St. Guinness
At the time that I write this, it’s five o’clock on St. Patrick’s Day. Everyone’s finished making the green-back and ready for the green beer. A few people I saw on the street were already costumed in generic green jerseys, felted top-hats and clover-eyed shades. All of this in great proximity to our celebration of the Death of Jesus. It’s glorious!
Why is it that so many of our saintly holidays have absolutely nothing to do with the actual saint themselves? It’s not enough that most of them seem to be hinged upon dates dictated by pagan ritual and rite. Instead, we give them bizarre incarnations and interpretations that even people who are high have a hard time grasping the concepts.
Holidays today come off more as fevered peyote dreams stirred about by maddening children’s stories. St. Patrick was a noble man who probably did many great things for the impoverished, the depraved, or even the Irish. We celebrate his greatness with leprechauns, top-hats, and green vomit. St. Valentine is remembered through cherubs yielding weapons, disembodied hearts, chocolate, and feigned interest in the minds of women.
Christ, our Lord and Savior, seems to bear most of the brunt of our delusional celebrations. His birth is marked by a fat philanthropist performing a B&E and then gifting children with things under what can only be deemed to be propaganda for the logging industry. All created under the employ of little-people high on sugar, held captive a the top of the Earth.
Jesus’ gruesome death, one that saw him traverse the scorched realms of Hell, is marked by rabbits, chicken eggs painted in vivid Warhol-esque colors, pancakes, and baskets of plastic hay. Children are forced to forage the soppy, half-thawed ground for tin-covered chocolate eggs. Initiating such an event today would have you drugged by the Government for the protection of those you love.
In reality, I don’t mind the abstraction and bastardization of these holidays. I just wish we wouldn’t have to fake ourselves out by treating it like it’s an actual event of singular celebration. Why pretend it’s religious in nature at all? Shift these holidays over to the free-market and private industry.
Guinness presents the All-Time Magical Bottomless Pint of His Glory and Awesomeness™ XXVII. Rotate sponsors each year, add a half-time show, some strippers, and a hat to wear for it and, damn, you’re really close to starting a whole different religion.
Why is it that so many of our saintly holidays have absolutely nothing to do with the actual saint themselves? It’s not enough that most of them seem to be hinged upon dates dictated by pagan ritual and rite. Instead, we give them bizarre incarnations and interpretations that even people who are high have a hard time grasping the concepts.
Holidays today come off more as fevered peyote dreams stirred about by maddening children’s stories. St. Patrick was a noble man who probably did many great things for the impoverished, the depraved, or even the Irish. We celebrate his greatness with leprechauns, top-hats, and green vomit. St. Valentine is remembered through cherubs yielding weapons, disembodied hearts, chocolate, and feigned interest in the minds of women.
Christ, our Lord and Savior, seems to bear most of the brunt of our delusional celebrations. His birth is marked by a fat philanthropist performing a B&E and then gifting children with things under what can only be deemed to be propaganda for the logging industry. All created under the employ of little-people high on sugar, held captive a the top of the Earth.
Jesus’ gruesome death, one that saw him traverse the scorched realms of Hell, is marked by rabbits, chicken eggs painted in vivid Warhol-esque colors, pancakes, and baskets of plastic hay. Children are forced to forage the soppy, half-thawed ground for tin-covered chocolate eggs. Initiating such an event today would have you drugged by the Government for the protection of those you love.
In reality, I don’t mind the abstraction and bastardization of these holidays. I just wish we wouldn’t have to fake ourselves out by treating it like it’s an actual event of singular celebration. Why pretend it’s religious in nature at all? Shift these holidays over to the free-market and private industry.
Guinness presents the All-Time Magical Bottomless Pint of His Glory and Awesomeness™ XXVII. Rotate sponsors each year, add a half-time show, some strippers, and a hat to wear for it and, damn, you’re really close to starting a whole different religion.
posted by Mike Classic at Monday, March 17, 2008
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