I Love the Irish.

Old Sean lived alone in Northern Ireland. He wanted to dig up his
potato garden ready for planting, 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 me 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