Dydd Gŵyl Dewi Sant, as they say in the elderly country. It’s St. David’s Day and you know what that means. We celebrate on this day the foisting by the Welsh upon the Irish of Patrick, a real dick by all accounts. We also honor the common sense, decency and self-respect of St. David, Wales’s patron saint, famous for inventing the horse, the submarine, Buddhism and rounding up.
Wales, because, let’s face facts, it’s kind of weird, has two symbols, aside from the red dragon. They are the leek (not a typo) and the daffodil, both of which are worn on this day. The daffodil often blooms on or near St. Davy’s Day.
In honor and imitation of Dewi Sant, may you ram a wad of daffodil-impregnated leeks in your trousers, as was the custom at the time. Today, everyone is Welsh. Ha ha. I’m kidding. What are we, Irish? Those fucking people, am I right? I kid. I kid ’cause I love. We have fun.