Well I’m Glad You Asked… a For Shame feature.

Long long ago in the fall of 2010, we bloggers met studying abroad in England. Our program was excellent, specifically in that it involved a lot of study trips to old houses and castles and shit, which stimulated our love of history and also enabled our shameless need to constantly be hilarious (whether other people think so or not). How are old houses funny, you ask? WELL I’M GLAD YOU ASKED.

See, every time we entered an eighteenth-century country house or a medieval castle, we’d ask blogger LHB something ridiculous, stifling giggles. As in, “Hey, LHB, could you please talk about the significance of electrical outlets like this one during the English Renaissance?” to which LHB would reply, “Well I’m glad you asked. Everyone knows that electricity was popularized in the 1560s by Queen Elizabeth’s court electrician…” and hilarity would ensue. LHB is such a wealth of knowledge that everything she told us was absolutely 100% factual. So factual that it was fucking hilarious.

Okay, maybe you don’t see the hilarity yet, but you will. Because we’ve decided that Well I’m Glad You Asked will be For Shame’s first feature!

So in an effort to be seasonally appropriate, the inaugural Well I’m Glad You Asked is transcribed from a Facebook message between JAF and myself:

MRG: i can’t wait. and it might or might not be st. patrick’s day when we go to [there], which means…well, you know.

JAF: wait, what is this “st patrick’s day?” I don’t understand.

MRG: well i’m so glad you asked…
st. patrick was the original name of the st. bernard dog breed, but st. bernard killed st. patrick (who was italian) over a game of bocce. i mean st. patrick was italian, so he was really, really good at bocce. so good that he could win while eating gelato and flirting with unwilling young women simultaneously, because that’s what italians do according to cultural stereotypes.
so st. bernard, being un-italian, had a significant handicap. and he practiced and practiced and practiced, but he still lost.
and so great was his anger that when st. patrick won, st. bernard killed him by pulverizing his head with a bocce ball. and then to rub salt in the wound, he went to the american kennel club (which absolutely existed in this unspecified time) and got the name of the st. patrick breed changed to st. bernard. and because the dogs had been so loyal to st. patrick when he was alive, st. bernard punished his newly-eponymous pups by sending them into the alps, where he ruthlessly forced them to carry heavy barrels full of bourbon or whiskey around their necks through the snow, just to be a huge douche.

so that’s why we have st. patrick’s day. it’s a day of remembrance. for the dogs. and I guess also for st. patrick. and we drink a lot of alcohol on this day to metaphorically lighten the load of the poor st. patrick/st. bernard dogs up in the alps.

So there you have it, the first edition of Well I’m Glad You Asked. And shit’s so seasonal.


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