A worrying amount of these are right

You Know You’re Irish When….

The condensation on your pint of Guinness takes the shape of shamrocks
ACtually, it’s leprechauns. Shamrocks are just too damn common.

You don’t believe there is a God, but you are damn sure of the infallibility of the Pope.
But then how would you put the fear of God into someone?

You believe that to forgive is divine, but you don’t excercise it yourself.
Exercise is for wusses.

You won’t eat meat on Friday, but you’ll drink a pint for breakfast.
I’ll admit, I do eat meat on Friday. And everyone know that you can’t drink beer before the sun is over the yardarm. That’s what whiskey is for.

You consider any Irishman who has become successful a traitor.
Only if they refuse to give me lots of money.

You have great respect for the truth, and you only use it in emergencies.
Damn straight.

The further you get from Ireland, the more Irish you get.
Oh yes indeedy.

You eat homefried taters for brakfast, potato bread for lunch, and potato stew for dinner.
Close enough.

You cry at sad movies, but you cheer in battle.
No to the first, yes to the second.

You will never play professional basketball.
I think that we can safely assume this to be the case.

You swear very well.
And I’ll call you a dirtylowsluttrampbitch-ho if you dare to disagree.

You think you sing very well.
Only when inebrated.

There isn’t a huge difference between losing your temper and killing someone.
Killing is such a negative word. ‘Releasing them from their earthly form’ would be my description of choice.

You’re strangely poetic after a few beers.
Waxing lyrical all over the show.

Many of your sisters are Catherine, Elizabeth or Mary and one is Mary Catherine Elizabeth.
Well, except for the Catherine.

You can’t wait for the other guy to stop talking so you can start talking.
Can’t wait, and often don’t.

Much of your food is boiled.
Or stewed.

You are, or know someone, named “Murph.” If you don’t know Murph, then you know Mac. If you don’t know Murph or Mac, then you know Sully, and you’ll probably also know Sully McMurphy.
I know enough Murphs that there are a few subdivisions.

Your parents were on a first name basis with everyone at the local emergency room.
Yes, but not for the obvious reason.

There wasn’t a huge difference between your last wake and your last keg party.
Keg party? Why would you do that when spirits do the job much better. And are more portable.

You’re proud to be Irish – and you pass these jokes on to all your Irish friends!
Like feck I will, I’ll just put them on the blog.

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