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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 Sheamus 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! But you must tell me the truth, 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 the gun…’

AND THE BEST FOR LAST

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!’

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‘What happened to you?’ asks Sean, the bartender.

‘Jamie O’Conner and me had a fight,’ says Paddy.

He’s a little man,  O’Conner is,’ 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.’

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