March 2, 2013

Day 2 - 2013

Stories of the Irish working class....


O’Brien aspired to be an accountant, so he went down to take the Irish accountancy exam.
The examiner asked him, “If I give you two rabbits and then I give you another two rabbits, how many rabbits do you have in all?”
O’Brien replied, “five.”
The examiner answered, “Five? No, now listen to me carefully once again. If I give you two rabbits and then I give you another two rabbits, how many rabbits do you have?”
Again O‘Brien replied, “five.”
The examiner was beginning to get flustered, so he said, “Let's try this another way. If I give you two bottles of beer and then I give you another two bottles of beer, how many bottles of beer do you have?”
“Four,” answered O’Brien.
“Good!” said the examiner. “Now, if I give you two rabbits and then I give you another two rabbits, how many rabbits do you have in all?”
Again O‘Brien replied, “five.”
Exasperated, the examiner pleaded, “How on earth do you figure that two lots of two rabbits equals five?”
Said O‘Brien, “I already have one rabbit at home.”

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O’Reilly left work early one Friday afternoon. Instead of going home to his wife, he spent the weekend (and his money) partying with the boys. 

When he finally returned home on Sunday night, his wife really got on his case and stayed on it. After a couple of hours of screaming, his wife paused and pointed at him and made him an offer, 
'How would you like it if you didn't see me for a couple of days?!?' 

O’Reilly couldn't believe his luck, so he looked up, smiled and said, 'That would suit me just fine!!'

Monday went by, and he didn' t see his wife. Tuesday and Wednesday went by and he still didn't see her. Come Thursday, the swelling went down a bit and he could see her a little out of the corner of his left eye.

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A woman from Co. Kerry hired three men to move her furniture. When she saw two of them struggling to carry a wardrobe upstairs, she asked where the third fellow was. “Oh, he’s in the wardrobe stopping the wire coat-hangers from rattling!”

Slainte!


March 1, 2013

Happy St. Paddy's Month - 2013


So what could be more uplifting and humorous than a few stories about a tradition in Ireland that is an occasion of drinking, story telling, and exaggeration? Let’s begin with stories of Irish Wakes! J

The ritual of the wake has not changed in a thousand years . . . They have the kitchen table, and they cover it with a white sheet and a silk pillow and they lay the remains out on the table and all the neighbors come in and pay their last respects.  Such a man Iying there is Seamus O'Shaughnessy, passed on, deceased, gone over, demised, and he's stone dead as well.

A few stories and drinks into the wake, two of the legs on the table caved in and O'Shaughnessy slid onto the floor. And Muldoon said, "My God, what are we going to do?"
Murphy said, "Well, we'll have to level him up somehow. We'll put his head on a chair, we'll put a chair at his feet, we push a chair in underneath him, lift him up and level him out."
Muldoon said, "A good idea! "

Murphy said, "Leave it to me." Murphy looked at the people at the wake and said, "Can we have three chairs for the corpse?"
And they all went, "Hip hip hooray! "

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Poor Paddy was found dead, lying prostrate in his own back yard. Since the weather was a bit on the warm side, the wake was held down to just two days, to insure that his mortal remains would not take a bad turn.

Finally his friends laid him in his coffin, nailed it shut & started their way down the hill into the churchyard. Since 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 inside the coffin. Paddy was alive!

They opened it and up sat Paddy, wide eyed and breathing, to be sure! And they all said, “Sure, it's a miracle of God!”

They all rejoiced, went back and had a few more drinks. But later that day, the poor man actually died. Paddy really passed away this time. Stone cold dead, he was.
They bundled him back into his box. As they huffed and puffed down the hill the very next morning, the priest said, "Careful now, boys; mind ye don't bump the gatepost again."

Slainte!