The Value of Irish Humor (some good, clean, wholesome jokes :-)

It's my great good fortune to be a fellow of Irish descent. I share my good fortune with a quarter of all Americans, who can also trace their heritage back to the rolling green hills of Ireland.

As a lad, I remember my father, the Big Guy, sitting on the back porch on Sundays. Uncle Mike would sometimes visit for a couple of beers, and few things gave them more pleasure than swapping Irish jokes.

Such as the one about the fellow who was touring the Irish countryside. Hungry, he stopped at a farm and asked for refreshment. The lady of the house served him a bowl of soup. There was a pig in the house that kept running up to the fellow.

"That is the friendliest pig I ever did meet," he said to the woman.
"He's not friendly at all," said the woman. "That's his bowl you're using."

I know that I'm not really "Irish," but an American through and through. I know, too, that I'm also of German descent, and, much to my father's horror, my great grandmother on his side turned out not to be Irish, but 100% French.

Still, in my family we idealize what it means to be Irish. Being Irish means to laugh easily, to never take yourself too seriously, to be wary of getting lost in the narrowness of your own point of view.

Which reminds me of the one about the German spy who is sent to Ireland during World War II. The German is instructed to meet an Irish spy named Murphy and confirm Murphy's identity by saying, "The weather could change by Tuesday."

After the German parachutes into Ireland, he sets off for town. Along the way, he asks a farmer where he might find a man named Murphy.

"Well, sir, it all depends on which Murphy," says the farmer. "We have Murphy the doctor, Murphy the postal carrier, Murphy the stone mason and Murphy the teacher. As a matter of fact, I, too, am Murphy, Murphy the farmer."

The German gets an idea.

"The weather could change by Tuesday," he says.

"Aye," says the farmer, "you'll be wanting Murphy the spy."

James Thurber, one of my favorite humorists, says the wheels of humor are set in motion by the damp hand of melancholy. Aristotle wrote that comedy and tragedy are close cousins. The Irish have long known that humor and laughter are our chief weapons for combating sadness and pain.

Which reminds me of the time a young Irishman tells his mother he's in love. Just for fun, he brings home three girls and asks his mother to guess which of the three he has chosen to be his bride.

After his mother interviews all three, she says, "Your fiancée is the one in the middle."

"That's amazing, ma. How did you know?"

"Because I don't like her."

British academic and joke theorist Christy Davies says a good joke can help clarify and express complex feelings. A good joke can cut to the heart of the matter better than any speech or law or government policy.

If only every country and every culture held such a point of view. How much better the world would be if all people responded to humor by laughing or at least by thinking — instead of rioting and blowing things up.

These days, with all the conflict and disagreement going on, we could all profit from a better sense of humor.

Which reminds me of the time Pat explained to Mike why his valiant effort to scale Mount Everest fell short.

"Aye," says Pat, "I would have made it to the top had I not run out of scaffolding."

My wife is Boston Irish and these apply to many in her side of the family, and a few on mine:

You have so much alcohol in your system that your cabbie has to be HazMat certified.
You install shag carpet because it’s easier to hang on to. Embalming fluid would be an improvement.
Your last Breathalyzer reading was “No Effing Way.”
Distilleries fight over the billboard nearest to your place of residence.
Your friends often substitute “Good night” with “Hey, you can’t sleep here.”
When you donate blood they store it in oak barrels.
Your name is police code for Public Intoxication.
You’re fairly sure a letter to Dear Abby signed “Want To Leave the Bum, But Can’t” was written by your liver.
Your favorite drinking game is Do A Shot Every Time You Do A Shot.
Your idea of a seven-course meal is a six-pack and a pizza.
TV beer ads have started addressing you by name.
You brush your teeth with bourbon. It hasn’t helped cut down on cavities, but who cares?
You know heavy drinking makes you smarter because you can never remember doing anything stupid while blacked out.
You have a split personality—every time you meet someone with booze you want to split it with them.
You were so drunk at the office Xmas party that you kissed your own wife.
You become sexually aroused by the tapping of a keg.
You know you can use Jagermeister as cough syrup. And visa versa.
You spill so much booze at home your dog slurs his barks.
Your credit history is composed entirely of bar tabs.
You’re always shaking hands, even when there’s no one else around.
Whenever you bend your elbow your mouth snaps open.
When your boss asks you to work overtime you demand time and a fifth.
Your favorite bar is four blocks away — six blocks coming back.
The Red Cross uses your blood to sterilize their instruments.
You’re half scotch, and your ancestors aren’t from Scotland.
You know how to handle your liquor — with both hands.
You can tell what bar you’re in by the bottoms of their tables.
A liter of scotch isn't enough to invite a friend over for a drink.
You know most the of people in a bar and can’t remember one of their names.
Anyone who kisses you must legally wait half an hour to drive.
You’ve filed assault charges against a coffee table.
When you’re out in the street, you are literally “out” in the street.
You think of drinking beer as “sobering up,”
You can say “Whiskey, please” in 34 languages, but can’t understand “Last call” in English.
You know better than going near an open flame while you’re bleeding.
Your bed looks a helluva lot like a park bench, and your bedroom looks a helluva lot like a park.
You’ve been cut off during communion.
You wonder why they call it Southern Comfort when they know damn well there is nothing comfortable about being handcuffed in the back of a squad car.
Growing-up means buying better booze, getting older means getting used to the cheap stuff again.
Your bartender never has to ask, “Do you want another?”
You're favorite method of dieting is the “Slim Jim”: Ultra Slim-Fast shakes made with Jim Beam.
You fell down two flights of stairs and didn’t spill a drop.
When you wake up hungover you’re afraid you’ll die. Half an hour later you’re afraid you’ll live.
You wonder why people need friends when you can just sit in a room and drink all day.

The Irish daughter had not been home for over 5 years. Upon her return, her father cussed her: "Where have you been all this time, you ingrate! Why didn't you write us, not even a line to let us know how you were doing? Why didn't you call? Don't you know what you put your Mum through??!!" The girl, crying, replied, "Sniff, sniff... Dad... I became a prostitute..." "WHAT!!? Out of here, you shameless harlot! Sinner! You're a disgrace to this family - I don't ever want to see you again!" "OK, Dad - as you wish. I just came back to give Mom this luxury fur coat, title deeds to a ten bed-roomed mansion, plus a savings account certificate for EURO 1 million. For my little brother, this gold Rolex, and for you, Daddy, the spanking new Mercedes limited edition convertible that's parked outside, plus a lifetime membership to the Country Club...(takes a breath)...and an invitation for you all to spend New Year's Eve on board my new yacht in the Riviera, and...." "Now, what was it you said you had become?" Girl, crying again, "Sniff, sniff... A prostitute, Dad... Sniff, sniff." "Oh! Bay Jesus! - you scared me half to death, girl! I thought you said 'a Protestant'. Come here and give your old man a hug!"

little warm up for Saint Paddy's day. Time to get the green threads out of the closet, ...
Oh yes, better hurry down to the local package store before all the Guinness and Bushmills is gone.

An Irishman arrived at J.F.K. Airport and wandered around the terminal with tears streaming down his cheeks. An airline employee asked him if he was already homesick.
"No," replied the Irishman "I've lost all me luggage!"

"How'd that happen?"

"The cork fell out!" said the Irishman.

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, "The Good Lord! He's done it again!"

Two Irishmen were sitting at a pub having beer and watching the brothel across the street. They saw a Baptist minister walk into the brothel, and one of them said, "Aye, 'tis a shame to see a man of the cloth goin' bad."

Then they saw a rabbi enter the brothel, and the other Irishman said, "Aye, 'tis a shame to see that the Jews are fallin' victim to temptation as well."

Then they see a Catholic priest enter the brothel, and one of the Irishmen said, "What a terrible pity...one of the girls must be dying.

Three Irishmen, Paddy, Sean and Seamus, were stumbling home from the pub late one night and found themselves on the road which led past the old graveyard..

"Come have a look over here," says Paddy, "It's Michael O'Grady's grave, God bless his soul. He lived to the ripe old age of 87."

"That's nothing," says Sean, "here's one named Patrick O'Toole, it says here that he was 95 when he died."!

Just then, Seamus yells out, "Good God, here's a fella that got to be 145!"
"What was his name?" asks Paddy.

Seamus stumbles around a bit, awkwardly lights a match to see what else is written on the stone marker, and exclaims,

"Miles, from Dublin."

Drunk Ole Mulvihill (From the Northern Irish Clan) staggers into a Catholic Church, enters a confessional box, sits down, but says nothing.
The Priest coughs a few times to get his attention but Ole Mulvihill just sits 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."

Mary Clancy goes up to Father O'Grady's 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, did he have any last requests?"

She says, "That he did, Father..."

The priest says, "What did he ask, Mary?"

She says, "He said, 'Please Mary, put down that gun!'

An atheist was walking through the woods. He said to himself:
"What majestic trees!"
"What powerful rivers!"
"What beautiful animals!"

As he was walking alongside the river, he heard a rustling in the bushes behind him. He turned to look and saw a 7-foot grizzly charge towards him!

He ran as fast as he could up the path. He looked over his shoulder & saw that the bear was closing in on him. He looked over his shoulder again, & the bear was even closer.

He tripped & fell on the ground. He rolled over to pick himself up but saw that the bear was right on top of him, reaching for him with his left paw & raising his right paw to strike him.

At that instant the Atheist cried out, "Oh my God!!!"

Time Stopped.
The bear froze.
The forest was silent.

As a bright light shone upon the man, a voice came out of the sky.

"You deny my existence for all these years, teach others I don't exist and even credit creation to cosmic accident." "Do you expect me to help you out of this predicament? Am I to count you as a Believer?"

The atheist looked directly into the light, "It would be hypocritical of me to suddenly ask You to treat me as a Christian now, but perhaps You could make the BEAR a Christian?"

"Very well," said the voice.
The light went out.
The sounds of the forest resumed.

And the bear dropped his right paw, brought both paws together,bowed his head & spoke:

"Lord bless this food, which I am about to receive from thy bounty through Christ our Lord, Amen"

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