Does it ever occur to people that some bumper statements don't really say anything in the end? After all, in the part of the US where we snapped this shot, everyone (it seems) has some Irish blood in their veins. There are songs written about it; TENS of them.When you sport your lucky Irishness in the Big Apple, it's kind of like flying these-colors-don't-run Old Glory on your pick-up in Texas: even Mexicans can laugh at that.
In the end, we're forced to put this blarney stone-kissing, Danny Boy-singing, warm ale-guzzling potato farmer on notice: you are dangerously racist. What about the Germans or British? What about all the non-Irish trying to make their way toward the American Dream?
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