I'm not saying that St. Patricks Day is a conspiracy perpetrated by Irish brewing countries in league with a cartel of manufacturers of green food coloring. No wait a minute, that IS what I'm trying to say. Sorry, there's something about this holiday that gets me all muddled. It might possibly be the alcohol speaking. Look, I'm very good at research.
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.