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March 17th - St. Patrick's Day

Posted: Tue Mar 13, 2007 2:39 pm
by paddyinthepub
Celebrating St. Patrick's Day this year? Legend has it he chased the snakes out of Ireland. Not sure about all the history, but it's seems to be a great excuse to start drinking Green Beer very early in the morning.

Happy St. Paddy's Day y'all!!!

I've included a few "Irish Funnies" which are G-Rated mostly. The last story at the bottom is a bit closer to I'm not sure that one would be suited for the younger readers here. Hope this is okay.

Paddy was driving down the street in a sweat because he had an
important meeting and couldn't find a parking place. Looking up to
heaven he said, "Lord take pity on me. If you find me a parking place
I will go to Mass every Sunday for the rest of me life and give up me
Irish Whiskey!"

Miraculously, a parking place appeared.

Paddy looked up again and said, "Never mind, I found one."


Father Murphy walks into a pub in Donegal, and says to the first man he
meets, "Do you want to go to heaven?"

The man said, "I do, Father."

The priest said, "Then stand over there against the wall."

Then the priest asked the second man, "Do you want to go to heaven?"

"Certainly, Father," was the man's reply.

"Then stand over there against the wall," said the priest.

Then Father Murphy walked up to O'Toole and said, "Do you want to go to

O'Toole said, "No, I don't Father."

The priest said, "I don't believe this. You mean to tell me that when
you die you don't want to go to heaven?"

O'Toole said, "Oh, when I die, yes. I thought you were getting a
group together to go right now."


Paddy was in New York.

He was patiently waiting and watching the traffic cop on a busy street
crossing. The cop stopped the flow of traffic and shouted, "Okay,
pedestrians." Then he'd allow the traffic to pass.

He'd done this several times, and Paddy still stood on the sidewalk.

After the cop had shouted, "Pedestrians!" for the tenth time, Paddy
went over to him and said, "Is it not about time ye let the Catholics


Gallagher opened the morning newspaper and was dumbfounded to
read in the obituary column that he had died. He quickly phoned his
best friend, Finney.

"Did you see the paper?" asked Gallagher. "They say I died!!"

"Yes, I saw it!" replied Finney. "Where are ye callin' from?"


An Irish priest is driving down to New York and gets stopped
for speeding in Connecticut. The State trooper smells alcohol on the
priest's breath and then sees an empty wine bottle on the floor of the

He says, "Sir, have you been drinking?"

"Just water," says the priest.

The trooper says, "Then why do I smell wine?"

The priest looks at the bottle and says, "Good Lord! He's done it


Walking into the bar, Mike said to Charlie the bartender,
"Pour me a stiff one -- just had another fight with the little woman."

"Oh yeah?" said Charlie, "And how did this one end?"

"When it was over," Mike replied, "she came to me on her hands and

"Really," said Charles, "now that's a switch! What did she say?"

She said, "Come out from under the bed, you little chicken."


Flynn staggered home very late after another evening with his
drinking buddy, Paddy. He took off his shoes to avoid waking his
wife, Mary.

He tiptoed as quietly as he could toward the stairs leading to their
upstairs bedroom, but misjudged the bottom step. As he caught himself
by grabbing the banister, his body swung around and he landed heavily
on his rump. A whiskey bottle in each back pocket broke and made the
landing especially painful.

Managing not to yell, Flynn sprung up, pulled down his pants, and
looked in the hall mirror to see that his butt cheeks were cut and
bleeding. He managed to quietly find a full box of Band-Aids and
began putting a Band-Aid as best he could on each place he saw blood.

He then hid the now almost empty Band-Aid box and shuffled and stumbled
his way to bed. In the morning, Flynn woke up with searing pain in both
his head and butt and Mary staring at him from across the room.

She said, "You were drunk again last night weren't you?"

Flynn said, "Why you say such a mean thing?"

"Well," Mary said, "it could be the open front door, it could be the
broken glass at the bottom of the stairs, it could be the drops of
blood trailing through the house, it could be your bloodshot eyes, but's all those Band-Aids stuck on the hall mirror.


You have to love those Irishmen!!

She came home early and found her husband in their bedroom , with a very attractive young woman. And was VERY upset.
You are a disrespectful pig!" she cried. "How dare you do this to me a faithful wife, the mother of your children! I'm leaving you. I want divorce straight away!"

And Paddy (for it was he) replied: "Hang on just a minute luv, so at least I can tell you what happened."
Fine, go ahead," she sobbed, " but they'll be the last words you'll say to me!"

And Paddy began: Well, I was getting into the car to drive home and this young lady here asked me for a lift. She looked so down and out and defenseless that took pity on her and let her into the car, I noticed that she was very thin, not well dressed and very dirty. She told me that she hadn't eaten for three days! So, in my compassion, brought her home and warmed up the potatoes I made for you last night, the ones you wouldn't eat because you're afraid you'll put on weight.
The poor thing devoured them in moments. Since she needed a good clean-up I suggested a shower and while she was doing that I noticed her clothes were dirty and full of holes so I threw them away.
Then, as she needed clothes, I gave her the designer jeans that you have had for a few years, but don't wear because you say they are too tight. I also gave her the underwear that was your anniversary present, which you don't wear because I don't have good taste. I found the sexy blouse my sister gave you for Christmas that you don't wear just to annoy her and I also donated those boots you bought at the expensive boutique and don't wear because someone at work has a pair like them."

Here Paddy took a quick breath and continued: "She was so grateful for my understanding and help and as I walked her to the door she turned to me with tears in her eyes and said

'" you have anything else that your wife doesn't use?

Re: March 17th

Posted: Tue Mar 13, 2007 2:41 pm
by KarenZ
Yep. Ellis Paul. Club Cafe. Pittsburgh. :)


paddyinthepub wrote:Celebrating St. Patrick's Day this year?

Posted: Tue Mar 13, 2007 3:19 pm
by paddyinthepub
Now that's what I call lucky!!! Ellis Paul on your home turf.


Bet you can count the number of times you've seen Ellis in concert in Pittsburgh off the top of your head. I bet it's been awhile since you've been able to see Ellis without some form of "hard travellin." :wink:

Posted: Tue Mar 13, 2007 6:08 pm
by KarenZ

Believe it or not I don't know off the top of my head how many times I've seen him in Pittsburgh....but it can't be more than 10 - if that. Darn it. :)


Posted: Tue Mar 13, 2007 7:16 pm
by PotatoPicker
Good for you Karen !

And my contribution, for St. Patrick's Day and my Irish ancestors all....

*The Irishman Who Orders Three Beers*

An Irishman by the name of Paul McLean moves into a tiny hamlet in County Kerry, walks into the pub and promptly orders three beers. The bartender raises his eyebrows, but serves the man three beers, which he drinks quietly at a table, alone. An hour later, the man has finished the three beers and orders three more. This happens yet again. The next evening the man again orders and drinks three beers at a time, several times. Soon the entire town is whispering about the Man Who Orders Three Beers.

Finally, a week later, the bartender broaches the subject on behalf of the town. "I don't mean to pry, but folks around here are wondering why you always order three beers."

"'Tis odd, isn't it?" the man replies. "You see, I have two brothers, and one went to America, and the other to Australia. We promised each other that we would always order an extra two beers whenever we drank as a way of keeping up the family bond."

The bartender and the whole town was pleased with this answer, and soon the Man Who Orders Three Beers became a local celebrity and source of pride to the hamlet, even to the extent that out-of-towners would come to watch him drink.

Then, one day, the man comes in and orders only two beers. The bartender pours them with a heavy heart. This continues for the rest of the evening -- he orders only two beers. Word flies around town. Prayers are offered for the soul of one of the brothers.

The next day, the bartender says to the man, "Folks around here, me first of all, want to offer condolences to you for the death of your brother. You know -- the two beers and all..."

The man ponders this for a moment, then replies, "You'll be happy to hear that my two brothers are alive and well. It's just that I, meself, have decided to give up drinking for Lent."

Posted: Thu Mar 15, 2007 9:52 am
by KarenZ

This was in Carol Noonan's e-mail newsletter yesterday.

First, a link to a musical essay:

34 Buttonwood Lane

Second, Carol's thoughts on "Danny Boy":

A little note about Danny Boy.....
With St. Paddy's day fast approaching, I pose this annual question...What is it about Danny Boy? Why do we love to get our hearts broken when we hear it? We sing it at funerals, and we sing it at weddings. We sing it at the end of the night when we've had too much to drink. We may start with a hearty Kevin Barry, but end with a teary Danny Boy. It's the melody....the sadness of it...but that kind of sad that makes you weirdly feel good.

In 1985 I sang it at my cousin's wedding reception and then that same year at my Dad's funeral. I had not intended to have to do either, but after a few too many toasts I was lured to the stage. As far as the funeral gig, I had hoped to have my friend Lisa sing, but she was out of the country when my dad finally passed, and I decided the 80 year old church singer just wasn't going to be good enough for him.

I perched myself up in the balcony of St Anthony's, and as they rolled the casket out of the church, I sang what would be my father's final goodbye. I turned my back to him as he went away. I couldn't bare to see the casket and the shaking shoulders of the crying relatives and friends who would not miss him half as much as me. As I sang, my throat tightened, and it took all my strength to keep from crying. But I was determined to make this Danny Boy the best one I had ever sung.

I tried to put my mind somewhere else....somewhere when my Dad was healthy and happy...... a time when ironically I really hated this song. Every year my Dad offered my Danny Boy services to the annual Irish step dancing recital at the AOH hall. They made me close the program after all the cute catholic girls did their river dance. My dad would proudly stand against the back wall, careful not to lean on the yellowed Irish flag. With a whiskey and a cigarette and his well worn irish cap, he could have easily been a stand in for John Wayne in the Quiet Man. I would finish with a dramatic high note, and the room would fill with cheers from old men and chubby mothers. They would tell my Dad on the way out what a talented daughter he had, and he would try to get them to stay and have another round.

Adults loved my vibrato was mature for a nine year old, but freakish to the ears of my peers. Monday would come, and I would endure a week of Glenda the Good witch jokes, and vow I would never sing that stupid song again. When I turned 12, I did finally refuse to fufill this engagement, and never noticed the disappointment in my Dad's face when I made the bold announcement. I would not sing this Danny Boy again until that day in the balcony of St. Anthony's. It was on that day, that I heard this song for the first time. I ached for the beauty of the melody and the meaning that it gave to so many. I wished I was back at the see my Dad at the back of the room, smoke swirling around his head, dabbing the tears away with his gray cotton handkerchief. But for now I can only cling to the memories and hope he is watching and listening..... "and I will rest in peace until you come to me".............Happy St. Paddy's


Posted: Thu Mar 15, 2007 10:17 am
by paddyinthepub
Karen, Thank you for sharing Carol's story here. Currently not a dry eye in this house. Of course they will soon be smiling the live long day as I reflect upon my own ties to the song Danny Boy, and the deeply personal connection to the song shared by Carol Noonan and brought to mind today thanks to you.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!!!