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Six retired Irishmen were playing poker in O'Leary's apartment when Paddy Murphy loses 500 on a single hand, clutches his chest, and drops dead at the table.
 
Showing respect for their fallen brother, the other five continue playing standing up. Michael O'Conner looks around and asks, "Oh, me boys, someone got's to tell Paddy's wife. Who will it be?"
 
They draw straws. Paul Gallagher picks the short one. They tell him to be discreet, be gentle, don't make a bad situation any worse.
 
"Discreet??? I'm the most discreet Irishmen you'll ever meet. Discretion is me middle name. Leave it to me!"
 
Gallagher goes over to Murphy's house and knocks on the door. Mrs. Murphy answers, and asks what he wants.
 
Gallagher declares, "Your husband just lost 500, and is afraid to come home."
 
"Tell him to drop dead!" says Murphy's wife.
 
"Sure," says Gallagher, "I'll go tell him!"
 

 

 
Into a Belfast pub comes Paddy, looking like he's just been run over by a train. His arm is in a sling, his nose is broken, his face is cut and bruised, and he's walking with a limp.
 
"What happened to you?" asks Sean, the bartender.
 
"Jamie O'Conner and me had a fight," says Paddy.
 
"That little O'Conner?" says Sean. "He couldn't do that to you, he must have had something in his hand."
 
"That he did," says Paddy, "a shovel is what he had, and a terrible lickin' he gave me with it."
 
"Well," says Sean, "you should have defended yourself. Didn't you have something in your hand?"
 
"That I did," said Paddy, "Mrs. O'Conner's breast, and a thing of beauty it was - but not much good in a fight!"
 

 

 
An Irishman has had a little too much to drink, and is driving home from the city and, of course, weaving violently all over the road. A cop pulls him over.
 
"So," says the cop, "where have ya been?"
 
"Why, I've been to the pub of course," slurs the drunk.
 
"Well," says the cop, "it looks like you've had quite a few to drink this evening."
 
"I did all right," the drunk says with a smile.
 
"Did you know," says the cop, standing straight, and folding his arms across his chest, "that a couple of miles back your wife fell out of your car?"
 
"Oh, thank heavens," sighs the drunk. "For a minute there, I thought I'd gone deaf!"
 

 

 
Brenda O'Malley is home making dinner, as usual, when Tim Finnegan arrives at her door.
 
"Brenda, may I come in?" he asks. "I've somethin' to tell ya."
 
"Of course you can come in, you're always welcome, Tim. But where's my husband?"
 
"That's what I'm here to be telling ya, Brenda. There was an accident down at the Guinness brewery."
 
"Oh, God no!" cries Brenda. "Please don't tell me!"
 
"I must, Brenda. Your husband Shamus is dead and gone. I'm sorry."
 
Finally, she looked up at Tim. "How did it happen, Tim?"
 
"It was terrible, Brenda. He fell into a vat of Guinness and drowned."
 
"Oh my dear Jesus! But you must tell me true, Tim, did he at least go quickly?"
 
"Well, Brenda, no. In fact, he got out three times to pee."
 

 

 
Mary Clancy goes up to Father O'Grady after his Sunday morning service, and she's in tears.
 
He says, "So what's bothering you, Mary my dear?"
 
She says, "Oh, Father, I've got terrible news. My husband passed away last night."
 
The priest says, "Oh, Mary, that's terrible. Tell me, Mary, did he have any last requests?"
 
She says, "That he did, Father."
 
The priest says, "What did he ask, Mary?"
 
"He said, 'Please Mary, put down that damn gun ...'"
 

 

 
A drunk staggers into a Catholic Church, enters the confessional booth, sits down, but says nothing.
 
The priest coughs a few times to get his attention, but the drunk continues to sit there.
 
Finally, the priest pounds three times on the wall.
 
The drunk mumbles, "Ain't no use knockin, there's no paper on this side either!"
 

 

 
A man was driving down the road one day when he passed two workmen on the grass verge. One was digging furiously, then running a few yards further on and starting another hole. Meanwhile his colleague followed behind, shovelling just as fast to fill each hole up again.
 
Our motorist stopped and spoke to them.
 
"I must congratulate you," he said, "on working so hard - you're a credit to your profession. But may I ask what you're doing?"
 
"Sure," said the first man, "we usually work as a team of three, but the chap that plants the trees is off sick!"
 

 
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