March 16, 2009
FW: St. Paddy’s Day warmup
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.
‘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.’