Irish Toast

John O'Reilly hoisted his beer and said, "Here's to spending the rest of me
life, between the legs of me wife!" That won him the top prize at the pub
for the best toast of the night!

He went home and told his wife, Mary, "I won the prize for the best toast of
the night."

She said, "Aye, did ye now. And what was your toast?"

John said, "Here's to spending the rest of me life, sitting in church beside me wife."

"Oh, that is very nice indeed, John!" Mary said.

The next day, Mary ran into one of John's drinking buddies on the street corner. The man chuckled leeringly and said, "John won the prize the other night at the pub with a toast about you, Mary."

She said, "Aye, he told me, and I was a bit surprised meself. You know, he's
only been there twice in the last four years. Once he fell asleep, and the
other time I had to pull him by the ears to make him come."

Good one, Darren. :D Reminded me of this one:-

The door of the Irish pub opens and in walks a big burly fellow, six foot three if he’s an inch. He has a tremendous black eye and a recently-broken nose, bearing a large swath of sticking plaster. The barman greets him:

“By all that’s holy, Fitzgerald, what’s happened to yourself?” says he .

“Arragh, sure and someone hit me,” says the big feller.

“Jayz!” says the barman. “Who could have done such damage to the likes of you? He must have been a mighty man!”

“Not so mighty as all that. ‘Twas Feargal Rooney” says Fitzgerald.

“Rooney, y’say! Sure and he’s but a wee little twerp of a nothing! He must have had something in his fist!”

“You have the right of it, so you do,” says Fitzgerald. “He was holding a shovel.”

“And did you have nothing in your own hand?” says the barman.

“I did,” says Fitzgerald. “Mrs Rooney’s left breast. A glorious thing in itself, you understand. But no use at all in a fight.”

Gearod Fergus goes to the doctor and is told in no uncertain terms to give the Guiness away.

As is their habit, his mates swing by that afternoon to pick him up on the way to the pub. Seamus yells "Gearod! Are ye coming to the pub or are ye not?" Gearod sticks his head out the window and shouts "I'll be fine just now, you go on. The doctor's told me I have to stop". "Are ye sure?". "See you tomorrow" yells Gearod as he closes the window.

Well this went on for a week, every afternoon the boys would swing by and every afternoon they'd leave for the pub without him.

Finally on the Friday the boys came by again. "Gearod, will ye come and have a drink?" "No," shouted Gearod "I'll not and be away with you". "For pity's sake Gearod, will ye come and have a drink, ye must be sh!tting brown by now".

I used to work with a fella from Irland (not a joke) and his name was Paddy, he went home to Irland for a holiday and came back with this great story (which I'm pretty sure is true) about going to a large family get-together were they setup this other guy who was always in the lottery, rain, hail or shine, he always had a ticket.

So they found out the numbers he used (always the same ones) and thought they'd have a bit of fun.

One of the guys got up at the family do and anounced that they'd just drawn the lottery numbers, and here they were (just happened to be a jackpot night worth quite a few million pounds) and proceded to read out the lottery addict guys numbers.

As would be expected he goes crazy. Jumping, shouting, etc. His wife makes her way through the crowd and when she reaches him she joins him in his celebrations.

At which point he turns to his wife and says "and you can shut up, I've been sleeping with your sister for the past four months!" :eek:

All in brawl follows.

Dave Allen the comedian tells a great story about his father, who was editor of the Irish Times, the country’s leading newspaper.

Allen senior was editor of the broadsheet during the early Troubles in the 1920s. This was a particularly difficult period for everyone in Ireland and more difficult for a principled journalist – as Mr Allen was – because he wrote extensively about the political situation. This inevitably attracted the attention of the more extreme elements of Irish society and he had received a number of threats against his person.

It happened that the editor left the offices of the newspaper late one evening, having worked on the next day’s edition well past normal hours. He was accompanied by one of his close associates and they departed in the chauffeur-driven car thoughtfully provided by the newspaper’s proprietors. A thirst was upon them after a long day’s travail so they instructed the chauffeur to take them to a hostelry close by.

The two newspapermen were enjoying a life-restoring beverage when the pub’s door opened and in walked a tall figure, well wrapped up in a heavy coat with a hat pulled low on his brow. The stranger ordered a drink and took it to a nearby table, where he sat and watched them.

They quickly became uncomfortable at the intense scrutiny and decided to move on. Collecting their hats and coats, they left the pub and instructed the chauffeur to take them to another bar, a little further from the centre of town. Settling in to this establishment, they were not a little disturbed to see the same tall person enter the place and proceed to observe them intently once more. They drank up, collected their hats and coats and left.

This time, they told the chauffeur to take them out of town. They wound up at a country pub. After ordering drinks and settling themselves in, they were shocked and disturbed to see the same tall stranger enter the tiny bar. This was too much for Allen’s father. A brave and impetuous man, he had had enough! Leaping to his feet, he grabbed the stranger by the lapels of his coat.

”What do you want with us?” he demanded. “Why are you following us about all over the countryside, you villainous chancer!”

“Jayz, mind me coat, Mr Allen,” said the man. “Sure and I’m your driver, that’s all!”