Category: Joke Board
Quillan walked into a bar and ordered martini after martini,
each time removing the olives and placing them in a jar. When
the jar was filled with olives and all the drinks consumed, the
Irishman started to leave.
"S'cuse me", said a customer, who was puzzled over what
McQuillan had done, "what was that all about?"
"Nothin', said the Irishman, "my wife just sent me out for a
jar of olives!"
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Drunk, Ole Mulvihill (from the Northern Irish Clan) staggers
into a Catholic Church, enters a confessional box, sits down
but says nothing.
The Priest coughs a few times to get his attention but Ole just
sits 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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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.
"That little sod, 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."
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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'Tool, 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."
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Murphy was staggering home with a pint of booze in his back
pocket when he slipped and fell heavily. Struggling to his feet,
he felt something wet running down his leg. "Please Lord,"
he implored, "let it be blood!!"
<lol> thanks.