Happy Saint Patrick's Day

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Happy Saint Patrick's Day

I believe that the Mayor's shinnanigans (lots of drunk people in London) perpetuates the stereotype of the drunken Irish... it isn't good...

oh and yes... I know St Pad wasn't Irish..

Anyway an Irish blessing for you

May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.

May God be with you and bless you:
May you see your children's children.
May you be poor in misfortune,
Rich in blessings.
May you know nothing but happiness
From this day forward.

May the road rise up to meet you
May the wind be always at your back
May the warm rays of sun fall upon your home
And may the hand of a friend always be near.

May green be the grass you walk on,
May blue be the skies above you,
May pure be the joys that surround you,
May true be the hearts that love you.

It's great around here on a day like this. All the irish travellers have the flag flying from their windows. There's the whiff of ale in the air. All the townsfolk who've bitterly campaigned against them and their accents all year can't wait to get down the frog and ferrett tonight to celebrate!! Top o' the world to ya! Until tomorrow.

There's nothing more mind-teasing than the incomprehensible eagerly avowed -
Dennett

Not many Irish here in Warsaw, but I'm sure the Irish-themed pubs will be rollicking.
Happy St Patrick's day, and who cares about stereo typing, certainly not us! The proof's in the pudding. Paddy and Murphy walking down a country lane when Paddy spies a mirror in the road. Walking over Paddy turns to Murphy and says "I know him so I does but I can't put a name to the face." Murphy pushes him out the way and stares down. "You fecking idiot," he declares, "it's me." Enjoy your cheap Guiness nobody
Good health and long life to you land without rent for you a child every year to you and may you die in Ireland I used to be able to say it in Gaelic, but the ould head insn't what it used to be.
Eleven o'clock, they'll be fighting by now. They love a good Christian battle, the Micks. And then off home to shag something that feels like a cross between a donkey's yawn and a yeti's welly.

 

Me father was Irish, but I'm only 20%. I'm all Czech, but my Irish pride hasn't changed! Get the lucky charms! Ye have the diabetes in no time!- Conan O' Brian

Give me the beat boys and free my soul! I wanna getta lost in ya rock n' roll and drift away. Drift away...

20% Paddy, eh? Well that's just about as 100% Irish as I've ever heard! I haven't spent much time considering the statement, I admit, but it seems to me that it's almost impossible to be 20% anything. Think about it.

 

*Thinks hard and gets a headache.*
I can see how that would happen.
Karl? Are you serious?
Of course he's serious. If there is an "ism" Karl boasts it.
That's very sad, Karl.
You can be 20% Irish, you just have to use the conventions of mathematics. If you go back 8 generations to great,great, great,great, great,great grandparents you get 256 of them. If 51 were irish then you are 19.921875% Irish. Rounded to the nearest whole number, that's 20% Mind you, you'd have to be one sad feckineejit to bother with the calculations. Oooops.
I spent ages trying to work this out this morning, basically 20% (1/5) has to equal a multiple of 50% (1/2) m / (2^n) = 1 / 5 where m and n are positive non zero integers this reduces to 5m = 2^n Then I got stuck down a hole with a logarithms in it, so I e-mailed a mathematician, he has just now answered with a complicated proof involving prime numbers and this very simple one. Multiples of 5 follow a simple pattern 5, 10, 15, 20, 25, 30...etc. The last digit is always 0 or 5 Powers of two follow a marginally less simple pattern 2, 4, 8, 16, 32, 64, 128, 256...etc. The last digit is always 2, 4, 6, or 8 Therefore missi is right and Mike cannot possibly be 20% anything. Hox is right too.

 

' but I'm only 20%. I'm all Czech ' I wasn't going to bring this up, but since Eamonn and Dan have put in so much work on the percentages, (Sorry Eamonn, I don't want to be pedantic (oh yes I do) but in the world of mathematics 20% is just that and which ever way you wanna look at it you DIDN'T arrive at 20%. Some things are either right or wrong, and this one is wrong), I may as well point out the boy's predilection for questionable statistics!
That's very pretentious StevePoet. Am I serious about what specifically? About the fact that the Irish start fighting after they've been drinking? (I don't even think the Irish are serious about that). Or the fact that after their Catholic wives have dropped ten sprogs they end up with a fanny like Gandalf's pocket?

 

Pretentious? Moi? That's very rich, Karl. And I've got a right to be offended. What you're saying there is at least as bad as your first post. You've got a very strange way of looking at things. Are there only Irish men? What you're putting forward is hardly Jonathan Swift, is it? If you're not being serious, at least try to be funny. If you can't do that, be quiet and refrain from being offensive. Or sounding like an idiot when you justify your first piece of racism masquerading as humour. It's quite simple.
er.... How big is Gandalf's pocket?
"Bar keep! Towel!" [John Wayne from The Quiet Man during a fight scene in an Irish pub, seems apt]
Hey Ian, The Quiet Man is one of my favourite movies, though that fight is just about as ridiculous as it's possible to get.
Well I've always believed that reality has no place on the screen. Even documentaries have directors. My Dad loved 'the Quiet Man' until he got it on video for the eighth time one christmas and then it became something of an albatross around his neck (is that a real expression?) He used to sit at the table and shout "Woman of the house!" and wait for my mum to flutter in, dutifully, from the kitchen. After an hour or so he'd realise she was downstairs opening up the pub and he'd be quite relieved because if she'd heard him shouting her like that she'd have twatted him.
StevePoet, you're boring me now. See ya.

 

Nice reply, Karl. Reasoned, and subtly exploring the point. Pathetic. Off you go then. And you can call me Steve, it's OK.
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