Pat was found dead in his back yard, and as the weather was a bit on the warm side, the wake was held down to only two days, so his mortal remains wouldn't take a bad turn. At last his friends laid him in the box, nailed it shut & started down the hill into the churchyard. As it was a long, sloping path and the mourners were appropriately tipsy, one fellow lurched into the gatepost as they entered the graveyard. Suddenly a loud knocking came from in the box. Paddy was alive! They opened the box up and he sat up, wide eyed, and they all said, Sure, it's a miracle of God! All rejoiced & they went back and had a few more drinks but later that day, the poor lad died. Really died. Stone cold dead. They bundled him back into his box, and as they huffed and puffed down the hill the next morning, the priest said, " Careful now, boys; mind ye don't bump the gatepost again"
An aging man lived alone in Ireland. His only son was in Long Kesh Prison, and he didn't know anyone who would spade up his potato garden. The old man wrote to his son about it, and received this reply, " For HEAVENS SAKE, don't dig up that garden, that's where I buried the GUNS!!!!! " At 4 A. M. the next morning, a dozen British soldiers showed up and dug up the entire garden, but didn't find any guns. Confused, the man wrote to his son telling him what happened and asking him what to do next. His son's reply was: " Just plant your potatoes. "
Paddy was an inveterate drunkard. The priest met him one day, and gave him a strong lecture about drink. He said, " If you continue drinking as you do, you'll gradually get smaller and smaller, and eventually you'll turn into a mouse. " This frightened the life out of Paddy. He went home that night, and said to his wife, " Bridget…. if you should notice me getting smaller and smaller, will ye kill that blasted cat? "
Casey and Riley agreed to settle their dispute by a fight, and it was understood that whoever wanted to quit should say " Enough. " Casey got Riley down and was hammering him unmercifully when Riley called out several times, " Enough! " As Casey paid no attention, but kept on administering punishment, a bystander said, " Why don't you let him up? Don't you hear him say that he's had enough? " " I do, " says Casey, " but he's such a liar, you can't believe him.
A ventriloquist is telling Irish jokes in a pub, when an irate Irishman stands up: " You're making'out we're all dumb and stupid. I oughtta punch you in the nose. " " I'm sorry sir, I…" " Not you, " says the Irishman, " I'm talking to that little fella on your knee. "
A surgeon and an architect, both English, were joined by an Irish politician, and all fell to arguing as to whose profession was the oldest. Said the surgeon, " Eve was made from Adam's rib, and that surely was a surgical operation. " " Maybe, " said the architect, " but prior to that, order was created out of chaos, and that was an architectural job. " " Shure now, " interrupted the politician, " but somebody created the chaos first. "
In hearing an Irish case of assault and battery, counsel, in cross examining one of the witnesses, asked him what they had the first place they stopped at. " Four glasses of ale, " was the reply. " Next? " " Two glasses of whiskey. " " Next? " " One glass of brandy. " " Next? " " A fight. "
" Hey, " said a new arrival in the pub, " I've got some great Irish jokes. " " Before you start, " said the big bloke in the corner, ", I'm Irish. " " Don't worry, " said the newcomer, " I'll tell them slowly. "
The origin of the bagpipes was being discussed and the representatives of different nations were eagerly disclaiming responsibility for the instrument. Finally, and Irishman said, " Well, I'll tell you the truth about it. The Irish invented them and sold them to the Scots as a joke; and the Scots haven't seen the joke yet! "
Two Irishmen were sitting in a four engined plane flying back from a shopping trip to Paris when the captains voice came over the loudspeaker. " Ladies and Gentlemen, one of the engines appears to have failed. There's nothing to worry about but we will be 15 minutes late in landing at Gatwick. " Five minutes later he said, " Nothing to worry about, ladies and Gentlemen, but one of the other engines has failed, and we will now be an hour late. " A moment later, " Er…sorry about this ladies and gentlemen, but the third engine has also given up the ghost and we will now be two hours later than expected. " One of the Irishmen tapped his friend on the shoulder. " Good heavens, Patrick, do you realise that if the other engine fails, we'll be here all night? "
This is a true story of the late Irish author Brendan Behan who one night collapsed in a diabetic coma in a Dublin street. It was at a time when he was at the height of his drunken notoriety and passes- by naturally thought he was dead drunk. They took him to the nearby surgery of one of Dublin's most fashionable and respected doctors. The doctor decided to take a cardiograph and, somewhat nervous of his patient, thought to humor him. He explained the workings of the cardiograph needle as it registered the faint heartbeats of the very sick and semiconscious Brendan. " That needle there is writing down your pulses, Mr. Behan, and I suppose, in its own way, it is probably the most important thing you have ever written. " To which Behan replied: " Aye, and it's straight from me heart, too. "