Jacques Chirac, The French President, is sitting in his office when his telephone rings.
"Hallo, Mr. Chirac!" a heavily accented voice said. "This is Paddy Down at the Harp Pub in County Clare, Ireland. I am ringing to inform you that we are officially declaring war on you!"
"Well, Paddy," Chirac replied, "This is indeed important news! How big is your army?"
"Right now," says Paddy, after a moment's calculation, "there is myself, me Cousin Sean, me next door neighbour Seamus, and the entire darts team from the pub. That makes eight!"
Chirac paused. "I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 100,000 men in my army waiting to move on my command."
"Begoora!" says Paddy. "I'll have to ring you back."
Sure enough, the next day, Paddy calls again. "Mr. Chirac, the war is still on. We have managed to get us some infantry equipment!"
"And what equipment would that be Paddy?" Chirac asks.
"Well, we have two combines, a bulldozer, and Murphy's farm tractor."
Chirac sighs amused. "I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 6,000 tanks and 5,000 armored personnel carriers. Also, I have increased my army to 150,000 since we last spoke."
"Saints preserve us!" says Paddy. "I'll have to get back to you."
Sure enough, Paddy rings again the next day. "Mr. Chirac, the war is still on! We have managed to get ourselves airborne! We have modified Jackie McLaughlin's ultra-light with a couple of shotguns in the cockpit, and four boys from the Shamrock Bar have joined us as well!"
Chirac was silent for a minute and then cleared his throat. "I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 100 bombers and 200 fighter planes. My military bases are surrounded by laser-guided, surface-to-air missile sites. And since we last spoke, I have increased my army to 200,000!"
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" says Paddy, "I will have to ring you back."
Sure enough, Paddy calls again the next day. "Top o' the mornin', Mr. Chirac! I am sorry to inform you that we have had to call off the war."
"Really? I am sorry to hear that," says Chirac. "Why the sudden change of heart?"
"Well," says Paddy, "we had a long chat over a few pints of Guinness, and decided there is no fookin' way we can feed 200,000 prisoners."
Blarney
Re: Blarney
Carrying a gun isn't about killing.
It's about staying alive.
It's about staying alive.
Re: Blarney
Real ads from Scottish lonely-hearts columns
*****************************************
Grossly overweight Buckie turf-cutter, 42 years old and 23 stone, Gemini, seeks nimble s*xpot, preferably South American, for tango sessions, candlelit dinners and humid nights of screaming passion.
Must have own car and be willing to travel. Box 09/08
Aberdeen man, 50, in desperate need of a ride. Anything considered.
Box06/03
Heavy drinker, 35, Glasgow area, seeks gorgeous s*x addict interested in pints, fags, Celtic football club and starting scraps on Sauchiehall Street at three in the morning.
Box 73/82.
Bitter, disillusioned Dundonian lately rejected by long-time fianc? seeks decent, honest, reliable woman, if such a thing still exists in this cruel world of hatchet-faced b*tches.
Box 53/41
Ginger-haired Partick troublemaker, gets slit-eyed and shirty after a few scoops, seeks attractive, wealthy lady for bail purposes, maybe more.
Box84/87
Artistic Edinburgh woman, 53, petite, loves rainy walks on the beach, writing poetry, unusual sea-shells and interesting brown rice dishes,seeks mystic dreamer for companionship, back rubs and more as we bounce along like little tumbling clouds on life's beautiful crazy journey.
Strong stomach essential.
Box 12/32
Chartered accountant, 42, seeks female for marriage. Duties will include cooking, light cleaning and accompanying me to office social functions.
References required. No timewasters.
Box 23/45
Bad-tempered, foul-mouthed old b*stard living in a damp cottage in the ar*e end of Orkney seeks attractive 21-year old blonde lady with big ch*st.
Box 40/27
Devil-worshiper, Stirling area, seeks like-minded lady for wining and dining, good conversation, dancing, romantic walks and slaughtering dogs in cemeteries at midnight under the flinty light of a pale moon.
Box 52/07
Attractive brunette, Maryhill area, winner of Miss Wrangler competition at Framptons Nightclub, Maryhill, in September 1978, seeks nostalgic man who's not afraid to cry, for long nights spent comfort-drinking and listening to old Abba records. Please, Please!
Box 30/41
Govan man, 27, medium build, brown hair, blue eyes, seeks alibi for the night of February 27 between 8pm and 11.30pm
*****************************************
Grossly overweight Buckie turf-cutter, 42 years old and 23 stone, Gemini, seeks nimble s*xpot, preferably South American, for tango sessions, candlelit dinners and humid nights of screaming passion.
Must have own car and be willing to travel. Box 09/08
Aberdeen man, 50, in desperate need of a ride. Anything considered.
Box06/03
Heavy drinker, 35, Glasgow area, seeks gorgeous s*x addict interested in pints, fags, Celtic football club and starting scraps on Sauchiehall Street at three in the morning.
Box 73/82.
Bitter, disillusioned Dundonian lately rejected by long-time fianc? seeks decent, honest, reliable woman, if such a thing still exists in this cruel world of hatchet-faced b*tches.
Box 53/41
Ginger-haired Partick troublemaker, gets slit-eyed and shirty after a few scoops, seeks attractive, wealthy lady for bail purposes, maybe more.
Box84/87
Artistic Edinburgh woman, 53, petite, loves rainy walks on the beach, writing poetry, unusual sea-shells and interesting brown rice dishes,seeks mystic dreamer for companionship, back rubs and more as we bounce along like little tumbling clouds on life's beautiful crazy journey.
Strong stomach essential.
Box 12/32
Chartered accountant, 42, seeks female for marriage. Duties will include cooking, light cleaning and accompanying me to office social functions.
References required. No timewasters.
Box 23/45
Bad-tempered, foul-mouthed old b*stard living in a damp cottage in the ar*e end of Orkney seeks attractive 21-year old blonde lady with big ch*st.
Box 40/27
Devil-worshiper, Stirling area, seeks like-minded lady for wining and dining, good conversation, dancing, romantic walks and slaughtering dogs in cemeteries at midnight under the flinty light of a pale moon.
Box 52/07
Attractive brunette, Maryhill area, winner of Miss Wrangler competition at Framptons Nightclub, Maryhill, in September 1978, seeks nostalgic man who's not afraid to cry, for long nights spent comfort-drinking and listening to old Abba records. Please, Please!
Box 30/41
Govan man, 27, medium build, brown hair, blue eyes, seeks alibi for the night of February 27 between 8pm and 11.30pm
Carrying a gun isn't about killing.
It's about staying alive.
It's about staying alive.
Re: Blarney
The Englishman's wife steps up to the tee and, as she bends over to place her ball, a gust of wind blows her skirt up and reveals her lack of underwear.
"Good God, woman! Why aren't you wearing any knickers?" her husband demanded.
"Well, you don't give me enough housekeeping money to afford any."
The Englishman immediately reaches into his pocket and says, "For the sake of decency, here's $50. Go and buy yourself some underwear."
Next, the Irishman's wife bends over to set her ball on the tee. Her skirt also blows up to show that she is wearing no undies.
"Blessed Virgin Mary, woman! You've no knickers. Why not?"
She replies, "I can't afford any on the money you give me."
He reaches into his pocket and says, "For the sake of decency, here's $20. Go and buy yourself some underwear!"
Lastly, the Scotsman's wife bends over. The wind also takes her skirt over her head to reveal that she, too, is naked under it.
"Sweet mudder of Jesus, Aggie! Where the frig are yer drawers?"
She too explains, "You dinna give me enough money ta be able ta affarrd any."
The Scotsman reaches into his pocket and says, "Well, fer the love 'o Jasus,'n the sake of decency, here's a comb. Tidy yerself up a bit."
"Good God, woman! Why aren't you wearing any knickers?" her husband demanded.
"Well, you don't give me enough housekeeping money to afford any."
The Englishman immediately reaches into his pocket and says, "For the sake of decency, here's $50. Go and buy yourself some underwear."
Next, the Irishman's wife bends over to set her ball on the tee. Her skirt also blows up to show that she is wearing no undies.
"Blessed Virgin Mary, woman! You've no knickers. Why not?"
She replies, "I can't afford any on the money you give me."
He reaches into his pocket and says, "For the sake of decency, here's $20. Go and buy yourself some underwear!"
Lastly, the Scotsman's wife bends over. The wind also takes her skirt over her head to reveal that she, too, is naked under it.
"Sweet mudder of Jesus, Aggie! Where the frig are yer drawers?"
She too explains, "You dinna give me enough money ta be able ta affarrd any."
The Scotsman reaches into his pocket and says, "Well, fer the love 'o Jasus,'n the sake of decency, here's a comb. Tidy yerself up a bit."
Carrying a gun isn't about killing.
It's about staying alive.
It's about staying alive.
Re: Blarney
As soon as she had finished convent school, a bright young girl named Lena shook the dust of Ireland off her shoes and made her way to New York where before long, she became a successful performer in show business.
Eventually she returned to her home town for a visit and on a Saturday night went to confession in the church where she had always attended as a child.
In the confessional, Father Sullivan recognized her and began asking her about her work. She explained that she was an acrobatic dancer, and he wanted to know what that meant.
She said she would be happy to show him the kind of thing she did on stage. She stepped out of the confessional and within sight of Father Sullivan, she went into a series of cartwheels, leaping splits, handsprings and back flips.
Kneeling near the confessional, waiting their turn, were two middle-aged ladies. They witnessed Lena's acrobatics with wide eyes, and one said to the other, "Will you jus' look at the penance Father Sullivan is givin' out this night, and me without me bloomers on!"
Eventually she returned to her home town for a visit and on a Saturday night went to confession in the church where she had always attended as a child.
In the confessional, Father Sullivan recognized her and began asking her about her work. She explained that she was an acrobatic dancer, and he wanted to know what that meant.
She said she would be happy to show him the kind of thing she did on stage. She stepped out of the confessional and within sight of Father Sullivan, she went into a series of cartwheels, leaping splits, handsprings and back flips.
Kneeling near the confessional, waiting their turn, were two middle-aged ladies. They witnessed Lena's acrobatics with wide eyes, and one said to the other, "Will you jus' look at the penance Father Sullivan is givin' out this night, and me without me bloomers on!"
Carrying a gun isn't about killing.
It's about staying alive.
It's about staying alive.
Re: Blarney
One day a Scotsman, who has been stranded on a desert island for over 10 years, sees an unusual speck on the horizon. "It's certainly not a ship," he thinks to himself. As the speck gets closer and closer, he begins to rule out the possibilities of a small boat, then even a raft.
Suddenly, emerging from the surf comes a drop-dead gorgeous blonde woman wearing a wetsuit and scuba gear. She approaches the stunned man and says to him, "Tell me how long has it been since you've had a cigarette?" Ten years," replies the Scot. With that, she reaches over and unzips a waterproof pocket on her left sleeve and pulls out a pack of fresh cigarettes. He takes one, lights it, takes a long drag and says, "Achh, that is splendid!"
"And how long has it been since you've had a sip of good malt scotch?" she purrs. Trembling, the castaway replies, "Ten years." She reaches over, unzips her right sleeve, pulls out a flask and hands it to him. He opens the flask, takes a long swig and says, "Oh by God, it's absolutely fantastic!"
At this point she starts slowly unzipping the long zipper that runs down the front of her wetsuit. She looks at the man and asks huskily, "And how long has it been since you've played around? With tears in his eyes, the big Scot falls to his knees and sobs, "Oh, sweet Jesus! Don't tell me you've got golf clubs in there!
Suddenly, emerging from the surf comes a drop-dead gorgeous blonde woman wearing a wetsuit and scuba gear. She approaches the stunned man and says to him, "Tell me how long has it been since you've had a cigarette?" Ten years," replies the Scot. With that, she reaches over and unzips a waterproof pocket on her left sleeve and pulls out a pack of fresh cigarettes. He takes one, lights it, takes a long drag and says, "Achh, that is splendid!"
"And how long has it been since you've had a sip of good malt scotch?" she purrs. Trembling, the castaway replies, "Ten years." She reaches over, unzips her right sleeve, pulls out a flask and hands it to him. He opens the flask, takes a long swig and says, "Oh by God, it's absolutely fantastic!"
At this point she starts slowly unzipping the long zipper that runs down the front of her wetsuit. She looks at the man and asks huskily, "And how long has it been since you've played around? With tears in his eyes, the big Scot falls to his knees and sobs, "Oh, sweet Jesus! Don't tell me you've got golf clubs in there!
Carrying a gun isn't about killing.
It's about staying alive.
It's about staying alive.
Re: Blarney
Rules and Regs for Rookie St. Patty's Day Partiers
The following is a useful guide for rookie St. Patty's Day partiers. If this is the first time you will be celebrating St. Patrick's Day with someone with Irish roots, I advise you to read this carefully.
Leg 1: 7 a.m. to 9 a.m.
Rise and shine early. Take a long, hot shower, and liberally use aftershave, perfume, cologne, deodorant and powders afterwards, because by 3 p.m. you will be excreting raw alcohol and other poisons, and without proper preparations, you will smell like a three-day dead cat wrapped in a fraternity carpet.
The bars open at 9, so use this time to prepare. Collect the following supplies and put them in a place where you will easily be able to find it in an impaired condition. We recommend the bathroom floor, between the toilet and the baseboard heater, since that's where you'll probably end up:
* 1 quart spring water
* 1 bottle aspirin
* 5 pairs Depends undergarment
* 1 bottle Percocet
* 1 gram morphine sulphate
* 1 oz. human adrenaline extract
* 1 precharged electric defibrillator
* 4 Cardiac needles * 1 trauma surgeon Brew a strong pot of coffee. Add 9 oz. Jameson Irish whiskey, drink.
Note that coffee should be drunk liberally throughout the day. There is a reason that the Irish invented Irish Coffee; unless you ingest a large volume of artificial stimulants throughout the course of St. Patrick's Day, you are going to die. Arrange to be picked up and taken to the bar by 8:45 a.m. We cannot stress enough that you should not drink and drive. There is no reason to chance losing your license or killing someone in a drunken state when you have plenty of idiot friends willing to take that risk on your behalf.
Leg 2: 9 a.m. to 11 a.m.
Arrive at the bar right when it opens. Make sure this is an Irish bar if at all possible. An Irish bar in Boston is the best alternative, since Boston in Gaelic means West Kilarney. However, almost every city in America has bars called The Blarney Stone, McSomethings, or The Dirty Mick. Just try to ignore the fact that the bar is probably owned by Koreans.
Secure a barstool and do not leave it under any circumstances. The bar is liable to be packed by noon, and real Irish people do not wait in line for drinks, no matter what the consequences. While we do recommend the use of an adult undergarment to mask unpleasant smells, it really doesn't matter. By afternoon, you'll be sopping wet with spilled beer anyway, and your mild urine smell will be completely overpowered by the toxic stench of vomit. We recommend starting out with a few more Irish Coffees to spike the stimulant level, however, you should not order an "Irish Coffee," as you will be given a fruity little glass mug topped with whipped cream and a cherry, and some guy named Seamus will call you a yuppie poseur while putting a cigarette out on your neck. Ask for coffee with whiskey and ask the bartender to leave the whipped cream can, as nothing will add spice to your day like the occasional whippet.
Leg 3: 11 a.m. to 2 p.m.
It's lunchtime! You may not be hungry, but it's important to eat something, because like Sheriff Bart said in Blazing Saddles:" Man drink like that, and don't eat, he is going to die." If you want to maintain your buzz and not get that hideous, bloated feeling that could slow down your drinking, there are only two options: popcorn or Pop Tarts. Both have the carbohydrates you'll need to give you energy, both will soak up excess bile in your stomach, and both have names that are hard to slur.
If you start slurring your words too early, you'll hear the most frightening phrase in the English language on St. Patrick's Day besides I'm pregnant: "You're cut off". By now, you should switch off of coffee drinks to beer. You have only one option here: Guinness stout. You may be tempted to order green beer, but remember: beer doesn't always turn green because of food coloring.
Leg 4: 2 p.m. to 7 p.m.
By now, the bar is definitely crowded as people take long lunches and bail out of work early to tie one on. If you're doing your job correctly, the bar should look twice or three times as crowded as it really is. By now, you may be in conversation with some real Irish people, since the person you came with has likely been taken away by ambulance. Some conversational points to remember when talking to the Irish are: Football really means Soccer, and you should be more passionate about it than you are about your wife or husband, AND The English are all pi$$-arsed, pig-f---ing bastards who should be lined up and kicked into the Liffey. If you remember those two points, as well at least three derogatory names for Margaret Thatcher, you can talk to the Irish for hours. You should continue to drink Guinness throughout this leg, although you may want to have another Irish Coffee if your heartbeat has become irregular.
The Home Stretch: 7 p.m. to Closing
Your goal, of course, is to be the last person to leave the bar at closing time. This will be impossible, since a blood alcohol content of .50 usually equals death, and you should be pushing a .35 or .40 by now.
The only way for a true Irishman to leave a bar before closing time with honor is to be hauled away by the police. Throw a punch. It doesn't matter who you hit or why; no one's made any sense since 3 o'clock, anyway. You will be beaten mercilessly, since your fine motor control has been gone since the late morning, but it doesn't matter since you can't feel anything. Depending on your community, the police should arrive within fifteen minutes to scrape you off the floor and clap you in irons. The final impression you leave is the most important: as you are being dragged from the bar, begin screaming that you want to take your drink with you. You will be a legend, and by now the friend who took you to the bar should have had his or her stomach pumped, and will be able to bail you out.
By following these simple guidelines, your St. Patrick's Day experience would be one you would never forget if it weren't physically and biologically impossible for you to remember any of it.
Tune in next month for our next self- help guide: The Pros and Cons of Waking Up Naked In a Dumpster.
The following is a useful guide for rookie St. Patty's Day partiers. If this is the first time you will be celebrating St. Patrick's Day with someone with Irish roots, I advise you to read this carefully.
Leg 1: 7 a.m. to 9 a.m.
Rise and shine early. Take a long, hot shower, and liberally use aftershave, perfume, cologne, deodorant and powders afterwards, because by 3 p.m. you will be excreting raw alcohol and other poisons, and without proper preparations, you will smell like a three-day dead cat wrapped in a fraternity carpet.
The bars open at 9, so use this time to prepare. Collect the following supplies and put them in a place where you will easily be able to find it in an impaired condition. We recommend the bathroom floor, between the toilet and the baseboard heater, since that's where you'll probably end up:
* 1 quart spring water
* 1 bottle aspirin
* 5 pairs Depends undergarment
* 1 bottle Percocet
* 1 gram morphine sulphate
* 1 oz. human adrenaline extract
* 1 precharged electric defibrillator
* 4 Cardiac needles * 1 trauma surgeon Brew a strong pot of coffee. Add 9 oz. Jameson Irish whiskey, drink.
Note that coffee should be drunk liberally throughout the day. There is a reason that the Irish invented Irish Coffee; unless you ingest a large volume of artificial stimulants throughout the course of St. Patrick's Day, you are going to die. Arrange to be picked up and taken to the bar by 8:45 a.m. We cannot stress enough that you should not drink and drive. There is no reason to chance losing your license or killing someone in a drunken state when you have plenty of idiot friends willing to take that risk on your behalf.
Leg 2: 9 a.m. to 11 a.m.
Arrive at the bar right when it opens. Make sure this is an Irish bar if at all possible. An Irish bar in Boston is the best alternative, since Boston in Gaelic means West Kilarney. However, almost every city in America has bars called The Blarney Stone, McSomethings, or The Dirty Mick. Just try to ignore the fact that the bar is probably owned by Koreans.
Secure a barstool and do not leave it under any circumstances. The bar is liable to be packed by noon, and real Irish people do not wait in line for drinks, no matter what the consequences. While we do recommend the use of an adult undergarment to mask unpleasant smells, it really doesn't matter. By afternoon, you'll be sopping wet with spilled beer anyway, and your mild urine smell will be completely overpowered by the toxic stench of vomit. We recommend starting out with a few more Irish Coffees to spike the stimulant level, however, you should not order an "Irish Coffee," as you will be given a fruity little glass mug topped with whipped cream and a cherry, and some guy named Seamus will call you a yuppie poseur while putting a cigarette out on your neck. Ask for coffee with whiskey and ask the bartender to leave the whipped cream can, as nothing will add spice to your day like the occasional whippet.
Leg 3: 11 a.m. to 2 p.m.
It's lunchtime! You may not be hungry, but it's important to eat something, because like Sheriff Bart said in Blazing Saddles:" Man drink like that, and don't eat, he is going to die." If you want to maintain your buzz and not get that hideous, bloated feeling that could slow down your drinking, there are only two options: popcorn or Pop Tarts. Both have the carbohydrates you'll need to give you energy, both will soak up excess bile in your stomach, and both have names that are hard to slur.
If you start slurring your words too early, you'll hear the most frightening phrase in the English language on St. Patrick's Day besides I'm pregnant: "You're cut off". By now, you should switch off of coffee drinks to beer. You have only one option here: Guinness stout. You may be tempted to order green beer, but remember: beer doesn't always turn green because of food coloring.
Leg 4: 2 p.m. to 7 p.m.
By now, the bar is definitely crowded as people take long lunches and bail out of work early to tie one on. If you're doing your job correctly, the bar should look twice or three times as crowded as it really is. By now, you may be in conversation with some real Irish people, since the person you came with has likely been taken away by ambulance. Some conversational points to remember when talking to the Irish are: Football really means Soccer, and you should be more passionate about it than you are about your wife or husband, AND The English are all pi$$-arsed, pig-f---ing bastards who should be lined up and kicked into the Liffey. If you remember those two points, as well at least three derogatory names for Margaret Thatcher, you can talk to the Irish for hours. You should continue to drink Guinness throughout this leg, although you may want to have another Irish Coffee if your heartbeat has become irregular.
The Home Stretch: 7 p.m. to Closing
Your goal, of course, is to be the last person to leave the bar at closing time. This will be impossible, since a blood alcohol content of .50 usually equals death, and you should be pushing a .35 or .40 by now.
The only way for a true Irishman to leave a bar before closing time with honor is to be hauled away by the police. Throw a punch. It doesn't matter who you hit or why; no one's made any sense since 3 o'clock, anyway. You will be beaten mercilessly, since your fine motor control has been gone since the late morning, but it doesn't matter since you can't feel anything. Depending on your community, the police should arrive within fifteen minutes to scrape you off the floor and clap you in irons. The final impression you leave is the most important: as you are being dragged from the bar, begin screaming that you want to take your drink with you. You will be a legend, and by now the friend who took you to the bar should have had his or her stomach pumped, and will be able to bail you out.
By following these simple guidelines, your St. Patrick's Day experience would be one you would never forget if it weren't physically and biologically impossible for you to remember any of it.
Tune in next month for our next self- help guide: The Pros and Cons of Waking Up Naked In a Dumpster.
Carrying a gun isn't about killing.
It's about staying alive.
It's about staying alive.
Re: Blarney
John O'Reilly hoisted his beer and said, "Here's to spending the rest of me life,
between the legs of me wife!" That won him the top prize at the pub for the
best toast of the night!
He went home and told his wife, Mary, "I won the prize for the Best toast of the night"
She said, "Aye, did ye now. And what was your toast?" John said, "Here's to spending the rest of me life, sitting in church beside me wife." "Oh, that is very nice indeed, John!" Mary said.
The next day, Mary ran into one of John's drinking buddies on the street corner.
The man chuckled leeringly and said, "John won the prize the other night at the
pub with a toast about you, Mary." She said, "Aye, he told me, and I was a bit
surprised myself. You know, he s only been there twice in the last four years. Once he fell asleep, and the other time I had to pull him by the ears to make him come."
between the legs of me wife!" That won him the top prize at the pub for the
best toast of the night!
He went home and told his wife, Mary, "I won the prize for the Best toast of the night"
She said, "Aye, did ye now. And what was your toast?" John said, "Here's to spending the rest of me life, sitting in church beside me wife." "Oh, that is very nice indeed, John!" Mary said.
The next day, Mary ran into one of John's drinking buddies on the street corner.
The man chuckled leeringly and said, "John won the prize the other night at the
pub with a toast about you, Mary." She said, "Aye, he told me, and I was a bit
surprised myself. You know, he s only been there twice in the last four years. Once he fell asleep, and the other time I had to pull him by the ears to make him come."
Carrying a gun isn't about killing.
It's about staying alive.
It's about staying alive.
Re: Blarney
Six retired Irishmen were playing poker in O'Leary's apartment when Paddy Murphy loses $500 on a single hand, clutches his chest and drops dead at the table. Showing respect for their fallen brother, the other five continue playing standing up.
Michael O'Conner looks around and asks, "Oh, me boys, someone got's to tell Paddy's wife. Who will it be?"
They draw straws. Paul Gallagher picks the short one. They tell him to be discreet, be gentle, don't make a bad situation any worse.
"Discreet??? I'm the most discreet Irishmen you'll ever meet. Discretion is me middle name. Leave it to me."
Gallagher goes over to Murphy's house and knocks on the door. Mrs. Murphy answers and asks what he wants. Gallagher declares: "Your husband just lost $500 and is afraid to come home."
"Tell him to drop dead!", says Murphy's wife.
"I'll go tell him." says Gallagher.
Michael O'Conner looks around and asks, "Oh, me boys, someone got's to tell Paddy's wife. Who will it be?"
They draw straws. Paul Gallagher picks the short one. They tell him to be discreet, be gentle, don't make a bad situation any worse.
"Discreet??? I'm the most discreet Irishmen you'll ever meet. Discretion is me middle name. Leave it to me."
Gallagher goes over to Murphy's house and knocks on the door. Mrs. Murphy answers and asks what he wants. Gallagher declares: "Your husband just lost $500 and is afraid to come home."
"Tell him to drop dead!", says Murphy's wife.
"I'll go tell him." says Gallagher.
Carrying a gun isn't about killing.
It's about staying alive.
It's about staying alive.
Re: Blarney
Carrying a gun isn't about killing.
It's about staying alive.
It's about staying alive.
Re: Blarney
Two drunks coming home, stumbled up the country road in the dark.
"Faith, Mike, we've stumbled into the graveyard and here's the stone of a man lived to the age of 103!" "Glory be, Patrick and was it anybody we knew?"
"No, 'twas someone named 'Miles from Dublin'!"
"Faith, Mike, we've stumbled into the graveyard and here's the stone of a man lived to the age of 103!" "Glory be, Patrick and was it anybody we knew?"
"No, 'twas someone named 'Miles from Dublin'!"
Carrying a gun isn't about killing.
It's about staying alive.
It's about staying alive.
Re: Blarney
An Irishman is strolling along a beach when he finds a bottle. Out of curiosity he picks it up, unscrews the cap and out pops a genie.
The genie grants the Irishman the traditional three wishes.
The Irishman says: " For my first wish, I want a pint of Guinesses'Stout".
Poof! There is a bottle of stout in the Irishman's hand. He drains it off and is about to heave the empty bottle into the ocean when the genie calls out: " STOP"
The genie tells the Irishman that he should keep this bottle -because it will never get empty, no matter how often he drains the bottle.
The genie now says to the Irishman: " "What do you want for your other two wishes?"
The Irishman says: " I'll be having two more of these".
The genie grants the Irishman the traditional three wishes.
The Irishman says: " For my first wish, I want a pint of Guinesses'Stout".
Poof! There is a bottle of stout in the Irishman's hand. He drains it off and is about to heave the empty bottle into the ocean when the genie calls out: " STOP"
The genie tells the Irishman that he should keep this bottle -because it will never get empty, no matter how often he drains the bottle.
The genie now says to the Irishman: " "What do you want for your other two wishes?"
The Irishman says: " I'll be having two more of these".
Carrying a gun isn't about killing.
It's about staying alive.
It's about staying alive.
Re: Blarney
An Irishman named O'Malley went to his doctor. The doctor, after an examination, sighed and said, "I've some bad news. You have cancer and you'd best put your affairs in order."
O'Malley was shocked, but managed to compose himself and walk into the waiting room, where his son had been waiting.
"Well son, we Irish celebrate when things are good, and we celebrate when things don't go well. In this case, things aren't well. I have cancer. Let's head to the pub and have a few pints."
After 3 or 4 pints, the two were feeling a little less somber. There were some laughs and more beers. They were eventually approached by some of O'Malley's old friends, who were curious as to what the two were celebrating. O'Malley told his friends they were drinking to his impending end. "I have been diagnosed with AIDS."
"The friends gave O'Malley their condolences and they had a couple of more beers.
After the friends left, O'Malley's son leaned over and whispered, "Dad, I thought you said you were dying of cancer, and you just told your friends you were dying of AIDS."
O'Malley said, "I don't want any of them sleeping with your mother after I'm gone."
O'Malley was shocked, but managed to compose himself and walk into the waiting room, where his son had been waiting.
"Well son, we Irish celebrate when things are good, and we celebrate when things don't go well. In this case, things aren't well. I have cancer. Let's head to the pub and have a few pints."
After 3 or 4 pints, the two were feeling a little less somber. There were some laughs and more beers. They were eventually approached by some of O'Malley's old friends, who were curious as to what the two were celebrating. O'Malley told his friends they were drinking to his impending end. "I have been diagnosed with AIDS."
"The friends gave O'Malley their condolences and they had a couple of more beers.
After the friends left, O'Malley's son leaned over and whispered, "Dad, I thought you said you were dying of cancer, and you just told your friends you were dying of AIDS."
O'Malley said, "I don't want any of them sleeping with your mother after I'm gone."
Carrying a gun isn't about killing.
It's about staying alive.
It's about staying alive.
Re: Blarney
At the National Art Gallery in Dublin, a husband and wife were staring at a portrait that had them completely confused. The painting depicted three black men totally naked, sitting on a park bench. Two of the figures had black willies, but the one in the middle had a pink willy.
The curator of the gallery realized that the couple were having trouble interpreting the painting and offered his personal assessment. He went on for over half an hour explaining how it depicted the sexual emasculation of African Americans in a predominately white, patriarchal society. "In fact", he pointed out, "some serious critics believe that the pink willy also reflects the cultural and sociological oppression experienced by gay men in contemporary society."
After the curator left, an Irishman approached the couple and said, "Would you like to know what the painting is really about?"
"Now why would you claim to be more of an expert than the curator of the gallery?" asked the couple.
"Because I'm the guy who painted the picture," he replied. "In fact, there are no African Americans depicted at all. They're just three Irish coal miners. The guy in the middle went home for lunch."
The curator of the gallery realized that the couple were having trouble interpreting the painting and offered his personal assessment. He went on for over half an hour explaining how it depicted the sexual emasculation of African Americans in a predominately white, patriarchal society. "In fact", he pointed out, "some serious critics believe that the pink willy also reflects the cultural and sociological oppression experienced by gay men in contemporary society."
After the curator left, an Irishman approached the couple and said, "Would you like to know what the painting is really about?"
"Now why would you claim to be more of an expert than the curator of the gallery?" asked the couple.
"Because I'm the guy who painted the picture," he replied. "In fact, there are no African Americans depicted at all. They're just three Irish coal miners. The guy in the middle went home for lunch."
Carrying a gun isn't about killing.
It's about staying alive.
It's about staying alive.
Re: Blarney
A wedding occurred just outside Cavan in Ireland.
To keep tradition going, everyone gets extremely drunk and the bride's and groom's families have a storming row and begin wrecking the reception room and generally kicking the chit out of each other. The police get called in to break up the fight.
The following week, all members of both families appear in court. The fight continues in the courtroom until the judge finally brings calm with the use of his gavel, shouting, 'Silence in court!'
The courtroom goes silent and Paddy, the best man, stands up and says, 'Judge, I was the best man at the wedding and I think I should explain what happened.'
The judge agrees and asks Paddy to take the stand. Paddy begins his explanation by telling the court that it is traditional in a Cavan wedding that the best man gets the first dance with the bride.
The judge says, 'OK.'
'Well,' said Paddy, 'after I had finished the first dance, the music kept going, so I continued dancing to the second song, and after that the music kept going and I was dancing to the third song, when all of a sudden the groom leapt over the table, ran towards us and gave the bride an unmerciful kick right between her legs.'
Shocked, the judge instantly responded, 'God, that must have hurt!'
'Hurt?' Paddy replies. 'He broke three of my fingers!'
To keep tradition going, everyone gets extremely drunk and the bride's and groom's families have a storming row and begin wrecking the reception room and generally kicking the chit out of each other. The police get called in to break up the fight.
The following week, all members of both families appear in court. The fight continues in the courtroom until the judge finally brings calm with the use of his gavel, shouting, 'Silence in court!'
The courtroom goes silent and Paddy, the best man, stands up and says, 'Judge, I was the best man at the wedding and I think I should explain what happened.'
The judge agrees and asks Paddy to take the stand. Paddy begins his explanation by telling the court that it is traditional in a Cavan wedding that the best man gets the first dance with the bride.
The judge says, 'OK.'
'Well,' said Paddy, 'after I had finished the first dance, the music kept going, so I continued dancing to the second song, and after that the music kept going and I was dancing to the third song, when all of a sudden the groom leapt over the table, ran towards us and gave the bride an unmerciful kick right between her legs.'
Shocked, the judge instantly responded, 'God, that must have hurt!'
'Hurt?' Paddy replies. 'He broke three of my fingers!'
Carrying a gun isn't about killing.
It's about staying alive.
It's about staying alive.
Re: Blarney
Muldoon lived alone in the Irish countryside with only a pet dog for company.
One day the dog died, and Muldoon went to the parish priest and asked, "Father, me dog is dead. Could ya' be saying' a mass for the poor creature?"
Father Patrick replied, "I'm afraid not; we cannot have services for an animal in the church. But there are some Baptists down the lane, and there's no tellin' what they believe. Maybe they'll do somethin' for the creature."
Muldoon said, "I'll go right away Father. Do ya' think $5,000 is enough to donate to them for the service?"
Father Patrick exclaimed, "Sweet Mary, Mother of Jesus! Why didn't ya tell me the dog was Catholic?
One day the dog died, and Muldoon went to the parish priest and asked, "Father, me dog is dead. Could ya' be saying' a mass for the poor creature?"
Father Patrick replied, "I'm afraid not; we cannot have services for an animal in the church. But there are some Baptists down the lane, and there's no tellin' what they believe. Maybe they'll do somethin' for the creature."
Muldoon said, "I'll go right away Father. Do ya' think $5,000 is enough to donate to them for the service?"
Father Patrick exclaimed, "Sweet Mary, Mother of Jesus! Why didn't ya tell me the dog was Catholic?
Carrying a gun isn't about killing.
It's about staying alive.
It's about staying alive.