Irish Jokes

OK, we’re a long way off St Paddy’s day but I couldn’t resist the urge to share a few Irish jokes:

 

Murphy told Quinn that his wife was driving him to drink. Quinn thinks he’s very lucky because his own wife makes him walk.

Irish lass customer: “Could I be trying on that dress in the window?” Shopkeeper: “I’d prefer that you use the dressing room.”

Mrs. Feeney shouted from the kitchen, “Is that you I hear spittin’ in the vase on the mantle piece?” “No,” said himself, “but I’m gettin’ closer all the time.”

Finnegan: My wife has a terrible habit of staying up ‘til two o’clock in the morning. I can’t break her of it. Keenan: What on earth is she doin’ at that time? Finnegan: Waitin’ for me to come home.


Slaney phoned the maternity ward at the hospital. “Quick!” He said. “Send an ambulance, my wife is goin’ to have a baby!” “Tell me, is this her first baby?” the intern asked. “No, this is her husband, Kevin, speakin’.”


“O’Ryan,” asked the druggist, “did that mudpack I gave you improve your wife’s appearance?” “It did surely,” replied O’Ryan, “but it keeps fallin’ off!”

How do you recognize an Irish pirate? He’s got a patch over each eye.

My god! What happened to you?” the bartender asked Kelly as he hobbled in on a crutch, one arm in a cast. “I got in a tiff with Riley.” “Riley? He’s just a wee fellow,” the barkeep said surprised. “He must have had something in his hand.” “That he did,” Kelly said. “A shovel it was.” “Dear Lord. Didn’t you have anything in your hand?” “Aye, that I did--Mrs. Riley’s left breast.” Kelly said. “And a beautiful thing it was, but not much use in a fight!”

Lastly, one for Robbie:

O’Griffiths was staggering home with a small bottle of Paddy in his back pocket when he slipped and fell heavily. Struggling to his feet, he felt something wet running down his leg. “Please, God,” he implored, “let it be blood!”