The Truth about St. Patrick: How I Became the Patron Saint of the Country that Killed my Family and Enslaved me

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A top o’ the morning to you and a happy Me Day! I thought that since I only come around once a year I’d see how fine folks like yourself are upholding the true spirit of St. Patrick.

We’ll start off with the very basics. Where am I from?…
yes, of course Great Britain, as we all know, I lived in England for my
entire life, that was until I was 16 and Irish raiders came to my house, murdered my family and sold me into slavery. For my super sweet sixteen I was given a bottle of shackle oil. So it’s safe to say I really have some mixed feelings about Ireland.

But I shan’t shit on the country for too long, I did go on to escape six years later and I become a bishop. I wore a robe that was my very favorite color?…
My favorite color Blue of course,  just like the working class. It certainly would not have been green which is the color that is synonymous with the repressive upper class and in Irish folklore, the color of evil fairies.

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Evil fairies, one of the many spirits I would ward off a shamrock, which we all know has how many leaves?…  
Three, exactly right, it is not a clover, each of the leaves represent the holy trinity, this was back before the shamrock was a milkshake, or a tattoo for your lower arse.

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One miracle I did perform on my way to sainthood was driving these slithery animals out of Ireland?…
Pagans, very good. I helped plant the seeds of Christianity among these goat killers, who we nicknamed snakes. As we all know there are no real snakes in Ireland seeing as how it’s what geographers refer to as “an island.” If anyone thinks that snakes could snorkel up from the Amazon, well then got a giant stone you can to kiss that’ll give you good luck, and by good luck I mean Hepatitis.

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Well it appears you’re on the up and up with your St. Patrick knowledge. If you take nothing else away from my tale, just know that Ireland wouldn’t nearly be the place it is today without these magical little people?…
Child slaves.

Written for That Just Happened, a weekly topical sketch show at The Second City’s deMaat Theater

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