The day will begin with strong coffee, perhaps with a bit of something special if you don't have to go to work - what the heck, it's St. Patrick's Day, even if you do have to go to work, the boss is sure to look the other way just this once. For lunch, treat yourself to something filling that goes well with Guiness - and the only thing I've found that doesn't go well with Guiness is Peanut Butter and Jelly (don't ask....I've got kids ye know). As the day progresses, make sure that you know your surroundings, especially the path to the restroom, double especially if you've got that "old man bladder."
In the evening, it's got to be corned beef and cabbage washed down with generous amounts of the Mother's Milk (The cabbage, combined with Guiness is sure to be a hit with the global warming crowd - enjoy it while you can before they tax the Irish for extra green house gases). Then, it's off to the pub, or two, or three.....There are songs to be sung, glasses to be raised, crowds to be squished by, and stories to be told, oh so many stories to be told - feel free to use any that you might have seen here.
As the day comes to a close, thank your bartender and hug your waitress (or vice versa) in appreciation of the fine time you had. Be generous with your tip as they have endured some who are not so gracious as yourself. If you're driving....say a prayer, if you've got a designated driver, be a sport and by them breakfast on the way home. When you are home, safe and sound, don't be tempted by the thought of a night cap - you're going to bed, another drink at this point won't do a thing but make you snore louder. And in the morning, when you rise to find that your pajamas are on backwards, your shoes are on and on the wrong feet, and there is a mysterious smell in every room that you walk into, think back on what a fine 17 days it has been - and start planning for next year!
A local Irisher was boasting about the grand party he and his pals had the night before.
"Aye," sez he, "Wasn't it a great night the five of us had."
"Who were the five?" asked a listener.
"Well," said the Irisher as he began counting on his fingers. "There was one, that's me. There was Clancy, that's two. There was the Quigley twins, that's three, and there was Sullivan, that's four."
"But you said there were five and you count only four."
"Jist a minute, let me count again,' replied the Irisher as he again began to pick off the number on his fingers. "There was one, that was me. Two, there was Clancy. Three, there was the Quigley twins, and four, there was Sullivan. Shure, I must have taken a wee drop too many, because last night I thought there was five of us at the party. Now I know there's only four."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~A cop pulls up two Irish drunks, and says to the first, "What's your name and address?"
"I'm Paddy O'Day, of no fixed address."
The cop turns to the second drunk and asks the same question.
"I'm Seamus O'Toole, and I live in the flat above."
McCuen stumbled out of a saloon right into the arms of Father Logan. "Inebriated again!" declared the priest. "Shame on you! When are you going to straighten out your life??"
"Father," asked McCuen. "What causes arthritis?"
"I'll tell you what causes it! Drinking cheap whiskey, gambling and carousing around with loose women. How long have you had arthritis?"
"I don't," slurred McCuen. "The Bishop has it!"
O'Connell was staggering home with a pint of booze in his back pocket when he slipped and fell heavily. As he struggled to his feet he felt something wet running down his leg.
"Please God," he implored, "let it be blood."
A man walks out of a house in Belfast. Another man walks up to him and sticks a gun to his head saying, "Are you a Protestant or a Catholic?"
The first man, not knowing how to reply for fear of being shot if he says the wrong thing, thinks for a minute and finally answers, "As a matter of fact, I'm Jewish."
At which the gunman chuckles, "Boy, I must be the luckiest Arab in Belfast tonight."
A black, black night it was as Mick made his way homeward from the pub. Suddenly he heard a small voice crying for help and so, full of Guinness and good will to all men, he followed the sound 'til he came across the small figure of a leprechaun with his foot caught under a large stone. Mick freed the green-clad little fellow, helped him gently to his feet and made sure all was well.
"Good sir," said the leprechaun, bowing stiffly and low, "I am in your debt and wish to repay yer kindness. I would deem it a favor if ye'd accept three fairy wishes."
"Shure now that would be foine," said Mick.
"Make a wish then," said the little man, "and whatever ye want, 'twill be granted."
"Oi wish Oi had a bottle of stout," said Mick.
No sooner were the words spoken than a bottle appeared in Mick's hand. Gently he unscrewed the top and supped the bottle.
"Sir," interrupted the leprechaun, "I don't mean to be rushing ye, but I must get on and ye still have two more wishes to make."
"Well," said Mick, "Oi wish this bottle would never be empty."
"Done," said the manikin.
Mick had another swig and another and, sure enough, after each the bottle would replenish itself.
"Glory be," said Mick, dancing a small jig and supping some more.
"And what's your third wish?" the leprechaun inquired politely.
"Shure now," said Mick, waving his magic bottle, "Oi'll have another one of these."
In West Kerry, the wife commented, "When we were first married, you took the small piece of steak and gave me the larger. You don't love me any more...."
"Nonsense, darling," replied the husband, "you cook better now."
Murphy staggers into a bar and shouts, "A double whiskey please barman, and a drink for everyone here… and while you're at it, have one yourself."
"Well thank you sir," says the barman and proceeds to pour everyone their drinks.
Moments later Murphy shouts, "Another whiskey for me, and the same again for everyone else."
The bartender looks a little worried now and says, "Excuse me sir, but don't you think you should pay me for that last round first?"
Murphy slurs, "I can't. I don't have any money."
With this the bartender flies into a rage and literally throws the guy out of the bar. About twenty minutes later though Murphy staggers back in and shouts out, "A double whiskey for me, and a drink for all my friends."
"I suppose you'll be offering me a drink too?" the barman asks, marvelling at the guy's nerve.
"Not likely," slurs Murphy, "you get nasty when you've had a drink!"