The Good Paddy (AKA the modern day Edmund Burke)

	Peter O’Reilly woke up as he usually did at 4:30 AM to have an early start at his job writing conservative op-eds for the Irish Times. Peter prided himself at always being early and punctual to work because unlike his lazy and slovenly co-workers who would often show up minutes late due to their decadent nightly trips to the pub were they would sometimes stay out drinking and socializing until irresponsible hours like 10 PM or later. Peter instead made sure he was at home in bed by 7:30 PM. He admitted that sometimes he wouldn’t actually fall asleep until an absolutely barbaric 8:30 PM some nights because of the time he spent arguing with Irish Americans online about how they have no right to claim to be Irish. Peter for the life of him couldn’t conceive of why someone who can claim n identity that connects them to as much Anglo-Saxon virtue power and prestige as “generic White American” would ever choose to identify with this wretched isle of savages and slobs that he so desperately sought to leave behind him one day. He got ready to work by putting on a white button down shirt with a red tie (a color combination he picked in order to honor the English who brought the little civilization he could think of to his unfortunate Dublin home) and a humble pair of black trousers a black suit jacket, black socks and brown loafers. He took a look in the mirror for his periodic morning check to insure that there was no bit of green in his outfit, he is worried that pieces of fallen threads from his gran’s sweaters may have gotten in and he wanted to insure that he was NEVER seen wearing such a terrorist Fenian color even in small amounts. When he was satisfied  that no green particles had snuck into his clothing  he packed his small brown suitcase with his laptop, his pen collection themed to Queen Elizabeth II’s most recent visit to Ireland and his notepad and headed downstairs for breakfast.
	Downstairs he saw his superstitious nan lighting one of her saintly candles to pray for his grandad’s health as he was in the hospital. Such as display always made him worry that his nan would support creeping Catholic sectarian law due to her refusal to accept science and reason as the only things that can move society forward like a good enlightened westerner should they after all lived in the EU not the Arab League dammnit! Peter cleared his throat and said “Nan what did I tell you? I can accept that you are a Christian but can you please at least try to give the Church of Ireland a chance? I can’t stand to see this overt superstitious Catholic sectrianism in my own home.” Mary O’Reilly turned toward her grandson looking sad, she loved her grandson so dearly but she always felt so hurt when he put her down like this, she prayed every night like a supersitious loser for his heart to soften but it never did. “Peter,” She pleaded “The Catholic Church was always there for me in life, I can’t just leave it now, remember when Father McDonald helped us after we lost your mother and father and neither me nor your granddad could afford to pay for your education at the time?” Peter sneared at such a blatantly ignorant interpretation of events “Father McDonald was just taking advantage of your own laziness, as the greatest world leaders of all time, Margraet Thatcher and Ronald Reagan both would’ve told you it was your own damn responsibility to pull us up by your bootstraps. Taking hand out from the Christian Ayatollah in Rome is no better than taking it from the Socialist Fianna Fail party!” Mary revealed her own emotional Celtic-Iberian weakness in the face of justified criticism and began to cry, Peter was glad he had overcome his genetics and  cultivated a more Anglo-Teutonic stoicism about such matters and ignored her outburst to prepare his breakfast. Peter’s breakfast consisted of a single plain egg-white and a slice of toast to go with his tea (imported from BRITAIN not the un-innovative Irish local producers or the lying red Chinese who claimed they invented tea).
 After completing his breakfast he left the home and went off on his way to walk to work. He looked onwards at the roads in disgust to see that a motorcade transporting one terrorist, Mahmoud Abbas, to visit another, Michael D Higgins was under way. It was a shame that the President of this country was so unresponsive to the plight of the brave Israeli soldiers who’s valuable property of expensive tanks and trucks are assaulted by a barrage of little monster children throwing rocks at them every day that he continued with the diplomatic visit even as O’Reilly had worked tirelessly writing op-eds about why he shouldn’t for months prior. It’s a shame that the Prime Minister (Peter refused to utter that absolutely divisive “Irish language” term “Taoiseach”) didn’t do anything to stop this, Fine Gael was truly only the lesser of two evils and Peter longed for the day he could finally move to the United Kingdom and vote for the Conservative Party.
	I digress, Peter opened the door to his office, plugged in his laptop and attempted to begin a long day of hard productive work. Peter got giddy and even felt a stirring in his nether regions at the thought of his lineup of think-pieces for the day including one linking the “Palestinian” leader’s visit to Michael D Higgins’ long history of anti Western sabotage, one making the case for abolishing Irish language instruction in Irish schools in order to be more culturally sensitive and less divisive toward our neighbor to the east, another making the case for Irish reunification with the United Kingdom in the face of the Brexit border crisis and finally one condemning both Irish nationalists and British nationalists who have become complacent on the issue of losing Northern Ireland for not coming together to stand against the Islamic hordes that are flooding secular Western Europe with sharia law. However just before Peter could devise a way to contain his ejaculation the mood was ruined anyways by the surprise entry of a dreaded co-worker. Liam O’Hara, the bumbling Sein Fein voting brute that he was, bursted into the room and boomed “Top O’the morning to ya Peter! How come you didn’t come to the pub with the lads last night we had a great time!” Peter sighed and said “Because I think drinking on an evening before work is unprofessional and honestly prefer to avoid drinking at all.” Liam nodded his head “Ah yer not one for drinking that’s all well and good, me and the lads where planning on a more sober outing for tomorrow night so we can invite Ahmed anyways it’s always good to make the new guy feel included after all it would be grand if you can make it to that.” Peter cringed at being compared to that radical Islamist who brings divisive halal lunches with him to work every day. “Well for one Liam I think that fraternization outside the workplace is in of itself unprofessional and for second I do not understand how such a “committed nationalist” like yourself is so complacent to the creeping replacement that Moroccan ingrate represents.”  Liam sighed and prepared to give an oblivious take worthy of a mentally retarded oaf like himself “Jesus Peter I’m a patriot but I’m no racist I’m actually kind of flattered that Ahmed would chose out little corner of Europe to move to over all those big fancy countries like England France and Germany, anyways if you want to challenge my commitment to Eire I’d love to see some of the outlines for your op-eds.” Peter gnashed his teeth and handed his laptop, file open for Liam to peruse. Liam read it for a few minutes and his expression changed from angry to a little concerned “Peter,” he said, “What now” Peter replied, “I don’t expect everyone to be as patriotic as I am but do you really hate being Irish that much? I know Gaelige classes could be a bit tough but it’s part of what makes us who we are, and rejoining the UK is absurd? Would you ask the same of India or Kenya? And that last one you do realize everything you’re so worried about the Muslims doing are things the Brits already have done to us before right?” Peter cleared his throat “Well to address your point about the “Irish language” isn’t the fact we are speaking to each other in English right now enough proof that keeping it around is absurd? Secondly I would actually be all in favor of ALL the former British colonies in Africa Asia and the Caribbean rejoining the British Empire just look at them, the hard work of civilization wasn’t fulfilled yet! and finally yes the British where sectarian about it at first but it was a different time!  The real long term effect of British rule was bringing us Western Enlightenment values, I mean look how much we slid towards theocracy when we gained “independence”
	Liam said “I will leave your blatant racism for HR to handle but why are you so down on our people mate.” Peter attempted to stay calm “What of value have we contributed to the world real question?” Liam put his head in has hands and tooka deep breath before saying “There is more to being Irish than Fenian fighting and getting drunk you know, sure I may love those parts but surely there’s something we have you can take pride in, did you know during the Dark Ages our saints and scholars preserved important knowledge from the classical world and made advancements in art and theology?” Peter sighed “Barbaric Christian fascism is what that was.” Liam was beginning to get more frustrated  “alright well you’re the intellectual type maybe you can appreciate some of our literature, James Joyce or Oscar Wilde?” Peter snickered “Meaningless fiction with no real grounded message I prefer Ayn Rand personally despite her Russian background of course and Winston Churchill wrote some good books too” Liam started taking deep breaths and continued “Alright you value science and innovation right? Did you know an Irishman, William Brooke O'Shaughnessy discorvered the cure for cholera or that another one James J Drumm invented the nickel-zinc battery?” Peter sneared “Only because they had he benefit of British or British style education they did.” Liam took a deep breath and attempted one last ditch effort “Well you like America right? The Irish diapsora made some important contributions over there you know” Peter growled “I’ll humor you and count those self hating Yanks as Irish but still I’ll ask like what? That terrorist Tom King, those pro-Castro socialsits the Kennedys or maybe you mean those Communist Catholic Berrigans who attempted to sabotage the noble liberation of South Vietnam?” Liam contained his anger and said “You know what? Forget you Peter I have work I need to get done right now anyways.” And stormed off. Peter snickered under his breath “it’s amazing you even get work done all day”
	Peter had a fairly peaceful afternoon writing his thinkpieces and taking a approaitely brief and unsocial 10 minute lunch break in which he had an egg salad sanwhich and a bottled water. His bliss was interuppeted however by the predictably late arrival of one of Liam’s friends, another journalist for the paper named Seamus Collins. Seamus came into the office wearing a green dress black and red lipstick extremely inapprioate additions to his already unproffesional hippie long hair. He looked at Seamus in judgement as Liam came out to greet this thing standing in the office with a greeting that nearly made Peter have a stroke, “Top O’ the morning Saoirse!” Peter quickly broke concentration and said “Isn’t HIS name  Seamus I’m not even HIS friend but I know that much.” “Saoirse” started to look distressed and Liam put his hand on “her” shoulder for comfort, a sick display. “Peter, the person we used to know as “Seamus” came to some relizations about herself for the past few months, I suppose you weren’t at the pub with use so you didn’t  found out but she goes by Saoirse now and well I for one think we should be respectful of that hopefully you can agree” Peter shoke his head “You’re as pro immigration nationalist AND a pro Trans agenda Catholic? Do you fenians stand for nothing except blind Anglophobia? Surely biological gender was the one scientific reality I could count on you papists to affirm?” Liam said “Jesus fecking Christ Peter for someone who always pratteled on about how backwards the Church is I thought you’d appreicate how misguided their prejudices towards the LGBT community are and not demand I adhere to that too?” Peter firmly stated “Well I certainly can see how barbaric they are towards the LGB community but this trans nonsense is even more damaging to them thant that! Let me ask “Saoirse” here are you leaving your girldfriend then?” “Saoirse” managed to say “No we still love each other very much.” Peter said “SEE Seamus here is trying to use cross dressing as an excuse to rape lesbians it’s obvious, in Britain even the Socialists understand that much, God I can’t wait to move there!” Liam shock his head in misplaced disgust and quietly asked “Saoirse” if “she” needed snowflake coddling or something like that, Peter knew he’d eventually have to deal with HR but managed to finish the work day quietly enough to avoid them, surely he’d have to adress this “incident” tomorrow.
	Peter returned home and sighed, what a long day with so many idiots he had to deal with. He looked around his house and realized his nan was probably visting his grandad in the hospital, thank her Majesty the Queen (Peter’s preferred secualr susbtitue for saying “God”) he didn’t have the energy to deal with eitehr of them more after the day he’s had. Peter turned on the tube to the sports channel, he normally deplored sports but he always made time to root for the Rangers whenever they played the Celtics as an importatnt political statement, it was the one time he felt he could cut loose as a southern unionist. His evening seemed to have picked up to when his surprise the Rangers actually won! On top of that he checked his email on his phone and saw that the Daily Mail responeded and said they’d be delighted to hire him to come work in London to write a series of op-eds about Irish politics! Peter was over the moon excited and could barely contain his animalistic Celtic urge to do a jig of happiness. He was able to control himself from doing anything quite that uncooth but all throuhout his dinner of an unseasoned grilled chicken breast with green beans and a glass of water he daydreamed about finally achieving his dream of becoming legally British and working with truly like minded people. But then as 7:00 PM appraoched and his bedtime with it he slowly began to relaize, he may become British on paper and in residacne but his inferior gentics would never change he would always be a half man half ape Celto-Iberian from the very lowest of the low in terms of native races of the British Isles (second to he supposed the Travelling people) he would never truly be Anglo-Saxon with the Teutnic purity and fortitude the English or even the southern Scottish race enjoyed. He would never know what it’s like to have the blood of scientists and philosphers, and conquerorers victorious soldiers and gentlemen in his veins as opposed to that of dodgy gunment and b-list celeberties. Realizing his nan would likely stay in the hospital overnight and that no one would see his shame he dropped the stiff British upper lip he’s worked so hard to accomidate and cried himself to sleep.