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[ST] In honor of the day...
- Subject: [ST] In honor of the day...
- From: George K <gkeslin@xxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Thu, 17 Mar 2005 12:57:14 -0600
>Paddy, is driving home after downing a few at the local pub. He turns a
>corner and much to his horror he sees a tree in the middle of the road. He
>swerves to avoid it, almost too late realizes that there is yet another
>tree directly in his path. He swerves again and discovers that his drive
>home has turned into a slalom course, causing him to veer from side to
>side to avoid all the trees. Moments later he hears the sound of a police
>siren and brings his car to a stop. The officer approaches Paddy's car and
>asks him what on earth he was doing.
>
>Paddy tells his story of the trees in the road when the officer stops him
>mid sentence and says, "Fer crisT sakes, Paddy, that's yer air freshener!"
>***************************************************************************
>*************************************************************************
>An Irish 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 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."
>***************************************************************************
>*************************************************************************
>Irish Miracle
>An Irishman who had a little too much to drink is driving home from the
>city one night, 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."
>***************************************************************************
>************************************************************************
>Irish Predicament
>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 the
>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.
>***************************************************************************
>***********************************************************************
>Irish Last Request
>Mary Clancy goes up to Father O'Grady's after his Sunday morning service,
>and she's in tears.
>He says, "what's bothering you, Mary, my dear?"
>She says, "Oh, Father, I've got terrible news. My 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!'
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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