[Loch-Ruadh] St. Patrick's Day jokes (a day late)

[Jane Sitton]

In honor of Padraig's patron saint's day, here are some Irish jokes.  I
would have posted them yesterday, but the computer at home still won't see
the modem....
--Madelina
HAPPY ST. PATS DAY ALL
Da Irish In Us
Into a Belfast pub comes Paddy Murphy, looking like he'd just been run over
by a train.  His arm is in 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.
"Jamie O'Conner and me had a fight," says Paddy.
"That little shit, 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."
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Three Irishmen, Paddy, Sean and Shamus, were stumbling home from the pub
late one night, and found themselves on the road which led past the old
graveyard.  "Come have a look over here," says Paddy.  "It's Michael
O'Grady's grave, God bless his soul.  He lived to the ripe old age of 87."
"That's nothing", says Sean.  "Here's one named Patrick O'Tool.  It says
here that he was 95 when he died."
Just then, Shamus yells out, "Good God, here's a fella that got to be 145!"
"What was his name?" asks Paddy.
Shamus stumbles around a bit, awkwardly lights a match to see what else is
written on the stone marker, and exclaims, "Miles, from Dublin."
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++
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 tellin' 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, no Brenda... no.  Fact is, 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...'