Today as I walked to the Pricechopper a man was walking behind me, slightly faster.  As he passed me I thought to myself of how the greatest feeling in the world is when someone walks slightly faster than you and passes you while there are people all around and you calmly pull the rock out of your pocket and beat them in the back of the neck with it and then beat in their skull while they go down, killing them before anyone can stop you or realize whats a’ happening.

Some of you don’t know what that feels like.  What it feels like to walk up behind a man and take his life.  To kidnap a child and force them to drink.  To steal an old woman’s clothes.

But some of you do.  Maybe you don’t want to, like god knows I don’t want to, but it’s in our genes, and run though we might, it’ll always catch us.

I’ve tried to argue my way out of it before, to excuse myself.  “I’m only one quarter Irish” I’d say.  But one quarter killer is still killer (as they say).   Even if we assumed my quarter Irishness was somehow conflicted, and only acted as 1/8th Irishness, that still means out of every eight people I walk behind, I will kill one, and out of every eight children I kidnap, one will become a thieving alcoholic.  Out of every eight old ladies I rob, eight will end up in her underwear running out into the street with a shotgun.

So I am a monster.

All I have is to warn you, the purely non-Irish, about what we are.  Like the  heroic former Jewish converts to Christianity in the middle ages who let us all know about how the Jews steal babies, work for every foreign government, got your wife pregnant, and have all kissed Satan’s icy vagina, I too will expose our dirty cult.

My hope is that one day we can all live in a world where there aren’t any more Irish, where people can eat baked goods without checking them first to make sure no Irish put syphilis in them.  And I hope that in exposing us as I will, I will have played some small part.

Erin no Bragh.*

*-Don’t you dare tell me that using no instead of go is meaningless.