A wee bit o’ the Irish Humour

“The Brothel”

Two Irishmen were sitting at a pub drinking beer and
watching the brothel across the street.
They see a Baptist minister walk into the brothel, and one
of them says, “Aye, ’tis a shame to see a man of the cloth
goin’ bad.”

Then they see a rabbi enter the brothel, and the other
Irishman said, “Aye, ’tis a shame to see that the Jews
are fallin’ victim to temptation as well.”

Then they see a catholic priest enter the brothel, and
one of the Irishmen says, “What a terrible pity …one of
the girls must be dying.”

“Irish Cemetery”

Three Irishmen, Paddy, Sean and Seamus, 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’Toole, it says here that he was 95 when he died!”

Just then, Seamus yells out, “Good God, here’s a fella
that got to be 145!”

“What was his name?” asks Paddy.
Seamus stumbles around a bit, awkwardly lights a match
to see what else is written on the stone marker, and exclaims,

“Miles . . . from Dublin.”

“Irish Last Request”

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. Me husband passed away last night.”
The priest says, “Oh, Mary, that’s terrible. Tell me, 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.”

“Lent”

An Irishman moved into a tiny hamlet in County Kerry.
He walks into the local pub, orders three pints of Guinness takes them to a table and proceeds to drink them taking his time.
He repeats this two times and then leaves the pub.

A few nights later he returns to the pub, orders three pints of Guinness, takes them to a table and drinks them taking his time. He repeats this two times and leaves the pub. He continues this for several weeks.
Soon the entire town is talking about the “Three Pint Man.”

Finally, one day the pub owner on behalf of the entire town broaches the subject to the man. “I don’t mean to pry, but folks are quite curious why you order three pints each time you come in .”

The man replied, “I have two brothers – one in America and one in Australia. When we parted ways we all promised that each time we had a drink, we would order an extra two pints as a way of keeping up with each other.”

The pub owner and the entire town thought this was wonderful and were pleased that the brothers meant so much to each other. “The Three Pint Man” became a celebrity not only to the town but to the surrounding area.

One day the man came into the pub and orders only two pints of Guinness. The pub owner poured them with a heavy heart knowing in his soul that something dreadful must have happened. The news spreads around town and people are offering prays for the “Three Pint Man.”

This went on for a few weeks and the pub owner says to the man, “I want to offer our condolences due to death of your brother. We are all heart broken. You know the two pints and all.”

The man ponders this for a few minutes and replies, “You will be glad to hear that my brothers are alive and well. It’s just that I, meself, have decided to give up Guinness for Lent.”

“Vat O’ Guinness”

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’ rather important to tell ye.”

“Of course you can come in. You’re always welcome here, Tim.” says Brenda. “But where’s me husband, Shamus?”

“That’s what I’m here to be tellin’ ye, Lass. There’s been a simply tragic accident down at the Guinness brewery…”

“Oh, God no!” cries Brenda. “Please don’t tell me…”

“I must, Brenda. Your husband Shamus is gone. I’m dreadfully sorry, Lass.”

Finally, Brenda looks up at Tim and tearfully asks, “Please tell me how it happened, Tim.”

“Aw, Lass, it was terrible. Poor Shamus fell into a vat o’ Guinness Stout and drowned.”

“Oh my Sweet Jesus! But please tell me true, Tim. Did he at least go quickly?”

“Well, no, Lass… not exactly.”

“No?”

“No, fact is, he got out three times to visit the men’s room.”

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day, folks!

And a tip o’ the hat to this Lass
For tomorrow is her birthday (39! . . . same age for the past five years!)
Breithlá sona duit!

~m

 

Bad Country Song Titles

  • I hate every bone in her body but mine.
  • I ain’t never gone to bed with an ugly woman but I sure woke up with a few.
  • If the phone don’t ring, you’ll know it’s me.
  • I’ve missed you, but my aim’s improvin’.
  • Wouldn’t take her to a dogfight ’cause I’m real scared she’d win.
  • I’m so miserable without you, it’s almost like having you here.
  • My wife ran off with my best friend and I miss him.
  • She took my ring and gave me the finger.
  • She’s lookin’ better with every beer.

    And the Number One bad title is . . .

    • It’s hard to kiss the lips at night (that chewed my ass out all day long).

    A shout out to my good cigar-smoking bud, WM for the email.
    You made Henry proud with this one, dude.

    ~m

    The Wall

    A female CNN journalist heard about a very old Jewish man who had been going to the
    Western Wall to pray, twice a day, every day, for a long, long time.
    So she went to check it out and there he was, walking
    slowly up to the holy site.
    She watched him pray and after about 45 minutes, when he turned to leave, using a cane
    and moving very slowly, she approached him for an interview.

    “Pardon me, sir, I’m Rebecca Smith from CNN. What’s your name?”

    “Morris Fishbein,” he replied.

    “Sir, how long have you been coming to the Western Wall and praying?”

    “For about 60 years.”

    “60 years! That’s amazing! What do you pray for?”

    “I pray for peace between the Christians, Jews and the Muslims. I pray for all the wars
    and all the hatred to stop. I pray for all our children to grow up safely as responsible adults, and to love their fellow man.”

    “How do you feel after doing this for 60 years?”

    “Like I’m talking to a fuckin’ wall.”

    ~m

    ps. thanks to LS for the email!

    Wrong Number

    “Hello?”

    “Hi honey. This is Daddy. Is Mommy near the phone?”

    “No Daddy. She’s upstairs in the bedroom with Uncle Paul.”

    After a brief pause,

    Daddy says,

    “But honey, you haven’t got an Uncle Paul.”

    “Oh yes I do, and he’s upstairs in the room with Mommy, right now.”

    Brief Pause.

    “Uh, okay then, this is what I want you to do. Put the phone down on the table, run upstairs and knock on the bedroom door and shout to Mommy that Daddy’s car just pulled into the driveway.”

    “Okay Daddy, just a minute.”

    A few minutes later the little girl comes back to the phone.

    “I did it Daddy.”

    “And what happened honey?” he asked.

    “Well, Mommy got all scared, jumped out of bed with no
    clothes on and ran around screaming.
    Then she tripped over the rug, hit her head on the dresser and now she isn’t moving at all!”

    “Oh my God!!! What about your Uncle Paul?”

    “He jumped out of the bed with no clothes on, too.
    He was all scared and he jumped out of the back window and into the swimming
    pool. But I guess he didn’t know that you took out the water last week
    to clean it. He hit the bottom of the pool and I think he’s dead.”

    ***Long Pause***

    ***Longer Pause***

    ****Even Longer Pause****

    Then Daddy says,

    “Swimming pool? Is this 486-5731?”

    ~m