Wednesday, March 18, 2009

An Irishman Walks Into A Bar (Yeah, Like That's A Surprise...)

Hilarity will ensue. But, first...

It appears that all of the people whose blogs I faithfully followed have been spirited from the face of the earth. I guess the rapture happened and I was deemed non-qualified. Either that or Google has decided I shouldn't be allowed to follow anyone because I look like a stalker. In any case, I have lost all of the "follower links" from Google Reader, which I employed in order to know when you had published something new. I'll try to reconstruct and reattach - whatever the terms would be - as I make my way around to your sites. If you don't see me for a couple of days, now you know why. It's not because I don't love you; it's because Google doesn't love you (or hates me.)

(If you don't see me for a couple of weeks, drop me a line and remind me about yourself. If you don't see me for a couple of months, don't.)

Here's something to brighten your day, though. In the true spirit of yesterday's post concerning Saint Patrick's Day, all of my Irish (and semi-Irish) friends sent me jokes about Irishmen. As I said, the Irish are the last group you can joke about with utter disregard for hurt feelings and possible civil rights lawsuits. And what sort of good Irishman would I be if I didn't re-print a couple of those jokes for you now? So, here you go!

(By the way, my favorite part of all of these jokes is the varied way of putting Irish accents into print. The first joke differs wildly from the second joke, and they both differ from the third joke, as well as the fourth joke and my own post from yesterday. I guess our Irishmen come from different parts of the country. Let's call it Mayo, Kerry, Cork, Sligo, and Dingle [which sounds like the punchline to a joke about a dirty Irish law firm, but I digress within my digression, which is always bad form and necessitates the use of brackets within parentheses, like so.])

An Irishman is sitting at a bar. He sees a lamp at the end of the bar. He walks down to it and rubs it. Out pops a genie. It says, "I will give you three wishes."

The Irishman thinks awhile. Finally, he says, "I want a beer that never is empty."

With that, the genie makes a *POOF* sound, and on the bar is a bottle of beer. The Irishman starts drinking it and, just as he seems to be finishing it, it starts to refill every time.

The genie asks him what he'd like for his other two wishes.

"I want two more of these!"

Mick, from Dublin, appeared on 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire' and towards the end of the program had already won 500,000 pounds.

"You've done very well so far," said Chris Tarrant, the show's presenter, "but for a million pounds you've only got one lifeline left - phone a friend. Everything is riding on this question... Will you go for it?"

"Sure," said Mick. "I'll have a go!"

"OK," said Chris. "Which of the following birds does NOT build its own nest?"

A: Sparrow
B: Thrush
C: Magpie
D: Cuckoo

"I haven't got a clue," said Mick, "so I'll use me last lifeline and phone me friend Paddy back home in Dublin."

Mick called up his mate and told him the circumstances, repeating the question as it was posed to him.

"Fookin' hell, Mick!" cried Paddy. "Dat's simple. It's a cuckoo."

"Are ye sure, Paddy?"

"I'm fookin' sure!"

Mick hung up the phone and told Chris, "I'll go wit Cuckoo as me answer."

"Is that your final answer?" asked Chris.

"Dat it is, Sir."

There was a long pause. Then the presenter screamed, "Cuckoo is the correct answer! Mick, you've won 1 million pounds!"

The next night, Mick invited Paddy to their local pub to buy him a drink.

"Tell me, Paddy, how in Heaven's name did you know it was da Cuckoo that doesn't build its own nest?"

"Because he lives in a fookin' clock!"

An Englishman, a Scot and an Irishman walk into a bar and order three pints. Just as they are served, a fly lands in each of their glasses.

The Englishman pushes his glass away in disgust and orders another.

The Scot picks the fly out of his glass and drinks his beer.

The Irishman grabs the fly and starts shouting "Spit it out, ya bastard! Spit it out!"

An Irishman leaves a pub. As he's walking down the street towards home, he is grabbed from behind and dragged into an alleyway.

His attacker, holding the Irishman's hair with one hand and using his other hand to hold a knife to the Irishman's throat, says, "Are you Catholic or Protestant?"

The Irishman, thinking fast, says, "Neither! I'm Jewish!"

"Praise Allah! I am the luckiest Taliban member in all of Ireland!"


Tomorrow's posting will be absolutely 100%-obscenity-free! This news will delight some of you, while simultaneously keeping the others from returning.

See (some of you) then!


Marian Dean said...

Like no surprises from you there lad!

You do us Irish proud that you do.

Love all the jokes and I haven't heard any of them before ( I've led a very sheltered life!)

Love Granny

Katney said...

This was a great--and mostly new to me--selection of Irish jokes. I laughed out loud--which is something I don't do. You missed my ancestral county in your lawyer listing. Could it be that my ancestors were barkeeps instead? No that's my Scottish hubby's ancestors. Ah, well. You did not previously follow me. You have my permission to do so if you can't find anyone else--as if it were necessary.

A Woman Of No Importance said...

Dear Suldog,

My name is Kelly, and I am a solicitor with the firm of Barkeep, Fly, Guiness, Sligo and Dingle.

I am suing you for defum- deafham- deform- deforest-, being cheeky to the Oirish!

GreenJello said...

An Irishman always ordered 3 beers at the pub every night-- one for him, and one for each of his two brothers, who lived far away.

One night, he only ordered two beers. The bartender says to him, "I'm really sorry for your loss."

"Oh! My two brothers are just fine... I just joined the Mormon church and can't drink anymore."

Judi FitzPatrick said...

Too funny! Thanks for the laughs.

Anonymous said...

Thanks for the laugh, darlin'.

lime said...

ok, my one irish joke.

fellow goes into a bar and orders 2 pints. he drinks both but raises the second to the sky and says, "this is yours, paddy." the fellow on the stool next to him offers his condolences for the departed paddy and says he'll have a pint in paddy's memory as well. the first one is touched and after and evening of rounds where paddy is toasted repeatedly the first guy says to the second, "come with me to paddy's grave." touched that he'd be invited the second guy agrees. upon arrival to the grave the first guy drops his pants and urinates all over the grave. the second guy is aghast at this defilement of paddy's resting place and demands an explanation as to why the friend would do such a thing after toasting the memory of his friend all night. the first one says, "well paddy made me promise on the anniversary of his death i'd pour a few pints over his grave. he didn't say they couldn't pass through my kidneys first."

Hilary said...

Thanks always for the laughs. I hope you resolve your blog-following issues soon. :)

Cath said...

Where on God's earth is Dingle? And don't say Ireland.

The jokes get worse and worse...
[the following is shamelessly nicked from a fellow blogger, Sandi, who emailed them to me and others. You many have seen them...]

Paddy was driving down the street in a sweat because he had an important meeting and couldn't find a parking place. Looking up to heaven he said, 'Lord take pity on me. If you find me a parking place I will go to Mass every Sunday for the rest of me life and give up me Irish Whiskey!'
Miraculously, a parking place appeared.
Paddy looked up again and said, 'Never mind, I found one.'


Father Murphy walks into a pub in Donegal, and asks the first man he meets, 'Do you want to go to heaven?'
The man said, 'I do, Father.'
The priest said, 'Then stand over there against the wall.'
Then the priest asked the second man, 'Do you want to go to heaven?'
'Certainly, Father,' the man replied.
'Then stand over there against the wall,' said the priest.
Then Father Murphy walked up to O'Toole and asked, 'Do you want to go to heaven?'
O'Toole said, 'No, I don't Father.'
The priest said, 'I don't believe this. You mean to tell me that when you die you don't want to go to heaven?'
O'Toole said, 'Oh, when I die , yes. I thought you were getting a group together to go right now.'


Paddy was in New York
He was patiently waiting and watching the traffic cop on a busy street crossing. The cop stopped the flow of traffic and shouted, 'Okay, pedestrians.' Then he'd allow the traffic to pass.
He'd done this several times, and Paddy still stood on the sidewalk.
After the cop had shouted, 'Pedestrians!' for the tenth time, Paddy went over to him and said, 'Is it not about time ye let the Catholics across?'


An Irish priest is driving down to New York and gets stopped for speeding in Connecticut . The state trooper smells alcohol on the priest's breath and then sees an empty wine bottle on the floor of the car.
He says, 'Sir, have you been drinking?'
'Just water,' says the priest.
The trooper says, 'Then why do I smell wine?'
The priest looks at the bottle and says, 'Good Lord! He's done it again!'


Walking into the bar, Mike said to Charlie the bartender, 'Pour me a stiff one - just had another fight with the little woman.'
'Oh yeah?' said Charlie, 'And how did this one end?'
'When it was over,' Mike replied, 'She came to me on her hands and knees.'
'Really,' said Charles, 'Now that's a switch! What did she say?'
She said, 'Come out from under the bed, you little chicken.'


Murphy staggered home very late after another evening with his drinking buddy, Paddy. He took off his shoes to avoid waking his wife, Kathleen.
He tiptoed as quietly as he could toward the stairs leading to their upstairs bedroom, but misjudged the bottom step. As he caught himself by grabbing the banister, his body swung around and he landed heavily on his rump. A whiskey bottle in each back pocket broke and made the landing especially painful.
Managing not to yell, Murphy sprung up, pulled down his pants, and looked in the hall mirror to see that his butt cheeks were cut and bleeding. He managed to quietly find a full box of Band-Aids and began putting a Band-Aid as best he could on each place he saw blood.
He then hid the now almost empty Band-Aid box and shuffled and stumbled his way to bed.
In the morning, Murphy woke up with searing pain in both his head and butt and Kathleen staring at him from across the room.
She said, 'You were drunk again last night weren't you?'
Murphy said, 'Why you say such a mean thing?'
'Well,' Kathleen said, 'it could be the open front door, it could be the broken glass at the bottom of the stairs, it could be the drops of blood trailing through the house, it could be your bloodshot eyes, but mostly ..... it's all those Band-Aids stuck on the hall mirror.

Suldog said...

Dingle is in Ireland. It's on the west coast, a peninsula in County Kerry.

Rosaria Williams said...

Tomorrow will contain obscenity? Was that a threat or what? I thought you liked us, especially the newcomers.

Katney said...

Hey, sully. I just was browsing at the Help Group and found someone else having the follwers disappearing problem. She hasn't gotten a resposne from anyone yet, though, but it's worth keeping an eye on. BTW, I decided to add the widget.

Adamity73 said...

By Jaysus, but that last little joke had me peein' in me britches!

Too true, brither...TOO true.

LOL =o)

Jeni said...

Oh, please -more of the Irish jokes!!! I'm lovin' 'em!
About the reader/follower problem, it seems to me I saw something -perhaps on the Google official blog or some such -about there being a problem with the Follower/Friend thingy. I didn't really pay too much attention to it at the time as my "followers" thing and my reader, both seemed to be functioning properly -for a change! If I remember and have time, I'll go to the blog and see if I can track down what I think I saw there -maybe. Confused? Not to worry, so am I.

Ruth and Glen said...

Here's another one for ya:

Mrs. Murphy came back from the doctor and stood naked looking at herself in the mirror. Mr. Murphy came home and seeing her said: "what the hell are ya doing there looking at yourself naked?". Mrs. Murphy replied "the doctor says for a woman my age I have a good figure". To which Mr. Murphy asked "did he say anything about your Fat Irish Ass?". Mrs. Murphy walked passed him and said "YOUR NAME never came up".

Ericka said...

the only irish joke i know is something along the lines of "what's the irish idea of foreplay?" answer: brace yourself, bridgette.

"brace yourself bridgette" is one of my favorite sayings when the going is about to get rough.

Buck said...

Gosh, I'm just proud and humble you read me at all, Jim, seeing as how I don't "do" that follow/follower thing in Blogger. Twitter is a different story, coz that's all they've got...

Courtesy of NepLex, this was originally an Aggie joke when I first heard it but it makes the transition to Irish joke quite well:

So, I was in the pub enjoying the pint o’ Guinness over lunch in respect of hizzoner, when I heard a trio of gentlemen hard by having a bit of a conversation.

“It’s all weel and gude,” said the first man in a broad Scottish burr, “these American pubs, but it’s nothing like back hame.”

“Quite true, my dear man,” responded his first companion in a refined English accent, “they hardly measure up to our British standards.”

“Nor even our pubs in Ireland,” replied the third in the lilting cadences of the Old Sod.

“At MacTavishes they ken hae to sarve a mon,” the Scot added, saying, “upon ardering yer fourth roond, the barkeep stands the fifth for you, frae of charge.”

“Things are bit more civilized in the south,” the Londoner rejoined, “on your third purchase of spirits, the barkeep provides the fourth. And there are snacks provided at the bar to keep the patrons well cared for.”

“Aye, that’s lovely, I’m sartain. But when it comes to yor true pub, the real measure of service is in Ireland,” replied the third man. “‘Tis!” he cried at the shaking heads of his companions. “There’s a lovely spot down Dublin way, so there is, where the barman buys yor forst round for yez. And all d’other patrons buy the next one, and the next after that, and on and on until you’ve had yor full. And then, when yez can scarcely stand on yor own, they take y’up to de bedrooms, so they do, and see to it that you get yer ashes hauled.”

“Rubbish,” replied the Englishman.

“Perposterous,” replied the Scot.

“No, it’s de truth!” the Irishman insisted.

“Has such a thing ever happened to you personally,” the Englishman inquired.

“Not yet,” the Irish lad had to ruefully admit, before brightening and concluding, “but it has happened to me sister!”


Suldog said...

Lakeviewer - Reading comprehension, my dear! Tomorrow's post will NOT contain obscenity.

Janet said...

I love the beerflies.

Cath's jokes were most excellent as well.

Jinksy said...

I could have done with these laughs, if I'd found 'em earlier!

Carolina said...

hahaha, and I love the comment of a Woman Of No Importance, hehehe

Woman in a Window said...

Wishing I was more Irish just so that I could self deprecate along with the rest.