The Trouble With Being Irish

I suppose I should come right out and say that I am not %100 Irish. I am a mix of many European nations; basically a random sample of all the countries that currently hate us. However, while I may be a pinch German and a splash of English with a dash" just a dash of Polish thrown in, I am mostly Irish. While some pure bred Irish people think this a crime, I can't help it. So some of my ancestors were attracted to people other than the Irish" I can't say I blame them.

Now, a lot of non-Irish people think that being Irish is really great. Hell, you get to really, really party on St. Patty's and you can drink a lot. Do not be so foolish; being Irish is no dream and let me tell you why.

Let's begin with complexion. People try to be nice by calling our skin "fair" but we all know what they really mean is "frighteningly pale." Many thousands of years ago, a man named Patrick O'Haloran saw a glass of milk sitting on the table. "Hmmm," thought Patrick, "I sure wouldn't mind breeding with that lil' lass over there." After a few months the glass of pure white milk gave birth to a little baby with pure white skin like the milk and many small brown spots like its father. And so was born the Irish complexion: milky, sickly white with freckles everywhere" EVERYWHERE. My shoulders are covered in what appear to be leeches but, on closer inspection turn out to be potential cancer-causing freckles. Yay!

And don't think that this skin takes well to sun. Ireland is a cloudy, cold little island so, when the Irish were transplanted to America, we invented the first sunburn. But a burn is not really what it is. Sure, it turns red for a few minutes, but it really should be called a sun-peel, because that is exactly what happens. If you ever want to know what it feels like to actually shed an entire layer of skin at once, be Irish for a day in the summer. We're like snakes except nobody wants to make boots out of us. If you happen to be Irish with red hair, you don't even peel, you just turn into a gigantic blister. Oh, and let's not get started on Irish Teeth. Go to Ireland and you'll find that they love green so much, they've let their teeth turn that color too!

So, we've got that great skin and those neat teeth going for us but there is so much more to being Irish. Let's talk for a minute about the reputation. I guess it is ok to be able to drink a lot when you're in college. But I don't think the Irish thirst will work so well in the business world. "O'Neil, great job on that Swanson deal. You really showed this company what you're made of. And great job on drinking that bottle of whiskey in the break room, really impressive stuff."

Plus, what do you do when you're drunk? That's right, you dance. Take a look at all the cultures of the world and see who has the stupidest dancing. Nope, not the Nigerians, not even the Croatians" It's the Irish. Irish dancing consists of keeping your hands glued to your sides, not making any facial expression, and comically tapping your feet" really sexy. They say that the better dancer a person is, the better they are in bed. Shit.

Also, the Irish are not particularly famous for their massive genitalia. In fact, it's just the opposite. It seems that the damp, cold air of Ireland have made us evolve slightly shorter than the rest of the world. Somewhere in evolution, the Irish gene said, "Hey, why do we need to have a head AND a shaft? Let's just grow the head." Coincidently, the Irish penis is not blessed with the gift of giganticism but rather the curse of cuteness. Maybe that is why we Ireland has produced so many great writers and thinkers; they couldn't get any girls so they turned to artistic pursuits instead. Plus, red pubic hair on a man is absolutely revolting I'm told.

It's hard getting girls when you've packing a Vienna sausage, but it's even harder when you're poor. And what luck! The Irish have one of the poorest histories on the planet. Thanks their loving neighbor, the British, the Irish were poor for so long they had to commemorate their poverty in fable. Only a poverty-racked nation would concoct a story about a little green man who hides a huge pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. The only problem is the little leprechaun can never be caught and there is no end to a rainbow. God, that's sad.

With all of these horrible things about being Irish, you would think that we would indulge in eating binges to pacify our laments. But, if you have even been treated to Irish cuisine, you would know why the Irish turn to drink instead of food for comfort. The Irish do not have what you would call a "sophisticated pallet." Instead, we have learned how to make food that is actually used on murder suspects to make them talk. How about we take a tour of some Irish culinary accomplishments? Let's start with corned beef and cabbage. Take the worst piece of meat on a cow and the most disgusting and stinky vegetable, cut them up, and cook in a pot until the entire house reeks of poverty! Then you must try some Irish stew. It's simple to make. Just take whatever you can pull out of the ground, kill whatever animal you can catch and cook in a pot with some water. And for desert, why not have some dirt flambé? Almost all Irish food is prepared by putting a smelly vegetable and some bad meat in a pot and cooking it till it no longer retains any taste. That's how people made food when Jesus was around" it's time to update our methods.

But the absolute worst thing about being Irish is the religion; Catholicism. I was raised Catholic and I still am. The religion is fine and its basic beliefs are good, but it's the guilt that kills me. I can't do anything without feeling slightly ashamed. When I first learned to please myself via my hand and my grandfather's magazines, I honestly thought God and Jesus were sitting up in heaven watching me; "Well, there he goes again" Peter, tack on another three years in purgatory." I, like many of my Catholic brethren, spend my days wondering if I am ever going to have to pay for all the sins I've committed. I really hope not, because I have done some awful things like eating meat on a Friday, saying "goddamn it," steeling my neighbor's girlfriend, and coveting oh so many things. I guess I'll be burning my after-days away.

I don't want you to think that being Irish is all bad. In fact, there are some perks. Irish music is really good and interestingly is the root, along with African rhythms, of rock and roll. We share everything we have; like St. Patty's day" you can party that day too. Not like those greedy Puerto Rican's who keep their day to themselves. Plus, we are always fun to have at a party. Hell, we can make anything a party, just go to an Irish funeral. I guess what I am saying is, while I dislike my pasty skin, small penis, and alcohol problem, I really am proud to be Irish. Now, someone get over here and kiss me" these teeth aren't getting any greener!