BLACK FRIDAY

With excitement unbefitting of the solemnity of Good Friday I boarded the Dublin bus, that would eventually take me to The Crapcave and a pint at the now-famous Black and Parrot. I amused myself via a text conversation with Jodi, a delightful inhabititant of the Little America area of Cork. I have great fun with Jodi, because she's teh only jewish person I know, so she bears the full frontal attack of a granary-store of racial slurs that have not until found a worthy recipient.
"When's Easter?" she had asked me a few days before.
"Ah, you know Easter... " says I, "that's when your people killed my God!" to which she guffawed appreciately.
I thought of that as I texted her from the bus:
"You'd hate it here," I texted," all the pubs are shut! What's a guy to do?"
"What?" she replied, "The pubs are never shut, what happened did the pope die or something?"
I wished for a moment then that there was a emoticon to signify a weary slapping of the brow with the palm. Instead, I replied: "No! Jesus died!"
"Oh yeah," says she, "It's like Black Friday or something"
I was about to reply with "It's GOOD Friday you crazy Jew!" before I realised it was was the Gentiles, not the Jews who were crazy - for "Black Friday" was probably a better name.