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It's re-hash Wednesday and St Patrick's Day is nigh, meaning that fifth-generation Americans will suddenly announce they've been Irish all this time and go out to Samuel Becket readings or stay in to argue passionately about which among Joyce, Heaney and Yeats provided the world with the most literary description of the potato. See? That was one sentence. It's called brevity, Joyce.
The Story So Far, Part I
I just disappeared for four years. It's time to come out from the woodwork, but where do I start? How about I go back to the middle?
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St.Patricks Day
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I'm in Boston and that means I'm obliged to get falling-down-drunk with friends on St Patrick's Day. Ireland's nationalist movement needs a good, alcoholic kick once a year, and if I have to wake up in a pool of someone else's vomit, so be it. I'll do anything for a good cause. Oh, today's card? Sorry Irish people.
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St.Patricks Day
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On re-hash Wednesday I like to post an older wrongcard, and today's is one for St. Patrick's Day. A couple of my mates will be going 'ouch' right now but I have a bottle of Makers Mark on standby to send them singing into the land of forgiveness. I know, right?
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