Friday, March 17, 2006
Kissing My Blarney-Butt
I'm like a quarter Irish. My great-grandfather was supposedly an Irish horse-thief. Michael is a decendant of an Irish prostitute. Between the two of us, we've got all the makings of a proper Irish drunk. So, instead of wearing bright green shirts that say, "Have intercourse with me, I'm Irish," I will merely deviate with a story.

I had to go to a meeting for a special needs child at her high school.
There were three other students in her class.

The teacher asked the students, "What holiday is in March?" An autistic boy said, "St. Pat's Day!"

And the teacher asked, "And what do we do on St. Patrick's Day?" Before anyone could answer, a child with Down's Syndrome called out from her desk:


And she laughed and clapped. She was quite pleased with herself. And I was quite pleased with her. I haven't laughed that hard since I read Todd's blog.

Fritz on her 8th birthday, clogging through the Chicago streets, leading snakes out of the gutters.

Slán agus beannacht leat! (Goodbye and blessings to you)

Written by FRITZ
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Name: Fritz

Location: Detroit Rock City!
Where the weak are killed and eaten

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    What I Live By:
    We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time. Through the unknown, unremembered gate When the last of earth left to discover Is that which was the beginning; At the source of the longest river The voice of the hidden waterfall And the children in the apple-tree Not known, because not looked for But heard, half-heard, in the stillness Between two waves of the sea. Quick now, here, now, always— A condition of complete simplicity (Costing not less than everything) And all shall be well and All manner of thing shall be well When the tongues of flame are in-folded Into the crowned knot of fire And the fire and the rose are one. -T.S. Eliot "Little Gidding"

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