad. There’s nothing we can do about that…for 364 days a year. BUT I’ll tell you something, St. Patrick’s Day is our day. There’s nothing cooler than a fire crotch on March 17th. On that day red and orange is the hair color of choice. On that day we are the people we dream to be every other day”.
So now you know.
A very rare picture of St. Patrick.
A Ipod ad St. Patrick did.
This is John MaCain. He ran for President. He didn’t win.
Kiss Me I’m Jewish,
Daniel Dickey
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