Useless in a Fight
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 shit, 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.”
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.”
Good Ole 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’ 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, Shamus 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 dear Jesus! But you must tell me truth, Tim. Did he at least go quickly?”
“Well, Brenda…no. In fact, he got out three times to pee.”