For March 17
& 18, 2007
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McQuillan walked into a bar and
ordered martini after martini, each time removing the olives and
placing them in a jar.
When the jar was filled with olives
and all the drinks consumed, the Irishman started to leave.
"S'cuse me," said a customer, who was
puzzled over what McQuillan had done.
"What was that all about?"
"Nothing," said the Irishman, "my wife
just sent me out for a jar of olives."
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Saturday
was, of course, the high holy day for those of us of Irish extraction,
who are Irish-by-injection (sex) or just Irish-for-a-day.
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At a
wee little village not too far from Dublin town, at a convent, the
Mother Superior was sitting at her writing desk in the big study on the
south side of the building, just overlooking the chapel, the sight of
which she found to be especially calming when she was working on the
books for the convent -- because, y'know, even a convent has its
expenses to keep up -- and tonight was one of those nights, it having
been a particularly long and trying day.
As
Mother Superior sat there working on her account books -- by the way,
did I mention her full name was Sister Martha Mary Rose Gilhooley
Fitzgerald O'Hoolihan of the southern O'Hoolihans and the northern
Fitzgeralds? -- when these two little leprechauns appeared on her desk.
There was a big leprechaun, just about knee high to a bottle of
Guiness, and there was a little leprechaun, looking like a very short
drink indeed. They were dressed all in green, of course, with high
boots and buckles, and little green hats and felt tunics and gherkins
and all the other accourtrements.
The
little leprechaun was a-laughin' and a-gigglin' like he'd swallowed a
dandelion. The bigger leprechaun, although he really wasn't that big at
all, looked rather uncomfortable, to say the least. In fact, he
was looking quite red-faced and embarrassed.
Well,
the Mother Superior was quite surprised to see the two little
leprechauns on her desk. Yes, indeed. Wouldn't you be surprised to have
strange little men materializing in your house? But, to give the lady
her due, she reacted as calmly as can be expected under the
circumstances. After all, Catholics are used to the occasional miracle.
The
little leprechaun, he's pokin' the big one, he's sayin' "Go
ahead, Shaughnessy -- ask her... ask her!" The big one, the
uncomfortable-looking one, he hushes the little one impatiently, and he
steps forward as politely as he can. He takes his hat off his
head, he gives a little bow and he says, "Beggin' your pardon, Mother
Superior. I know it's late, and I know it's the Lord's day, but
might I be troublin' you for a wee little moment of your time?"
The
Mother Superior was very impressed by the leprechaun's politeness, so
she said to him, "What can I do for ye, little man?"
The
leprechaun took a polite step forward and said, "Could ye be tellin' me
now, if it's not too much trouble, how many leprechaun nuns do ye have
in this convent?"
The
Mother Superior blinked in surprise and said, "I've never been
asked such a question before. To be perfectly honest, I'm sorry, we
don't have any leprechaun nuns in this convent at all."
Well,
the little leprechaun thought this was so funny, he fell down on the
desktop, laughing and giggling and clutching his sides like his heart
might burst. He rolled back and forth and nearly kicked over the Mother
Superior's ink-bottle. "You see?" he said. "You see! I told ye... I
told ye!"
The
big leprechaun was not very happy with this answer, and he was even
less happy with the little leprechaun's amusement. He jerked the little
leprechaun roughly to his feet, slapped him roughly and said, "Hush
with ye, Jamie, or I'll give ye such a thump upside yer head. I'm not
through with me askin'."
And
he turned back to the Mother Superior and said, "In that case, if I
might be troublin' ye for one question more. Surely you must know, it
doesn't have to be an exact figure, but could ye be tellin' me how many
leprechaun nuns there are in all of Eire, the Emerald Isle?"
The
Mother Superior thought a bit, this was a much harder question to
answer, and she said:
"Well, I have done a bit of travelin' for the Arch-Diocese, so I have
been to a fair number of convents up and down the coast. I'm so sorry
to disappoint ye, little man, but I've never met a leprechaun nun
anywhere in Eire, never even heard of one. No, I'd have to guess that
there aren't any leprechaun nuns at all anywhere in all of Ireland."
Well,
this response was so funny to Jamie, the little leprechaun, that he
just purely toppled right off the edge of the desk and into the Mother
Superior's waste-basket, where he lay there gigglin' like a drunken
cityman.
"I told ye," he said. "I told ye." The big leprechaun stepped to the
edge of the desk and looked down at him and said, "Hush with ye, Jamie,
or I'll give ye a taste of me shilleleagh." And he did, as soon as the
little leprechaun had composed himself enough to climb back up onto the
desk.
Now,
the big leprechaun was looking very upset. In fact, sweat was pouring
off his brow, and he fingered his collar nervously. He turned back to
the Mother Superior, Sistery Martha Mary Rose Gilhooley Fitzgerald
O'Hoolihan, and he said, "Might I be troublin' ye for one more
question, Mother Superior. Could ye be tellin' me -- how many
leprechaun nuns are there in all of the Holy Roman Empire? In the
Catholic Church, worldwide, under all of the Lord's great skies, ye
don't have to be accurate -- a ballpark guesstimate will do -- could ye
be tellin' me, how many leprechaun nuns are there in the world?"
Now
it was the Mother Superior's turn to look unhappy. She said, "Look,
little man, I've tried very hard to be polite with ye. I've tried very
hard not to hurt your feelin's. But the hard truth of the matter is
this: there aren't any leprechaun nuns anywhere in the entire world.
I've never in my life heard of such a thing. No. And I, certainly,
would have heard of a leprechaun nun, if such a thing existed. It just
doesn't exist. There are no nuns that are leprechauns. There are no
leprechauns that are nuns. None.
There are no leprechaun nuns at all. Period. None at all."
At
this news, Jamie the littlest leprechaun was so beside himself with
hilarity and amusement that he wet his very pants. He poked the big
leprechaun sharply in the ribs and he said, "Y'see, Shaugnessy? I told
ye!
Ye, stupid coot, YE DID IT TO A PENGUIN!!"
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Bud
Nelson, from New York, flew to Shannon Airport in the west of
Ireland on business. As he walked down the stairs from the plane onto
the runway he noticed a small Irishman standing beside a long table
with an assortment of Human Skulls.
"What
are you doing?" asked the American.
"I'm
selling skulls," replied the Irishman.
"And
what skulls do you have?" said Bud.
"Well,
I have the skulls of the most famous Irishmen that ever lived!" said
the Irishman.
"That's
great!" said Bud. "Give me some names!"
"Well!"
said the Irishman, pointing to various skulls. "That one there is James
Joyce, the famous author and playwright, that one there is St. Brendan,
the Navigator, that's Michael Collins the leader of the 1916 rising,
and that one there is St. Patrick, the Patron Saint of Ireland ... god
bless his soul."
"Sorry,"
said Bud, "But did you say St. Patrick?"
"That's
correct!" said the Irishman.
"I
have to have that!" said Bud and paid him £50.00 in cash.
Bud
flew back to New York and mounted his Skull on the wall in his Pub.
People came from all over America to view this famous Skull. He made a
fortune over a five-year period and retired a very rich man. During his
retirement, he decided to go back to visit Ireland, the land that made
him a fortune.
Bud
flew back into Shannon, and while walking down the stairs saw the same
Irishman at the bottom of the stairs.
"God,"
said Bud, "What are you doing?"
"I'm
selling skulls," replied the Irishman.
"And
what skulls do you have today?" said Bud.
"Well,
I have the skulls of the most famous Irishmen that ever lived!" said
the Irishman.
"That's
great!" said Bud. "Give me some names!"
"Well!"
said the Irishman, pointing to various skulls. "That one there is James
Joyce, the famous author and playwright, that one there is St. Brendan,
the Navigator, that's Michael Collins the leader of the 1916 rising,
and that one there is St. Patrick, the Patron Saint of Ireland ... god
bless his soul."
"Sorry,"
said Bud, "But did you say St. Patrick?"
"That's
correct!" said the Irishman.
"Well!"
said Bud, "I was here almost 7 years ago and you sold me a Skull a
little bit bigger than that one there, and you told me then that the
skull was St. Patrick."
"Oh
yes!" said the Irishman, "I remember you now! You see ... This is St.
Patrick when he was a boy!"
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St.
Patrick's Day: the one day of the year when the 2% of the world's
population that's Irish gets the other 98% completely sh**faced.
Leg
1: 7a.m. to 9 a.m.
Rise
and shine early. Take a long, hot shower, and liberally use aftershave,
perfume, cologne, deodorant and powders afterwards, because by 3p.m.,
you will be excreting raw alcohol and other poisons, and without proper
preparations, you will smell like a three-day dead cat wrapped in a
fraternity carpet. The bars open at 9, so use this time to prepare.
Collect
the following supplies and put them in a place where you will easily be
able to find it in an impaired condition. (We recommend the bathroom
floor, between the toilet and the baseboard heater, since that's where
you'll probably end up):
1
quart spring water
1 bottle aspirin
5 pairs Depends undergarment
1 bottle Percocet
1 gram morphine sulfate
1 oz. human adrenaline extract
1 recharged electric defibrillator
4 Cardiac needles
1 trauma surgeon Brew a strong pot of coffee. Add 9oz. Jameson Irish
whiskey and drink.
( Note: Coffee should be drunk liberally throughout the day. There is a
reason that the Irish invented Irish Coffee; unless you ingest a large
volume of artificial stimulants throughout the course of St. Patrick's
Day, you are going to die. )
Arrange
to be picked up to be taken to the bar by 8:45 a.m. We cannot stress
enough that you should not drink and drive. There is no reason to
chance losing your license or killing someone in a drunken state, when
you have plenty of idiot friends willing to take that risk on your
behalf.
Leg
2: 9 a.m. to 11 a.m.
Arrive
at the bar right when it opens. Make sure this is an Irish bar, if at
all possible. An Irish bar in Boston is the best, since 'Boston' in
Gaelic means 'West Kilarney'. However, almost every city in America has
bars called 'The Blarney Stone', 'McSomethings', or 'The Dirty Mick'.
(Just
try to ignore the fact that the bar is probably owned by Koreans).
Secure a barstool, and do not leave it under any circumstances. The bar
is liable to be packed by noon, and real Irish people do not wait in
line for drinks-no matter what the consequences. While we do recommend
the use Of an adult undergarment to mask unpleasant smells, it really
doesn't matter. By afternoon, you'll be sopping wet with spilled beer
anyway, and your mild urine smell will be completely overpowered by the
toxic stench of vomit.
We
recommend starting out with a few more Irish Coffees to spike the
stimulant level, however, you should not order an "Irish Coffee," as
you will be given a fruity little glass mug topped with whipped cream
and a cherry, and some guy named Shamus will call you a yuppie poseur
while putting a cigarette out on your neck. Ask for coffee with whiskey
and ask the bartender to leave the whipped cream can, as nothing will
add spice to your day like the occasional whippet.
Leg
3: 11 a.m. to 2 p.m.
It's
lunchtime! You may not be hungry, but it's important to eat something,
because like Sheriff Bart said in Blazing Saddles:" Man drink like
that, and don't eat-he is going to die."
If
you want to maintain your buzz and not get that hideous, bloated
feeling that could slow down your drinking, there are only two options:
popcorn or Pop Tarts. Both have the carbohydrates you'll need to give
you energy, both will soak up excess bile in your stomach, and both
have names that are hard to slur. If you start slurring your words too
early, you'll hear the most frightening phrase in the English language
on St.Patrick's Day besides "I'm pregnant": "You're cut off".
By
now, you should switch off of coffee drinks to beer. You have only one
option here: Guinness stout. You may be tempted to order green beer,
but remember: beer doesn't always turn green because of food coloring.
Leg
3: 2 p.m. to 7 p.m.
By
now, the bar is definitely crowded, as people take long lunches and
bail out of work early to tie one on. If you're doing your job
correctly, the bar should look twice or three times as crowded as it
really is.
By
now, you may be in conversation with some real Irish people, since the
person you came with has likely been taken away by ambulance. Some
conversational points to remember when talking to the Irish are:
Football
really means Soccer, and you should be more passionate about it than
you are about your wife or husband. ..AND The English are all
piss-arsed, pig-f***ing b****rds who should be lined up and kicked into
the Liffey.
If
you remember those two points, as well at least three derogatory names
for Margaret Thatcher, you can talk to the Irish for hours. You should
continue to drink Guinness throughout this leg, although you may want
to have another Irish Coffee if your heartbeat has become irregular.
The
Home Stretch: 7 p.m. to Closing
Your
goal, of course, is to be the last person to leave the bar at closing
time. This will be impossible, since a blood alcohol content of .50
usually equals death, and you should be pushing a 35 or .40 by now.
The
only way for a true Irishman to leave a bar before closing time with
honor is to be hauled away by the police. Throw a punch. It doesn't
matter who you hit or why; no one's made any sense since 3 o'clock,
anyway. You will be beaten mercilessly, since your fine motor control
has been gone since the late morning, but it doesn't matter since you
can't feel anything.
Depending
on your community, the police should arrive within fifteen minutes to
scrape you off the floor and clap you in irons. The final impression
you leave is the most important: as you are being dragged from the bar,
begin screaming that you want to take your drink with you. You will be
a legend, and by now the friend who took you to the bar should have had
his or her stomach pumped, and will be able to bail you out.
By
following these simple guidelines, your St.Patrick's Day experience
would be one you would never forget if it weren't physically and
biologically impossible for you to remember any of it.
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The
teacher gave her fifth grade class an assignment: Get their
parents to tell them a story with a moral at the end of it. The
next day the kids came back and one by one began to tell their
stories. "Johnny, do you have a story to share?"
"Yes,
ma'am. My daddy told a story about my Aunt Carol. Aunt
Carol was a pilot in Desert Storm and her plane got hit. She had
to bail out over enemy territory and all she had was a small flask of
whiskey, a pistol and a survival knife. She drank the whiskey on
the way down so it wouldn't fall into enemy hands and then her
parachute landed right in the middle of twenty enemy troops. She
shot fifteen of them with the gun until she ran out of bullets, killed
four more with the knife, until the blade broke and then she killed the
last one with her bare hands."
"Good
heavens," said the horrified teacher, "what kind of moral did your
daddy teach you from that horrible story?"
"Stay
the hell away from Aunt Carol when she's been drinking!"
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During
basic training for the Army Nurse Corps, we were required to spend one
week in the field roughing it. It rained the entire week.
We arose daily in our swampy tent, took a cold-water beauty bath from
our helmets, donned our pistol belts and ponchos, and trudged through
the mud to set up field hospitals. Obviously, our personal
appearance frequently left much to be desired.
The
final blow to our feminine pride occurred while we waited in the mess
line in the mud and rain. A young private came by with a camera
and asked to take our picture. "It will prove to my girl," he
said, "that she has NO reason to be jealous!"
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Deciding to eat healthier breakfasts,
bachelor John declared that oatmeal would now be his cereal of
choice. But after eating his first bowl, he told his married
sister, "I hope I develop a taste for the stuff. It goes down
real rough."
"Well," she asked, "how long did you
cook it?"
"You're supposed to cook it?"
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Within two weeks of moving into a new
house, the homeowner had to call an electrician, a roofer, a plasterer
and a carpenter.
One afternoon he returned early from
work and saw a plumber's truck in the driveway.
"Lord," he pleaded, looking skyward,
"please let her be having an affair."
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After
telling the customs agent he had nothing in his bags but clothing, Mark
was alarmed when the official decided to open them up and check.
In
the very first one she opened, cushioned between his socks was a bottle
of cognac. "Nothing to declare but clothing, huh?"
"Right,"
Mark extemporized. "That, madam, is my nightcap."
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An old snake goes to see his
Doctor. "Doc, I need something for my eyes, I can't see very well
these days."
The doctor fixes him up with a pair of
glasses and tells him to return in 2 weeks.
The snake comes back in 2 weeks and
tells the doctor he's very depressed.
The doctor says, "What's the
problem? Didn't the glasses help you?"
"The glasses are fine doc, but I just
discovered I've been living with a water hose for 2 years....!"
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Everybody on
earth dies and goes to heaven. God comes and says, "I want the men to
make two lines. One for the men that dominated their women on earth and
the other for the men that were dominated by their women. Also, I want
all the women to go with St. Peter."
Said and done, the next time God
looked, the women are gone and there are two lines. The line of the men
that were dominated by their women was 100 miles long, and in the line
of men that dominated their women, there was only one man.
God got mad and said, "You men should
be ashamed of yourselves. I created you in my image and you were all
whipped by your mates. Look at the only one of my sons that stood up
and made me proud. Learn from him! Tell them my son, how did you manage
to be the only one in this line?"
And the man replied, "I don't know. My
wife told me to stand here."
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Normally I avoid discussing any advice regarding buying or selling of
stock, but I felt this is important enough to share and warn you since
this explosive situation might prove to be yet another ENRON. Please
review any holdings you might have in the following stocks: American
Can, Interstate Water, National Gas Company, Northern Tissue Company.
I
advise you to sit tight on your American Can, hold your Water, and
let go of your Gas. You may be interested to know that Northern
Tissue touched a new bottom Friday, and millions were wiped clean!
It's a tough market out there. Be
careful!
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Alice
was to bake a cake for the church ladies' group bake sale, but she
forgot to do it until the last minute. She baked an angel food cake and
when she took it from the oven, the center had dropped flat. She said,
"Oh dear, there's no time to bake another cake." So, she looked around
the house for something to build up the center of the cake.
Alice
found it in the bathroom, a roll of toilet paper. She plunked it in and
covered it with icing. The finished product looked beautiful, so she
rushed it to the church. Alice then gave her daughter some money and
instructions to be at the sale the minute it opened and to buy that
cake and bring it home. When the daughter arrived at the sale, the
attractive cake had already been sold. Alice was beside herself.
A
couple of days later, Alice was invited to a friend's home where two
tables of bridge were to be played that afternoon. After the game a
fancy lunch was served, and to top it off, the cake in question was
presented for dessert. Alice saw the cake, she started to get off her
chair to rush into the kitchen to tell her hostess all about it, but
before she could get to her feet, one of the other ladies said, "What a
beautiful cake!"
Alice
sat back in her chair when she heard the hostess say, "Thank you, I
baked it myself."
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OK, move along, that's all there is,
move along please ....