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<\/p>\nAn Irishman who had a little\u00a0too much to drink\u00a0is driving home from the city one night and, of course his car is weaving violently all over the road.<\/p>\n
A\u00a0cop pulls him over. “So,” says the cop to the driver,\u00a0 “where have ya been?”<\/p>\n
” Why, I’ve been\u00a0to the pub of course,” slurs the drunk.<\/p>\n
” Well,” says the cop, “it looks\u00a0like you’ve had quite\u00a0 a few to drink\u00a0this evening.”<\/p>\n
“I did all right,” the drunk says with a smile.<\/p>\n
“Did you know,” say’s the cop, standing straight and folding his arms across his chest,\u00a0“that a few intersections back,\u00a0your wife fell out of your car?”<\/p>\n
“Oh,\u00a0thank heavens,” sighs the drunk. “For a minute there,\u00a0I thought I’d lost me hearing!\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Brenda O’Malley\u00a0is home\u00a0making dinner, as usual, when Tim Finnegan\u00a0arrives at her door. “Brenda,\u00a0may I come in?” he asks.\u00a0 “I’ve\u00a0somethin’ to tell ya”.<\/p>\n
“Of course you can come in, you’re always welcome, Tim. But where is my husband?”<\/p>\n
“That’s what I’m here to be telling ya, Brenda. “there was an accident down at the Guinness\u00a0brewery..”
\n“Oh, God no!” cries Brenda. “Please don’t tell me.”<\/p>\n
“I must, Brenda.\u00a0Your husband Shamus is dead and gone. I’m sorry.”<\/p>\n
Finally, she looked up at Tim. “How did it happen, Tim?”<\/p>\n
“It was terrible, Brenda.\u00a0He fell into a vat of\u00a0Guinness Stout and drowned.”<\/p>\n
“Oh my dear Jesus! But you must tell me truth, Tim.\u00a0\u00a0Did he at least go quickly?”<\/p>\n
“Well, Brenda… No. In fact,\u00a0he got out three times to pee.”<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I was reading an article last night about fathers and sons, and memories came flooding back to the time I took my son out for his first drink.<\/p>\n
Off we went to our local bar, which is only two blocks from the house.<\/p>\n
I got him a Guinness Stout.\u00a0 He didn’t like it \u2013 so I drank it.<\/p>\n
Then I got him an Old Style.\u00a0 He didn’t like it either, so I drank it.<\/p>\n
It was the same with the Coors and the Bud.<\/p>\n
By the time we got down to the Irish whiskey . . .<\/p>\n
I could hardly push the stroller back home.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A drunk staggers into a Catholic Church, enters a confessional booth, sits down, but says nothing. The Priest coughs a few times to get his attention but the drunk continues to sit there.<\/p>\n
Finally, the Priest pounds three times on the wall.<\/p>\n
The drunk mumbles, “ain’t no use knockin’,<\/p>\n
there’s\u00a0no paper on this side\u00a0either!”<\/p>\n
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<\/p>\n