There I was... sound asleep, having a fantastic dream, after a night's visit to me favorite pub, "Suds and Spuds", when I was awakened by a loud pounding at me door. Through somewhat bloodshot eyes, I checked me timepiece, and saw it was only 10:30 AM. Who, not daft, would wake up an Irishman at this ungodly hour on the good Lord's day? And them knowin' that twas Saturday night's sing along in the pub (Even Father O'Rourk wouldn't be so bold). Mary Black had been there and every third pint was only half a pound. After all, it's atime for all good Irish folk to celebrate the end of another hard week in the peat bogs!

As I staggered to the door, I nearly fell over a large statue of St. Patrick, which I'd never seen before, and wondered how it came to be there? I threw open the door, and standing there "as bold as the Fairy King his self, was Techranger! "Why bother me at this time o'day, ya blithering mucker?" I bellowed. Then he says to me "as pleased as punch", that I, O'Buttons... pride of all Erie's poets, haf to go to France to get the torch. "Are ya daft man", I replied, "what in sweet Bridget's name do we need a French flashlight for?" "Ahhh, ya big dolt", he says... "not that kind of torch.... the Olympic kind!" "It's our turn to to carry the Olympic torch and you got the short straw to go to France and get it." "And remember that you can't get to the coast from here... you haf to go the high road by Derry around Paddy Sullivan's barn." "And be quick about it afor Ldyssecret and the whole Vermont clan put a wee bit of a curse on our womenfolk." "Off with ye now......"

So I packed me bags and headed for the coast, by way a Paddy's. I boarded one of them fancy barges and struck out for the far shore of France. Now my sainted ma would say to me, "Buttons, if ya can't say a something nice and proper bout a country... don't cha say anyting at'tall." But it's hard to say something nice about a country where the people all talk funny like they have a clothes pin on their nose, and they drink some funny tasting grape juice.... not one drop of the blessed brew of the hops!

***PLEASE KEEP IN MIND THAT THE OPINIONS EXPRESSED HEREIN ARE  NOT NECESSARILY THE OPINIONS OF THE IRELAND RACE TRACK AND IT'S SPONSORS*** LOL

Well anyway, I finally made it to the race track where I was to pilfer, er.. pick up, the torch. No one told me just how big this thing was and me not to let it go out.... The French turned out to be rather good lads and I received a most hardy welcome. In fact, in my honor, they had a feast, with all sort of Frenchie food. There was escargot (think that's right).... but I didn't want to tell 'em how some snails got to it first. Told them afterward to put some small dishes of brew around their food, the night before.... them snails would fall right in and drown happy. There was chicken livers paste... I also told them how we eat the raw liver and heart of any game we kill while its still warm (mmmmm good), but the French like to be a bit fancy and all. My favorite was the fish dish with a great gravy (I don't think they call that gravy either... they call it sauce). I even tried their "wine" .... that funny tasting grape juice stuff. It kinda crept up on me and set my head to spinnin' a wee bit.

After bidding my hosts "Adieu"... that be French for good bye, I picked up the torch in both hands and headed back to good old Erin. All in all, it was a great trip, and I met some right nice sim lads and lassies. (Oh no... it almost went out)... I'd better run....

O'Buttons AKA Twinhollow