Happy St. Patricks Day
A wee bit of Irish humor.
Six retired Irishmen were playing poker in O’Leary’s apartment when Paddy Murphy loses $500 on a single hand, clutches his chest, and drops dead at the table. Showing respect for their fallen brother, the other five continue playing standing up.
Michael O’Conner looks around and asks, “Oh, me boys, someone has to tell Paddy’s wife. Who will it be?”
They draw straws. Paul Gallagher picks the short one. They tell him to be discreet, be gentle, don’t make a bad situation any worse. ** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Into a Belfast pub comes Paddy Murphy, looking like he’d just been run over by a train. His arm is in a sling, his nose is broken, his face is cut, and bruised, and he’s walking with a limp.
“What happened to you?” asks Sean, the bartender.
“That little O’Conner,” says Sean, “He couldn’t do that to you, he must have had something in his hand.”
“That he did,” says Paddy, “a shovel is what he had, and a terrible lickin’ he gave me with it.”
“Well,” says Sean, “you should have defended yourself. Didn’t you have something in your hand?”
That I did,” said Paddy, “Mrs. O’Conner’s breast, and a thing of beauty it was; but useless in a fight.”
** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
An Irishman who had a little too much to drink is driving home from the city one night and, of course, his car is weaving violently all over the road.
A cop pulls him over. “So,” says the cop to the driver, “where have ya been?”
“Why, I’ve been to the pub of course,” slurs the drunk.
“Well,” says the cop, “it looks like you’ve had quite a few to drink this evening.”
“I did all right,” the drunk says with a smile..
“Did you know,” says the cop, standing straight, and folding his arms across his chest, “that a few intersections back, your wife fell out of your car?”
“Oh, thank heavens,” sighs the drunk. “for a minute there, I thought I’d gone deaf.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Brenda O’Malley is home making dinner, as usual, when Tim Finnegan arrives at her door.
“Brenda, may I come in?” he asks. “I’ve somethin’ to tell ya”.
“Of course you can come in, you’re always welcome, Tim. But where’s my husband?”
“That’s what I’m here to be telling ya, Brenda. There was an accident down at the Guinness brewery”
“Oh, God no!” cries Brenda. “Please don’t tell me.”
“I must, Brenda. Your husband Shamus is dead and gone. I’m sorry.
Finally, she looked up at Tim. “How did it happen, Tim?”;
“It was terrible, Brenda. He fell into a vat of Guinness Stout, and drowned.”
“Oh my dear Jesus! But you must tell me true, Tim, did he at least go quickly?”
“Well, Brenda, no. In fact, he got out three times to pee.”
** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Mary Clancy goes up to Father O’Grady after his Sunday morning service, and she’s in tears.
He says, “So what’s bothering you, Mary my dear?”
She says, “Oh, Father, I’ve got terrible news.. My husband passed away last night.”
The priest says, “Oh, Mary, that’s terrible. Tell me, Mary, did he have any last requests?”
She says, “That he did, Father.”
The priest says, “What did he ask, Mary?”
” She says, “He said, ‘Please Mary, put down that damn gun…’”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A drunk staggers into a Catholic Church, enters a confessional booth, sits down, but says nothing.
The Priest coughs a few times to get his attention, but the drunk continues to sit there.
Finally, the Priest pounds three times on the wall.
The drunk mumbles,
“Ain’t no use knockin, there’s no paper on this side either.”
“Discreet??? I’m the most discreet Irishman you’ll ever meet.
Discretion is me middle name. Leave it to me.”
Gallagher goes over to Murphy’s house and knocks on the door. Mrs. Murphy answers, and asks what he wants.
Gallagher declares, “Your husband just lost $500, and is afraid to come home.”
“Tell him to drop dead!”, says Murphy’s wife.
“I’ll go tell him.” says Gallagher.
“Jamie O’Conner and me had a fight,” says Paddy.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Paddy was driving down the street in a sweat because he had an important meeting and couldn’t find a parking place. Looking up to heaven he said, “Lord take pity on me. If you find me a parking place I will go to Mass every Sunday for the rest of me life and give up me Irish Whiskey!”
Miraculously, a parking place appeared.
Paddy looked up again and said, “Never mind, I found one.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Father Murphy walks into a pub in Donegal, and asks the first man he meets, “Do you want to go to heaven?”
The man said, “I do, Father.”
The priest said, “Then stand over there against the wall.”
Then the priest asked the second man, “Do you want to go to heaven?”
“Certainly, Father,” the man replied.
“Then stand over there against the wall,” said the priest.
Then Father Murphy walked up to O’Toole and asked, “Do you want to go to heaven?”
O’Toole said, “No, I don’t Father.”
The priest said, “I don’t believe this.. You mean to tell me that when you die you don’t want to go to heaven?”
O’Toole said, “Oh, when I die , yes. I thought you were getting a group together to go right now.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Paddy was in New York .
He was patiently waiting and watching the traffic cop on a busy street crossing. The cop stopped the flow of traffic and shouted, “Okay, pedestrians. ” Then he’d allow the traffic to pass.
He’d done this several times, and Paddy still stood on the sidewalk.
After the cop had shouted, “Pedestrians! ” for the tenth time, Paddy went over to him and said, “Is it not about time ye let the Catholics across?”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gallagher opened the morning newspaper and was dumbfounded to read in the obituary column that he had died. He quickly phoned his best friend, Finney.
“Did you see the paper?” asked Gallagher. “They say I died!!”
“Yes, I saw it!” replied Finney. “Where are ye callin’ from?”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
An Irish priest is driving down to New York and gets stopped for speeding in Connecticut . The state trooper smells alcohol on the priest’s breath and then sees an empty wine bottle on the floor of the car.
He says, “Sir, have you been drinking?”
“Just water,” says the priest.
The trooper says, “Then why do I smell wine?”
The priest looks at the bottle and says, “Good Lord! He’s done it again!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Walking into the bar, Mike said to Charlie the bartender, “Pour me a stiff one – just had another fight with the little woman.”
“Oh yeah?” said Charlie , “And how did this one end?”
“When it was over,” Mike replied, “She came to me on her hands and knees.”
“Really,” said Charles, “Now that’s a switch! What did she say?”
She said, “Come out from under the bed, you little chicken.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Patton staggered home very late after another evening with his drinking buddy, Paddy. He took off his shoes to avoid waking his wife, Kathleen.
He tiptoed as quietly as he could toward the stairs leading to their upstairs bedroom, but misjudged the bottom step. As he caught himself by grabbing the banister, his body swung around and he landed heavily on his rump. A whiskey bottle in each back pocket broke and made the landing especially painful.
Managing not to yell, Patton sprung up, pulled down his pants, and looked in the hall mirror to see that his butt cheeks were cut and bleeding. He managed to quietly find a full box of Band-Aids and began putting a Band-Aid as best he could on each place he saw blood.
He then hid the now almost empty Band-Aid box and shuffled and stumbled his way to bed.
In the morning, Patton woke up with searing pain in both his head and butt and Kathleen staring at him from across the room.
She said, “You were drunk again last night weren’t you?”
Patton said, “Why would you say such a mean thing?”
“Well,” Kathleen said, “it could be the open front door, it could be the broken glass at the bottom of the stairs, it could be the drops of blood trailing through the house, it could be your bloodshot eyes, but mostly ….. it’s all those Band-Aids stuck on the hall mirror.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
While on vacation in Rome, I noticed a marble column in St. Peter’s with a golden telephone on it.
As a young priest passed by, I asked who the telephone was for. The priest told me it was a direct line to heaven,
and if I’d like to call, it would be a thousand dollars.. I was amazed, but declined the offer.
Throughout Italy, I kept seeing the same golden telephone on a marble column. At each, I asked about it and the answer was always the same: It was a direct line to heaven and I could call for a thousand dollars..
Then - I finished my tour in Ireland. I decided to attend Mass at a local village church.
When I walked in the door I noticed the golden telephone.. Underneath it there was a sign stating: “DIRECT LINE TO HEAVEN: 25 cents.” “Father,” I said, ”I have been all over Italy and in all the cathedrals I visited, I’ve seen telephones exactly like this one. But the price is always a thousand dollars. Why is it that this
one is only 25 cents?”
The priest smiled and said, “Darlin’, you’re in Ireland now. It’s a local call.”
Happy St. Patrick’s Day