Flying high over the States my friends, on my way to Ireland, with a stopover in New York. I've decided to turn my peepers away the gosh-awful inflight movie and update you, my fans and friends, on the happenings in Deshler's life. Or should I say, O'Deshler. Not a drop of Irish blood in me, but I've always wanted to see the place. I hear it's so... green. And chicks with accents knock me off my feet. I wanna give a good impression, so I'm bringing my tube of bronzer. I mean, when you go on vacations, you expect to get sun, right? Granted, it's the middle of summer, but from what I hear, it's still mostly cloud cover on the Isle. They'll wonder how I got the tan, man, and I'll just play it cool, keep it chill. My secrets are my secrets, am I right?
I figured I'd get the munchies over the Atlantic, and those tiny peanut packets just don't cut it for me. So, I took the liberty of lifting a bag of Frederica's tasty little crackers. She won't miss 'em, I'm sure. Awfully addicting little things. Much better than the packet of nuts. Gotta wonder, are they the crew's little way of digging at us? Calling us nuts? But hey, some of us are nuts, so maybe they aren't so far off. Personally, though, I prefer the Irish way of saying it. "He's crackers." Hey, can any of you translate this sentence? I'll tell you if you're right. And give you a packet of peanuts.
Brilliant, I'll just pop out with my brolly and buy a bag of buns, I hear they're fresh off the lorry.
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