st patricks day jokes

The blind farmer was often taken for a walk in the fields by a kind neighbor. However kindly the neighbor might have been, he was undoubtedly a coward. When a bull charged towards them one day, he abandoned the blind man.

The bull, puzzled by a lack of fear, nudged the farmer in the back. He turned very quickly, caught the bull by the horns and threw it to the ground with a bump that left it breathless.

"Aidan," said the neighbor, "I never knew you were so strong."

"Faith, and if I could have got that fella off the handlebars of the bicycle I'd have thrashed him properly."


"Young man," said the judge, looking sternly at the defendant. "It's alcohol and alcohol alone that's responsible for your present sorry state!"

"I'm glad to hear you say that," replied Murphy, with a sigh of relief. "Everybody else says it's all my fault!"

The local District Judge had given the defendant a lecture on the evils of drink. But in view of the fact that this was the first time the man had been drunk and incapable, the case was dismissed on payment of ten shillings costs.

"Now don't let me ever see your face again," said the Justice sternly as the defendant turned to go.

"I'm afraid I can't promise that, sir," said the released man.

"And why not?"

"Because I'm the barman at your regular pub!"


Monahan stumbled into a saloon, half crocked. "Say," he said to the bartender, "how tall is a penguin?"

"About two and a half feet."

"Thank God!" cried Monahan. "I thought I ran over a nun!"

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?"


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."

Some years ago, Michael J. Flanagan, a successful New York contractor, was standing on the deck of the Staten Island Ferry when a car got loose and sent him into the river where he drowned.

The following Sunday his widow, all decked out in deepest black, was standing on the church steps after Mass, receiving condolences and enjoying every minute of it, when an old friend of the contractor came up.

"I'm sorry, Mary, for your trouble," offered the friend. "Did Mike leave you well fixed?"

"Oh, he did!" she said. "He left me almost a half million dollars."

"Well now, that's not bad for a man who couldn't read or write."

"Nor swim either," added the widow.


The American tourist in Dublin had been complaining a great deal about the food.

"Here," he said to the waitress holding out a piece of meat for inspection, "do you call that pig?"

"Which end of the fork, sir?" the waitress asked sweetly.