Kiss me I’m Irish

I got back the results for my mom’s ancestry DNA kit today. She’s 47% Irish. So, I’m like, a quarter Irish-ish. Isn’t that hilarious? I always knew I was fucking lucky. I asked Cindy the other day if she thinks I have good luck and she said, “I don’t know.” And then she started on a typical Cindy spiel about how she’s a combination of good luck and hard work. I said, “Okay, well maybe it’s how I tend to look at things in a positive light that makes me feel like I have good luck.” And then I talked to Esther about how things were working out for me and she was all, “Bro, how?” And I told her about feeling lucky. And now it all makes sense because I’m fucking Irish.

I know it’s a stereotype but by golly I will make all the “luck of dee Irish” “top o da morning to ya” jokes for the rest of my life. I’m going to start celebrating St. Paddy’s Day. I’m going to hate Ed Sheeran tenfold because I bet Irish people hate him, too. I’ve already referenced Kendrick Lamar’s DNA once today. Nothing can stop me now.

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