JOE KENNEY

I was standing at the bar at Cobbleheads as Friday night drifted into Saturday morning. I saw Joe Kenney walking past and I grabbed him by the bicep.

"Pretty flabby for a guy from Phillly," I said.

"Fuck you, Scully," snapped Joe before continuing in that goofy accent. "What do you want?"

"I didn't get a chance to wish you Happy St. Patrick's Day! I'd pinch you on the butt since you're not wearing green, but you have a lousy lookin' ass. Let's toast the San Patricio Battalion."

"A bunch of filthy traitors," spat Joe. "General Scott should have hung all the bastards instead of branding them."

"You were in the Herald saying that Mexico and the United States had special ties as a result of these Irishmen switching sides in a war that Abraham Lincoln criticized as imperialism run amok."

"It's all about business," confessed Joe. "I can't express my true sentiments about those Benedict Arnolds. I have customers who buy into the myth about the noble San Patricio Battalion."

"So you were bullshitting in the article?"

"You are a bigger pendejo, Scully, than I thought you were. If I had been President Polk, I would have sent the Texas Rangers into Mexico and dragged those Irish cowards back to the U.S. and strung them up here."

I like Joe. He's like the anonymous contributors to the blogs. It's not about the messenger, they argue. It's about the message.