The Irish Don't Need Explosives To Get Bombed... Only An Excuse!


Siobhan Murphy’s husband had passed on and she was so distraught
that she sought out a spiritualist who told her that her husband was fine,

that he was eagerly awaiting a reunion with her.

"Is there anything he needs?" Siobhan asked.

The spiritualist went into a transient state, then replied,

"He says he'd love a package of cigarettes."

"I'll send them immediately," Siobhan said joyfully.

"But did he give an address?"

"No. But he didn't ask for matches."


As soon as she had finished convent school, a bright young girl named Moira
shook the dust of Ireland off her shoes and made her way to New York

where before long, she became a successful performer in show business.

Eventually she returned to her hometown for a visit and on a Saturday

night went to confession in the church, which she had always attended as a child.

In the confessional Father Sullivan recognized her and began asking her about her work.

She explained that she was an acrobatic dancer, and he wanted to know what that meant.

She said she would be happy to show him the kind of thing she did on stage.

She stepped out of the confessional and within sight of Father Sullivan,

she went into a series of cartwheels, leaping splits, handsprings and backflips.

Kneeling near the confessional, waiting their turn, were two middle-aged ladies.

They witnessed Moira's acrobatics with wide eyes, and one said to the other:

"Will you just look at the penance Father Sullivan is givin' out this night,

and me without me bloomers on!"


An English Clergyman turned to a Scotsman and asked:
"What would you be if you were not Scot?"

The Scotsman said: "Why, an Englishman, of course!"

Then the clergyman turned to a gentleman from Ireland and asked him:
"And what would you be were you not an Irishman?"

The man thought a moment and said: "I'd be ashamed of meself!"


Bud Nelson, from New York; flew to Knock 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 Knock airport, 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!"


Murphy approached Mulligan's bar.
On the step outside he was accosted by a nun, Sister Marie, who said,

'Surely a fine man like yourself is not going into this den of iniquity?

Surely you're not going to waste your hard-earned cash on the devil's brew.

Why don't you go home and feed and clothe your wife and children?'

'Hang on, Sisters,' spluttered Murphy. 'How can you condemn alcohol out of hand?

Surely it's wrong to form such a rash judgment when you've never tasted the stuff?'

'Very well,' said Sister Marie. I’ll taste it just to prove my point.

Obviously I can't go into the pub, so why don't you bring me some gin.

Oh, and just to camouflage my intent, maybe you should bring it in a cup not a glass!'

'OK,' said Murphy and into the bar he breezed. 'I'll have a large gin,' he said to the barman.

'And can you put it in a cup?'

'My God,' said the barman, 'that nun's not outside again is she?'


Old Paddy Murphy took his wife to the hospital to have a baby.
After waiting for a while in the waiting area, Paddy picked up the hospital house phone,

called the doctor and said, "Hello, this is Mr. Murphy. What's the news on Mrs. Murphy?"

The doctor answered, "You are the father of a fine baby boy, but hold on because it's not all over yet."

After about a half hour, Paddy called the doctor back and asked, "Hello, this is Mr. Murphy.

What's the news on Mrs. Murphy?"

The doctor answered, "You're the father of twins, a boy and a girl,

but hold on because it's not all over yet."

After another half hour, Paddy called back and asked, "Hello, this is Mr. Murphy, what's the news?"

The doctor answered, "You're the father of triplets -- two boys and a girl.

It's not all over yet, but it's slowing down, so why don't you go get something to eat.

I'll be here all night."

So Paddy went to a pub and got himself six shots of good Irish whiskey,

which he washed down with six pints of Guinness.

He then went over to the phone, somewhat unsteadily,

and called the doctor at the hospital -- or thought he did.

Actually, he misdialed, and dialed the local cricket club.

When the person answered, Paddy asked, "Hello, this is Mr. Murphy, what's the news?

"The person replied, "All out for a hundred and one, and the last one out was a duck."


Paddy and Murphy are knocking back a few pints of Guinness at the local and in walks O’Rourke.
He says, "did ye hear about O'Hara dyin last night?"

Paddy and Murphy, in shock exclaim, "No! Poor O'Hara.

Has anyone told his wife?" O’Rourke says
"No she hasn't been told yet, but I'll get sweet talking Patrick to tell her.

He is such a sweet talker and so good with words that he can

talk the fish out of the brook and the birds out of the trees."

They leave to find Patrick and as they are leaving in he walks and says
"Good Mornin’ to ye all lads, a pint on me for everyone."

O’Rourke tells Patrick the sad news about O'Hara dyin’

and asks him to break the news very gently to his wife, as she doesn’t yet know.

Patrick, the sweet talker says,
"I will be glad to have a chat with O'Hara's wife and I'll break

it so gently to her that a whimper is all she'll utter.

I’m a man of words and I can charm the fish from the brook and

the birds from the trees. Don’t worry lads; I'll take care of this.

They don’t call me sweet talker for nuttin'.

Well, off they all go to O'Hara's house. Patrick knocks on the door and
O'Hara's wife answers and says, "Yes may I help you?"

Sweet-talking Patrick steps forward and at attention says, "Are you the widow O'Hara?"

To which the woman responds, "My name is O'Hara but I'm not a widow."

Sweet-talking Patrick braces himself and exclaims, "Shit you ain’t."


An old Irish man is lying in bed, very ill. His son is sitting at his bedside,
expecting the end to come at any moment. The old man looks up at the boy and says,

"Son, it's time for you to get me a Protestant minister."

The son is astounded. "But, Dad!" he protests, "You've been a good Catholic all you life!

You're delirious. It's a priest ye be wanting now, not a minister."

The old man looks up at him and says, "Son, please. It's me last request.

Get a minister for me!" "But, Dad," cries the son, "Ye raised me a good Catholic.

You've been a good Catholic all your life. Ye don't want a minister at a time like this!"

The old man manages to croak out the words, "Son, if you respect me and love me as a father,

you'll go out and get me a Protestant minister right now."

The son relents and goes out and gets the minister.

They come back to the house, and the minister goes upstairs and converts him.

As the minister is leaving the house, he passes Father O'Malley coming quickly through the door.

The minister stares solemnly into the eyes of the priest.

"I'm afraid you're too late, Father," he says. "He's a Protestant now."

Father O'Malley rushes up the steps and bursts into the old man's room.

"Pat! Pat! Why did ye do it?" he cries. "You were such a good Catholic!

We went to St. Mary's together! You were there when I performed my first mass!

Why in the world would ye do such a thing like this?"

"Well," the old man says as he looks up at his dear friend.

"I figured if somebody had to go, it was better one of them than one of us."


Four priests board a train for a long journey to a church council conference.
Shortly into the trip, one pries says

"Well, we've all worked together for many years, but don't

really know one another. I suggest we tell each other one of our sins."

They look nervously at each other but nod OK.

The first priest says "Since I suggested it, I'll go first.

With me it's the drink. Once a year I take off my collar and go out of town to

a pub and drink myself blind for a few days. Get it out of my system."

They all look each other again nervously, but the next priest slowly starts

"Wellll......with me, it's gambling. Periodically, I nick the money out of the poor box

and go to the races. Spend it all! I get it out of my system."

The third, who is really nervous now reluctantly says "This is very difficult.

My sin is worse. I take off my collar and go into the red light district, pick out a lass, and

spend a week in the saddle.

I REEEEAAALY get it out of my system."

They all look at the fourth priest waiting. He doesn't say anything.

Then one of the four speaks up "Come now, we've all told our innermost faults.

It's your turn."

He looks at the others and starts hesitantly

"Welllllll..... I'm an incurable gossip, and I can't wait to get off this train!"


An Irish priest and a Rabbi get into a car accident.
They both get out of their cars and stumble over to the side of the road.

The Rabbi says, "Oy vey! What a wreck!"

The priest

asks him, "Are you all right, Rabbi?"

The Rabbi responds, "Just a little shaken."

The priest pulls a flask of whiskey from his coat and says,

"Here, drink some of this it will calm your nerves."

The Rabbi takes the flask and drinks it down and says,

"Well, what are we going to tell the police?"

"Well," the priest says, "I don't know what your aft' to be

tellin' them. But I'll be tellin' them I wasn't the one drinkin'."


McCuen stumbled out of a saloon right into the arms of Father Logan.
"Inebriated again!" declared the priest.

"Shame on you! When are you going to straighten out your life??"

"Father," asked McCuen. "What causes arthritis?"

"I'll tell you what causes it! Drinking cheap whiskey, gambling

and carousing around with loose women.

How long have you had arthritis?"

"I don't," slurred McCuen. "The Bishop has it!"


Young O'Donnell rushed into a church, placed his rifle under a pew and entered the confessional.
"Father," he said breathlessly, "I've just shot down two British lieutenants!"

Hearing no response he went on: "I also knocked off a British captain!"

When there was still no response from the priest, O'Donnell said,

"Father, have ye fainted?"

"Of course I
haven't fainted," replied the confessor.
"I'm waitin' for you to stop talkin' politics and commence confessin' your sins!"


A wealthy farmer went to church one Sunday. After services he said to the priest,
"Father, that was a damned good sermon you gave, damned good!"

"I'm happy you liked it," said the priest.

"But I wish you wouldn't use those terms in expressing yourself."

"I can't help it," said the rich farmer.

"I still think it was a damned good sermon.

In fact, I liked it so much I put a fifty pound note in the collection basket."

"The hell you did?!" replied the priest.


Boyle sat in a Belfast confessional. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," he said.
"I've blown up three hundred miles of English railroad!"

"All right, my son," admonished the priest.

"For penance, do the stations!"


Father O'Malley, the new priest is nervous about hearing confessions,
so he asks the older priest to sit in on his sessions.

The new priest hears a couple of confessions, then the

old priest asks him to step out of the confessional for a few suggestions.

The old priest suggests, "Cross you arms over your chest, and rub your chin with one hand."

The new priest tries this.

The old priest suggests, "Try saying things like, 'I see, yes, go on,

I understand and how did you feel about that?'"

The new priest says those things.

The old
priest says, "Now, don't you think that's a little better
than slapping your knee and saying 'No shit?!? What happened next?'"


Padraic Flaherty came home drunk every evening toward ten.
Now, the Missus was never too happy about it, either.

So one night she hides in the cemetery and figures to

scare the beejeezus out of him.

As poor Pat wanders by, up from behind a tombstone she jumps

in a red devil costume screaming,

"Padraic Sean Flaherty, sure and ya' don't give up you're drinkin'

and it's to Hell I'll take ye'".

Pat, undaunted, staggered back and demanded, "Who the hell ARE you?".

To that the Missus replied, "I'm the divil ya' damned old fool".

To which Flaherty remarked, "Damned glad to meet you sir, I'm married to yer sister."


Brothers Mike and Seamus O'Malley were the two richest men in town,
and complete shites both of 'em.

They swindled the Church out of its property, foreclosed on the

orphanage and cheated widows out of their last mite.  And that was just for starters.


Finally Seamus up and dies, and Mike pays a visit to the priest.

"Father," he says, "my good name will be upheld in this town.

You'll be givin' the eulogy for me brother, and in that eulogy you are going to say

"Seamus O'Malley was truly a saint."


"I won't do such a thing.  T'would be a lie!"


"I know you will," says Mike.

"I hold the mortgage on the parish school,

and if you don't say those words, I'll foreclose."


The priest is over a barrel.

"And if I pledge to say those words, then you'll sign the note over free and clear?"

"Done," cackles Mike, and he signs over the note.


Next morning at the funeral, the priest begins the eulogy:

"Seamus O'Malley was a mean-spirited, spiteful, penurious, lying, cheating,

arrogant and hateful excuse for a human being.

But compared to his brother, Mike,...

Seamus O'Malley was truly a saint."


A man had been admitted to the local hospital with dysentery after a safari
trip to Africa.  He had spent three miserable days on a liquid diet trying

to recuperate, and smile as best he could while visitors stopped in to wish

him well and hope he didn't have an attack of diarrhea.  The nurse knocked

on his door, peeked in, and informed him that he had more visitors on the

way up.  As he lied in bed and readied himself for the visit, a sudden

onslaught of diarrhea caught him by surprise, making a mess of his hospital

gown and bed sheets.  Not wanting to be embarrassed when his visitors showed

up, he quickly took  off his hospital gown and ripped the sheets off the

bed, tossed them out the window, and ran into his bathroom to clean up and

put on another hospital gown.

Unbeknownst to him, Tim Murphy had just left the local pub and was
staggering along the street below his window, when the hospital gown and

sheets fell on top of him.  Thinking he had been attacked, Tim spun around,

covered by the sheets, swinging his arms and punching out at his "attacker."

  When he finally managed to knock the sheets off, he fell backwards on his

behind and sat staring at the pile of sheets in awe.  Just then, a city

policeman happened along.  Trying to comprehend the sight before him, he

asked Murphy, "and, just what in the hell happened here?"

Murphy replied, "I don't know, sir; but, I think I just beat the shit out of
a ghost!"


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 car.

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 again!"