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Let’s Hear It For The Hallmark Target Market That Waits In Line

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Jeans, green & black tights are in at the 2+ hour line-up outside The Blarney Stone in Gastown on St. Patrick's Day

St. Patrick’s Day is arguably the weirdest commercially non-denominational faux “holiday” going in North America today, right next to Halloween, Easter, and Christmas. It’s evolved, I think, into the baldest excuse to get drunk since becoming an alcoholic or digging the Toronto Maple Leafs. Instead of “let’s drop some LSD in the graveyard before begging for candy!” or “Christ is dead, let’s paint some eggs and scarf chocolate!” or “Jesus has been born to a mother who never had sex so here’s some lego and thanks for the stuffing” it’s something entirely even less sensical. It’s “let’s be inebriated enough by 6pm so we can beats the sunset with a Gastown soak of puke and urine!” Right on, bubba. Whatever turns your crank, religious freedom and all that. Nevermind that the 5th century saint wasn’t Irish (he was an Eton grad cricketer who dug The Who and flew Spits in the War) but was a right bloke who could neither empathize with wankers dressed in neon green Dr. Seuss hats nor even imagine post-pubescent ex-private school tarts dusting off their pleated skirts and pairing them with torn stockings a la Doc Martens. The fellow was about as Irish as most of the people in line, which means just about none at all. So cheers. Good luck functioning this morning, and be happy it was for a good cause…or something.