St. Patrick's Day should begin with a limerick, but once again our censoring department dropped heavy objects on our fingertips when we tried to publish it. It's not our fault that every single limerick in the world just happens to be about some guy from Nantucket. So instead we'll just have to set our vacuum cleaner on "Jetstream" and chase leprechauns around the garden. The damn dirty leprechauns are always in the garden, drinking and laughing and generally making a nuisance of themselves. It wouldn't be so bad if the cat didn't always come back smelling like whiskey and leprechaun pee.