We are not Irish. Ok, so maybe Grandpa Calkins' mother's name was Collins, one of those names that might be Irish. So assuming that the Collins were pure Irish, although probably not, that would make me one-eighth Irish. From Grandma Calkins we get German, Swiss, also maybe some English and French. From my mother's side I get some Scottish, English, possibly also some strains of Irish and who knows what else. Like my Dad always says, we are sort of "Heinz 57 Varieties" ethnically speaking. A sampling of Western Europe perhaps.
Thus it was bizarre to be told that I must be Irish. The Irish is not that dominant in my makeup notwithstanding the auburn hair. How stereotypical are these assumptions that red hair means Irish. Not necessarily. Someone said there are actually more redheads in Scotland than Ireland. And anyway the black Irish are not particularly friendly to us, so bound up are they in obscure fairy tales of no interest to us.
Someone was saying that I must be Irish to accept charitable donations from the British affluent One. The British affluent One envisions the United States white population as entirely Irish. When the British affluent One has completed the conquest of North America, the Canadians migrating South to facilitate the Invasion, the Yankees, mortal enemies of the British historically speaking, will be allowed to keep Long Island. Whites on the American continent will be primarily Irish Catholic, a state of affairs that would be favorable to the prospects of the Kennedy clan, who generally speaking are incredibly ambitious and destructive, interested only in advancing their own selfish agenda and horrible attitude towards women, but which leaves Yankee Protestants living in a political vacuum.
How convenient for the Duke of Westminster, who spends much of his spare time in Ireland, given that he is the wealthiest British-born person and huge land developer, to pontificate upon a vision of the United States that would facilitate his own vast ambitions for the conquest of America.
And then we have the Wicked Dutch of the West Coast represented by Wicked Witch Cindy, of whom there never was anything nice to say. I am sure that Grandpa Calkins wanted the best for her but she was her own worst enemy.
So all of this gobbledy-gook accomplishes nothing as far as I am concerned. Nobody wants to be ruled by horrible Dutch dogs. I know I certainly don't.
