[Rob McKibbon]

Subject: And who says the Irish are not wise!!

Old Sean lived alone in Northern Ireland. He wanted to spade his potato
garden, but it was very hard work. His only son, Mick, who used to help him,
was in an English prison.

The old man wrote a letter to his son and described his
predicament:

Dear Mick,

I am feeling a mite down because it looks like I won't be able to plant me
potato garden this year. I'm just getting too old to be digging up a garden
plot. If you were here, all my troubles would be over. I know you would dig
the plot for me.

Love, Dad

A few days later he received a letter from his son:

Dear Father,

For CHRIST'S SAKE, don't dig up the garden! That's where I buried all them
feckin' BODIES!

Love, Mick

At 4 A. M. the next morning, a dozen agents from Scotland Yard and local
police officers showed up and dug up the entire garden down to a depth of
about six feet. That evening, not finding any bodies, they apologized to the
old man and left.

The next day the old man received another letter from his son:

Dear Father,

Go ahead and plant yer spuds now. It's the best I could do under the
circumstances.

Love, Mick