Friday, March 16, 2007

Fuck You, I'm Drunk

A long time ago I was dating an Israeli girl. One night her family had a bunch of people over for supper. Despite the fact that they hated me, I got an invite for the evening.

Before I go further with this story, I should remark that people often mistake me for a Jew. There's something about mixing Sicilian, Calabrian and Irish blood together that yeilds a person who looks a bit jewish. It's never bothered me. I like jews and they seem to like me, unless I have dated their daughter.

While we were sitting in the living room eating olives and whatnot--and not drinking, if I recall--one woman started expounding on the drinking and marital relationships of the Irish. She said, "They get drunk and beat their wives." She said this as if it were a universally held truth. Puppies are nice, ice cream tastes good and Irishmen beat their women.

I said, "Oh really? I did not know that about the Irish."

"Yes, they all do it. They go out and get drunk. When they come home, they beat their wives horribly."

"Duly noted."

We all know the story about the drunken Micks. My grandfather warned my father at a young age, "Drinkin' is the Irishman's disease Johnny." As a result I never saw my father take more than two drinks in an evening until I was thirteen years old. When I finally saw the Old Man get a little drunk we were in Sicily, visiting my Mom's family. To this day, I only see him get even a little drunk when he visits me in New York.

So these last several days, in the lead-up to St. Patrick's Day, my irriation has increased incrementally each time I read some crack about the drunken Irish. The MTA instituted a one-day ban on alcohol on commuter trains, in honor of St. Patrick's Day. Gawker has thumped on the gag of the Drunken Irish all week. They have added a proclivity for gay-bashing to the mix of ethnic slanders.

Well, whatever, screw you all. Tomorrow I'm getting drunk. Ireland is the only nation in Western Europe that has never invaded another. Virtually every "English" writer you can think of his actually Irish. Without the Irish the western world would be a drab, sober mob of dullards. So drink up and get ready for a beating.

1 comment:

Katie said...

I love it when you beat me. Don't let them hate our drunken love.