Oh. My. God. I am so embarrassed. I try to show the world I’m the most organized Torontonian since the autistic librarian whose legendary eyes were dubbed “Twin Potatoes” by the press, and yet here I am, a week late bringing this premium content into your homes.
The truth is, I was on vacation last week in the mountains and due to the fun of swooshing down a ski hill on a coupla plastic knives as well as the altitude sickness I felt most of the time, I plum forgot. I say break out the Irish whiskey, ignore everyone you love, recall what you did last Monday and shut the fuck up, because here’s the poem I was talking about that isn’t really that new, but is still applicable to today’s issues.
A poem for St. Patrick
Oh you green man, your day is here
When lasses and lads drink purple beer
Haha, you’re smart, you caught my lie
Now let’s all eat some apple pie
What’s that? No pie? Not today?
I don’t think I get this holiday
Haha, you’re smart, you caught my lie
Now let’s all eat some apple pie
What’s that? No pie? Not today?
I don’t think I get this holiday
This is the one where people chew
And give small gifts to their nephew
They swat at bees and swim all day
While sisters bake their cassoulets
We all wear ties, even the misses
And each give our legs 100 kisses
Don’t give me that look you stupid shit
This is St. Patrick’s Day, isn’t it?
I guess my parents lied to me
Cause we celebrate with pies and bees
Green beer, dumb hats and leprechauns?
I think I’ll pass and head to Don’s
My dad and I will kiss some legs
And eat St. Patrick’s Easter Eggs
And I can’t wait until Christmas Day
When we eat a bear and pretend we’re gay
GLENN W. MACAULAY 