There's a dear little plant that grows in our Isle Twas St . Patrick himself, sure, that set it; And the sun of his labour with pleasure did smile, And with dew from his eye often wet it. It grows through the bog, through the brake, through the Mireland, and they call it the dear little shamrock of Ireland.
Are you using IE? That is the only way it let me do it and I don't use that browser. I guess I should have mentioned I had some trouble on it...but once I did, I was laughing
I have been a good Boy. It really wasn't my fault what happened at Nathan's Office party. It was Tom who spiked the punch with too much beer. I can't help it if I drank 14 glasses. It was so good---smelled and tasted just like new car.
I thought it was funny when I put Jay's White Sox baseball hat on my head and danced the Electric Slide on the couch while singing `"Enter Sandman"'. I didn't mean to break Nathan's iPod and don't know why Nathan would accuse me of cannibalism.
I don't remember calling Joel's wife a huge cow---even though she looked like one with Black eye shadow and red lipstick!
And when I threw up on Cath's husband's ear, it was only because I ate too much of that Quarter Pounder with Cheese.
After all that fun, I admit I was a little tired. So I fell asleep on my way home and drove my Hummer through my neighbor's bedroom. I don't think that was any reason for my neighbor to call me a tall dog and have me arrested for breaking and entering!
So, Santa...here I sit in my jail cell on Christmas Eve, all ball and where. And I'm really not to blame for any of this why stuff. Please bring me what I want the most---bail money!
Sincerely and how yours, Mike (Really a nice Boy!)
P.S. It's only 7 bucks!
--------------------
Mike F.
May the Irish hills caress you. May her lakes and rivers bless you. May the luck of the Irish enfold you. May the blessings of Saint Patrick behold you.